CHAPTER I

WHAT HAS AWAKENED CHINA?

For centuries China has been the land that never moved. It had a political history full of wars and bloodshed, of intrigue and murder; periods of prosperity and enlightenment; periods of darkness and desolation; but the country remained essentially the same country. There might be some small alteration in its customs, but China was distinctly unprogressive. And everybody who knew China ten or fifteen years ago was prepared to prophesy that it would continue to remain unprogressive.

Many a missionary speaks of the China that he used to know as a very different land from the China of to-day. It used to be a sort of Rip Van Winkle land that had slept a thousand years, and showed every sign of remaining asleep for another thousand. Mrs. Arnold Foster told us that when she first came to Wuchang she used to see the soldiers dressed mediÆvally, learning to make faces to inspire terror in the hearts of the adversary. Monseigneur Jarlin, the head of the French mission in Peking, described the China of olden times by saying that in his young days all Chinamen had a rooted contempt for everything Western. Theirs was the only civilised land. The West was the land of barbarism. Now, he added, the positions are reversed; every Chinaman despises China, and is convinced that from the West comes the light of civilisation. Arch-deacon Moule tells how he sailed out to China in a sailing ship, and found a land absolutely indifferent to the existence of the West—more ignorant of the West than the West was of the East, and that, when he was young, was saying a great deal; and now he finds himself in a land that has telephones and motor cars and takes an active interest in flying machines.

China has fundamentally altered. She used to be absolutely the most conservative land in the world. Now she is a land which is seeing so many radical changes, that a missionary said, when I asked him a question about China, "You must not rely on me, for I left China three months ago, so that what I say may be out of date."

China is now progressive; yes, young China believes intensely in progress, with an optimistic spirit which reminds the onlooker more of the French pre-Revolution spirit than of anything else. And this intense belief in progress shows itself at every turn; the Yamen runner has become a policeman, towns are having the benefit of water-works, schools are being opened everywhere, railways cover the land. One may well ask what has accomplished this change, what has awakened China?

Perhaps, like many other great events in history, this change of opinion in China should be attributed to more than one cause. There are two chief causes. One may be small, but it is not insignificant; the other is certainly great and obvious. The less appreciated factor that is causing the regeneration of China is Christianity; the larger and more obvious factor is the new national movement.

The cause of the new national movement was the sense of humiliation brought about by political events culminating in the battle of Mukden, where a flagrant act of insolent contempt for the laws of neutrality was felt all the more deeply because China had to submit to that which she was powerless to resist.

The events of the last few years are so well known that I must ask the indulgence of the reader in recapitulating them. China, confident in the number of her people, which reached to a quarter of the world's population, attempted to assert her rights of suzerainty over Korea against Japan. She had not realised then that Japan was no longer an Eastern power, where knights with two-handed swords did deeds of valour and won for themselves everlasting renown. And when at Ping-yang the armies met, the Chinese General ascended a hill that he might direct the armies of the Celestial Empire with a fan. He conceived the battle to be merely a small affair, where a fan could be seen by all the officers engaged. The result was, of course, that the German-trained Japanese army had a very easy victory. The war ended in the taking of Port Arthur by the Japanese, and China was in the humiliating position of having to appeal to Western countries to secure her territory.

So far, however, the sting of her humiliation gave to China a sense of resentment against all foreigners, rather than a sense of repentance for her own shortcomings, and the missionaries found hostility to their work in every part of China. That hostility resulted in the murder of two German Roman Catholic missionaries in Shantung. The well-known action of Germany in demanding a cession of territory as a punishment for this murder may have been a good stroke of policy, but it has brought but little honour either to Germany or to Christianity. In fact it may be regarded as a most regrettable action from a missionary point of view, for it convinced the Chinese that the missionary was but a part of the civil administration of a hostile country, and that if China was to be preserved from the foreigner, missionaries must be induced to leave the country. A deep feeling of national resentment spread over the land, which was encouraged by some in authority. The direct connection between Government patronage of the anti-foreign movement and the German occupation of Kiauchau can be deduced from the fact that the Governor who was responsible for the awful murders in Shansi had been Governor of Shantung when Germany took Kiauchau.

The result of this bitter feeling was the creation of a secret and patriotic society which concealed the nature of its propaganda under a name with a double meaning. The Boxer Society was, as its name suggests, apparently an athletic society—a society which had for its object the encouragement of the art of self-defence. But the name had another signification. Its real object, as a Chinaman explained to me, was to "knock the heads of the foreigners off." It was a religious as well as a political movement, however. It had its prophets, who did wonders or were thought to do them, and its disciples were believed to be invulnerable to any Western weapon. It protested against the movement towards Western ideas, which it regarded as immoral; it condemned and destroyed everything Western, from straw hats and cigarettes to mission houses and railways; its disciples believed that the spirits that defend China were angry at the introduction of Western things, that they were withholding the rain so necessary to the light loess land of that district, and that the only way they could be propitiated was by the sacrifice of a Western life or by the destruction of a Western building. One of the things that precipitated the siege of Peking was the apparent success of such an action. In pursuance of their faith, the Boxers set a light to the rail-head station of the half-made Hankow-Peking railway, a place called Pao-ting-fu; the station was a mere wooden barrack, and blazed up merrily with an imposing column of smoke; hardly had the smoke reached the heavens, when the sky was overcast with heavy thunder-clouds, and in a short time the thirsty land received the long-wished-for rain, and the Boxer prophets pointed with sinister effect to the heavenly confirmation of their doctrine.

It is necessary to remind the reader of the religious aspect of Boxerdom, so that he shall realise what its fall meant to many Chinese. Really their faith in it was wonderful. A Boxer, for instance, at the siege of Peking walked composedly in front of the Legation, waving his sword and performing mystic signs; the soldiers first of one then of another Legation fired on him with no effect; probably his coolness put out their aim. Another example of their credulity was told me at Newchwang. The Russians had occupied Newchwang, and, more suo, were pacifying it; they were shooting all the Boxers on whom they could lay hands, and, I am afraid, a great number who were not Boxers. They chained one of these fanatics to a stone seat with the intention of executing him; but they thought they might get some useful information out of him, so they asked an Englishman who spoke Chinese perfectly to make inquiries of him, giving him authority to offer a respite as a reward. He went to the prisoner, and sitting down by him, tried to induce him to save his life by giving information, but he was met by a contemptuous refusal; and when he pointed out that the firing party was there, the misguided man merely said, "I am a Boxer, and their bullets cannot hurt me." Another minute, of course, proved his error. But his firmness showed the reality of his conviction.

Sometimes this fanaticism had curious results. A Boxer prophet assured the village that no works of the West could hurt him, no bullet could harm him, no train could crush him. As a railway ran near the village, he and all the inhabitants adjourned thither to put his invulnerability to the test. The daily train came puffing along, as the Boxer, waving his sword, stood right in its path. The driver was a European, and seeing some one on the line, pulled up his train to avoid running over him. The Boxer pointed to the train triumphantly, and the astonished villagers became Boxers. There was, however, a sceptic who refused to believe, so next day they repaired again to the line, and the Boxer again made his passes and uttered his charms. Alas for him! this time the driver was a Chinaman, and he was not going to stop his master's train because a coolie fellow got in the way, so he put on full steam and cut him to pieces, and the village deserted the Boxer faith to a man.

With the relief of Peking, the Boxer Society fell; but the popular view was not that Boxer teaching was false, but that the spirits behind Western religion were stronger than those behind Boxerdom. So one of the immediate results of the fall of the Boxers was to establish the spiritual prestige of Christianity; the second result was to inspire the Chinese with a respect for the military power of the foreigner. The Boxers had failed, the foreign powers had taken Peking, the Son of Heaven had become a fugitive; all this was gall and wormwood to the Chinaman. The sack of Peking was especially felt, both because of the wanton destruction that was committed—one informant told me he saw a vase worth £200 smashed into a thousand atoms by a drunken soldier—and because the enlightened Chinese knew very well that no civilised city is sacked at the present time, and that they were being treated as no other race is now treated.

Yet the old spirit of pride prevented them learning completely the full truth. The thinking Chinaman was still disposed to attribute the victory of the West to the superior fighting powers of Western men. A Chinese gentleman, explaining the fear his people have of Europeans, said, "They regard you as tigers." The troops who sacked Peking were to the thinking Chinaman but another example of the well-known truth, that those nearer the savage state fight better than civilised men, and really, considering the behaviour of some of the European troops, no surprise can be felt at this conclusion; it needed another lesson to make them finally and thoroughly realise the superiority of our civilisation.

The bitterness of their next humiliation made them ready to learn as they had never been before in the whole of their history, and events provided them with teachers who taught them that the cause of this humiliation was their refusal to accept Western ideas, and that if they would maintain their independence they must learn the art of war from their conquerors.

After the siege of Peking came the Russo-Japanese war. The Russians had long been known and feared by the Chinese; they were to the Chinese mind the embodiment of the warlike and blood-thirsty spirit of the West; they were hated for their cruelty and feared for their prowess. The awful story of the massacre of Blagovestchensk in 1900 was still present to the popular mind. The story was this. The Amur divides China from Siberia. When the Boxer movement broke out the Russians required all the Chinese to go to their side of the river; but with sinister intent, they removed all the boats, so that no one could cross. The Chinese pointed this out, and the respectable merchants of the town presented a petition saying they were ready to obey the Russian Government in everything, but without the boats they could not do so; but the Russians insisted that boats or no boats, they must cross the Amur; they protested, but in vain; a half-circle was formed round them by the soldiery, and the whole Chinese population of the city was driven into the river at the point of the bayonet.

The Japanese were also well known to the Chinese; they had been till lately, when the Western movement had altered everything in Japan, their pupils in civilisation. The Japanese believed in Confucius, used Chinese characters, worshipped in Buddhist temples, sacrificed to ancestors, in fact were in Chinese estimation a civilised race, though inferior of course to themselves.

When these two antagonists met in Manchuria, the war could not fail to make a deep impression on China. To begin with, it was an insult surpassing that of the sack of Peking to the Chinese amour propre, to have the war carried on in Manchuria. Russia and Japan were disputing over Korea, and both nations were at peace with China. Russia might have invaded Japan; Japan might have invaded Russia, or both might have met in Korea, but what they did was to select a province of a neutral State and decide that there should be the scene of conflict. What made this more striking was that they agreed to respect the neutrality of the rest of China; in fact they selected their battle-ground with the same equanimity as if China and her national rights did not exist.

But the deepest impression made on the Chinese was by the victory of the Eastern over the Western. The Japanese demonstrated that there was no essential inferiority of the East to the West, and that when an Eastern race adopted Western military methods it proved itself superior to the most powerful of the Western races. This was the lesson the battle of Mukden taught the Chinese, and which convinced the anti-foreign party in China, that however much they might hate the foreigner, they must adopt Western methods if they would retain their independence. The result was that the progressive and anti-foreign parties found themselves at one. Both agreed that Western ideas were necessary. The first, because they believed in Western progress; the second, because they felt that the only way to preserve China from the hated foreigner was to learn the secret of his military power. The first thing to be done was to study Western education, and then they could hope to hold their own against the Western races, as Japan had more than held her own against the Russians.

I believe the battle of Mukden will prove one of the turning points in the history of the world. Few of us have any conception of the bitterness of the humiliation of China. People speak of Russia as having been humiliated, but my experience is that the Russians looked at the whole question as a colonial war in which a bungling Government embroiled their country—a war which, if it demonstrated the incapacity of their officers, proved the courage of their soldiers. But the humiliation of China was intense. When one remembers the position that the Emperor occupies in China; when one also remembers the reverential feeling that exists towards ancestors, one realises what it must have meant to the Chinaman that the site of the tombs of their Emperors should have been the scene of that titanic struggle between the East and the West. But the result of that humiliation was to burn in the lesson that Japan had taken the right course, and that, however hateful were Western ways, they were a necessity, and that every lover of China must do his best to introduce them into the Empire.

Of course there are many Chinamen—nay, I should think a vast majority—who intend to preserve to China the essential points of the Confucian civilisation; they mean to accept Western ideas only in so far as they are necessary to struggle against the West. Some, no doubt, definitely admire the West, but most are anxious for a compromise; they want to preserve China with its customs, with its essential thought, but to strengthen it by foreign knowledge and a foreign military system. The exact degree of what should be preserved in China and what should be destroyed and replaced by Western innovations, differs according to the age and the temperament of the thinkers, but the principle is most generally accepted—Western thought must be grafted on to Eastern civilisation. When we remember the size of China, we may well ask ourselves what effect this policy will have on the rest of the world. We have at present a period of reflection, for how long we cannot tell. The task of welding East and West into one whole is in practice proving difficult, and at present failure is very often the result; but with Japan as a successful example, and with the threat of national extinction and foreign domination before them, the Chinese can never give up the effort; and whatever the exact result may be, I think one may assert without rashness that not only will it fundamentally alter the whole of China, but through China affect the whole world.

While detailing the causes which have created the national movement which is now inducing China to make every effort to perfect her defences against foreign aggressions, we must not forget that the awakening of China has a higher side, and one which we can attribute directly and indirectly to Christianity. The influence of Christianity can be traced back to the seventh century when missions of Nestorian Christians came to Thibet and China; they left behind them, it is true, no converts, but their influence was probably felt through the power that Lamaism had had over a great part of the Eastern world. A learned Japanese, discussing this subject, said that no one could study Lamaism and Buddhism without realising how intimately it had been in touch with some form of Christianity. Later on the great Roman Catholic missions, initiated by St. Francis Xavier in the thirteenth century, began to work in China, and have slowly but surely raised up a large population who have been Christians for many generations. Their missions were interrupted by persecutions, but with varying and lately increasing success they have maintained themselves ever since. In 1807 the pioneer of Protestant missions, Dr. Morrison, began his work and the translation of the Bible into Chinese. The work increased, his mission was followed by other missions, which pursued a policy even more influential in altering the opinion of China; not only did they with great heroism preach the Gospel in every province of China, but they took two actions which have affected China in a very special degree.

First the American missions made the very greatest effort to get hold of intelligent Chinese men, both Christian and non-Christian, to teach them Western knowledge, so that they might understand how intimately Christianity was connected with Christian thought. The result of their efforts has been that there are a considerable number of enlightened Chinese gentry who are either Christians or who have a great sympathy with the Christian side of Western civilisation. Sometimes they educated these men in China, sometimes they induced them to go to America for their education; and there they were brought into contact with the intense, yet rather narrow, New England Christianity. I had the honour of meeting many of these men in China, and I was convinced that they have no small part in her awakening.

The English and American missionaries, under the leadership of Dr. Williamson, inaugurated a second policy, which has had far-reaching results in causing the changes in China. The Christian Literature Society was started to supply the Chinese with translations of the best Western literature. They were followed by Chinese imitators who were also Christians, and who founded a Chinese Commercial Press. These two bodies have given to China a vast amount of Western literature, the first on philanthropic lines with the definite intention of spreading Christianity, the second on a commercial basis but with the intention of presenting to their fellow-countrymen the purer and more beautiful side of Western thought. The publications of these two bodies reach, I am told, to every educated man in China. If the humiliations of public events made the Chinese willing to study Western civilisation, it was these men who afforded them the means of studying and understanding the best side of that civilisation.

But perhaps those who have done most to give the Chinese a proper conception of Christianity are the Bible Societies, especially the British and Foreign Bible Society. Ever since, with the optimism of faith, the translation of the Scriptures by Dr. Morrison was published in 1814, they have been scattering the Christian Scriptures throughout the whole of China, from Mongolia to Tonkin, and I am told that those Scriptures are read by men in the highest positions and with the most conservative antecedents in the whole empire. It cannot be doubted that the indirect fruit of their work has been very great indeed. China has, through the agencies of these bodies, been brought into close contact with Christian thought, and has at last realised the true nature of our religion.

Lastly, there has been the influence of those who died for the Christian faith during the many persecutions to which Christianity has been exposed, and which culminated in the Boxer persecution. If Germany, by her action in Shantung, put before China a false and most repellent view of Christianity, the heroic sufferings of the martyred missionaries, both yellow and white, presented Christianity to a wondering world in its purest aspect. After those thousands of Christians had suffered in Shan-si, the Home bodies, especially the China Inland Mission, refused to take any compensation for the blood that had been shed in the cause of the Gospel. The Chinese were then convinced that the German presentation of Christianity was not the only one; if Germany could look on Christianity only as a stalking horse behind which she could creep up to her prey, the English-speaking races had a holier ideal to teach and one which was more consonant with the words of the Founder of our religion. The sufferings of the Christians were intense, their heroism was great, but the result has been commensurate with their efforts, and an awakening China looks to our countries, not solely to teach her the art of war and of killing men, but also to teach her the great thoughts and the great religion which has before her very eyes proved capable of producing such noble men and women.

The awakening of China has two aspects. From one aspect China is awakening to the value of the science and the arts of the West; from the other China is awakening to the fact that there is in the West a power which comes from goodness, and that goodness has its root in Christian faith. It is this twofold aspect of the awakening of China which is so important to bear in mind, for if she is to share in our civilisation in the future, it is both our duty and our interest to see that this great world-movement is encouraged to develop on its higher side.

CHAPTER II

WHAT CHINA MEANS TO THE WORLD

The day is past when any one in Europe, whether Christian or non-Christian, can be indifferent to what is happening in China. The Christian has indeed been for a long time alive to the importance of these developments, but the ordinary citizen with no strong religious views has usually neither displayed nor felt any interest in a country separated from us by so many miles and by such an untraversable gulf in thought and language. If the Christian has urged the importance of Chinese missions, his neighbours have answered by asking him why he cannot leave the Chinese to themselves and to their own religion. Whatever justice the opponent of missions in times past may have thought he had for this view, he cannot now maintain that the Chinese question is one which may be put on one side by any thoughtful man. The movements of this vast mass of humanity, amounting to a quarter of the population of the world, cannot but fail to have a very real and vital effect on the whole civilised world.

The revolution that is affecting China brings Europe and America into close contact with a country equal to Europe in size, and not far inferior in productive power. A few years ago China was so far away that except as an outlet for trade it had little interest for people here. The voyage occupied many months and was esteemed a hazardous journey, owing to the dangerous coasts and typhoons of the China seas. Now a train-de-luxe conveys the traveller in a fortnight across Asia to Peking, and if the accommodation on the Chinese part of the railway is not altogether luxurious, the traveller remembers that it is far superior to that on the first railways opened in our own land. The journey is of course tedious, but the fact that business men in the north of China are talking of always spending their summer holidays in England, will show how close China is now to Europe. It is no exaggeration to say that in reckoning distance by the time it takes to complete the journey, China is nearer to England than London was to Scotland in the days of Dr. Johnson, while in point of comfort and convenience there is no comparison. The journey from London to Peking is far easier at the present day than the journey from London to Edinburgh in the days of Johnson's famous trip to the Hebrides.

If in this way we are getting closer to China, we are still more growing closer in thought. No longer can we speak of a gulf that separates us from China. Every year English is becoming more and more the language of educated men in East; even though we cannot read their books, they are reading ours either in translations or in the original. Japan has set the example of having English taught universally in her high schools, and now China is following her example. A foreigner, talking about Esperanto, remarked: "What would be the use of making an universal language? English, at any rate in the East, is the universal language." That barbarous patois, "pidgin" or business English, lives still in China. It consists of English roots, enlarged by the addition of Portuguese words, put into Chinese idiom and pronounced Chinese fashion. But "pidgin" English is fast giving way to pure English, spoken most commonly with a marked American accent.

If this growing proximity of China compels the attention of the civilised world, the virgin wealth of her mineral resources and the cheapness of her labour have excited the cupidity of the Western capitalist, and it is daily more obvious that China must become the centre of international politics, therefore the extent to which she will affect the rest of the world should be a matter for careful consideration. India, it will be urged, has long been in contact with Europe, and the effect on Europe is small. Why should there be any difference when another Oriental race comes in close proximity with Europe? Putting on one side the fact that India has, both in trade and in politics, had a very great effect on England, it can be answered that there is an essential difference between the brown inhabitants of India and the yellow race. The former are, through religion or custom, unable to accommodate themselves to the conditions of Western civilisation; the latter have shown themselves such adepts at accepting Western life that they have excelled the white man, to his great annoyance, in his own civilisation. The Chinaman, who is forbidden to enter America, Australia, and South Africa, is refused admittance, not because he has been untried or because he has been tried and found wanting, but because he has been tried in the three continents and found by all who have tried him eminently efficient—so efficient that if he were allowed to continue in those countries, he would soon render the presence of the white settler unnecessary. He has been tried in three just balances and been found of such value that the white voter is unanimous in demanding his exclusion. But even the most aggressive Chinese exclusionist can scarcely hope to exclude him from his own country, and the Chinaman who stays at home is probably a better man than the Chinaman who goes abroad.

Western civilisation may be expected to grow with equal rapidity in China as it has in Japan. Obviously Japan is the precedent that China will follow rather than India, whether Hindu or Mohammedan.

A few years ago a man would have been classed as an eccentric who dared foretell that Russia would be defeated by Japan. When Japan talked about going to war with Russia, Russia laughed. Who can tell how we shall speak of China a few years hence? For Japan after all is only the same size in population as Great Britain, but China is eight times as large.

There are three ways in which China may affect Europe. Militarily, she may menace her by her enormous armies enlisted from her vast population. Commercially, she may afford an outlet for our trade far greater than we possess at the present time, and perhaps be a competitor in trade and a place where the capital of Europe will be invested. Morally, she may either depress or elevate our social morals. Perhaps the reader may be inclined to smile at the idea of China being in a higher moral condition than Europe, so as to be able to react on her beneficially, but stranger things have happened; and if Europe follows the example of France in deterioration, and China continues to advance with the same rapidity, China might easily excel Europe in morals.

Let us first deal with the question from the military point of view. The military authorities who know the Chinese seem to be equally divided in opinion; many are confident that they are an unwarlike race, others maintain and bring evidence to prove that under competent officers they have great military qualities.

A few years ago, for instance, the development of the military power of China was regarded as a possible danger to the world, and especially to England or Russia. It was pointed out that China might easily descend with a huge army on to India in the distant future, or she might turn her arms northward and conquer the wide districts of Siberia. Now the popular view is the reverse, and the military power of China is regarded as a thing incapable of great development. A Japanese diplomatist with whom we discussed the question ridiculed the idea of the yellow peril and smiled at the suggestion that China could ever be a nation great in war. Certainly her present military power can be safely ignored except in Manchuria; whether that power is capable of development is a moot point. Believers in the war-like possibilities of China point out that as a matter of fact China is by right of conquest suzerain to such warlike races as the Tibetans and the Ghurkas, and that her empire reaches as far as Turkestan. In answer it is urged that the victors were not the Chinese, but the conquerors and present rulers of the Chinese, the northern Manchus; who, till they were absorbed by Chinese civilisation, spoke a different language and wrote a different character.

The Manchus are far from being extinct, though through years of sensual indulgence they have lost their virility; but the discipline of religion or the call of a national emergency might restore the war-like qualities of the race. It was only in 1792 that the Chinese, under Sund Fo, defeated the Ghurkas, and we must allow that a race who could defeat these gallant soldiers must be skilled and brave in war. On the other hand I was assured that the Manchus, so far from showing any courage in the war with Japan, were the first to flee, and that they differ in nothing from the Chinese except that they are pensioners and ride horses. Those who disbelieve in the courage of the Chinese say the Chinese never had any courage except of a passive order; that they would endure suffering against any race on earth, and that their whole history tells that tale; that they have been subject in turn to the Mongols, the Kins, and the Manchus; and that the period of the Ming dynasty when they were free, was only because the Mongols had reduced every nation within many thousands of miles to subjection, and then they themselves had fallen a prey, not to the Chinese arms directly, but to the enervating and destructive effects of Chinese civilisation which rendered them absolutely unable to fight.

Those who argue in this way point to that great feature of Chinese scenery, the fortified wall. That Great Wall of China, climbing hill and dale, was built to keep the northern and warlike tribes from harrying the peace-loving and industrious Chinaman. Behind that wall lie nothing but fortress after fortress; every city is walled, and those walls tell their own tale. A warlike race never dwells in walled cities. When the traveller enters Japan after visiting China, the first thing which strikes him is the absence of walled cities. The villages and towns lie along the roads as they do in our own country instead of clustering behind the tall and gloomy walls of China. Again, those who say the Chinese will never fight, point out that they have never been able to reduce two savage races right in their midst, the Maios and Lolos. One devoted missionary who had spent many years of his life in the thankless task of attempting to approach these savage Lolos, gave us an interesting account of the relation between the Lolos and the Chinese which certainly does not show that the Chinese have much military skill. The Lolos are a sort of Highland caterans who live in the mountains in the west of China, and from time to time raid the peace-loving Chinese villages. The Chinese then retaliate by organising a large force, who advance on the Lolo country and burn their villages. The Lolos rarely offer any direct resistance, as they realise they are hopelessly outnumbered, but take an opportunity to raid another village and to slaughter hundreds of defenceless Chinese. If the forces are anything like equal, the Lolos will fight, and even sometimes when the forces are wholly unequal. On one occasion seven Lolos and two women put to flight three hundred Chinese soldiers, killing forty and wounding many more. The Chinese consequently live in considerable fear of those Highland barbarians, whose fierce yells and savage onslaught produce absolute panic in their troops.

Officers who have commanded Chinese troops seem generally to believe in their capabilities. Gordon, for instance, spoke in the highest terms of the soldiers who formed his "ever victorious army," and the English officers who commanded the Weihaiwei regiment and those who commanded the Chinese volunteers at the siege of Peking spoke equally well of their men. It is reported that the Chinese soldiers at the siege of Tientsin would carry the wounded back out of the range of fire when no European soldiers could be found ready to perform this dangerous task, but of this story I could find no first-hand confirmation. But whether the Chinese in times to come will develop an efficient army or whether they do not, the most competent judges affirm that Chinese military greatness will always make for peace; that they will never wage a war of aggression; and that, so far from being a menace to the world, they will prove to be a security for the world's peace in the Far East. In fact it is the continuance of China's military weakness rather than the growth of her military power which is most likely to disturb the political atmosphere. China is far too rich a prize to be safe if unguarded, and the acquisition of her wealth will always prove a temptation to her needy neighbours.

The integrity of the Chinese empire is for many reasons a most desirable thing, and that integrity can best be maintained by an increase of China's military power.

One of the reasons why this is so much to be desired is from the commercial effect which China may have on the rest of the world. If the vast masses of her singularly excellent workmen are to be exploited by powers who have no thought for either hers or the world's welfare; if the sweated den of the alien is a menace to the healthy conditions of the working man in London; if the policy of such philanthropists as Lord Shaftesbury has been at all beneficial to the world at large, the sudden introduction of hundreds of thousands of ill-paid but efficient working men to the great Western market will have a deleterious effect on the social conditions of the civilised world. It is obviously far more simple to bring the factories to China than to bring the Chinaman to the factories, and this will be freely done if ever the flag of the foreigner waves over China. The great advantages that China can offer of cheap labour, cheap coal and cheap carriage, coupled with the security of a European flag, will have the effect of attracting to China a very large number of the world's industries. If this is done gradually, so that the internal market in China increases proportionally, this will not result in any evil to other nations. China will share in the wealth of the world, and will be at once a large producer and a large consumer; but if before Western civilisation has been assimilated by the working classes Western factories are extensively started in China the result will be one of those dislocations of social conditions which we include under the name of sweating.

Western conditions of labour in Western countries may be deemed by some to be hard, but no one can doubt that if Western conditions of labour were forced on a population which did not understand them, they would have a tendency to become definitely oppressive. The Chinese coolie will, I fear, be as little able to maintain his ground against the foreign contractor supported by the arms of a foreign power, as the Congo native is to maintain his rights against his Belgian oppressor; and unless Western powers have the humanity and wisdom to resist those of their own nations who will clamour to make money out of Chinese labour, Western dominance in China is not to be desired by Western wage-earners.

HANKOW, THE CHICAGO OF CHINA. RIVER AT LOW WATER, 600 MILES FROM THE SEA. HAN-YANG IRONWORKS
HANKOW, THE CHICAGO OF CHINA. RIVER AT LOW WATER, 600 MILES FROM THE SEA. HAN-YANG IRONWORKS

One of the most impressive sights in China is the Han-yang Ironworks. They employ three thousand men, and are owned by a body of Chinese capitalists. They have found it worth while to triple their plant within the last two or three years, and one can hardly wonder when one realises that, though the labourers are paid a very high rate according to Chinese scale, they only get sixpence a day, and even allowing that it requires three Chinamen to do the work of one Englishman, which is a higher proportion than is generally claimed, obviously there is a very large margin of profit to be made by the owners of the works. It is worthy of note that the Chinese have been unable at present to produce any native engineers; sixteen Europeans of various nationalities manage and control the works, though they are owned by Chinese, but the skilled work is all done by Chinese. For instance, we saw a man straightening the rails with a steam hammer; it was very skilled work, and I was told he was making 7d. or 8d. a day. If any social reformer, if any one interested in the condition of the working classes, has time to consider this question and to escape from that parochial mind which so distorts the importance of things, he will see that the conditions of the working classes in Europe will depend to a greater degree on the proper development of the social conditions of China than on any factor at home. To put it briefly, if the fourth of the labour of this world is living under sweating conditions, the other three-fourths may consider themselves lucky if their income is not cut down by 25 per cent.

On the other hand, if the development of China is allowed to pursue its normal course, and education and enlightenment are encouraged to proceed by equal steps with material well-being, the commercial conditions of China, so far from being injurious, will prove beneficial to the world at large. The internal market, for one thing, will tend to keep pace with China's productions. If China exports, she will also import; the volume of trade will no doubt be enormously increased, and that trade will bring prosperity to China and to those other countries who are trading with her. Her people will gradually grow accustomed to Western conditions, and, if China maintains her independence, those conditions will not be allowed to become too onerous to the poorer classes. The wealth of another country does not injure her neighbours; it is rather her poverty which injures them. There is always the danger that the poorer country will drain the capital from the richer country, and that a rich country becomes harsh to a poor country in the same way that the creditor is harsh to the debtor; certainly it would be most undesirable if a sudden industrial expansion in China paralysed many industrial undertakings in England by depriving them of the capital they needed for enlargement, and it would be equally undesirable to have any industrial undertaking in China controlled by a Board of Directors in London, whose one object was to increase their dividends, and who were ignorant of and therefore indifferent to the injury that might be incidentally done to the welfare of thousands of Chinese who fell under their power.

And this brings me to the third point of how China may affect the rest of the world. She may, and most probably will, degrade the moral tone of Europe. On the other hand, it will be quite possible that she may act as a moral tonic. We scarcely realise the nature of the chains that bind one part of our civilisation to another. To hear men talk, one would suppose that the great factors in the government of mankind are the laws and regulations made by kings and popular assemblies; but a deeper inquiry must show that it is only the smaller part of a man's life that is controlled by law, the greater part is controlled by custom or fashion which is enforced, to use the technical term, by the sanction of public opinion. Consider, for instance, the customs of dress, or of manners, or the hours we keep, or the way we refer to things, or even our very thoughts—they are all subject to this power; the State does not generally command any particular dress, yet there is a large and increasing measure of uniformity in dress. You may go from Asia to America, from Vancouver to Vladivostock, and you will see uniformity in the rules of dress. This uniformity is all the more remarkable, because its laws, instead of being fixed and stationary, are constantly altered; indeed, in comparison with the power of fashion, the powers of the greatest autocrat or of the most efficient public office are as nothing. The autocrat may give an order; the public office, with its endless clerks and forms, with its miles of red-tape, may try to see that order carried out; but may quite possibly fail. But fashion, issuing her capricious orders, has no office, no clerks, no printed forms that have to be filled up to secure obedience, yet her subjects yield such willing service that they seek for information from every quarter as to the nature of her commands, and when they know them, they count neither money nor comfort to be of importance compared with obedience to their mistress. The world, while it wonders at its own submission, enlarges or reduces its clothes, alters its head-gear, and further, will even change its manners, its speech, and its thoughts. The latest fashion-book is but the exaggeration of a world-power; the same power that compels women to tighten their skirts and widen their hats, makes their husbands talk about socialism and observe Empire Day. The power of fashion lies in this, that while every one obeys, no one is conscious of any difficulty in obeying; the chains with which fashion binds this world may be so strong that the strongest nature cannot break them, yet they are so light that the most sensitive natures are not conscious of their restraint.

But this great power of fashion has its limits, and those are the limits of our civilisation. The mandate of the dressmaker may reach from Siberia to Peru, but it has no power in Mohammedan, Hindu, or Confucian lands; the Turkish lady still veils her face, the Hindu still adheres to his caste, the Confucian up to this moment still preserves his queue and his blue robe, but if China accepts our civilisation this must change. The modern Chinaman dresses in Western fashion; the loose flowing garment of China acts as a sort of barometer by which the extent of European pressure can be tested; up-country they are as loose as ever, but in Shanghai, wherever Chinese dress is still preserved, it has grown tight. A change typical of what may happen if the union between the civilisations takes place without any guidance may now be seen in the streets of Shanghai; the dress of the women is shaped in the Chinese fashion, they wear the traditional coat and trousers, but the cut of those garments offends both East and West alike by their great exiguity.

Every one would allow that Western fashions, or, at any rate, men's fashions, must to a great extent affect China, but there is a deeper thought beyond; Western fashions will not merely affect Chinese dress, but they will also affect Chinese thought, and when they have incorporated Chinese thought into Western civilisation, when the conquest is complete and China and the West are one, a reaction will take place, and that which has subdued China to the yoke of Western fashion will give in its turn power to China to control the Western world. Without suggesting for a moment that Peking fashions will take the place of Paris fashions, or that the Englishman will grow a queue, I do suggest that there are many precedents in history for expecting that such a moral force as the Chinese reverence for parents, or such an immoral position as the Chinese contempt for the working-man, will not be without its effect on the Western world. Again and again it has been pointed out by both missionary and Government official, that so great is the power of China, that she brings into subjugation to her thought any one who is long resident in her country. If it should happen that the Western world should neglect the Chinaman when it has the opportunity of teaching and directing him, longing as he is to learn about Western civilisation, the punishment of the West will be that she will, in years to come, be influenced for evil by the power of the great Celestial Empire. If, on the other hand, the East should turn towards Christianity, and, taught by Christianity, should learn to live a higher life, the example of her faith and of her morality will in years to come react beneficially on the Western world.

CHAPTER III

ORIENTAL AND OCCIDENTAL

The West cannot either by right or through self-interest ignore the problem that China has to solve. From being the most conservative country in the world, she has become a country in which there is rapid change. The whole civilisation of this vast country of 400,000,000 is becoming fundamentally altered by the importation into it of ideas and thoughts which are not native to her, and which have been created by a system of religion and by a history belonging to nations very different to herself. The full difficulty does not present itself till after some thought. The problem is quite different from that which has been before mankind in other parts of the world. China is trying to accept Western civilisation, but there is a danger that it will be without Christianity. I know that many Europeans living in Tientsin and Shanghai, who give but little thought to the problems before them, somewhat vaguely hope that in the near future China will become a European nation; but a little consideration must convince everybody that this is impossible. We have also already shown that China is quite determined—in fact, she has no alternative—not to remain the old conservative country that lives on ancient traditions, that looks back two thousand years for all teaching in the arts of government.

If China, therefore, is neither to become Western nor to remain what she is, of necessity she will have to blend the two civilisations together and to take a part from each. The Chinese themselves, with a sanguineness for which they have no warrant, are quite certain that this is an easy matter. They tell the inquirer that they have considered it well, and that they see their way completely through it. They intend to select from Europe only those things that are advantageous to the race, and they expect to have no difficulty in weaving these incongruous elements into their own very complete system of thought. Statesmen seriously say that three or four months' extra study will enable the educated Chinaman to learn all that is necessary of Western civilisation, and then those who have acquired this knowledge can return to China and teach their fellow-countrymen; and it is impossible to convince the Chinese that the uniting together of two different webs of thought is a matter of extreme difficulty, and, it may be added, of extreme risk. The pleasing dream that you can arbitrarily select the good points of West and East and weave them into one is the very reverse of the truth. What naturally happens is the very opposite. There is a tendency to preserve that which is bad and not that which is good in two different systems of thought when they are united into one. The reason probably is that as the bad has its common origin in the wickedness of human nature, it belongs to both systems of thought, and therefore both the Chinaman and the Western meet on common ground when they meet in vice or vileness. On the other hand, the virtues of both are the result of moral cultivation resting on authorities which are not recognised by either. Therefore the tendency is to waive all moral obligations as resting on controverted grounds. Whatever may be the cause, the result is obvious—the Westernised Oriental, unless a Christian, is as a rule only one shade better than the Orientalised Western.

While the careless thinker hopes generally that good will come out of the union of the two, he is as a rule terrified lest there should be any tendency to mingle Western with Eastern thought in any one of whom he is fond. A leading man at Tientsin, extolling the healthy climate of the place, related how he had kept his children there ever since they were born. His friend from home, ignorant of life in a Chinese port, said in an appreciative way, "How nice it must be for your children to be able to speak Chinese; I suppose you encourage them to learn it?" The dweller in China turned on him in anger and said, "Thank God, my children do not know one word of Chinese; I would send them home to-morrow if I caught them learning a single sentence." This enthusiasm for ignorance of the language of a great nation is extraordinarily difficult to understand until the danger of the mixture of Eastern and Western thought is realised. Experience has taught those who have lived in China that it is only a few that can come unscathed through the terrible trial of having to live in two moral atmospheres.

One of the most striking books that has ever been written is "Indiscreet Letters from Peking." The book is marvellous in the power it has of bringing before the eyes of its reader those awful scenes during the siege of Peking, but it is far more wonderful in the character that it imputes to the hypothetical narrator—a character typical of a man who is equally at home in England and in China; and in that character is portrayed a true but curiously unpleasant picture of the characteristics of both races. The narrator has the courage of a lion; he is absolutely without any sense of honour. He fires at an adversary under the flag of truce. He misuses a Manchu woman who in the horrors of the sack throws herself on his mercy. He connives at the breaking of a solemnly pledged word of honour by a soldier. The character is not overdrawn; characters such as these are common in a mixed world, and it is natural that English people should fear that their children should grow up so unutterably vile. But if the Englishman fears for his child, ought he to ignore the welfare of the country in which he lives, and can we pass over this whole problem as something that does not concern us; for what he fears for his child will happen to the whole Chinese nation.

The blending together of the East and the West may be accomplished with the ease which the Chinaman expects—but not in the way in which he or anybody else could wish—it may be accomplished by the eradication of all that is good in either race, on the common ground of vice and sin and evil and cruelty; unless, indeed, the efforts of those who are now labouring to weave together that which is good in both civilisations are supported. The difficulty of preserving the good points and high qualities of Chinese thought is only equalled by the difficulty of introducing the splendid traditions of the West and grafting them on to the Chinese stock. What success has followed the efforts of those who are thus labouring is rather to be credited to the intensity of their efforts, to their single-hearted purpose, to their ready self-denial, than to the ease or simplicity of their task.

No man of any feeling or any conscience could pass indifferently by a single individual eating the berries of a deadly plant, unconscious that they were poison. What shall be said, then, if we allow, not only one individual but a fourth of the population of the world, to eat of a deadly poison which must deprive them of all happiness and of life, which must condemn them by millions to the misery of the very blackest darkness, where the only motives known are selfishness, lust, pride, and cruelty, for this is what certainly will happen to China if she accepts the materialism of the West.

Western thought is very powerful. The way it has dominated the forces of nature gives it a great prestige. As the Chinaman learns about steam and electricity, about the telephone, the flying machine, radium, and a thousand more Western inventions, he cannot fail to be impressed, he must admit that these people have knowledge. Do not for a moment imagine that, after such an illumination, he will be able to go back to the works of Confucius and learn again the old maxims, many of which are antipathetic to Western thought—yes, even more incongruous to Western than they are to Christian thought. How will he, for instance, read Confucius' condemnation of war when the Japanese and Germans and Russians are shouting into his ears, "By war ye shall live and by war alone."

In an interview I had with that great statesman, Tong-Shao-Yi, he said, "We respect Confucius because he has never taught any man to err." Unlike the teaching of Christianity, Confucius preaches that the test of truth is worldly success, and therefore by that test his preaching will be tried and found wanting by the materialist. The materialist will say, if Confucius never taught men to err, how is it that the Western nations who are ignorant of his teaching have succeeded, and that China, who outnumbers them greatly, and who after years of education and training and of following faithfully his teaching, has failed? How is it, they will ask, that she is so powerless, that were it not for European jealousies she could not stand a day before the least warlike of these Western nations? The Confucian will answer, "He taught us to despise war, and that is why we are weak." The materialist will certainly retort, "So he has taught you to err." Confucianism must fall before Western materialism. I do not speak of Buddhism, for that is falling so quickly that its influence may be said to be almost gone. China will be left stripped of religion, robbed of her old ideas, and not clothed with new ones, wandering into all the misery and humiliation that vice and sin can bring upon mankind, till the curse of her millions in misery will go out against the harsh unfeeling West, who could leave her thus blind and helpless without a guide.

The call is great. Those who have knowledge have no right to keep it to themselves. The Christian and the Confucian agree in this, as they do in much else, that all knowledge must be shared. One of the purposes of this book is to arouse my readers to the importance of taking some action. Had they had an opportunity of going to China and seeing things for themselves, I would only have asked them to think; but as there are many who have not had that opportunity, I would try and show them the transitional condition through which China is passing, the danger of that condition ending in disaster, a disaster wide as the world itself. I hope to show them what is being done at the present time to lead the Chinese empire into safe paths, and to illuminate her with the highest knowledge of the West. Many efforts have been made, and there has been much success. I am glad to testify publicly to the heroic and self-denying character of the missions, but those who are most successful are those who frankly say China can never be led by aliens.

No race loves the alien, and the further away the alien is in blood and language the less he is loved; therefore the Chinese above all races are least fitted to be led by the European, as they differ from him in most racial characteristics. If they are to be led by their own race, their own race must be fit to lead them. They must have leaders who understand the whole of Western knowledge, and will be able to take what is true and leave what is false. A Japanese thinker said the other day, "Our people have made a great mistake—they have taken the false and left the true part of Western thought." Let us hope that China may be preserved from such an error, that she may learn Western knowledge so thoroughly and so well that she may be able to distinguish the good from the bad, the beautiful from the vile in our system of thought.

It is impossible to study any Chinese question and ignore the relations of China with foreign powers. They are always curious and generally unique. Certainly any one who goes to China for the purpose of studying the mission question cannot but be struck at the extraordinary treaty rights possessed by missionaries. In most countries the teacher of religion has no peculiar rights. He is, alas! more often bullied than favoured by the modern State, even if that State should profess itself well inclined towards religion. Therefore one would naturally expect in China, where Christianity is reputed to be disliked, that those who teach it would have to contend with every form of disability that a hostile State could inflict.

A feeling of marvel comes over the mind when one realises that in this land of contradictions the persecuted missionary enjoys quite peculiar privileges. The ordinary foreigner cannot, for instance, travel in China except by the courtesy of the Government—a courtesy, indeed, which is never refused; but a missionary may travel freely. The ordinary foreigner has no right to stay in any town in China with the exception of the treaty ports; a missionary may stay where he likes. The ordinary man cannot buy land; the missionary has a right to purchase land for the purpose of teaching Christianity.

So it came about, when we were in China, that His Majesty's Consul, with all the might of England at his back, was unable to buy a suitable site to erect a house where he could bring his wife. He was living in a temple, and temples in China are not very comfortable. I should explain to the uninitiated that every Buddhist temple has guest-rooms attached to it—Chinese rooms largely composed of wooden screens; and these temples are let out as residences by a people whose faith has less hold upon their affections than their purse. Now, ladies are not as a rule prepared to live in a house with paper partitions in a climate where the winters are extremely cold; so the Consul asked a missionary to buy a piece of land on which he could erect a suitable house, and he had almost succeeded when the Chinese Government found out that the land was not to be used for missionary purposes and refused to allow the sale. This does seem a strange situation when one remembers that had that Consul resigned his appointment and joined a missionary body, he could have bought the land and settled his wife comfortably in four solid stone walls, but because he was England's representative and not a missionary he had to shiver between wood and paper screens, and this in a country which is supposed to hate missionaries.

The explanation of this curious situation is really twofold. First, the hatred that the official bears for the missionary is not of such an intense character as to induce him to offer a very strenuous resistance to the missionaries who desire to buy land; and secondly, missionaries have peculiar and special rights secured to them by a series of treaties among the most curious in the history of diplomacy.

In 1844 the Americans got by treaty a right to the free exercise of the Christian religion in the open ports. This right, sufficiently remarkable in itself, has often been stipulated by a State for its own nationals resident in a foreign country, but I doubt if it has ever before been known for a country to insist on the right of preaching a religion to somebody else's citizens. This was obviously an interference of the sovereign rights of China.

It was pushed even further in 1860. The French and English had just completed the sack of the "Summer Palace," and whatever the justice or the injustice of the war may have been, China had tasted her first great lesson of humiliation from the hand of Western powers, and was in no condition to resist any of their demands. The English and the French made treaties, most of them concerned with commercial and military matters with which it is not necessary to trouble the reader, and the French had a condition which was quite reasonable, that the Chinese should restore all the buildings that had been destroyed in the late troubles; the wording of the clause was so vague that it could be made to apply, and did apply, to any building which had been destroyed at any previous time in the history of China, but the most remarkable part of the clause needs further explanation. The French had as their interpreter a very able Jesuit, PÈre Delamarre, and as the French Minister could not read Chinese, he had to trust his interpreter with regard to the Chinese version, and this man inserted into the treaty two other provisions, one securing that Christians should have a right to the free exercise of their religion all over China, and the other that French missionaries should have the right to rent land in all the provinces in the empire and to buy and construct houses. When this pious fraud was discovered, the French Minister thought it would do no good to denounce his interpreter, and therefore the treaty was treated by the French as binding and never questioned by the Chinese; the other powers profited by it under the "most favoured nation" clause.

The Roman Catholics a few years later pushed the wording of this treaty to its uttermost. Their missions had been at work for 150 years or more, and they could prove a great number of confiscations which had to be made good by the Chinese. Just at that time in France Napoleon III. was trying to establish a doubtful title by the help of the Pope, and it was his policy to push in every way the interests of the Roman Catholics. China had felt the weight of European armies and she was unable to resist these claims, and so it came about that the very country which now is the centre of free thought was the means of forcing Christianity upon the Chinese through fear of her armed power.

Can you be surprised at the answer I got when I asked a Chinese statesman, who I knew was sympathetic with the teaching of Christianity, why China, who had always professed, and to a very great extent had practised tolerance, should persecute Christianity? His reply was, the Chinese did not hate Christianity, and were indeed tolerant of missions, but they still disliked them, because Christianity is the religion of the military races, and they had a historical tradition that the advance of Christianity was connected with war.

This bad reputation has been intensified by the action of the Germans. No reasonable man can condemn the Germans for wishing to enlarge and develop their trade. We can understand the patriotic German saying that it was the duty of Germany to establish good government in Shantung, but it is very hard to understand how any one can defend the taking of Kiauchau on the ground that certain German missionaries had been murdered. The taking of Kiauchau by the Germans has completed the work begun by the French. Christianity and the foreign relations of China are inextricably mixed up, and every Chinaman, believed till lately that Christianity was the religion which has led foreign nations to enter his land. "First the missionary, then the trader, lastly the gunboat," has been too often the order of advance. I am happy to be able to say that the Americans and the English have made great efforts to dissociate themselves from this evil, and have tried to avoid any appearance of such a connection. I was told that in Shansi, owing to the indemnity for the murders of missionaries being retained to China and spent on founding a University instead of being accepted by the missions, Protestant missions are very popular. "You have only to say you are an English clergyman," said my Chinese informant, "and every door will be open to you."

The present aspect of foreign affairs has tended to destroy the unfortunate connection between Christianity and foreign aggression. The two great powers whose armies have met in Manchuria have neither of them any interest in missions. Russia has never had any missions in China. She forbade them, I understand, because they were likely to embroil her in unnecessary wars. Japan, of course, has none. The Germans, who made the murder of missionaries the reason of aggression, have not many missionaries in China belonging to their nationality. China, therefore, is coming to look upon Christianity as not quite so dangerous a thing as it seemed when it was essentially the religion of the French and of the English whose armies and navies then held China in fear. Still the political situation cannot but have great interest to the missionary. Even while he rejoices that the foreign relations of China and his work are not so intimately connected as they used to be, he must ask himself, what will the result to my work be, if in the great world struggle Japan or Russia should dominate? At present he fears Japan more than Russia; and his fears are shared, but for other reasons, by the Chinese.

The wildest and most ambitious schemes are accredited to Japan, I cannot say with how much truth. Her purse is empty, but she has far more courage and skill in war than most nations. If she possessed even one part of China she might add to her wealth to such an extent that no race could dare to oppose her, while if she governed China, her armies, supported by the wealth of that mighty empire, might threaten the stability of Europe. She is reported to have two regiments working as private individuals in Fukien, and to be prepared to seize the province in case of any disorder. The fact that there are many Japanese in the province, and that all the Japanese are trained soldiers, gives some cloak to this suggestion. The Fukienese speak a different dialect to the rest of China, and they have a natural geographical frontier, which would enable the Japanese to maintain themselves there if they were once established.

Again, the recent events have shown that they are preparing to exercise sovereign rights over Chinese territory in Manchuria. On the other hand, Russia is arming; she is double-tracking the railway from St. Petersburg to Irkutsk, and she is getting ready again for a struggle in Manchuria; the gossip among the officers there is that there is to be a war; the Russians do not for a moment regard themselves as defeated; they think of the late campaign merely as an "unfortunate incident."

But the most important development in Russian policy is the proposed railway across Mongolia which will give Russia an entrance to the west of China and into Peking. It is hard to see how, if an advance were made along that line, Japan could in any way resist Russia; the whole breadth of China would lie between them. Meanwhile the Germans of the east have perfected a railway system which converts Kiauchau from being an out-of-the-way place which no one cared about, to a door into the very heart of China. In commercial circles in China it is reported that the Commandant of the Tientsin garrison suggested that the object of the building of the German Fleet was not so much to conquer England as to ensure that Germany should be able to maintain her position in the Far East and make full use of Kiauchau as a way by which her armies might enter China. When one looks at the map and sees how China is surrounded by these powers, and how they are pressing upon her, one realises why the Chinese are feeling that Western education is an absolute necessity, and that if they are to maintain their independence they must understand the arts of war. A great Viceroy was reported to have said that he frankly expected China to be conquered, and to learn from her conquerors the Western arts which would in turn enable her to dominate the West; for this has been her history in the past, that may be her history in the future, and I think that the nations, who propose to conquer her, will do wisely if they consider what might be the result of her influence on them.

China is trying to defend herself by building a navy and creating an army. The navy is rather an opÉra bouffe concern; every now and then she talks of having ships; the representatives of all the shipbuilders of the world fly to Peking and try in every way to induce China to buy a fleet which they offer to provide at the very shortest notice, but at present she has none. She has, as a practical step, created a training school of officers. It consists only of some 140 men, and is taught by two British officers lent her by our navy. They said that there was the greatest difficulty in getting the Chinese to be practical; they induced the Government at last to put an old ship at their disposal. For a long time this was refused, and when it was granted it was regarded as a most wonderful and original departure. The Chinese way of training naval officers would have been to have instructed them on literary subjects, and to encourage them to write essays and poems on the sea. To take them out on the Yangtsze in a ship and actually to show them how a ship was managed, was a wholly new idea, but one of which they approve under the impulse of the modern fashion of doing things in accordance with Western traditions.

As to the army, its exterior is certainly not prepossessing; far and away the most efficient part of it has been created by Yuan-Shi-Kei in Manchuria, and the Chinese are very anxious to show it to the passing traveller. Both times when we passed through Manchuria, on every station were armed guards, and in one case they were inspected by a General who was travelling in our train. He was saluted by the officers in charge in Chinese fashion, which is a modified form of a kow-tow, and consists to all intents and purposes of a curtsey. It had a distinctly funny appearance to see the officers in charge of the guards curtseying as we steamed into the stations. Down at Nanking the army was far less smart—in fact, it had the appearance of being a very disorderly rabble; I understand when the Empress died it was regarded as such a danger that those in authority put the broad Yangtsze between them and a possible mutiny.

The real danger to China as regards foreign relations is that her bad finance or her own want of discipline may bring about a state of internal disorder which may compel the interference of foreign powers. Last year this nearly did happen. Two regiments mutinied and seized a town on the Yangtsze; they stopped all communications with the outside world, and to all intents and purposes were in a fair way to commence a rebellion. Close by them were several other regiments who might be expected to throw in their lot with them, and the position was very critical. The missionaries inside the town were in fear of their lives, and with difficulty managed to communicate with the British Consul and to tell him of their plight. He ordered a gunboat to go down, and the presence of the gunboat intimidated the mutineers. At the same time the Governor of the city showed remarkable courage in going round the town pacifying the mob. The authorities were able to move in two other regiments, who had no sympathy with the mutiny. The mutineers were disarmed and the incident closed. But such an incident may occur at any moment. The condition of the country is such that anywhere a rising may occur, and the fire once alight may be hard to extinguish; the result of the conflagration must be that the powers must enter to secure the safety of their nationals.

Altogether poor China is in a dangerous position in regard to her foreign relations; all round her echoes the cry, "You must reform or disappear." Every railway that is made, every loan that is floated, every trade that is opened up, bring to China increased responsibilities in her foreign relations. If she by her good government and readiness to reform can show that she is able to maintain order in her own land, and to give to foreigners an equal security to that they have in any other country, her empire may endure for many hundred years; but if she be found wanting at the present time and the corruption of her officials renders her unable to maintain order in her country or to fulfil her financial obligations, a new phase in Chinese history will be reached, which will, I believe, be of extraordinary danger to Europe; China will yield to the military might of the West only to rise again to dominate those who dominated her.

The missionary who looks at these dark clouds which surround China, the land of his adoption, feels that there is only one course to take, namely, the course that he is taking, to try and build up in China a high tone of morality, founded on religion, which may enable her to accept necessary reforms and to put herself abreast of other nations.

CHAPTER V

CHINESE CIVILISATION—ITS WEAK SIDE

I do not suppose that we can have any conception of the amount of suffering which goes on at the present time in China. The first time we were in China I had the honour of meeting a Mr. Ede, who had just returned from distributing food in a famine-stricken district, and his description was truly terrible; the young men had walked away and found work in other districts, but the old people and the children had to remain. What had caused the famine in this case was characteristic of unreformed China; "China's sorrow," the river Hoang-ho, had done what it is ever doing, that is, it had flooded a district. When you pass over it, it looks most innocuous. It is wholly unable, as a rule, to fill its own vast bed, which is covered with delightful sands, reminding one more than anything else of the sea-shore at low tide; but this sand is what makes it dangerous, for it is not good heavy English sand, but a light sand which is called "loess," and when the river comes down in a flood—that is to say, when they have rainy weather in Thibet or the sun shines unduly on Himalayan snows—this sand is carried along with the water, and it is asserted indeed that the river consists more of sand than of water; as the river slackens the sand is deposited and the bed is filled up, with the result that the next flood, taking the Chinese unawares, overflows its banks and reduces a huge district to poverty; they cannot sow their fields because they cannot see them. Of course the authorities should not be taken by surprise and the banks should be made up, and canals should be cut to take away the water in case of a flood; an enlightened Chinese engineer assured me he had a scheme for raising the level of huge districts of China by using this peculiar character of the Hoang-ho and turning its sand and water flood on to bare places, and he asserted that the results were most wonderfully successful, and that districts which were unfertile before, when well washed and covered up with this loess, became fertile. Still, however beneficial a flood may be to the land in the end, its immediate result is to starve the population who are flooded out, for they have no reserves of food.

In the case already referred to, the country was a long time under water, because a canal which should have drained it away was not kept clear. The money had been paid, but, as often happens in China, the work had not been done. The action that the authorities took was characteristic of Chinese government. China possesses the system of internal custom-houses—a system which the wildest advocate of Tariff Reform would hardly like to see introduced into Europe; these custom-houses are called "Likin," and are a source at once of a great deal of profit to the provinces and of irritation to all traders. The Chinese used these custom-houses to engineer a corner in rice by which the area of scarcity of food was enormously increased and several officials amassed considerable sums of money; by the law of China it is illegal to export rice even from one province to another; this law was put in force, and the rice supply was cut off; at the same time early in the famine certain rich men bought up rice freely, with the result that it rose to a very high figure, so that round the area of famine and desolation there was an area of scarcity and shortage.

A large amount of food from all parts of the world was sent by the famine funds, but it was very difficult to induce the officials to allow the food to enter the famine district. They were filled with all sorts of scruples. They were afraid, for instance, that the steamers towing the barges full of food on a canal which had not before been opened for steamers, might excite the hostility of the population; they were courteous, they were diplomatic, but they were obstructive; and so it came about that while there was a famine in one district of China, in the other districts there was a very heavy surplus, of which they had difficulty in disposing. All this did not create the slightest surprise in those who knew China. When the story was told us all the old Chinese hands merely said, "How like China," or "Just like them." This was our first insight into what the civilisation of China means, and therefore for the first time we realised the problem that is before the world—the problem which missionaries, with great devotion, are trying to solve.

Chinese civilisation is not, as many people imagine it to be, a mere courtesy title for a state in reality only a degree off barbarism. Many of my humbler parishioners, for instance, when we left for China, ranked the Chinese as something very near cannibals, and I do not think they would have been in the least surprised to hear that we had been roasted and eaten by the natives. The Chinese have perhaps a greater right to be called civilised than we have on this side of the world; their civilisation dates from eras we are accustomed to call Biblical. Confucius and Ezra represent contemporaneous ideas—ideas that are not wholly different in thought. While on the other side of the globe civilisation has been handed from nation to nation, and a civilised race has become barbarous and a barbarous race civilised, the Chinese, without making any very great advance, have steadily proceeded along a path of progress, and at the present time they possess a very carefully organised system of society. On paper the whole thing is perfect: the Emperor at the top, the Viceroys over each province, under them the Prefectures, and so down to the village community in the country or the trade guild in the town. The system of government is so perfect that they claim that they are able to discover any individual wanted among those 400,000,000 of Chinese, unless his disguise is very perfect. When we were chatting over the revolutionaries and talking about a certain doctor dodging in and out of China at the risk of his life, I said that I wondered that there was any difficulty at all for a man who was bred in the country wandering where he liked, and I was assured that such was the organisation of the Chinese Government that they could lay hands even in the remotest village on anybody if they required him, and that the only way a revolutionary could hope to escape arrest was by a most perfect and complete disguise.

With this splendid organisation is joined great solidarity. The Chinese race are essentially one. If it were your duty to look through reports coming from China, as it has been mine, the first thing that would strike you would be its essential oneness; you will not find more difference between different parts of China than there is between England and Ireland. I do not for a moment mean to say that there are no differences between the Chinese—that would be untrue; but you will not find such a difference as one might expect from the diversity of geographical conditions. The civilisation is essentially similar. It is a civilisation with great merits. The population is sober, industrious, and perhaps I might add honest, all lovers of China will certainly agree; but if you are writing, as I am, to people who have never been out of England, I think you will have to qualify the phrase with some such a one as "honest as compared with other Orientals," or "honest when contrasted with the Japanese."

They are also extremely obedient; their idea of the respect which should be paid to authority far exceeds that which prevails on this side of the globe. I think we may add with truth that great numbers of them are very loyal to their employers. But when this much has been said, the dark side of their civilisation must be added—it is essentially corrupt and cruel; the ideas of honour, purity, mercy are but too little understood. Missionaries assured us that there was no word for purity that could be applied to a man, while the same word stands for honesty and stupidity.

Yet this nation is in many ways well fitted for the mechanical age in which we live. What the owner of the factory wants is an industrious, sober, and obedient man, and he does not want, or at least does not realise that he wants, an honourable, pure, and merciful man. The Chinaman will be in his element in the factory; the long hours of monotonous toil will not be unpleasant to him; he is always sober—in fact, he is by nature and culture the ideal factory hand; and yet this is what constitutes his danger. He will tend to introduce into Europe the vices which are now desolating his own country, unless, indeed, the European teacher can help him to eradicate those vices.

I have given you some idea of his corruption by the story told at the beginning of this chapter, but we heard many others all to the same effect. We went up the Yangtsze in one of the China Merchants' boats with an old Swedish captain who liked the Chinese and rather disliked the missionaries, so his evidence was not biassed by any wish to prove that our civilisation was more perfect than that of the Chinese. We asked him why it was that he being a European should be captain of a ship that was owned by Chinese, and largely used by them. He told us that the Chinese merchants had once tried to have a Chinese captain, but the moment the ship reached the first port of the Yangtsze, the custom officers were on board rummaging here and rummaging there. Very soon a large amount of contraband was found on the ship, put there with the knowledge of the captain. The consequence was the ship was fined and delayed. They tried Chinese captains again and again with the same result, and so they have been reduced to employ Europeans to secure honourable officers. He, however, had to confess that the Chinese distrusted the sobriety of the European officers, and assured us that the old comprador on board, one of whose duties apparently was to look after the passengers and take their tickets, was in reality a spy on them.

Perhaps the best instance of the corruption of the Chinese is their action with regard to the currency. In the good old days the currency of China was the silver shoe or ingot, which had no exact weight, and had therefore to be weighed at every transaction. Below that was the copper currency, which had no fixed relation to the silver currency, but only the relation of copper to silver. A copper cash, therefore, represented only its actual value in copper. It was naturally a most unwieldy coin. The old books of travel in China give lamentable pictures of the traveller riding about with huge strings of copper cash almost crushing him with their weight. When the whites began to trade in China they introduced the Mexican dollar with its subsidiary coinage, and this was the common currency in all the ports until a few years ago; but when the Chinese began to Westernise they considered it inconsistent with their dignity not to have a coinage of their own. Led by the Japanese, and assisted by several firms whose speciality was the erection of mints and mintage machinery, they started mints all over the country, and they have kept these mints busy with the most funeste results. To begin with, they coined a dollar in imitation of the Mexican dollar, but even in this the mints did not agree. Some dollars are very light, some slightly below value, and some are nearly true. The first experience of the traveller is that he possesses in his pocket a set of coins which no one will accept, except at a great reduction. But the muddle goes further than that. It was very profitable coining light coins, but it was still more profitable to do so in the lower denominations. The Chinese thought, or chose to think, that it did not matter what the intrinsic value of a 10-cent piece was as long as you wrote on it 10 cents. They have no bank or post-office where you have a legal right to get a dollar for ten 10-cent pieces, and the result therefore of recklessly coining the base 10-cent pieces has been not only to depreciate it with regard to the dollar, but to make it an uncertain value, so that you must go to the money exchangers almost every morning and ask for the rate of exchange between the dollar and the small silver pieces.

Of course at every step on this downward path the officials concerned made a great deal of money; their next step was to deal with the copper coin in the same way, so now there is no fixed relation between the copper coinage and the silver coinage, nor between the large copper and the small, and this is still further confusing, as the provinces having different mints have dollars of different values. And now I hear that they have begun to make money by debasing the old silver shoe coinage, which, though it is sold by weight, used to have a certain standard of purity, and they have issued cash which have no intrinsic value at all, and that do not represent the fraction of a coin having any intrinsic value. The result of this currency "Rake's Progress" has been to produce what corruption always does produce—widespread poverty. Everybody cheats. The stationmasters along the line assure the European superintendents that the fares are always paid in the most debased coinage, and it is very hard to deny the probability of this. But of course the stationmasters take care if any coin comes to their hand which is not debased to do a bit of exchange on their own account.

If Chinese civilisation is corrupt, it is also cruel, not with the wild tempestuous cruelty of the savage, but with the cruelty of the civilised man who at once uses human suffering as the best engine for human government, and never cares to cure it unless he has some pecuniary object in view. The Chinese are inured to pain, and some people argue that they do not feel it to the same degree as Western nations. No doubt the sensation of pain is intensified in people of highly developed nervous organisation, and the Chinese have a nervous organisation of a very quiescent kind. I remember, when we first landed at Hong-Kong, being struck by a Chinaman who had chosen as his bed for his midday siesta an ordinary piece of granite curbing; and as you go along in the train every freight car that you pass has some one sleeping on it to protect it from robbery, and a truck of coals or a load of stone is obviously regarded as a most comfortable resting-place. Some of the doctors maintained that this was the case throughout their nervous system—they were insensitive to pain; others said that pain, like everything else, is a thing to which you can get accustomed, and that pain has played so large a part in their lives that they are accustomed to it, and are not therefore afraid of it. Take, for instance, the foot-binding of the women; every family in China must be accustomed to hear the sobs and cries of the little girls as they are going through the first stages of foot-binding. Or take again the public flogging; all the working classes of China must be quite accustomed to the idea that men are flogged for certain offences till their flesh is of the consistency of a jelly. A doctor, describing the state in which men are brought into the hospital after such floggings, said that it was a difficult matter to avoid mortification setting in, and it was only with very careful treatment that they could be cured, the whole flesh having to slough away, being absolutely crushed and battered.

Yet this strange people are so indifferent to these horrors, that even those who suffer will laugh amidst their sufferings. We were told the following tale, whether true or not I cannot say. A man was being bambooed for an offence, and astonished the officials by laughing all the time; the more he was flogged the harder he laughed, till at last those who were punishing him stopped to ask him the reason of his mirth. "You have got the wrong man," he said. It is always a comfort to have a keen sense of humour.

I do not think there is anything more awful than the descriptions one has as to the indifference to suffering that is displayed by the average Chinaman. I remember a story told me by a sailor. As a ship was being loaded, a man, obviously on the verge of death, came and asked for work, but failed to get it. Shortly after he was seen hanging about the ship, and at night they found him lying between some bales. He was turned out, but he constantly crept back, first to one place, then to another, till at last the sailor came to know his face quite well. One day, as the sailor went ashore, he was attracted by a little crowd looking at something, and this proved to be the poor fellow in his death struggle, lying in a gutter of water. He called the attention of a Chinese policeman to him. The Chinese policeman explained that he would move him when he was dead, as he had orders to remove all corpses, but that he could not move him while he was alive.

Dr. Macklin of Nanking told us story after story of the way in which the Chinese would leave people in a dying condition on the road. A little time ago he had ridden into an old temple, and there he saw a man apparently asleep, but on looking at him more closely, he saw that his eyes were wide open and that the flies were walking right across his eyeballs, showing that he was quite insensitive. He called to one or two men and asked them to help him to carry this poor sufferer to some house near, but they could not or would not find a house to keep him in; and so in the end Dr. Macklin determined to take him straight back to Nanking, which he did. There he administered a very heavy dose of quinine hypodermically, with the result that the man soon showed signs of returning consciousness. It was a case of malignant malaria, and had he not been found by Dr. Macklin, the man must have been eaten by wild dogs or have died from the disease; as it was he recovered, and proved to be a hard-working young farmer who was in search of work, as his home had been ruined by a local failure of crops. He had apparently contracted malaria, and owing to his poor and ill-nourished condition it had gone hardly with him.

CHINESE CIVILISATION: ITS BAD SIDE--AN OLD BEGGAR. ITS GOOD SIDE--A GARDEN
CHINESE CIVILISATION: ITS BAD SIDE—AN OLD BEGGAR. ITS GOOD SIDE—A GARDEN

But story after story was told us always to the same effect—that the quality of mercy is not highly esteemed by the Chinese. The appeal the beggar makes to you as he runs after you is the old Buddhist appeal, which after all is essentially selfish, as he beseeches you "to acquire merit" by helping him; we must remember that even this reason for mercy is despised by the gentry and literati of China as essentially belonging to Buddhism. Perhaps the most lurid stories that we heard were up river. One came from the country of the Lolos. The Chinese were going out to fight the Lolos, and the missionary saw them carrying a handsome young man bound on a plank so that he could not move—so bound that his head was thrown back. After certain ceremonies they cut the man's throat, and scattered the blood on the flags; it was a sort of human sacrifice. Another story we heard from some devoted Franciscan Sisters up at Ichang. They assured us that if a mother found her children weakly, and she lost one or two, she would make up her mind that the reason they were ill was because an evil spirit had a grudge against her. She would then take one of her remaining children, and, in the hope of propitiating the evil spirit, she would burn that child alive. We could not believe this story was true; but that evening we saw some hard-working Presbyterian ladies, common-sense efficient Scotchwomen, and they assured us that it was quite true.

CHAPTER VI

CHINESE CIVILISATION—ITS GOOD SIDE

It would give a very false idea of the Chinese if great stress were not laid on the good side of their civilisation. They have many fine qualities, and in more than one point they are superior to the nominal Christianity of some Western countries. The first thing perhaps that strikes a foreigner when he is brought into contact with the Chinese is their great courtesy; their literati are such gentlefolk. Even the less cultured people have most refined manners; no one is ever rude; and one of the things they cannot understand is how we can esteem a rough, frank, honest man. There is a case when they would not appoint a certain Englishman to a commercial post, preferring a man of far less attainments and of much shorter service, because the former was rude. That was enough. It was no use telling them that his honesty was above suspicion, that he was a reliable business man, that he was very hard working, that he had many years of hard service behind him; they allowed all this freely, but they shrugged their shoulders and said, "The truth is, he is such a rude fellow, and he will give such very great offence by his bad manners," so they would not have him.

When a visitor enters a Yamen, he realises that his manners must be those of a most polished diplomat. Before him walks a servant, holding aloft his visiting card. One really ought to have special Chinese cards printed on beautiful sheets of red paper with queer-looking characters on them setting forth one's rank and name. However, in these days of admiration of the West, our poor little white cards are considered adequate. The Viceroy or official meets the visitor, enthusiastically shaking his own hands—the Chinese salutation—and bowing low; the particular door at which he meets his guest marks the amount of respect he wishes to pay him, and is therefore of some importance. In my case, when my host was favourable to higher education, I was received in the outer court. At every door there was a polite contest as to who should go through it first, and at last we found ourselves in a room where tea, dessert, champagne, and cigarettes were offered, although of the two latter I was unworthy. Then began the conversation. I found less stiffness once I had explained that I came to gather opinions about a scheme for education. After the stately interview was over there was an equally ceremonious leave-taking.

Though the methods of the Chinese in doing business may be exasperating to a Western whose time is money and who wants them to come to some immediate decision, they are invariably delightful and courteous in all their negotiations. This courtesy is all the direct result of Confucian teaching. Stress is laid there on courteous behaviour, perhaps even to a degree which may strike the Western traveller as absurd. This courtesy, I understand, extends even to those of lower degree. Your servant in speaking to another calls him brother, and nothing makes the servant despise his master so much as seeing him lose his temper: it is to his mind a mark of our savagery.

The Chinese have higher virtues than courtesy. They are essentially industrious. You have only to look at a Chinaman's garden to realise the extent to which he possesses this quality. I am certain that those people who are proud of the culture of their kitchen gardens would be surprised and ashamed if they could compare them with those of a Chinaman. One passes garden after garden with rows of plants placed at even distances and every plant exactly the right distance in those rows, with never a weed to be seen all over the whole plot. Again in handicraft there is the same industry; you buy Chinese embroidery for a song in such a place as Changsha. No one will tell you that Chinamen ever object to length of hours; they are ideal men for work that needs care and accuracy.

Again they are very patient. A monotonous task is not at all unpleasing to them. An acute French observer used the word routiniÈre in describing this characteristic. Even in intellectual work this liking for monotonous repetition will show itself. One of the doctors told us that he had the very greatest difficulty in inducing his pupils not to perpetuate his most casual gestures when he was demonstrating. For instance, when teaching bacteriology, quite unconsciously he might from time to time put an instrument down on the table, and just touch it again. Months after he would find one of his pupils when doing the same experiment repeating every gesture he had accidentally made with careful imitation. It was clear that the student had monotonously continued to practice these gestures for no other reason but that he had seen his master make them. All those words which our writers on social subjects are so fond of inditing against the modern factory system have no meaning to the Chinaman. Those complaints about long hours at mechanical work rendering the worker little better than a machine are doubtless true of the white race, but are quite beside the point as applied to the Chinese. If the Chinaman is well paid in the factory he will prefer rather than otherwise that the work should be mechanical; he will not mind if the hours are long.

Again, he is cheerful and contented under very adverse circumstances. When we were being rowed in a native boat up the Yangtsze, and the men were straining every nerve against the current, while they were chilled by a drizzling rain, there was never a word of discontent; they were always cheerful and bright, good-tempered and merry.

Their highest quality is obedience, which is the result of their Confucian culture. The central virtue of that teaching is obedience to parents, and they hold that doctrine to a degree which to the Western mind seems exaggerated. One of the grown-up sons of a Chinese clergyman did something which he considered unbecoming in a Christian; to the surprise of the missionary, he did not hesitate to administer a sound thrashing to his son, which the young man took without the slightest resistance, and in this action the clergyman was supported by the public opinion of the congregation. This quality gives to China its great power, and it is one of the points in which there is the greatest divergence between the teaching of the West and of the East. Every Chinaman points out to you how little Westerns care for their parents. I remember a Chinese gentleman explaining in a patronising way to the other Chinese that, strange though it seemed, he knew it as a fact that one of the commandments of our religion really was that we should honour our parents.

Were it not for this principle of obedience which is implanted in the mind of every Chinaman, the government of China would scarcely endure for a day; but he is taught from his earliest youth to obey his father, not as we teach in the West because the child is unable to think and understand, so that obedience to parents is a virtue which must fall into disuse as knowledge increases, but as an absolute duty, a duty equally incumbent on a man of forty as on a child of four. This principle is extended to that of civil government; the local official is in their quaint phrase "the father and mother of his people," and the obedience to parents taught in childhood is therefore extended to those who govern. No Chinaman has any doubt but that the first duty of man is obedience to authority. Let us hope these qualities will ever endure.

What may happen, and, alas, I am afraid, is at the present moment happening, is that the two civilisations may be so blended together that the qualities of each may be lost and its peculiar virtues destroyed while its characteristic vices are preserved. The great qualities of obedience to parents, of courtesy to strangers, are being forgotten. The Chinaman educated in the States is rude and abrupt; he fancies that it is Western and business-like. Every Chinese gentleman to whom I talked, allowed that one of the worst results of Western teaching had been that a Westernised Chinaman was less obedient and respectful to his parents. On the other hand, the Westernised Chinaman does not acquire the peculiar virtues of the Englishman.

The superficial Chinese thinker wants China to learn only the material side of our civilisation, to profit by our mechanical excellence without learning anything of our ethics. His view is that the West is immoral but wealthy; he regards Europe as the place where there is no principle excepting money-worship, and therefore he argues that if you would Westernise China you must despise morality and seek for money. Chang-Chih-Tung voiced this thought when he said, "Western education is practical, Chinese education is moral." If you try to argue with a thoughtless Chinaman who has perhaps never left China, and whose only experience of Western life is what he has seen in a treaty port, you will find that it is hard to convince him that Western education produces a high moral tone. After all we may, to a certain extent, be to blame for their want of appreciation of the morality of the West, for too often we show to the Chinese a very degraded side of our civilisation; and though I do not think that Shanghai at the present merits the term that was applied to it fifty years ago of being a "moral sink," yet undoubtedly the treaty ports, both by their constitution and by their geographical position, collect very unpleasant specimens of white civilisation. There are a certain number of men who spend a great part of their existence being deported from Shanghai to Hong-Kong, and from Hong-Kong to Shanghai.

One of the comedies in the tragedy of the extinction of the independence of Korea is illustrative of this point. The Emperor of Korea heard that the Western races were far more trustworthy than those of the East, and so fearing assassination after the murder of the Queen, he determined to enrol a corps of Europeans as a body-guard; he sent over officers to Shanghai with orders to enlist Europeans. Unfortunately for himself he did not take the precaution of sending with them any Western to help in the selection of the men. To Korean eyes all Westerns look alike, and as they were offering good pay, they soon had their corps complete; they returned to Seoul, and the corps was installed with suitable uniforms, and, alas, rifles and ammunition. The moment the corps was paid, the greater bulk of them got drunk, and for the next few hours Seoul was distinctly an undesirable place of residence, filled with drunken men of all nationalities shouting and shrieking and firing loaded rifles recklessly in every direction. The poor Emperor trembled as he looked from his palace windows at his body-guard out on the drink, and he made up his mind that it would be better to take a reasonable chance of assassination by the Japanese than to risk the danger of being guarded by this inebriate troop of Westerns. With the help of the Consul the body-guard when sober were returned to Shanghai, and let us trust the Chinese heard the story and were convinced that in accepting Western civilisation they must be careful to avoid accepting the vices of the West.

At Changsha I heard a similar story, but with a tragic side, which one felt exonerated the Chinese for being rather incredulous as to the morality of our civilisation. Changsha, I should explain, is reputed one of the most bigoted cities in China; even at the present moment white women are advised not to walk through the streets. The Hunanese have a bold independent character, which makes them rather hostile to any foreigner or to foreign ways, and I am afraid that the story I am going to repeat will have confirmed them in their conviction that foreigners are undesirable. Two white men belonging to one of the South European races—Greeks, I think—settled themselves down in defiance of treaty rights in Changsha, and at once opened a gambling hell. Very soon they taught the Chinese, who are as a race very addicted to gambling, new and most pernicious forms of that hateful vice. The Governor complained to the Consul; the Consul sent his officer down, accompanied by the police, to arrest the Greeks; the Private Secretary to the Governor informed the Consul of the tragedy that followed. The Consular officer warned the Greeks that they must give up their gambling establishment and go back to Hankow. They said they would not. He told them that if they refused he would arrest them, take them to the boat, and send them down by force to Hankow. They still refused, and he advanced, upon which one of the Greeks shot the officer dead. The Chinese police after their manner vanished, while the Governor's Private Secretary, according to his own account, spent most of the time of the interview under the table. The Greeks, seeing the coast clear, and realising that vengeance must come, took to the open country. The Chinese were told to arrest them if they could. Of course they had no difficulty in finding them, but to arrest them was a different matter. They mobilised two or three regiments, and surrounding the house in which the Greeks had taken refuge, they kept on firing at long range till they judged, from there being no signs of life, that they must have killed them. They then carried off the bodies, but thought it better to describe the incident in an official document as a case of suicide from fear of arrest, lest they should be held responsible for the death of these murderers. The next Greeks that came up the river were sent down with a guard of forty men, and so terrified were the Chinese that they had to put them first-class, as no Chinese would have dared to have travelled with them.

There were several other stories told at Changsha to the same effect. The European that the Chinaman sees in that sort of place is too often one of those worthless men who has found his own country impossible to live in, and who hopes that his vices and crimes may escape unnoticed in distant China. Can one wonder that the Chinese are liable to misunderstand the West, and were it not for the saintly life of many missionaries, the high character and strict justice of our Consuls—yes, and the admirable discipline and management of such great undertakings as that of Butterfield and Swire—the evil would be incurable; but though there are many specimens of the bad, there are also not a few men who by their lives have testified before the Chinese to the greatness of our social and moral traditions and to the religion by which they are inspired.

CHAPTER VII

RAILWAYS AND RIVERS

The rivers and railways of China form a very marked contrast. The rivers represent the old means of communication, the railways the new, and the comparison between the river and the railway enables the traveller to compare new with old China and to realise the great changes that are taking place there and the transitional character of the phase through which the country is now passing.

Ancient China, as compared to ancient Europe, was a most progressive country, a very essential point to remember when we have to consider what will be the attitude of the Chinese with regard to modern progress. Theoretically they have always been progressive; practically they have passed through an age of progress and reached the other side. That age of progress improved very much their means of communication. China is naturally well endowed with rivers, and those rivers were infinitely extended by a system of canals. Of these the Grand Canal is the most perfect example. The traveller cannot sail along the Grand Canal and look at the masonry walls of that great work, or the high bridges that span it, without realising that in its time it was one of the greatest works the world had ever seen. That canal, typical of modern China, is now in disrepair, but the spirit of the men who built it is not gone; it is the same spirit that now welcomes railways all over China.

The greatest of China's natural waterways is the Yangtsze-Kiang; it cuts right through the centre of China from the sea to Chungking and further; it has many important tributaries, which lead through great lakes and afford a very useful means of communication to vast districts in Central China.

Along that great river for six hundred miles, ships of the largest size can sail in the summer; battleships, though not of the largest class, can ascend to Hankow. Beyond Hankow the river is much shallower, and communication with Ichang is often interrupted in the winter by want of water. A thousand miles from the sea begin those wonderful gorges of the Yangtsze which are among the greatest wonders of the world.

Up to Ichang, the Yangtsze is still a big, rather dull yellow river, a vastly overgrown Thames, a mass of sandbanks, running through almost consistently uninteresting country; but after that thousand miles, it develops into a sort of huge Rhine. The river is still yellow, but it runs through green mountains and grey rocks. At times it swirls along with an oily surface dented here and there by whirlpools which tell of some sunken rock; at other times the grey rocks creep closer together and the yellow Yangtsze foams itself white in its effort to squeeze through the narrow opening left. In quieter reaches of the river a house-boat or luban can be rowed or sailed. The rowing is rather jerky, the sailing delightful, and so the advance of the traveller is pleasant and uneventful; but when the boat reaches the rapids, the only way to get her through is by towing.

There is a temptation always to delay putting men ashore to tow—a temptation which ended in our house-boat being bumped upon a rock.

Our captain (we call him "lowdah" in China) had cleverly devised, by creeping along the side of the river under shelter of projecting rocks and then by dodging round the points, everybody shrieking and yelling as they strained at the oar, to avoid the necessity of towing; but a more malign whirlpool than the rest twisted us round till the oars on one side of the boat could not row because they were fouled on the rocks, and then another twisted us sideways on to a submerged rock, and there the current held us till the police-boat the Chinese Government supplies to foreign travellers kindly took our rope ashore and we were hauled off without apparently having suffered any damage.

These police-boats, or "red boats," are a great feature in travelling on the Yangtsze. They add enormously, to begin with, to the artistic effect, as they are furnished with an art-blue sail, which would rejoice the heart of an artist, but the nervous traveller regards them with feelings of a warmer nature than those their Æsthetic effect would arouse. They guarantee, if not the safety of boats and goods, at least the safety of his person amidst the terrible rapids of the river. If his boat should be wrecked and his goods become the property of the fishes, he knows that the "red boat" will dart into the rapids, and owing to its peculiar construction and the skill of the boatmen, will be able to rescue and return him, a washed and grateful traveller, to Ichang.

The excitement of passing the rapids is intense. It is a pleasurable sensation when you watch from the shore some one else passing through them; it is more exciting but less pleasurable to be on the boat itself at that moment. The excitement is largely a question of the size of the boat, whence the wisdom of taking a small boat even if it is less comfortable. To watch an eighty-ton junk being hauled through a narrow passage of foaming water is intensely thrilling. It is a matter of great difficulty owing to the rocky nature both of the channel and the shore.

The Yangtsze rises and falls some hundreds of feet in the year, and at low water the banks are a mass of rough rocks which remind one more of the sea than of a river. The men who tow are called trackers, and they have to climb over these rocks tugging and straining at the rope while a certain number of them, stripped to nudity, try to keep the rope clear of the rocks which constantly entangle it both on shore and in the water. It is splendid to watch these men as they bound from rock to rock to disengage the rope from some projecting point, or as, leaping into the stream, they swim across to isolated rocks and extricate it from all sorts of impossible situations. Meanwhile the junk creeps up inch by inch, at times standing almost still while the water surges past her and makes a wave at her bow which would not misbecome a torpedo-destroyer in full steam. Woe betide the junk if the rope should foul and break in spite of the efforts of these men, for then she would be at the mercy of the current, and if it should so happen that there was no wind, the mariners on board have no command over her, and she must drift as chance will guide her till quieter water is reached. Of course if there is a wind they can haul up their sail, and then, though they will descend backwards down the stream, they will do it with dignity and safety. We passed a junk doing this. Her rope had apparently broken, her huge sails were set to a stiff breeze; as you watched her by the water she seemed to be sailing at a good rate forwards; as you watched her by the land she was travelling a good steady pace down stream. If she cannot hoist her sail because the wind is unfavourable, then she will rush back, inadequately guided by three huge strange-looking oars. The one at the bow, worked by six men, can twist her round like a teetotum, so that as she dashes down stream, the captain can select which part of her shall bump against the submerged rocks, which after all is but a poor privilege, when you remember that eighty tons of woodwork banged against massive granite rock must be resolved into its constituent boards, whatever part of it strikes the rock first. The two other oars are even less helpful. With eight men at each, they can propel the boat at the rate of about three miles an hour; but what use is that when the stream is bearing the junk to destruction at twenty miles an hour. If the rope breaks, it is rather a question of good luck than good guidance. If there is no rock in the way, the junk happily sails down and is brought up in the quieter waters below the rapids. If there is a rock in the way, the junk arrives at the end of the rapid in a condition which would please firewood collectors but no one else. Those of the crew who can swim get ashore, and those who cannot are either picked up by the "red boat," or if there is not one there, they disappear; their bodies are recovered several days later lower down the river. From a Chinese point of view this is all a small matter; what is important is that a junk containing a valuable cargo has been lost. So frequent have been these losses that five per cent. insurance is demanded for cargoes going above Ichang.

GORGES OF THE YANGTSZE: AN AWKWARD MOMENT. JUNK NEGOTIATING RAPIDS. (Notice coils of bamboo rope)
GORGES OF THE YANGTSZE: AN AWKWARD MOMENT. JUNK NEGOTIATING RAPIDS. (Notice coils of bamboo rope)

Perhaps I ought to say one word about the rope on which the safety of the junk depends. It is made of plaited bamboo, which is extraordinarily light, and does not fray, though it is so stiff that it behaves like a wire rope. Its great lightness allows of the use of ropes of enormous length. I do not think it is an exaggeration to say that some of them are a quarter of a mile long. They are very strong, and therefore can be of wonderfully narrow diameter, but apparently they last but a short time, and every boat is furnished with coil after coil of bamboo rope ready for all emergencies. A horrible accident happens when owing to bad steering the trackers are pulled back off the narrow ledges cut into the face of the precipices, which at times border the river, so that they fall into the rapid.

They are an attractive body of men, these trackers. They leap over the most incredible chasms in the rocks, they climb like cats up the precipices, they pull like devils, while one master encourages them by beating a drum on board the junk, and another belabours them on shore with a bit of bamboo rope, which makes an excellent substitute for a birch rod, and yet withal they are cheerful. When it rains or snows they are wet through; when the sun is hot—and remember the Yangtsze is in the same latitude as North Africa—they expose their bent backs to the scorching sun; yet apparently they never grumble, but they wile away the hours of their labour with cheerful song. When they row or pull easily, the song is a weird antiphonal chant—it seems to be sometimes a solo and a chorus, sometimes two equally balanced choruses; but when the work becomes hard, the song changes into a wild snarl and they laugh a savage laugh as they strain and sweat to the uttermost. I will complete their description by saying that their views of decency are those of Adam before the Fall, and that they preserve their strength by a diet of rice and beans with a handful of cabbages as a relish. At night they sleep on the deck of the junk on their rough Chinese bedding with only a mat roofing to keep the rain off them. And as I watched their cheerful demeanour, I felt more convinced than ever that the natural virtues of the Chinese are of the very highest order.

Perhaps I ought to say one word about the beauty of the gorges. I think in two points they excel. First, in the height of the massive cliffs, through which the Yangtsze has cut its way like a knife; the size of the river and the size of the cliffs are so much in proportion that the eagle circling above the gorge looks like a swallow, and the crowd of trackers appears as a disturbed ant colony. The other way in which the gorges excel in beauty is in colouring; at one point especially it was most remarkable—the rocks were red, the mountains when we saw them were purple, and the purple and red harmonising with the fresh green foliage of early summer and the deep yellow of the river, made a rich combination of tints in the landscape which could hardly be surpassed. It is typical of the state in which China is at the present day that a scheme should be on foot for building a railway which no doubt will render the gorges of the Yangtsze a silent highway, and, instead of hearing the wild song of the tracker or the savage beating of the tom-tom, the lonely eagle will circle above a silent river on which the fisherman's bark alone will sail in the future.

For all schemes to tame the wild and fierce Yangtsze are clearly impossible. The river rises and falls more than a hundred feet with great rapidity, and no human hand could ever throw a dam across this mass of surging water. Possibly it might be used as a source of power for electrical work, but it is far more probable that the smaller rivers which fall into the Yangtsze will be chosen for that purpose. This district may be a tourist resort, and dwellers in the plains of China may seek coolness and beauty on one of the crags that overhang the river; the modern hotel may perch itself beside the ancient Buddhist temple; but the days of the river as a great commercial route of China are numbered as soon as the railway linking far-western Szechuan to the rest of China is completed. One wild scheme proposes that the railway should come from Russia straight down from Szechuan, in which case more than probably Szechuan will fall completely under the influence of the Russian Government.

One of the results of Westernising China must be to produce an industrial revolution. All those men, for instance, who make a living by leaping from crag to crag, from rock to rock, and swimming, struggling, rowing in that river Yangtsze will find their living gone. But not only will the railway make many poor who had a competence, but it must make many rich who before were poor. In this case, for instance, all those commodities which are now extremely dear in Szechuan, because of the cost of transit, will fall in price, and there will be a period when there will be a wide margin of profit between the cost of importation and the conventional price the people are used to pay, and those who live by trade will grow rich.

What has happened in the West must also happen in the East. The introduction of steam did not make the official classes or even the working classes immediately rich. The people who immediately profited by improved means of production and communication were the great middle class; afterwards as the working class realised that the margin of profit would allow of larger wages, they compelled the masters to share these advantages with them. So it will probably happen in China. With the railway will come a rich middle class who will be a factor of growing importance in future China.

A great contrast between the Yangtsze and its wild gorges is the great trunk line from Peking to Canton which runs at right angles through the Yangtsze north and south, and must make Hankow, the place where it crosses the Yangtsze, one of the greatest cities in the whole world. The railway is only completed as far as Hankow. It runs from Peking right across the plains of China, which are so desolate in the spring and so fertile in the summer, and which depend for their fertility on the July rains. At every station a great Chinese inn is erected—that is to say, a big courtyard with rooms round. At first, of course, trade was small; the Chinese village community has but little that it wants either to buy or sell; each community is to a great extent self-supporting. A farmer reckoned, I was told by a Chinese official, that if he had made 30s. a year, he had done well. That does not mean that he lived on 30s. a year, though in a country where men are paid threepence a day, one would almost have been ready to believe it; but it means that he had fifteen dollars a year to spend on things outside his daily food. His farm supplies him with food and drink and his vicious luxury, opium; his women make his clothes; it only remains for him to buy material for the clothes and the little extras that they cannot make, besides salt. He pays for the few things that he has bought, probably with the opium he produces, or in Manchuria with beans; but the trade has been of microscopical dimensions owing to the difficulties of transit.

When the railway is made he finds at the railway inn the Chinese merchant ready to buy and sell anything that he on his part is ready to trade. At first, such things as sewing cotton and cigarettes are the things that are traded against silk or opium, and then comes Chinese medicine and mineral oil, and so trade begins, and soon the Chinese inn becomes a market-place, and the railways begin carrying goods.

Of course the full development of the railway system must depend on the feeding lines and in what we had in Europe before the railway system, and what the Chinese have not got, the feeding roads. In Manchuria—for China, like England, is more go-ahead in the north than in the south—they are already moving in this direction. The Russian railways, possessed now by the Japanese, are very busy carrying beans to Dalny, and soon the Japanese lines from Mukden to Antung will be equally busy, and the line from Mukden to Tientsin also will carry this crop. What they are now considering at Mukden is how they can arrange a feeding system of light railways, by which a bigger area of ground can be brought within reach of the railway system. To give some idea of the energy and progressive character of the officials in those parts, I may mention that they are already making inquiries as to the mono-rail system for such railways.

The Chinese have made up their minds to welcome railways, and though they would far prefer railways to be built with Chinese capital, they are of necessity compelled to accept European capital, since their fellow-countrymen want very high interest for their money. The Germans have taken very full advantage of the Chinese desire for railways, and have linked Kiauchau with the railway system of China.

The effect of all this must be very far reaching. To begin with, it will alter the influence of foreign powers. As the railway service is completed, Kiauchau will become a very much more important centre than it is now. If a railway that links Peking to Nanking, or, to be accurate, to a town on the Yangtsze opposite to Nanking, is cut by a railway from Kiauchau, the result will be that Kiauchau will become the nearest ice-free port for an enormous district of China. This cannot fail to strengthen the German influence, and the German influence is connected, as we have already explained, too much with that political side of missions which has caused them to be distrusted by peace-loving Chinese. The Chinese will ask themselves, will there not soon be a missionary incident which will justify a further aggression by Germany along the railway, which lies so handy for a military advance, and they will be suspicious of any German missionary effort in that quarter.

But the effect of the railways is much more far reaching than any casual advantage that it may give to various powers, whether it be to Germany in Shantung, or to Russia or Japan in Manchuria, or to France in Yunnan, or to Russia in Szechuan. It will have two main effects. First and foremost it must place the whole of China in the same position that Shanghai and Tientsin occupy at the present moment—that is, it must make the whole of China a mixture of Eastern and Western civilisation. It may be urged that the rivers of China have already been the means of bringing East and West into close contact with one another, and yet that China remains still a separate and different country to the treaty ports.

The answer is, firstly, that it is comparatively only a short time since the river has been opened to foreign trade, and that a great advance has been made in the treaty ports, so much so that a man in the customs service living by the gorges of the Yangtsze described the difference between the treaty ports and the rest of China by saying, "A man who has only seen Shanghai and Hankow has never seen China." Secondly, a railway has a great educational effect. When a railway is first opened the Chinese crowd to see it; they get in the way of the engine, they are run over, they accuse it of malign powers, and then they come to the conclusion that it is after all only a machine, and they take readily to travelling by rail.

For instance, the railway from Tientsin up to Manchuria has already completely altered the conditions of culture in the north. It has enabled a large number of labourers to migrate every year to cultivate the fertile but icy districts of Manchuria, so that it is quite a sight to see truck-load after truck-load of farm labourers travelling like cattle, going up from the south to the districts of the north at the rate of three dollars for a twenty-two hours' journey.

Not only does the railway carry the Tientsin labourer in a truck to the Manchurian beanfield, but it also carries first-class the Chinese merchant who will buy the crop of beans to the advantage of the farmer and to his own greater advantage. The Chinese are rich in traders, and such an opportunity would never be allowed to pass. Every year will produce a greater number of wealthy Chinese merchants, many of them very ignorant both of Western and Eastern knowledge, but probably some of them owning a respect for that knowledge whose lack they have felt in proportion to their own ignorance, for there is no man more inclined as a class to endow educational institutions than he who in his youth has felt the need of them.

China now needs help to found a University teaching Western knowledge. Once it is formed, there is every reason to believe that it will be endowed by the same class that has endowed similar institutions in our own country.

Nowhere is the transitional period through which China is passing more obvious than in the cities of China; many towns are still completely Chinese, but as you approach the ports you find more and more Western development. The contrast between towns is extremely marked. Shanghai or Tientsin are Western towns and centres of civilisation; the difference between them and such towns as Hangchow or Ichang is very great. The true Chinese city is not without its beauty—in fact, in many ways it is a beautiful and wonderful place. But to appreciate it eyes only are wanted, and a nose is a misfortune. The streets are extremely narrow passages, which are bordered on either side by most attractive shops, particularly in the main street. The stranger longs to stop and buy things as he goes along, but the difficulty is that it takes so much time; he must either be prepared to pay twice the value of the things he wants, or to spend hours in negotiation. There is one curious exception to this rule; the silk guild at Shanghai does not allow its members to bargain, and therefore in the silk shop the real price is told at once.

The shopkeepers are charming, and there are numbers of salesmen—salesmen who do not mind taking any amount of trouble to please. It is delightful, if insidious, to go into those shops; and one can well believe that if a Chinese silk shop were opened in London, and silk sold at Chinese prices, the shop would have plenty of customers. The quality of Chinese silk far exceeds that of the silks of the West. A Chinese gentleman mentioned as an example of this superiority that one of his gowns was made of French silk, and that it was torn and spoilt after two or three years; but that he had had gowns of Chinese silk for twenty years or more which were quite as good as on the day he bought them, and that he had only put them on one side because the fashions in men's garments change in China as they do elsewhere for ladies. The same gentleman related many interesting things about the silk trade. The quality of the silk is determined by the silk guild. This is much more like the guilds in mediÆval Europe than anything that we have nowadays, and that is why China is not exporting more silk than she is at present. These silk guilds to a certain extent prevent the Chinese catering for European customers, as they will not allow or at any rate encourage the production of silks that would take on the European market. The West has many faults as well as many virtues, and one of its faults is that it no longer cares for articles of sterling value, which last long and for which a high price must be paid, but it delights in attractive articles of poor quality at a low price. It is to be feared that the West may spoil some of China's great products as she has spoilt the great arts and productions of India.

But to return to Chinese streets. Next the silk shop will be the silver shop. Here again the work is admirable. At such a place as Kiukiang you can spend an hour or more bargaining, and watching the wonderful skill of the silversmiths as they turn out beautiful silver ornaments. It is pleasant to wander along and to look into the shops and see the strange things that are for sale—fish of many kinds in one shop, rice and grain in another, strange vegetables, little bits of pork, flattened ducks; or to glance at the clothes and the coats hung out, many of them of brilliant colours. The signs over the shops and the names of the merchants are a feature in themselves, illuminated as they are in vivid hues of red and gold, in those wonderful characters so full of mystery to the foreigner.

In a native city up-country the traveller is practically forced to go through the city in a chair. There are no wheel conveyances except wheelbarrows, and, except where there are Manchus, horses are quite unknown. Walking is profoundly unpleasant for a European, for as he walks along he is constantly jostled by porters carrying loads of goods on a bamboo across their shoulders; or cries are heard, and a Chinese Mandarin is carried past shoulder high, leaning forward looking out of his chair perhaps with a smile, of contempt for the foreigner who can so demean himself as to go on foot like a common coolie; or perhaps it is a lady with her chair closely covered in and only a glimpse to be seen of a rouged and powdered face, for the Chinese women paint to excess, as part of their ordinary toilette. Next comes the water-carrier hurrying past with his two buckets of water; or perhaps it is some malodorous burden which makes a Western long to be deprived of the sense of smell. But in a chair a ride through a Chinese town is delightful; the chair-coolies push past foot-passengers who accept their buffets with the greatest equanimity, and from a comparatively elevated position the traveller can look down on the crowd.

But when the Chinese city is near a port, all this begins to change. The chair is replaced by the ricksha, and though in many ways it is less comfortable than a chair, the ricksha is after all the beginning of the rule of the West, being a labour-saving machine. One coolie or two at the most can drag a man quickly and easily where with a chair three or four bearers would be needed. Outside the old town will be built the new native town, and the new native town is built on European lines, with comparatively wide streets. In a treaty port the completed specimen of the transitional stage through which all China is passing is to be seen. Shanghai is a most delightful town, although it seems commonplace to those who live there, but to a stranger it is a place full of contradictions and eccentricities. The first thing that strikes one in Shanghai is that none of the natives know any of the names of the streets. It is true they are written up in large letters both in English and in Chinese; but as not one of the coolies can read, they have not the very slightest idea that that is the name of the street—they call it quite a different name; and as they speak a different language both to that of the educated Chinaman and to the Englishman, there is no reason why they should ever learn the names given by them. The habitual way of directing a ricksha coolie is by a sort of pantomime, and there is always a great element of uncertainty as to whether he will get to his destination even with the oldest resident unless he knows the way himself. I arrived at Tientsin and tried to go and see Dr. Lavington Hart, whose college is known all over China, I may say all over the world, but the Chinese porter was quite unable to make the coolie understand where it was, and so we wandered about for some time till the coolie got tired and put me down opposite what fortunately turned out to be the house of a Japanese gentleman. I entered the house, and was surprised that the Chinese servant who met me did not altogether seem to expect me; but as he could not speak English and I could not speak Chinese, it was impossible to inquire if anything was wrong. I was just wondering why Dr. Hart should live in a Japanese house, when the door opened and a Japanese gentleman walked in. Fortunately for me he spoke both Chinese and English well; so after explanations I was again sent on my road, and found Dr. Lavington Hart waiting dinner for me, and wondering how I had got lost. He then told me that I should have asked not for his college but for the hospital opposite, and that I should have asked not for the street but for the Chinese name of the doctor of the hospital who had been dead ten or fifteen years.

There is a moral in all this: it shows the state of confusion that exists in small as well as in large things. I asked several Englishmen why they did not accept the native names of the streets; their answer was that the coolies could not read them; and when I suggested that common sense would expect that the coolies' names should be taken for the streets, for after all that is how most of the streets in England were originally named, the suggestion met with no approval. These small matters show what a great gulf there is between the thoughts of the two races. If the coolies had been Italians or Germans or Russians, their names would have been accepted, or they would have been compelled to learn the new names.

Another example of the difficulty of carrying on the details of city life is afforded by a common spectacle at Shanghai. In the crowded streets you see a little crowd of policemen. The group consists of three splendid men, typical of three different civilisations. First there is the English policeman; next to him is a black-bearded man, bigger than the first, a Sikh, every gesture and action revealing the martial characteristics of his race; then a Chinaman completes the group, blue-coated and wearing a queue and a round Chinese hat as a sign of office. The traveller wonders why this trio is needed till he sees them in action. A motor car rushes down one road, a ricksha comes down another, and a Chinese wheelbarrow with six women sitting on it slowly progresses down a third. All three conveyances are controlled by Chinamen, and when they meet, all shout and shriek at the top of their voices; no one keeps the rule of the road, with the probable result that the wheelbarrow is upset, the ricksha is forced against the wall, and the motor car pulled up dead. Then the police force comes into action. The Chinese policeman objurgates vociferously and makes signals indifferently to everybody; the Sikh policeman at once begins to thrash the Chinese coolie; meanwhile the English policeman at last gets the traffic on the right side of the road, quiets his subordinates, sees justice done, and restores order. Possibly if the matter had been left to the Chinese policeman, he would have arranged it in the end; the traffic in Peking was controlled entirely by Chinese policemen and was fairly well managed.

There is an extraordinary example of the want of consideration for the feelings of the Chinese to be seen in the public gardens at Shanghai. There stands a notice which contains, among several regulations, first, that "no dogs or bicycles shall be admitted"; secondly, that "no Chinese shall be admitted except servants in attendance on foreigners." Considering that the land is Chinese soil, one cannot but wonder that any one who had dealings with the Chinese should allow so ill-mannered a notice to be put up. No Chinese gentleman would object for a moment if the notice had been to the effect that unclean persons and beggars should be excluded from the gardens; but to exclude the cultured Chinese merchant who is every whit as clean as his Western neighbour, or to exclude the respectable people of the middle class whose orderly behaviour is beyond suspicion, is as unreasonable as it is regrettable.

Again, the Shanghai municipality has no Chinese representatives upon it, though the great bulk of the population is Chinese, with the result that from time to time they come across Chinese prejudices and quite unnecessarily irritate the population which they govern. The Chinese have a principle that a woman shall be publicly punished only for adultery and open shameless theft; her "face" or dignity must be preserved; and therefore she should never be made to answer for her offences in open court, her husband or her father being held responsible for her behaviour and for her punishment. The right way of dealing with any woman who is charged with an offence is to do as we do in England with regard to children, to summon not her but those responsible for her behaviour. I was assured by a Chinese official that the trouble which culminated in the Shanghai riots originated from disregard of this principle. The refusal of the Shanghai municipality to have Chinese representatives upon it is the more remarkable, as I was informed at Hong-Kong that they have such representatives, and find them most useful in assisting in the government of the Chinese. It is not surprising that Shanghai is a town to which it is diplomatic to make no reference in conversation with a Chinese gentleman.

There is more to be said for the mistrust of the Chinese Post-office and for the continuation of the curious system by which each nation has its own post-office. Nothing is more annoying to the traveller in Shanghai than the trouble he has to get his letters. If it should so happen that he has correspondents in many countries, he has to go to every one of the many post-offices in Shanghai, and they are situated in different parts of the town and in places very difficult to find. There is the Imperial Chinese Post-office, to which he first repairs, and where he will find letters from any correspondent in China; then with the greatest difficulty he reaches the English Post-office; after which he remembers that some of his friends may be on a holiday in France, therefore he must go to the French Post-office, and so on. When he asks why the Chinese Post-office cannot be trusted, he is told that the Chinese themselves will not trust their post-office unless there be a European official in control, and that the old Chinese system by which letters are forwarded by private companies still continues in many parts of China, although they possess branches of the Imperial Chinese Post-office. Still the traveller wearily thinks at the end of his day's journey that without undue trust in another nationality, or any loss of national prestige, an International Post-office might be arranged in a town like Shanghai, with its vast travelling population.

Shanghai with its mixture of races, with its national antipathies and jealousies, is indeed one of the most attractive but strangest towns in the whole world. Every race meets there; and as one wanders down the Nanking road, one never tires of watching the nationalities which throng that thoroughfare. There walks a tall bearded Russian, a fat German, jostling perhaps a tiny Japanese officer, whose whole air shows that he regards himself as a member of the conquering race that has checkmated the vast power of Europe; there are sleek Chinese in Western carriages, and there are thin Americans in Eastern rickshas; the motor cycle rushes past, nearly colliding with a closely-curtained chair bearing a Chinese lady of rank, or a splendid Indian in a yellow silk coat is struck in the face by the hat of a Frenchman, who finds the pavements of Shanghai too narrow for his sweeping salute; one hears guttural German alternating with Cockney slang; Parisian toilettes are seen next half-naked coolies; a couple of sailors on a tandem cycle almost upset two Japanese beauties as they shuffle along with their toes turned in; a grey gowned Buddhist priest elbows a bearded Roman missionary; a Russian shop where patriotism rather than love of gain induces the owners to conceal the nature of their wares by employing the Russian alphabet overhead, stands opposite a Japanese shop which, in not too perfect English, assures the wide world that their heads can be cut cheaply; an English lady looks askance at the tightness of her Chinese sister's nether garments, while the Chinese sister wonders how the white race can tolerate the indecency that allows a woman to show her shape and wear transparent sleeves.

Yes, Shanghai on a spring afternoon is a most interesting place; and yet as you turn your eyes to the river and catch sight of the dark grey warship, you realise that beneath all this peace and busy commerce lies the fear of the grim realities of war. China may assimilate the adjuncts of Western life, but she will never welcome the Western. The racial gulf that divides them is far too deep. It may be temporarily bridged by the heroism of a missionary; the enthusiasm of Christianity may make those who embrace it brothers; but the feeling of love will not extend one inch beyond the influence of religion; and those who ponder on the future as they watch the many-hued crowd that passes must grow more and more sure that the future of China lies with the Chinese alone; and however much as a race they may be willing to learn from the West, they will as a race be led only by their own people. The Westerner may be employed; Western teaching may be learnt; Western garments may be worn; but, as a Chinese professor said, "The wearer will be a Chinaman all the same."

CHAPTER IX

OPIUM

There was one marked difference in the cities of China as we saw them in our two visits, and this was the change that had taken place in the matter of opium-smoking. Opium-smoking in 1907 was such a common vice that you could see men smoking it at the doors of their houses. In 1909 opium-smoking hid itself, and those that smoked, smoked secretly, or at any rate less ostentatiously. I doubt whether so great an alteration has taken place in any country, certainly not of late years.

Each race has its peculiar vice; in fact, we may go further than that, we may say that it is a remarkable fact that the great bulk of mankind insists on taking some form of poison; in fact, it is only a minute minority which wholly abstains from this practice. The poisons used by mankind have different effects and have a different degree of toxic power, but the reason they are used is because in some way they stimulate or soothe the nervous system. Opium, alcohol, tobacco, tea, coffee, hashish, are examples of this widespread habit of humanity; but these different drugs have the most different effects on the welfare of man. Some seem to be wholly innocuous if not beneficial, and others seem to be absolutely pernicious and to do nothing but evil; and further than that, one may say that a different preparation of the same drug or a different way of taking it produces differing results. A still more curious thing is that though all mankind is agreed in taking some poison, there is a marked, racial tendency to accept one particular poison and to detest others, and at times it seems as if the habit of taking one was sufficient to prevent another having any attraction.

As we went to China we passed through the Suez Canal, and heard what a curse hashish was in Egypt, and how the Egyptian Government had endeavoured to secure total prohibition of the use of this obnoxious drug, a course which was impossible owing to the great amount of smuggling that was facilitated by the wide deserts that surround Egypt.

When we arrived at Saigon (we were travelling by the French mail) we first came in contact with the terrible vice of the Chinese. A French lady was pointed out to us by a doctor, and he asked us to observe the odd glassy look of her eyes, the intense suavity of her manner and the contempt which she evinced for truth, and he told us that these were all symptoms of the vice of opium-smoking that she had contracted from association with the Annamites. The French for some mysterious reason seem more prone to acquire this vice than do our own countrymen, for though in 1907 it was rife in South China, no one ever suggested that any English smoked opium at Hong-Kong.

As we went up to Canton crowds of people were smoking opium on the Chinese deck, and when we wandered round they had no objection to our standing watching the lazy process of dipping the needle into the treacle-like mixture, turning it round till a bead was formed, then putting it into the lamp to light and thence transferring it to the opium pipe, when after three whiffs or so the process had to be begun again.

The first effect of opium-smoking is to make a man intelligent and amiable. It is for this reason that opium-smoking—so the Chinese explained to us—is used largely in business. When business is difficult, and you cannot get three or four men to agree, the opium pipe is brought out, and after two or three whiffs the cantankerous people are reasonable, and the people whose dignity is hurt are forgiving, and business is easily and rapidly transacted. The next stage of smoking is stupidity. As you watch an opium-smoker in that condition he nods amiably at you with a rather imbecile look. The last stage is one of heavy senseless sleep. The habitual opium-smoker rarely passes the first stage, and its apparently beneficial influence constitutes its danger. Each man says to himself: "I will never take it to excess; I will merely use it and not abuse it; it makes life sweet to me and business easy."

I have always thought that those who condemn opium have a tendency to prove too much in their argument. If it could be shown that the effects of opium-taking were invariably pernicious, it would be very hard to see how the vice could take such a hold as it has taken on the Chinese race; if the young men regularly saw that the older men were brought to inanity and death by the use of opium, they would themselves be terrified of contracting the vice, and it would not have spread as rapidly as it has done. The vice is essentially modern. Opium has only been grown in China for about seventy or eighty years, and it has only been imported in large quantities for a scarcely longer period of time. An inhabitant of Shansi told us that though every one smoked opium, and it was a terrible curse, his father remembered its introduction. Opium is certainly deleterious to the moral fibre of a race, and in many cases it produces death and misery; but there are a certain number of cases where no obvious evil effects follow from its consumption—cases when as a rule a man is well-nourished, for it acts most deleteriously on a man's powers of digestion. Men who have good food can better tolerate the effects of the drug, so a mission doctor explained, and their comparative immunity tempts others to follow their example. Men do not see at once the evil that will result, and so its use has spread by leaps and bounds. The Chinese Government have always theoretically resisted it, but their action has been hampered by their not being permitted to prohibit its importation. For many years the pro-opium party in China used those treaty obligations by which China was bound to permit the importation of opium as a reason for stopping any efforts to extirpate the vice in the country. Not only were there always a great number of people in high places addicted to the vice, who were naturally unwilling to remove from themselves the opportunity of its gratification, but also there was a vast number of people who rapidly acquired a great pecuniary interest both in the maintenance and extension of this trade.

Unfortunately for humanity, opium was not only very injurious but extremely portable, and it therefore formed in a country where means of communication are bad a very useful article of exchange. The peasant farmer will grow most things on his little farm which he and his family consume—in most respects they will be a self-supporting community—but there must be a certain number of things which they will need to buy, and for which they must give something in exchange; that something must be portable. In many cases the only way of bringing your goods to the market is by carrying them on your own back. Opium, alas, forms, in soils which it suits, a most remunerative crop. The whole product of several fields can be carried quite easily on a man's back and can be sent down to the market, where it will find a ready sale, and the result of that sale will be invested in articles of which the farmer and his family have need.

Not only the farmer, but the trader, both Chinese and European, find it a most profitable source of trade. It was hard, and it is hard, to persuade the European trader that it is injurious to China, and to understand the reason we must turn back to the thought which was suggested at the beginning of the chapter, namely, that it is very doubtful whether the English race has any natural desire for the vice, while it is most patent that the Chinese have a peculiar national tendency towards this form of dissipation. When people have no desire for an intoxicant themselves, it is hard to persuade them that others may have a desire which may be beyond all power of restraint. The trading class mixes but little socially with the Chinese, and the people with whom they are brought in contact are very generally pecuniarily interested in the opium trade, and therefore they have neither the evidence of the Chinese nor of their own temptation to convince them of the insidious and dangerous character of this vice to the Chinese race.

The English race has long been conversant with opium. In the form of laudanum it used to be sold freely in the eastern counties. I have heard people describe years ago how the old women from the fen round Lowestoffe, or the marshes as they are there called, would call on market day at the chemist for their regular supply of laudanum, which they would take in quantities sufficient to make any ordinary person go fast asleep. It was used there, as it is used in many countries, as a prophylactic against ague. The doctors now deny that it has any beneficial effect, but the people in the eastern counties used to think differently. But when I was a curate at Yarmouth I could find no traces of this vice; it had apparently been exterminated not by any social reform or moral movement, but by the superior attraction of alcohol; and in my day Yarmouth and the district round was terribly addicted to the national vice of intemperance. I noticed the same thing in Shanghai. The English know opium; most of them have out of curiosity tried a pipe; and they describe the effects as trifling or very unpleasant. One man said that he felt as if all his bones were a jelly; another that he felt as if he was floating between heaven and earth; a third that he found no pleasure in it at all, but that he had a "filthy headache" next day. On the other hand, if you go into the Shanghai Club you can see at once what is the attractive vice to the European at Shanghai; the whole of one side of the entrance hall was nothing more than the bar of an overgrown public-house. You will hear story after story which tells the same old tale that alcohol, especially in its strongest form, is the greatest pleasure and the worst danger to the Englishman abroad as at home.

If opium is unattractive to the white man, on the other hand alcohol is equally unattractive to the yellow man; in fact, their relative position is much the same. The yellow man has known of alcohol from the very earliest ages. Dr. Ross quotes the second ode of the Book of Poetry as showing how well known drunkenness was to the Chinese: "Before they drank too much, they were dignified and grave; but with too much drink their dignity changed to indecency, their gravity to rudeness; the fact is, that when they have become drunk they lose all sense of order. When the guests have drunk too much, they shout, they brawl, they upset the orderly arrangement of the dishes, they dance about unsteadily, their caps are set awry and threaten to fall off, they dance about and do not know when to stop. Had they gone out before drinking so deeply, both host and guest would have been happier. Drinking gives real happiness only when it is taken in moderation according to propriety."

Drunkenness seems to have been extirpated from China by the same process that laudanum-taking was from the eastern counties, namely, it has given way before the more entrancing vice of opium-smoking. I was assured that the Tibetans do not share with the Chinese this preference for opium, and this is all the more remarkable because from their geographical position they have always been in close contact with India, which is apparently the home of the opium vice, but they have adhered steadily to the vice of drunkenness. The Chinese have free trade in drink; they have no licensing laws; any one may sell alcohol at any time of the day, in any place they like; and yet alcohol has so few votaries that you will scarcely see a drunken man from one end of China to another.

If the English commercial world is incredulous to the danger of opium to the Chinaman, not so the Chinese world. People will tell you that Orientals love to agree with you in whatever you say, but I heard a British Vice-consul flatly contradicted by a Chinese official when the Vice-consul expressed a doubt as to the danger of the vice, and I must say the Chinese disputant supported his contradiction with an argument which seemed to me perfectly unanswerable. He said: "Look at the Japanese; they are impartial spectators of the vice of alcoholism and opium-smoking; they are conversant with the worst forms of alcoholism that white men can show them. It is well known that white sailors are great offenders in this respect. Every port in Japan knows what it is to see a drunken sailor finding his way to his ship. They are equally conversant with the vice of opium-smoking. They have intimate contact with the Chinese; they know both the recent origin of this vice and its terrible ravages; and what do they do? Do they forbid both vices equally? No; they are so convinced that opium is so much more dangerous than alcohol, that they will not allow it to be introduced into their country for smoking purposes, and the smuggler is liable to five years' penal servitude. But the vice of alcoholism they treat as something which, though harmful, can never threaten their national existence."

Perhaps we who have suffered much more from the vice of alcoholism than of opium-smoking may be inclined to think that while the Japanese are right in the opium question, they are acting imprudently in allowing alcoholism to gain such a hold on their people; but whether they are right or wrong, there can be no doubt that the Chinese official had justice on his side when he pointed out that to the Japanese mind the evils that opium-smoking had done to China were of a most serious character.

His Excellency Tang-K'ai-Sun spoke the Chinese mind when, in an eloquent speech at the Shanghai Conference, he told of the awful desolation that opium was bringing to his land. But it is unnecessary to quote the opinion of individual Chinamen; they are practically unanimous on this subject. One has only got to point to what China has done to show two things. First, that the curse of opium-smoking was far greater and more horrible than anything that we have experienced on this side of the globe; next, that there is latent in the Chinese character a vigour and an energy which, when it is called into action, despises all obstacles and acts so efficiently as to leave the world lost in astonishment. Realise what China has done. China is addicted to a vice which has a far greater hold upon her than alcoholism has upon us; she determines that within ten years that vice is to cease. The production of the poppy is to be diminished till none is produced; opium-smokers are to be held up to public scorn; opium dens—which are really the equivalent of our public-houses—are to be closed; all officials who take opium are to be turned out of Government employ; the only exception that is made is for old men, and that exception was quite unavoidable. So vigorous was the action of the Government that men who have for forty or fifty years of their lives taken opium, tried to give it up; the result was in several cases that they were unable to support the physical strain; a great illness, even death, ensued; and so the edict was relaxed; men over sixty were allowed to continue smoking. When all this was published, every one smiled. They argued that China was trying to do the impossible. A vice like opium-smoking may be extirpated, but only after years of struggle. A generation must come and a generation must go before opium or any similar vice shows appreciable diminution.

We ourselves have not been unsuccessful in struggling against the vice of alcoholism; but consider the number of years since Father Mathew first spoke against drink. England may be growing sober, but it is by slow if steady degrees. But China hopes to accomplish in ten years what has taken England so many patient years of toil to effect partially. The idea that China could do this was regarded by most Westerns as almost laughable. In 1907, when the edict was first put forth, all those we met in China held this view; even missionaries, while they gave every credit to the Government for what it intended, shook their heads and foretold disappointment. We noticed as we passed along that wonderful line that links Hankow to Peking and Peking to Harbin in 1907 that the country was beautiful with the white and pink crops of poppy, till at times one might imagine that the transformation scene of a London theatre was before us rather than the land of China, and remembering what we had been told, we also confidently expected failure to the edict which requires the destruction of so many miles of this pernicious if beautiful crop.

In 1909, when we again traversed the same country, we could not see a single poppy flower; not only so, but we made every effort to see if we could find a field. We went for a twenty mile walk at Ichang through the country, where no one could have expected a foreigner to come, and we only found one tiny patch of poppy, and one in which the ruthless hand of the law had rooted up the growing crop. As we went up the Gorges of the Yangtsze we scanned with a strong glass the hillside, and never once on those glorious mountains did we see any sign of opium cultivation. We asked about the officials; not only was the Government enforcing the law that officials must give up opium-smoking, but they were taking a more effectual action; they were requiring all those who were going to be officials to spend some time under supervision, to ensure that they should not be opium-smokers. Could any Western power hope to accomplish such a feat? Would the most extreme temperance reformer suggest that all public-houses should be closed, that the amount of barley should be diminished every year till within ten years none should be grown, and that all the Government officials, from the Prime Minister downwards, should become total abstainers within that period? The reason of this vigorous action of China and its present success is to be attributed to two things: first, to the terrible and very real national fear that this vice will destroy the nation, as it has destroyed countless families and individuals; secondly, to the vast store of energy which enables China to accept new ideas and act vigorously on them.

The great revolution of thought that is going on has called forth this vigour. The China of yesterday was fainÉant and unprogressive. The China that is emerging out of this revolution of thought is energetic, though possibly unpractical. The old traditions of Government are not lost, and they wait but for the man and the hour to enable China to act as vigorously as she has done in time past. Her action in this opium question may be ill-considered in some details; it may even fail; but it has shown the world that China is in earnest, and that she can act with a vigour which will cause wonder and envy on this side of the world. Every missionary reports that even high officials are coming asking to be cured of the opium habit. The missionaries have founded refuges where they receive and cure those who are ready to submit to the terrible ordeal, for their suffering is intense. Many quack cures are advertised. Some are definitely pernicious; for instance, the morphia syringe has become a common article for sale in some parts of China. Some few may be beneficial. There is no doubt that the movement against opium is a great national movement, and is not the result of the action of any small or fanatical party. What China has done proves that this is so.

Let me close the chapter by a quotation from the ablest of the foreign representatives at Peking, Sir John Jordan. Writing to Sir Edward Grey, he says: "It is true that the Chinese Government have in recent years effected some far-reaching changes, of which the abolition of the old examination system is perhaps the most striking instance; but to sweep away in a decade habits which have been the growth of at least a century, and which have gained a firm hold upon 8,000,000 of the adult population of the empire, is a task which has, I imagine, been rarely attempted with success in the course of history; and the attempt, it must be remembered, is to be made at a time when the Central Government has largely lost the power to impose its will upon the provinces. The authors of the movement are, however, confident of success, and China will deserve and doubtless receive much sympathy in any serious effort she may make to stamp out the evil."

CHAPTER X

THE WOMEN'S QUESTION

The desire for radical change is never so much to be dreaded as when it attacks the home life of a nation. That quiet life so often hidden away because of its very sacredness by the Eastern races is like everything else in China disturbed by the introduction of Western civilisation, and in no other part of human life will its two different sides be more apparent. Western civilisation without Christianity will destroy the home life as it destroys most Eastern things it touches, and will do little to construct a new life to take the place of the one it destroys. The Japanese complain that Western civilisation has destroyed both the modesty and the religion of their women, and Christianity has not yet been able to any great extent to reconstruct on the basis of true religion new ideals of feminine life. Therefore the Chinese, with all their enthusiasm for Western culture, are looking a little nervously at what they see has happened in Japan. They say that their home life is not now unbeautiful; even those who are disposed to admit that the life of the Western woman is founded on higher ideals than their own will not allow that their national home life deserves unmixed condemnation. Everybody agrees that the wanton destruction of the laws which govern women's life in China may have a terrible result when Western civilisation is unwisely introduced, especially if it is made to appear to be a civilisation without religion. The missionaries see in this crisis the necessity for vigorous action; while thankful for the movement, they realise the responsibility it puts upon Christians to see that that movement is wisely directed. In the memorial from the Centenary Conference at Shanghai in 1907 to the Home Churches, they say:—

"The changed attitude of China towards female education and the place of woman, lays upon us great responsibilities. The uplifting of woman is a first need in the moral regeneration of a people, and one of the things in which Christianity has a totally different ideal from that which the religions of China have encouraged. The present change of national sentiment on the subject is one of the indirect but none the less striking changes that the slow but steady dissemination of Christian ideas in China during the past century has led to. Let it be remembered, however, that it requires the Christian motive power to make it successful and fruitful."

It is somewhat difficult to obtain information from the Chinese themselves as to the position of women. They are very averse to discussing the subject; in fact, it is not even regarded as good manners for a man to ask after the health of his most intimate friend's wife; and all the information that we could get had for the most part to be obtained by Lady Florence Cecil through feminine sources. We may generally state, however, that the position of women in China is neither so low as that which they occupy in India or among the Mohammedans, neither is it in any degree so high as the position of women in Western lands. The woman is completely subject to the man; till she marries she is subject to her father, when she is married she is subject to her husband, and if her husband dies she is then subject to her son, and rarely re-marries. These are called the three obediences. She is not educated as a rule, because both public opinion and Chinese philosophy regard her as mentally far inferior to the man. We shall explain later on how in Chinese thought everything is divided into a good and an evil principle—a Yang and a Yin. The woman is distinctly Yin. She is therefore necessary to man, but at the same time inferior.

Again, with regard to the question of polygamy, her position is an intermediate one between the avowed polygamy of Moslem countries and the ill-maintained monogamy of many a Latin country. In Hong-Kong the position was explained by a Chinaman to me thus: that when a woman grew old it was regarded as her duty to provide a secondary wife for her husband's pleasure and as a companion for herself—a companion with a sense of servitude in it. If this was done in an orderly manner, it was absolutely approved by Chinese public opinion. If, on the other hand, the husband, ignoring the wife's rights, should choose a secondary wife for himself and set her up in another house, his attitude would be regarded as distinctly doubtful by the respectable Chinese. In the same way if an official were appointed to a distant post he would probably not think of imposing upon his wife with her deformed feet the pain and discomfort of a long journey; he would most likely take a natural-footed woman, who will be for that reason a slave; in fact, one gentleman went so far as to say that he thought that the squeezed feet had a great deal to do with this institution of a secondary wife, because he noted that the secondary wives of all the officials when they were travelling were natural-footed women.

The secondary wife would be rarely a woman of good class; it is allowed to be an inferior position. On the other hand, if she bears her husband a son, and that son is recognised, all that son's relations, and therefore all his mother's relations, become relations of the father.

The curious tangle which such a position begets when brought into contact with the Christian idea is exemplified in this story. A rich Chinaman had three wives. By his lawful wife he had nine children; by the other two he had none; but his second wife was a woman of very strong character, and she was brought in touch with the missionaries by the Chinese wife of a European. She apparently ruled the house with a kindly rule to which all the others bowed. She did everything in an energetic and vigorous way, and she studied Christianity till she was convinced of its truth, and then she demanded baptism. There was a great difficulty; she must leave her husband before she could be baptized. After considerable delay she accepted the condition, but resistance came, not alone from the man, but from the other two wives. They could not possibly get on without her; they were like sisters; and she must be allowed to return to the house. She refused, though the pressure was extreme. The man said that he had promised his ancestors that none of his children should be Christians, and that his own mother would not forgive him; but the woman held firm, and at last she was baptized. Her face was beautiful to behold while she was accepting Christianity and renouncing all that made life sweet to her. The husband was so moved by her fortitude that he signed a paper promising not to molest her, and yet to support her apart, so that she should not be in any need.

At the Shanghai Conference there were, curious to relate, many women who wished the Christian body to recognise existing polygamy among the Chinese. A sentence of the resolution proposed was that "secondary wives may be admitted to membership if obviously true Christians." Mr. Arnold Foster resisted the inclusion of these words, and they were lost. No doubt the Conference was wise in taking this line. It is most essential to maintain the purity of the home life, and the difficulty that arises from secondary wives desiring to join the Christian Church can never be a very important one, as the vast majority of Chinese are monogamous.

A serious evil this custom creates is that of female slavery. Both in Japan and China one of the awful penalties of poverty is that a man is sometimes forced to sell his female children. These little girls are bought by prudent Chinamen, first to be servants to their own wives and then to act as secondary wives to their sons to prevent them going elsewhere. Sometimes they are kidnapped by men who make a regular business of this cruel traffic. Stories are told of boat-loads of these children being brought down the Yangtsze, concealed below the deck and terrorised to keep them quiet by one of their number being killed before their eyes. On one occasion a missionary suddenly saw a hand thrust through the planks of the deck, and on investigation he discovered a dozen children hidden below, and as it turned out they had been kidnapped, not bought, he was able to get them released. These slaves are the absolute property of their owners, and many are the tales told of the cruel and neglectful treatment to which they are subjected. In Shanghai the Chinese police will report such cases, and in consequence the ladies of the settlement have founded an admirable institution to which they can be brought. The Slave Refuge deserves all support. There the little girls are taught and cared for, and helped to forget the terrible experiences some of them have gone through. Sad to relate, many of them have to be taken first to the hospital to be cured from the effects of the ill-treatment they have received. One poor little thing went into convulsions when a fire was lit in the ward; it was difficult to understand the reason, but when it happened again and the poor child uttered incoherent appeals for mercy, it was discovered that she thought the fire was lit to heat opium needles with which to torture her. Her system was too shattered for recovery, but many others get quite well and form a pleasing sight at work and play in the bright cheerful Refuge, with the happy elasticity of youth forgetting the injuries which in some cases have left on them permanent scars. But I fear the system of slavery continues very commonly all over China, and such a philanthropic effort as the Shanghai Slave Refuge can touch but a very small proportion of them. Probably when the little slaves are destined to be wives to their mistresses' sons they are treated less cruelly, and though employed as household drudges, do not live actively unhappy lives.

Without stating that women as a whole are miserable, I think it would be no exaggeration to say that they are infinitely less happy than their Western sisters. Many of the national customs militate against their happiness. The custom of child betrothal, for instance, condemns a woman to live completely subject to a man for whom she perhaps has the greatest natural antipathy. Stories are told of brides committing suicide rather than leave their father's house to be married to men for whom they feel no affection; yet as a whole they accept their position, and a Chinese woman has neither the will nor the power to be untrue to her husband.

Again, the rule of the husband's mother is very often extremely harsh; the child-wife is little better than her drudge. On the other hand, when a woman grows older, her position is one of considerable strength. I was assured that they take a keen interest in the management of their husbands' properties, and often show themselves excellent business women. The position which the late Empress of China acquired shows that women's position is the very reverse of inferior when dignified by age.

And now before all this woman's world glitters Western civilisation; the greater dignity which is accorded therein to women is envied and the laws which restrain her are misunderstood. The Chinese women hear stories of Western life. At first such strange perversions are believed as that in the West women rule. One missionary explained that this absurd figment came from the rule of the late Queen; another attributed it to the custom men have when travelling in China of walking while their wives remained in the carrying chair. To the Chinaman such a course admits of but one explanation: the woman must be greater than the man because she is carried while he walks.

Again, in Western China they learnt through their local press that girls and boys received a similar education in England, and they concluded that the dress must be also similar, and the missionaries were more amused than scandalised at seeing a Government girls' school turned out in boys' clothes. It was explained to us that this was far from being an uncommon custom in China; slave-girls who have been brought up with natural feet are habitually dressed as boys, and it is common now for fathers of small daughters with unbound feet to avoid the unpleasant taunts of the ignorant by allowing their daughters while they are children to wear boys' clothes.

Still on the whole the desire for imitation of the West has been very beneficial to the women of China, especially in this matter of foot-binding. This disgusting custom is going out of fashion among the enlightened and educated classes; two or three Chinese gentlemen assured us that this was so; and in a place like Shanghai, where the Western movement is very strong, the number of women with unbound feet is quite remarkable; the greater number of them naturally have had their feet bound, and as feet bound from infancy never become quite normal, they still have something of the tottering walk which used to be the admiration of every Chinaman; in fact, this tottering walk is preserved as a piece of affectation. A lady told us that even her Christian girls' school was not above such a feminine weakness. As they walked to Church they would step out with the swinging stride that regular gymnastic exercises and a most comfortable dress have encouraged; suddenly the lady would see the whole of her school struck with a sort of paralysis which made them exchange their easy gait for the "tottering-lily" walk of the Chinese small-footed women. The cause is that the boys' school has just come into sight. I fear it must be admitted that foot-binding continues to be practised in the interior amongst the poorer women, who cling to the custom for fear of ridicule.

The most beneficial effect of the admiration of the West is the earnest desire that it has given to Chinese women for education. So keen is this desire that even married women will become children again and take their position in the class. Husbands who have received Western education are most anxious that their wives should share somewhat in their interests.

Lady Florence could see over girls' schools where a man's visit would not have been acceptable, so she visited many of all varieties, including two at Peking of a rather unusual description. One of them was carried on by a Manchu lady of high position, connected with a great Manchu prince. Her attitude generally towards the forward women's movement offends her family, as she lectures publicly on topics of the time. Her school is small, and, alas, not very efficient, she having fallen into the usual fallacy amongst the Chinese of believing that a Japanese instructress must of necessity be efficient. Still her desire to give education to the children of the poor is worthy of nothing but commendation. She looked most impressive, being a fine big handsome woman, attired in the Manchu long robe with the ornate Manchu head-dress. The second school my wife saw was managed by another Manchu lady, and it seemed more orderly and more successful than the other. These two schools testified to a desire to improve the status of women. My wife visited many other schools, some belonging to missions of various denominations, which attracted the daughters and even the wives of upper-class men, who mixed quite happily with girls of lower degree, being all united in a fervent desire for education, the ruling desire now in China among women of all classes.

This desire for education is a great opportunity for the missionaries, and they appeal most eloquently in the message from which we have already quoted for help from their sisters in England. "We need more schools for girls and more consecrated and highly trained women competent to conduct such schools and gradually to give higher and higher instruction in them. We need more training schools, also, for Chinese women, to fit them to work among their sisters, and we need educated Christian ladies from our homelands for Zenana work in the houses of the well-to-do. Such work would have been impossible a few years ago; now the visits of such workers would in many cases be cordially welcomed by Chinese ladies, and frequently they would be returned, for the seclusion of women in China is not at all as strict as it is in India. This, so far, has been a comparatively unworked sphere of usefulness in China, but it is one full of promise and of gracious opportunity in the present."

The difficulty of education is in one way increased and in another way decreased by the ignorance which many women have of reading the Chinese characters. A new system has been invented by which Chinese can be written in our letters as pronounced. This is called by the rather uncouth name of "Romanised." At the Shanghai Conference we were told wonderful stories of the incredibly short space of time in which women learnt to read by this system. A woman of sixty-seven learnt in two months; while one lady asserted that she had taught a boy to read between Friday and Wednesday, I may add inclusive. This extraordinary achievement is not quite so impossible as it would be with our more complicated languages. The Chinese have extremely few sounds, and their language is monosyllabic in formation. However, we do not ask our readers to accept this as the normal rate of education; still the thing is worth mentioning, because it is possibly the beginning of a great movement which may alter the whole of education in the Far East. The extreme ease with which Chinese can be written in our letters may induce some daring spirit to advocate it as a system fitted for the education of the poor, though this is at present quite improbable.

A far darker side to the introduction of Western ways is the gradual naturalisation of the social evils of the West. Lady Florence had the privilege of seeing some of the rescue work undertaken by devoted missionary ladies in Shanghai. Being an open port, this town, in common, I believe, with the other semi-Westernised ports in China, bears a very bad character as regards purity of morals. The advent of the foreigner has done nothing but harm in this respect. Wonderful and horrible though it may seem, the vice-mart exists in the ports mainly in connection with the foreigners, who appear to have shown the way to the Chinese. There is a street in Shanghai, the Foochow Road, where terrible scandals occur almost openly; signs whose intention is veiled to the outsider by his ignorance of Chinese characters, boldly advertise the merits of various houses and their inmates. Formerly these wretched girls were even paraded in open chairs, but this has been stopped, though they are still carried about in closed chairs. The scenes in this street as night falls are a sad witness to the ill effect of Western ideas without Christianity. It must never be forgotten that the victims of this condition of things are literally victims. They have no choice in the matter. They are sold by their parents, even by their husbands, into their terrible position; and though some may live a life of luxury, most of them are cruelly treated, beaten, tortured to prevent flight, and, as is proved by their subsequent conduct, they regard the life with absolute loathing.

Inspired by profound pity for these poor creatures, these excellent ladies started a Refuge for them with a receiving-house in the very midst of this locality of ill-fame. To this haven the poor things often flee even in the middle of the night, facing the unknown, undeterred by rumours of the evil intentions of the foreigners put about by their owners, rather than endure longer the life of degradation and misery to which they have been condemned. The missionaries receive them and pass them on to the "Door of Hope," the appropriately named Refuge, which restores them to hope and peace and happiness. There were to be seen some eighty young women living a hard-working simple life, contented and merry, and apparently never regretting for one moment the fine clothes and lazy luxury which many of them had renounced. The ladies teach them useful arts, instruct them in Christianity, and fit them for wives to Chinese Christians who will be good to them, and, understanding well that their former life was involuntary, are glad to have wives with a modicum of education. The ladies will allow non-Christians to mate with non-Christians, if of good character; but they will not permit any of their rescued flock to become secondary wives. Two things are remarkable in this work of almost divine compassion—a relapse is practically unknown; and it is the Chinese who are most helpful in encouraging it—more so than foreigners; the Chinese often themselves suggest the "Door of Hope" to these girls, and help in police cases to save them from their brutal owners.

The risk that China runs at this moment in the home-life is the same as the risk that she is running in every other department of her national existence. If the materialist side of Western civilisation is the one that is the most apparent, it is scarcely possible that it will fail to do great damage to her home-life. A thoughtful Chinaman, talking about the whole question, argued in favour of a complete acceptance of Western ideas. He was afraid of a half measure. He said that there was no question that women in the West are restrained by a mass of conventions of whose value they are perhaps unconscious, but which are very apparent to those who have been brought up in a different civilisation. It is the existence of these conventions that makes their liberty possible. If the Chinese are to accept Western civilisation for their women, and he regarded this as inevitable, they must learn the conventions; and therefore his solution to the problem was that Chinese girls should be brought to England and brought up as English girls.

But many missionaries plead for the opposite policy. They say: "Let us preserve what is good in the Chinese home-life, let Christianity permeate that life and make it beautiful, but do not destroy it. The Chinese home-life fits the Chinese race. The Westernised Chinawoman will combine the errors of both civilisations and the virtues of neither."

Without giving an opinion on this very vexed question, we may express a hope that a policy of prudence and moderation will govern the action of those who are concerned with women's education, for the degree of alteration which may be necessary in women's life to make them fitted to receive Western civilisation will be a matter rather of experiment than of theory. At any rate let Christianity precede any large alterations, for Christianity alone can make the life of a Western woman intelligible and consistent to her Eastern sister.

CHAPTER XI

CHINESE ARCHITECTURE

Among the many ways a nation has of expressing its thoughts and of showing its individuality, none is more valuable to mankind in general than its art.

Perhaps it can be said that every civilised nation has contributed to the common stock of art, and certainly China has done her share. The porcelain which is called after her name testifies to her pre-eminence in ceramic art, and should make Westerns cautious in expressing their contempt for a race which is generally acknowledged to be the originator of this industry. I will not attempt to express an opinion about the mysteries of this art, except to regret that the name of the country should be so attached to this product of her skill as constantly to cause confusion. When my friend Archdeacon Moule published his interesting book on "New China and Old," a lady wrote to him to say that she did not care for new china, but as she was a collector of old china, she would much like to read his book.

China has contributed to other forms of art as well. Her embroideries and her lacquer work are well known; her ivory carving and silver work have found a place in every collection. Her art, as we might expect from a race which has been under artificial conditions of civilisation for many years, is distinctly artificial. In it you can see the spirit of a race who for many centuries have been taught to control themselves and to avoid the natural expression of their feelings. If it is artificial in form, it is pleasing in colour and superb in workmanship. There are few who will not agree that every effort should be made to preserve these arts from being injured by a false admiration of Western models. The only possible exception being modern embroideries, which might be considerably improved if more harmonious colours were blended together.

China excels in another art, though her excellence is not admitted either by the foreign resident or even by the native student. In certain forms of architecture she is unequalled. Yet when the Westerner comes to China he glories in bringing with him Western architecture, indifferent as to whether it is suited to the climatic conditions or is in itself beautiful. Take, for instance, the English churches of China. Could any form of architecture be less suited to a country like China, where the sun is frequently oppressively hot, than Gothic architecture? The large windows, the pointed arch, and the weak, open, high-pitched roof may be suitable in a country like ours which has little sunlight, and where a wet drifting snow will often force an entrance into the best-designed roof; but in a country like China, where the sun is the chief difficulty, some construction should be preferred which renders a heavy and heat-proof roof possible. If antipathy to the Chinese necessitated a Western type of building, Italian or even Romanesque architecture might be selected, and a building with a massive roof supported on solid arches might resist the rays of the sun. But why not accept the Chinese architecture as eminently fitted for the climate?

If Christianity is to be assimilated by China and become part of their national existence, the buildings in which it is proclaimed should be essentially national. The intention of the Christian should be written clearly on the face of every landscape where the new and beautiful Chinese building rises up for the religion which is, as we maintain, as essentially fitted for the Chinese as it is for the English. We do not worship in a Roman basilica, but in the buildings that the northern architects have devised as suitable, both for Christian worship and for our climate. The new Chinese churches need not be replicas of the Chinese temples; the object of the building is different, therefore the building should differ, but there are many other forms in which it is possible for the architect to express in Chinese architecture the eternal truths of Christianity.

Again, why are all the schools and colleges erected on Western patterns. The Chinese are used to and prefer their own architecture, and from a sanitary point of view I hardly think it is inferior. The average Westerner in China has but one idea, and that is that the Chinese must become like a Western nation or must remain untouched by Western civilisation. He absolutely refuses the suggestion that the architecture of China can be altered to suit modern conditions.

It is said that the thoughts of all nations are written in their architecture; that you can see the nobility of the Middle Ages in the Gothic cathedral, or the fulness of the thought of the Renaissance in the Palladian facade; certainly on the modern Chinese town the story of their change of thought is being rapidly written, perhaps with truth, but certainly not with beauty. The Western man absolutely despising all things Chinese refuses to erect any building which preserves even a detail of the national architecture; the Westernising Chinaman in faithful imitation erects Western buildings, but with this difference; whereas the buildings of the Western have some beauty—for instance, the cathedral at Shanghai is a noble building and the Pe-T'ang at Peking would not disgrace an Italian town, even the bankers' palaces at Hankow are not unworthy dwellings for merchant princes—the Chinese imitations of these Western buildings have but little beauty to commend them, and as far as I could understand they are really less serviceable than a true Chinese building.

No European resident in China will ever allow that Chinese buildings are either beautiful or useful, and if any one suggests that a Western house shall be built in the Chinese style the suggestion is scouted as absurd; yet the British Legation at Peking is an old Chinese palace, and no one who has seen it ever doubts that it is one of the most beautiful buildings in the whole of China, and if this building has been found fitting for His Majesty's Representative, surely some such building might serve for others of less high station.

As to the spiritual ideals in Chinese architecture, who can doubt them when they look at some of the pagodas that the reverence of Buddhism has produced. These pagodas tell in every line of a nation that would reach up above mere utilitarianism to higher thoughts. The uselessness of the pagoda which so often annoys the practical Englishman is one of its chief merits. It stands there in all its beauty pleading with mankind for a love of beauty for its own sake and a belief in a beautiful spirit world. The whole of Buddhist thought is intimately connected with the love of beauty. When a Chinese gentleman was asked if the Chinese had any love of beauty, he said: "You will notice that their temples are always built in beautiful spots, so that they who worship in them should satisfy their love of beauty."

Even if the pagoda is merely regarded as a thing to bring luck to a town, it still merits admiration, for there must be something fine in a race that believes a beautiful thing can bring the blessing of the heavenly bodies on the earth. No one can study the details of any of these pagodas without being confident that those who erected them had as their main object the erection of a beautiful building.

Or again, take the Temple of Heaven. Is there any monument in the whole world that has more feeling of beauty about it? The white altar lying uncovered testifies to the fundamental faith of the Chinese that there is a God in heaven who dwelleth not in temples made with hands, while the detail of the carving, though showing a certain sameness, yet indicates their belief that God must love beauty. To see the white Altar of Heaven together with the blue-roofed Temple beyond on some sunny day when the flowers are blooming and the dark green of the pine grove is in strong contrast with the light green of the spring herbage, is one of those visions of beauty which make a man dream and dream again of the noble future that may be before a race which has its holiest places in such lovely surroundings.

As most of the readers of this book may never have seen a Chinese building, perhaps it should be described. The architecture of the Chinese differs from that of the West in almost every detail. A Chinese town is a town without chimneys, and yet the absence of those chimneys which Renaissance architects made such a feature of domestic architecture is never missed, for Chinese roofs are curved and decorated with quaint figures; they are often coloured, bright yellow if the building is an imperial building, or bright blue or blue and green with yellow lines, as taste may direct. Common houses have not such ornate roofs, but I am speaking of the houses which have some claim to architectural excellence. This great roof is carried directly on pillars, so that it is possible to have a Chinese house without walls, and these wall-less houses are most suitable to a country where the summer is hot. The massive character of the roof prevents the heat of the sun penetrating, and the absence of walls allows of a free current of air; if there are walls they are generally wooden screens filled in with paper, and the effect in some old Chinese houses is very lovely.

For winter weather these houses seem cold to us, but the Chinese have always believed in the open-air policy. They never heat their houses; they rely either on warm clothing or on a flue-heated bed at night; and as they are as a race very subject to consumption, probably this policy is one which is best suited to their constitutions. At any rate it seems strange that while we in England are advocating open-air schools, open-air cures, and sleeping with the window open, in China Western influence should be destroying the admiration for a splendid form of architecture, the characteristic of which was that while it was of great beauty, it also shielded the inmates from the intense heat of summer and gave them ample fresh air.

When some Chinese literati were questioned about this architecture they freely confessed that they preferred their native buildings, but they seemed to think that a Western school could not be efficient unless it was held in a Western building. Missionaries and others being questioned on this point maintained that Western houses were in the end the cheapest, but the Chinese would not allow this. They said that a Chinese house would cost far more than a Western house if it were beautifully adorned with carving, but if it was built simply it would work out at less cost.

Chinese architecture is obviously a construction which lends itself to the use of iron. A Chinese building with iron substituted for wood would look as well, for they always paint their wood; this ought to be a very cheap form of construction in a land which is going to produce iron at a very low rate. The truth is that it is neither a question of cost nor of efficiency which makes the Chinese architecture despised; it is part of the great movement which expresses itself in stone and brick—a movement which is tending to bring the Eastern countries into misery—a movement which is planting in the East all that is commonplace, all that is hideous in the West, and that is destroying all that is beautiful in the East both in thought and colour and form. It is the counterpart of the movement which is destroying the faith of the Eastern nations and is only substituting the materialism which has degraded the West.