PART I

[Illustration: Sketch Map of China Showing Spheres of Influence]

PEKING DUST

I

POOR OLD CHINA

When I came away last August, you said you wanted me to tell you about

our travels, particularly about China. Like most Americans, you have a

lurking sentimental feeling about China, a latent sympathy and interest

based on colossal ignorance. Very well, I will write you as fully as I

can. Two months ago my ignorance was fully as overwhelming as yours, but

it is being rapidly dispelled. So I'll try to do the same for you, as

you said I might. Rash of you, I call it.

I'll take it that you have just about heard that China is on the map,

and occupies a big portion of it. You know that she has a ruler of some

kind in place of the old empress dowager who died a few years ago. Come

to think of it, the ruler is a president, and China is a republic.

Vaguely you may remember that she became a republic about five years

ago, after a revolution. Also, in the same vague way, you may have heard

that the country is old and rich and peaceful, with about four hundred

million inhabitants; and beyond that you do not go. Sufficient. I'll go

no further, either.

After six weeks in Japan, we set out for Peking, going by way of Korea.

On the boat from Kobe to Shimonoseki, passing through the famous Inland

Sea of Japan,--which, by the way, reminds one of the eastern shore of

Maryland,--we met a young Englishman returning to Shanghai. We three,

being the only first-class passengers on the boat, naturally fell into

conversation. He said he had been in the East for ten years, engaged in

business in Shanghai, so we at once dashed into the subject of Oriental

politics. Being quite ignorant of Eastern affairs, but having heard

vaguely of certain phases of them, we asked if he could tell us the

meaning of "sphere of influence." The Orient seems full of spheres of

influence, particularly China.

"How do the European nations acquire these 'spheres of influence' in

China?" I asked. "Do they ask the Chinese Government to give them to

them?--to set apart certain territory, certain provinces, and give them

commercial and trading rights to these areas?"

"Ask the Chinese Government?" repeated the young man, scornfully. "Ask

the Chinese? I should say not! The European powers just arrange it among

themselves, each decides what provinces it wants, agrees not to trespass

upon the spheres of influence of one another, and then they just notify

China."

"Just notify China?" I exclaimed. "You mean they don't consult China at

all and find out whether she's willing or not? You mean they just decide

the matter among themselves, partition out the country as they like,

select such territory as they happen to fancy, and then just notify

China?"

"That's the idea," he returned; "virtually that's all there is to it.

Choose what they want and then just notify China."

"Dear me!" said I.

I'm glad we met that young man. I like things put simply, in words of

one syllable, within range of the understanding. Moreover, incredible as

it seems, what he told us is true. Oh, of course, as I've found out

since, there are treaties and things to be signed after China has been

notified. She is then compelled to ratify these treaties or agreements;

it looks better. Forced to sign them at the pistol's point, as it were.

However, this ratification of treaties is more for the benefit of the

European powers than for China. Having staked out their claims, they

officially record them; that's all. And you know what used to happen in

our country during the good old days of the "forty-niners" if some one

jumped another's claim.

To show to what extent poor old China is under the "influence" of the

great European powers, I shall have to give you a few statistics;

otherwise you won't believe me. The total area of the Chinese Republic

is about 4,300,000 square miles. The spheres of influence of some of the

important nations are as follows:

Square miles

England: Tibet 533,000

Szechuen 218,000

Kwan'tung 86,000

Provinces of Yangtse Valley 362,000

Total 1,199,000 or 27.8%

Russia: Outer Mongolia 1,000,000

Che-Kiang 548,000

Three-quarters of Manchuria 273,000

Total 1,821,000 or 42.3%

France: Yunnan 146,700 or 3.4%

Germany: Shan-tung 55,000 or 1.3%

Japan: South Manchuria 90,000

Eastern Inner Mongolia 50,000

Fu-kien 46,000

Total 186,000 or 4.3%

Total area under foreign influence 79%

Don't forget these figures; turn back to them from time to time to

refresh your memory. But remember one thing: it is not customary to

speak of anything but of Japanese aggression. Whenever Japan acquires

another square mile of territory, forestalling some one else, the

fact is heralded round the world, and the predatory tendencies of

Japan are denounced as a menace to the world. But publicity is not

given to the predatory tendencies of other powers. They are all in

agreement with one another, and nothing is said; a conspiracy of

silence surrounds their actions, and the facts are smothered, not a

hint of them getting abroad. The Western nations are in accord, and

the Orient--China--belongs to them. But with Japan it is different. So

in future, when you hear that Japan has her eye on China, is

attempting to gobble up China, remember that, compared with Europe's

total, Japan's holdings are very small indeed. The loudest outcries

against Japanese encroachments come from those nations that possess

the widest spheres of influence. The nation that claims forty-two per

cent. of China, and the nation that claims twenty-seven per cent. of

China are loudest in their denunciations of the nation that possesses

(plus the former German holdings) less than six.

Our first actual contact with a sphere of influence at work came about

in this wise: After we had spent two or three weeks in Korea, we took

the train from Seoul to Peking, a two-days' journey. In these

exciting days it is hard to do without newspapers, and at Mukden,

where we had a five-hours' wait, we came across a funny little sheet

called "The Manchuria Daily News." It was a nice little paper; that

is, if you are sufficiently cosmopolitan to be emancipated from

American standards. It was ten by fifteen inches in size,--comfortable

to hold, at any rate,--with three pages of news and advertisements,

and one blank page for which nothing was forthcoming. Tucked in among

advertisements of mineral waters, European groceries, foreign

banking-houses, and railway announcements was an item. But for our

young man on the boat, I shouldn't have known what it meant. We read:

ALLIES PROTEST TO CHINA

Great Britain, France and Russia have lodged their

respective protests with China on the ground that the

Sino-American railway loan agreement recently concluded,

infringes upon their acquired rights. The Russian

contention is that the construction of the railway from

Fengchen to Ninghsia conflicts with the 1899 Russo-Chinese

Secret Treaty. The British point out that the

Hangchow-Wenchow railway under scheme is a violation of

the Anglo-Chinese Treaty re Hunan and Kwanghsi, and that

the proposed railway constitutes a trespass on the British

preferential right to build railways. The French

Government, on behalf of Belgium, argues that the

Lanchow-Ninghsia line encroaches upon the Sino-Belgian

Treaty re the Haichow-Lanchow Railway, and that the

railway connecting Hangchow with Nanning intrudes upon the

French sphere of influence.

There you have it! China needing a railway, an American firm willing

to build a railway, and Russia, England, France, and even poor

little Belgium blocking the scheme. All of them busy with a

tremendous war on their hands, draining all their resources of both

time and money, yet able to keep a sharp eye on China to see that

she doesn't get any improvements that are not of their making. And

after the war is over, how many years will it be before they are

sufficiently recovered financially to undertake such an expenditure?

China must just wait, I suppose.

On each side of the rocking railway carriage stretched vast arid

plains, sprinkled with innumerable villages consisting of mud houses.

The fields were cut across in every direction by dirt roads, unpaved,

full of deep ruts and holes. At times these roads were sunk far below

the level of the fields, worn deep into the earth by the traffic of

centuries; so deep in places that the tops of the blue-hooded carts

were also below the level of the fields. Yet these roads afford the

only means of communication with the immense interior provinces of

China--these sunken roads and the rivers.

Just then we passed a procession of camels, and for a moment I forgot

all about the article in "The Manchuria Daily News." Who wouldn't,

seeing camels on the landscape! A whole long caravan of them, several

hundred, all heavily laden, and moving in slow, majestic dignity at the

rate of two miles an hour! Coming in from some unknown region of the

great Mongolian plains, the method of transportation employed for

thousands of years! Yes, undoubtedly, China needs railways; but she

can't have any more at present, for she has no money to construct them

herself, and the great nations who claim seventy-nine per cent. of her

soil haven't time at present to build them for her. And they object to

letting America do it. A sphere of influence is a dog in the manger.

II

PEKING

Here we are in Peking at last, the beautiful, barbaric capital of China,

the great, gorgeous capital of Asia. For Peking is the capital of Asia,

of the whole Orient, the center of the stormy politics of the Far East.

We are established at the Grand Hôtel des Wagons-Lits, called locally

the "Bed-Wagon Hotel," or, as the marines say, the "Wagon Slits." It is

the most interesting hotel in the world, too, where the nations of the

world meet, rub elbows, consult together, and plan to "do" one another

and China, too. It is entertaining to sit in the dark, shabby lounge and

watch the passers-by, or to dine in the big, shabby, gilded dining-room,

and see the various types gathered there, talking together over big

events, or over little events that have big consequences. Peking is not

a commercial city, not a business center; it is not filled with drummers

or traveling-men or small fry of that kind, such as you find in Shanghai

and lesser places. It is the diplomatic and political center of the

Orient, and here are the people who are at the top of things, no matter

how shady the things. At least it is the top man in the concern who is

here to promote its interests.

Here are the big concession-hunters of all nationalities, with

headquarters in the hotel, ready to sit tight for a period of weeks or

months or as long as it may take to wheedle or bribe or threaten the

Chinese Government into granting them what they wish--a railroad, a

bank, a mine, a treaty port. Over in a corner of the lounge sits a

so-called princess, a Chinese lady, very modern, very chic, very

European as to clothes, who was formerly one of the ladies-in-waiting

to the old empress dowager. And, by the way, it took a woman to hold

China together. Next to her sits a young Chinese gentleman, said to be

the grandson of one of the old prime ministers, a slim, dapper youth,

spectacled and intelligent. I may say that the lady is almost

completely surrounded by the young man, but no one gives them more

than a passing glance. We do, because we are new-comers, but the

others are used to it. The British adviser to the Chinese Government

passes, a tall, distinguished, gray-haired man, talking with a burly

Englishman, hunter of big game, but now, according to rumor, a member

of the secret service. Concession-hunters and business men sit about

in groups, representatives of great commercial and banking firms from

all over the world. A minister from some legation drops in; there are

curio-buyers from Europe, with a sprinkling of tourists, and a

tired-looking, sallow group of anemic men and women who have just come

up from Manila on an army transport.

The approach to Peking is tremendously impressive. Lying in an arid

plain, the great, gray walls, with their magnificent towers, rise

dignified and majestic. Over the tops of the walls nothing is to be

seen. There are no skyscrapers within; no house is higher than the

surrounding, defending ramparts. Peking is divided into several areas,

each called a city, each city surrounded by its own walls. There is the

great, populous Chinese City, where only the Chinese dwell. The Tartar,

or Manchu, City has several subdivisions. It contains the legation

quarter, and all the foreign legations are clustered together in a

small, compact area, surrounded by a small wall for defensive purposes.

Beyond the legation quarter, on all sides, extends the Tartar City

itself. Foreigners also live in this part of Peking, and, as far as I

can see, always hold themselves in readiness to dash to the protection

of their legation if anything goes wrong. They tell one that it is quite

safe, that nothing can go wrong, that the Boxer troubles can never be

repeated; but all the same, they always appear to have a bag packed and

a ladder leaning against the compound walls in case of emergency. Which

gives life in Peking a delightful flavor of suspense and excitement.

Also within the Tartar City lies the Imperial City, inclosed by

towering red walls, and within that lies the Forbidden City, residence

of the rulers of China, containing the palaces, and the

dwelling-places of the mandarins. Now, except for certain parts of the

Forbidden City, such as the palace of the President, Li Yuan Hung, the

city is no longer forbidden. It is open to the public, and the public

may come and go at will; coolies, hucksters, beggars, foreigners--all

may move freely within the sacred precincts where formerly none but

the high and mighty might venture.

The streets are marvelous. Those in the legation quarter are well paved,

European, and stupid; but those in the Chinese and Tartar cities are

full of excitement. A few are wide, but the majority are narrow, winding

alleys, and all alike are packed and crowded with people and animals and

vehicles of all kinds. Walking is a matter of shoving oneself through

the throng, dodging under camels' noses, avoiding wheelbarrows, bumping

against donkeys, standing aside to let officials' carriages go

by,--antiquated European carriages, very shabby but surrounded by

outriders, mounted on shaggy Mongolian ponies, who gallop ahead and

clear the way. The horses can't be guided from behind; the coachman sits

on the box and holds the reins and looks impressive, but the real work

is done by the _mafu_ or groom. When it comes to turning a corner,

passing a camel-train, or other obstacle, the _mafu_ is obliged to leap

down from his seat, seize the bridle, and lead the horses round whatever

obstruction there may be. At other times, when not leading the horses,

the _mafu_ sits on the box and shouts to clear the way. I tell you,

progress in a carriage is a noisy affair,--what with the rattling of the

old vehicle, the clanking of the brass-mounted harness, the yells and

screams of the groom, and the yells and shouts of the crowds refusing to

give way. It's barbaric, but has a certain style and swing.

Don't think there is any speed to a carriage. Oh, no. Despite the noise

and rattle and apparent progress, the progress itself is very slow. At

the rate of two miles an hour, possibly. We went out for a drive in the

minister's carriage the other day, a comfortable victoria, drawn by a

pair of very fat, very sorrel horses, and we skimmed along, as I say, at

the rate of two miles an hour when the going was good. All we passed

were the pedestrians,--a few of them,--and we usually found ourselves

tailing along behind a camel-train or waiting for a wheelbarrow to get

out of the way. In the side streets, or _hutungs_, we shouted

ourselves along at a snail's pace, cleaving the dense throngs of

inattentive citizens, whose right to the middle of the road was as

great as ours, and who didn't purpose to be disturbed. Once on turning

a corner, the groom pulled the bridle off one of the horses. Off it

slipped into his hand, and the horse tossed his head and ran. The

_mafu_ yelled, the coachman yelled, every one else yelled, and for a

few moments there was intense excitement. Later on, that same

afternoon, we went out to tea somewhere, this time going by rickshaw.

In comparison to the speed of a carriage, the pace of a

rickshaw-runner is prodigious. We were positively dizzy.

There is a great difference between the speed of the rickshaw-runners in

Tokyo and in Peking. In Japan they go rather slowly, and refuse to

overexert themselves, and quite right, too; but here they go at top

speed. There are such enormous numbers of them, and competition is so

keen, that the swift young runners make capital of their strength. It is

pathetic to see broken-down old coolies, panting and blowing, making

painful efforts to compete with the younger men. I am not yet used to

being taken about by man-power. It seems wrong somehow, demoralizing,

for one human being to place himself in that humiliating relation to

another, to become a draft animal, to be forced to lower himself to the

level of an ox or an ass. It must have an insidious, demoralizing

effect, too, upon the persons who ride in these little vehicles. I am

not yet used to seeing able-bodied young foreigners, especially men,

being pulled about by thin, tired, exhausted coolies. I feel ashamed

every time I enter a rickshaw and contrast my well-being with that of

the ragged boy between the shafts. I suppose I shall get over this

feeling, think no more about it than any one else does, but at present

it is new to me. Every time we leave the hotel, twenty boys dash

forward, all clamoring for us; and if we decide to walk, twenty

disappointed, half-starved boys wheel their little buggies back to the

curb again and wait. Well, what can one do? They are so desperately

poor! One way or the other, it seems all wrong.

[Illustration: Coolies]

[Illustration: Camel caravan, Peking]

We got caught in a block in the Chinese City the other day. At the

intersection of two cross streets, narrow little _hutungs_ about eight

feet wide, four streams of traffic collided, and got hopelessly

entangled in a yelling, unyielding snarl. From one direction came a

camel-train from Mongolia; from another, three or four blue-hooded,

long-axled, Peking carts. Along a third street came a group of

water-carriers and wheelbarrows, and from the fourth half a dozen

rickshaws. All met, and in a moment became thoroughly mixed up. There

being no traffic regulation of any kind, no right of way of any sort,

there was no idea in the mind of any one but that of his unalterable

right to go ahead. It was pandemonium in a minute, with yells and

curses, pushing and blows, men whacking one another and the beasts

indiscriminately. Over the tops of the blue-hooded carts the tall camels

raised their scornful heads, and surveyed the commotion with aloof

disdain. In all the world there is nothing so arrogant and haughty as a

camel, and they regarded from their supercilious height the petty

quarreling of man. In fifteen minutes, however, the snarl cleared itself

up, and it was the camels who first managed to slither by, after which

each vehicle unwound itself from the mess and passed on.

You know, the lobby of this hotel seems a little like that block of

traffic. There is such a heterogeneous massing of nationalities and

of people within these shabby walls--officials, soldiers,

concession-hunters, tourists, attachés, journalists, explorers. All

those camels, coolies, rickshaw-boys, and water-carriers each felt

that he had the right of way; and so all these people think that

they have the right of way in China. There must be a hundred

different opinions about China in these corridors of the hotel. I'll

see what I can discover.

III

CIVILIZATION

The longer we stay here, the more we are impressed with the fact that

in China there is no sympathy for the Allies. The atmosphere is not at

all pro-German, however. There is no special feeling for the Central

powers any more than there is for the Entente Allies. It can best be

described as neutrality, or, rather, complete indifference as to which

group wins. Coming as we have direct from France,--two years of France

in war-time,--it is very curious to find ourselves plunged into this

atmosphere of total indifference to the outcome and objects of the

war. We have gathered these impressions from many talks with the

Chinese and from a diligent perusal of Chinese papers,--papers printed

in English, but owned and edited by the Chinese, and which may

therefore be said to reflect their sentiments. Also we have talked

with many foreigners who have lived in China for a long time, who have

many Chinese friends and acquaintances, and understand the Chinese

point of view, and these also tell us that China has no sympathy with

the Allies or with any other powers.

The explanation is not hard to find. Despite what foreigners may think

of them, the Chinese are by no means fools. They possess the wisdom of

the ages,--of their own peculiar kind. They have had a long experience

with foreigners, saddening and enriching, and cynicism is the outgrowth

of such experience. China has suffered at the hands of the great powers,

has suffered at the hands of England, Russia, France, and Germany alike.

She is virtually in the position of a vassal state, not to any one of

these nations but to all of them, and they have pillaged and despoiled

her for a century and a half. To one of them she owes the curse of

opium, which was forced upon her for commercial reasons--a curse which

she is about ready to throw off. She is weak and corrupt, but it is to

the advantage of her foreign masters to keep her in a state of weakness

and corruption. At the present moment she is paying huge indemnities to

various European powers as compensation for the losses they sustained

during the Boxer uprising in 1900, the Boxer trouble being an attempt on

the part of China to rid herself of the foreign invader. To one of these

countries, Russia, she is paying an indemnity part of which consists of

the expenses of thousands of troops which had no existence except on

paper. It is hardly possible for the Chinese to believe, in the light of

their own experience, that the various European nations at death-grips

in this war are actuated by the noble sentiments they profess to be

fighting for. The assurances from Europe, cabled daily to the Chinese

press, that the Allies are fighting for liberty, for justice, for

civilization, for the protection of small nations, mean nothing to the

Chinese. Such professions leave them cold. To the Oriental mind this

gigantic struggle is between a nation who is mistress of the world (and

the world's markets) and a nation who wishes to become mistress of the

world (and the world's markets). With seventy-nine per cent. of her

territory under foreign control, China can hardly believe in the

disinterested motives of the fighting nations.

The other day I saw a little incident on the street that puts the case

in a nutshell. Two big Mongolian dogs were locked together in a fight

to the death. Each had the other in a death-grip, and they rolled over

and over in the dust, surrounded by a great crowd of people who stood

by indifferently and watched them fight it out. This is the attitude

of China toward the European War, the attitude of the calm,

indifferent spectator.

The structure of civilization that Europe has erected for itself is

imposing and beautiful. We in America are confronted with the façade

of this great building, and beheld from our side of the Atlantic it

looks magnificent and superb. Even when we enter it in Europe, and

behold its many ramifications, we still have cause to admire. But

there is a back side to this structure of civilization; there are

outbuildings, slums, and alleys not visible from the front. These back

on the Orient, and the rear view of the structure of European

civilization, seen from the Orient, is not imposing at all. The

sweepings and refuse of Western civilization and Western morality are

dumped out upon the Orient, where they do not show.

IV

RACE ANTAGONISMS

It is a crisp, cold morning, but nothing to what it will be, they tell

us, when the autumn is over, and the bitter winter settles down upon

North China. After all, come to think of it, we are abutting on two

extremely Northern provinces, Manchuria and Mongolia, and these adjoin

Siberia, which all the world knows is cold. So this sharp October day,

with its brilliant blue sky and hard, glittering sunshine, is only a

foretaste of the weather that will come later.

To-day we went into the Chinese City and visited a native department

store. At the best speed of our rickshaw-boys we passed out of the

Chi'en Men, the principal gate, and once beyond the towering, embattled

wall that separates the Chinese from the Tartar City, we lost ourselves

in the maze of narrow, winding streets that open on all sides from the

main road leading from the Chi'en Men, which, by the way, has been in

the possession of the American troops since the Boxer uprising. In the

narrow _hutungs_ our progress was slow; we literally shoved our way

through crowds of rickshaws and thousands of pedestrians, and as there

are no sidewalks, we were alternately scraping the walls and shop fronts

on one hand, or locking wheels with Peking carts on the other, and

feeling the warm breath of a camel or donkey down our necks whenever the

traffic brought us to a halt. Finally our boys stopped before a large

building about three stories high, emblazoned with gold dragons, and

with gorgeous red and yellow banners and flags all over the front of it.

It stood some distance back from the street, and the wide courtyard in

front was filled and crowded with the carts and carriages of the

high-class women who had gone inside to shop.

I have already told you that Chinese horses can't be driven; they must

be led along with great show and shouting. Well, when they stop they

can't even be trusted to stay in harness; they must be unharnessed and

removed to a place of safety. Therefore the courtyard of this department

store presented a unique appearance, filled with twenty or thirty Peking

carts, empty, tilted back on their haunches, with shafts gaping toward

heaven. Also, the horses had been removed from innumerable little coupés

of ancient date, with the superstructure all of glass, so that the

occupant within is completely visible from all sides, like a fish in an

aquarium. Horses and mules, in gorgeous, glittering harness, were

carefully stood apart, or were being led up and down in the crowded

courtyard to cool off. Though why cool off, after a dash through the

streets at two miles an hour or less, I couldn't see. However, here they

all were,--great, high white horses, shaggy Mongolian ponies, and

magnificent mules, the latter by far the most superb animals I've ever

seen. I am not much at heights, but the mules were enormously tall,

enormously heavy, very beautiful beasts, white, red, yellow, and black,

and sleek with unlimited polishing and grooming. They were clad--that's

the only word--in heavy, barbaric harness, mounted with huge brass

buckles, and in some cases the leather was studded with jade, carnelian,

and other semi-precious stones.

[Illustration: Peking cart]

[Illustration: Fruit stall in the bazaar]

Style? There's nothing on Fifth Avenue to touch it. Do you think a

ten-thousand-dollar automobile is handsome? It's nothing to a Peking

cart, with its huge, sleek mule and glittering harness. I tell you,

the Chinese have the style of the world; the rest of us are but

imitators. In comparison, our motors are merest upstarts. But you must

picture a Peking cart, of beautifully polished wood, natural color,

and a heavy wooden body covered with a big blue hood. The owner rides

inside, on cushions, and on each shaft sits a servant, one to hold the

reins, the other to yell and jump off and run forward to press his

weight on the shaft to lessen the jar to the occupant whenever a bad

bit of road presents itself. They say that this old custom, due to the

discomfort and jolting of the springless carts, is the reason why the

horses are not trained to round corners or go over bad bits of road

alone. From time immemorial it has been the duty of the groom to run

forward and throw his weight on the shafts to lessen the jolts;

therefore he is the real, the important driver. In front of the

blue-linen hood hangs a curtain, and the two side windows are also

carefully curtained, with screens which permit the occupant to see

out but not to be seen from without. Thus do high-class mandarins

protect themselves, save themselves from having to descend whenever

they meet a mandarin of equal or higher rank and prostrate themselves

in the dust before him. Also, the longer the axle, the further it

projects beyond the hub of the wheel, the higher the rank of the

owner; it denotes his right to occupy the road. The rims of the

wheels are spiked: big nails project all round, indicating the

mandarin's right to tear up the road. It's all splendid and barbaric;

no mawkish sentiment about it.

So we entered the department store through rows and rows, very neat and

orderly, of upturned carts and antiquated coupés, and mules and horses

and a courtyard full of liveried servants. Inside, it still looked

barbaric, with its magnificent display of rich silks and furs. Great

skins of tiger, panther, leopard, wildcat, sable, were hanging in

profusion on all sides, interspersed with costly embroideries, wonderful

brocades, and all the magnificence and color of the gorgeous East. It

was the idea of Kwong, our pet rickshaw-boy, to bring us here and we

soon found that foreigners were not expected and not wanted. No one of

the suave shop attendants could speak English, nor did they make the

slightest attempt to wait on us. We wandered round, rather desolate,

followed by looks of curiosity and disdain on the part of the clerks,

and the wholly undisguised amusement and contempt of the high-class

Chinese and Manchu women, who, with their liveried servants, were making

the rounds of the various floors. In the store it was noisy and

cheerful, the atmosphere cold and close except in the neighborhood of a

few big red-hot stoves, which gave forth a local heat. Chinese women,

not high-class, attired in satin trousers, sat about at small tables

drinking tea and smoking cigarettes, tea and cigarettes being furnished

free at innumerable little tables on every floor. As we passed, they

giggled and nudged one another. Can't you imagine a Chinese lady in

satin trousers passing through a great American department store and

being remarked upon? To them we were equally queer, and they made no

attempt to disguise the fact. There was none of that servile deference

one finds among the hotel servants and the rickshaw-boys, or of the

extreme politeness of the upper-class Chinese whom we had met at the

legations and elsewhere. To these people we were nothing but foreigners,

and down at heart foreigners excite nothing but amusement or hostility.

That conservative, gossiping throng of Orientals had a good, firm

opinion of us, and it wasn't complimentary. We were interlopers and

intruders, and had no business in that _pukkah_ Chinese shop. We were

glad to get out and to make our purchases in some kindlier atmosphere.

How can I reconcile this impression with previous ones, of the docility

and servility we had previously encountered? Docility and subserviency

are necessary in dealing with the conquering foreigner, but in such

places and on such occasions when those qualities are not required, we

get an impression of the real feelings of the Chinese. I believe they

feel toward us very much as we should feel toward them, or toward any

other nation that claimed us as a vassal state. For one country to be

under the "influence" of another, for any nation to assert a "benevolent

protectorate" over another, is to engender the hostility of the state so

patronized. Very well, it stands to reason. Foreigners have been patting

China on the head for a long time, and repeated pats don't always

produce a callous; sometimes they produce profound irritation.

This country is so enormous, so chaotic, one is so aware of the

strength underlying its calm, submissive exterior, that one feels that

some day this latent strength will break through and disclose itself.

In trying to describe all these feelings at random, day by day as

they come, I am not trying to sort them out and classify them and

present them in an orderly manner. You must see them with me, and feel

them with me from day to day, and do your own thinking later. That

English boy on the boat coming over to China told us this. We asked

him if he had enjoyed his vacation in Japan.

"Not much," he replied. "I don't care for the Japanese; they don't

compare with the Chinese."

"What's the difference?" I asked.

He pondered a moment.

"I'll sum it up for you like this," he answered. "In Japan they treat

you as an equal; in China they treat you as a superior."

That's it, I believe. Race antagonism all the way through. China is a

conquered country. She doesn't dare show resentment or insist upon

equality. Whatever her private opinion may be, she is helpless, and she

must treat her conquerors with deference as superiors. But Japan has

never been conquered by the foreigner. She is the only nation among all

the nations of the Orient that has never been trodden underfoot by the

European. She has never been subjugated and never been drugged. And,

curious coincidence, she has reached a level with the foremost powers of

the world, and holds the rank of a first-class nation. All this without

having had the blessings of European civilization conferred upon her by

a conqueror! She has snatched here and there, has imitated, even

excelled, certain qualities and propensities of the white man, but has

never been blighted by having Western civilization forced upon her.

That's the rub. Japan is a striking example to the rest of Asia; her

success is a striking commentary on the value of independence. She has

attained eminence without the assistance of the great powers. And of the

value of this assistance, conferred by the great powers upon the other

nations of Asia--enough said.

V

SPHERES OF INFLUENCE

We are beginning to know a lot of people in Peking, for we were launched

upon Peking society the other night when we dined at the American

legation. It was the first dinner party we have been to in several

years, as we have been living quietly in Paris since the beginning of

the war, and there are no such things as dinners or parties in Paris in

these distressful days. However, knowing that we were coming to the

Orient, and having shrewd ideas that possibly we might be invited out,

and therefore would need a proper dress, E---- and I each had one made,

a good one. Strange and unusual sensation to get into them; neither of

us could tell the back from the front! They looked alike from both

aspects, and felt equally uncomfortable either way. We tried them on

both ways and got no light from the experience, and then laid them on

the bed and looked at them ruminatively, all the while the clock moving

toward eight and no decision reached.

Finally, we concluded that if there was as little difference between

back and front as that, it couldn't matter much. Which shows you how

little we have been wearing evening clothes in the last two years, and

how unaccustomed to them we are. So, as I say, we dined at the legation

the other night, with our dresses on hind-side before, for all we knew,

and neither of us was troubled at all. Had a delightful time, too, and

met many interesting people. The dinner was in honor of the general in

charge of our army in the Philippines, and we also met Admiral von

Hinze, the German minister. The Dutch minister and his wife were there,

too. As America is neutral, it is necessary to entertain the various

diplomats as usual, but naturally they can't all dine at the legation on

the same evening. Sheep and goats, as it were, one dinner to the Allied

representatives, the next to the representatives of the Central powers.

Much nice sorting is required, and they tell us that in consequence of

the war Peking society is rift in twain. This is all very well when it

happens in a big community, but when it happens in such a limited little

society as Peking, all walled in together within the narrow inclosure of

the legation quarter,--walled in literally, also, in the fullest sense,

with soldiers from the guards of the various legations patrolling the

walls and mounting guard day and night,--such a situation results in

great tension and embarrassment all round. There was not one word of war

talk during the dinner; it was tacitly avoided, by common consent.

Well, as I said, after that dinner the other night, people began to be

very nice to us and to invite us out. The one safe subject for

discussion is Chinese politics, in which every one is interested and of

which every one knows a lot. At least, I don't know that they really

know, but they say they do, and speak as if they do, and become emphatic

if you doubt them, and altogether they dispense a wonderful lot of

news, whatever its value. Rumors! There was never in the world such a

place for rumors as Peking. We thought Paris was the hotbed of rumors

during the last two years of the war--Paris with its censored press,

suppressed speech, and general military rule, so that all one lives on

are the rumors that never get into the papers; but Peking is stupendous.

Here the rumors simply fly, and the corridors of the old Wagons-Lits

Hotel seems to be the pivotal spot of the whirlwind. Sooner or later

every one in Peking seems to drop into the hotel on some pretext or

other, as if it were a club, and the lounge is so thick with news and

rumor and gossip that you can lean up against them and not fall down.

All absolutely true, authentic, unquestionable, and to-morrow all

flatly contradicted by another set equally veracious, startling, and

imposing. Never mind. Who are we, to question the truth of them? All

we can do is to drink them in day by day, modify and change our

opinions on the morrow, and enjoy ourselves with such thrills as one

gets nowhere else in the civilized world.

On top of it all we have the newspapers. There are three or four in

English, one in French, and the rest in the vernacular. The most

interesting is "The Peking Gazette," since it represents the pure

Chinese point of view. Printed in English, it is owned and edited by

the Chinese, and gives their side of the story. The editor is a

delightful man, Chinese, an Oxford graduate, fiery, intense, alert,

ever on the defensive for China's rights and speaking in no uncertain

tones on that subject, leaving one in no doubt as to his attitude on a

decision concerning China's welfare when opposed to the welfare of a

European nation that wishes to "do" China. "The Daily News" is the

organ of the Allied powers, and presents things from the point of view

of the Western nations; consequently there is perpetual warfare

between the "Gazette" and the "News," the perpetual clash between

Chinese and foreign interests. Only on one subject do they

agree--their hatred of Japan. For the Chinese do not like Japan any

more than they like any other would-be conqueror. And the Europeans do

not like Japan, who is their great commercial rival, a rival that can

market her products without going half-way round the world.

Consequently the "News" attacks Japan, while the "Gazette" attacks

impartially all invaders who seek the subjection of China. It is

amusing. When the "Gazette" attacks Japan, a chorus of praise from the

European organs. When it attacks predatory tendencies manifested by

European nations, a chorus of denunciation from the European organs.

But the editor fights ahead, regardless of praise or blame, with a

single purpose in view, the preservation of China's sovereignty.

A few days ago this article appeared in the "Gazette," an amplification

of the little paragraph in that diminutive newspaper "The Manchuria

Daily News" of which I wrote you. Said the "Gazette," under a bold

head-line in large type:

CHINA IN FETTERS

Foreign writers are wont to complain that nothing in the

sense of real work is being done in this country. This, of

course, is a misleading statement, although much that

ought to be done is left undone. And one of the principal

reasons for this state of things is revealed in what

begins to look like the development of a scandalous

opposition to American enterprise in China. Owing to the

war putting a stop to the financing of public undertakings

in China by European capitalists and contractors, a

powerful American organization has turned its attention to

this country and in an entirely business sense has secured

contracts for the construction of certain railroads in

China. The transaction involves the expenditure of

$200,000,000 of American money, a considerable portion of

which will be spent for labor and other things. It is

admitted that there is absolutely nothing like "politics"

in the deal. The same remark applies with greater force to

the American loan for the conservency of a portion of the

Grand Canal. And yet we have Japan, Russia, France, Great

Britain, and even _Belgium_--a country that ought at least

to know what not to do to a state struggling to preserve

its elementary rights of existence--trying to interfere

with the construction of necessary public works in this

country, simply because America can do what these other

people cannot now do.

"China in Fetters"--a significant term for a Chinese newspaper to use.

It would seem as if these spheres of influence[1] had become linked

together into a chain for throttling purposes. I tried to tell you the

other day about them, but please listen to a little further explanation.

In the lobby of the hotel I found a journalist who knows things, who had

been in China many years.

"Explain to me," I asked him, "all over, from the very beginning, what

these things mean."

"The country which claims such a sphere," he began patiently, "claims

for itself the right to develop that territory."

"Suppose," I interrupted, "the Chinese themselves should wish to develop

this territory,--to open up a gold-mine, to build a railway,--would they

be allowed to do so?"

"Certainly, if they have the money."

"But if they haven't the money, if they must borrow?"

"Then they must borrow from the power which claims the territory."

"But if for some reason that power can't lend it to them,--can't spare

it, as is the case with all Europe at present,--or if for some other

reason does not wish to lend it, what then?"

He shrugged his shoulders.

"Fineesh! China can't borrow money from one power to 'start something'

in the sphere of influence claimed by another."

Apropos of all this there's a good story at present going the rounds of

Peking. The head of a certain great corporation, out here seeking a

concession from the Chinese Government, appeared before the Chinese

officials one day and made his request. The officials, in their gorgeous

robes, were all seated round a large table on which was spread a map of

China. It was a wonderful large map, but all colored in different

colors, some parts red, some blue, others yellow, and so on. Behind the

chairs of the Chinese officials stood the representatives of the various

European powers--British, French, Russian, all of them. Our American

laid his finger on that part of the map colored red.

"I'll do the work here," he said to the Chinese.

"Excuse me," interrupted a representative of a foreign government, "you

can't go there. That red part of China belongs to Great Britain."

"Very well. I'll go here," said the American, indicating the blue part

of the map.

"Excuse me," said another European gentleman, "you can't do it there.

That part of China belongs to Russia."

"Here, then," continued the American, laying his finger on a green spot.

"This will do."

Another suave alert diplomatic gentleman stepped forth.

"That," he said regretfully, "is French."

So it went on all over the map. The Chinese officials sat silent, while

one European representative after another stepped forward with his

objections. Finally, in exasperation, the American turned to the silent

Chinese and asked:

"Where the hell is China?"

FOOTNOTES:

[Footnote 1: America has neither a concession nor a sphere of influence

in all China.]

VI

ON THE SACREDNESS OF FOREIGNERS

You know, I can't believe that it is good for us,--Americans, Europeans,

foreigners of all sorts,--to feel ourselves so sacred as we feel in

China. Whatever we do, we are always right, no matter how wrong we may

be. We always have the right of way, the privilege of walking over the

Chinese, and to this privilege they must submit. Our sacredness is not

due to admiration for or belief in us. Quite the contrary. It is due

to a deep sense of fear of the consequences should they attempt to

check or curb our activities or inclinations. The relations between a

subject people and their conquerors is fundamentally immoral, and

demoralizing to both. A few years ago motors made their appearance in

Peking; there are not many even to-day. But there are no speed

regulations, and they dash through the crowded streets as rapidly as

they choose. After a number of accidents the Chinese sought to

establish a speed-limit law, but this was positively objected to by

one of the foreign ministers, who said that he did not intend to have

his liberty interfered with by the Chinese!

Throughout China are the foreign concessions, small holdings of land

which belong to the various European nations. In each of the treaty

ports these concessions are established,--Russian, English, French,

German,--and although they lie in the heart of a Chinese city, they

are absolutely the property of the Russians, English, French, or

Germans, as the case may be. The Chinese have no authority or control

over them, and are unable to regulate them in any way. This brings

about a very difficult situation for the Chinese. For example, the

opium traffic. On Chinese soil the sale of opium is strictly

prohibited; yet it is freely sold in the foreign concessions, and the

Chinese are powerless to prevent it. At present they are making a

determined and gallant fight against the opium habit, which was

forced upon them by Great Britain as the result of two successful

opium wars, and legalized by treaties that, to say the least, were

extorted from the helpless Chinese. The ratification of these treaties

made it all right for Great Britain to import opium as freely as she

liked. Well, ten years ago, after a century and a half of opium

traffic, poor old China made a stand against this evil and determined

to overcome it. She entered into a contract with Great Britain, by the

terms of which England agreed to decrease her opium imports year by

year, for a period of ten years, in proportion as China decreased,

year by year, her poppy cultivation. Both sides have kept the faith,

and the end of the bargain will be celebrated by rejoicing (Chinese)

on April 1, 1917, when the ten-year contract expires.

It has been a colossal struggle against almost overwhelming odds. For a

nation as weak, as unwieldy, as corrupt as China to undertake such a

stupendous task seems almost inconceivable. Accurate statistics are not

available, but it would seem that one-half of the Chinese were in the

grip of this vice. In some provinces about ninety per cent. of the

officials were addicted to opium-smoking, and in all provinces a huge

percentage of the people were addicts. Anyway, China has made this

gigantic effort to get rid of opium, and she has almost succeeded; April

1 of next year will see the end of the whole sordid business. But no

assistance has been given her in this enormous task; she has

accomplished it alone. During this ten-years' struggle she has had to

contend not only against the inclinations of her drug-sodden people but

against the fact that her people could procure opium freely in the

foreign concessions, over which the Chinese have no control.

The bargain between China and Great Britain, however, has been lived up

to. The Chinese began to plant poppies when they were unable to curb or

suppress the British imports. As long as the vice was to be fastened

upon the country by treaties, they shrewdly decided that at least all

the money spent for opium should not go out of the country; therefore

they started in on poppy cultivation on their own account. But this

native cultivation has been almost entirely suppressed in the last ten

years, and the supplies of both native and foreign opium will reach

the vanishing-point on April 1, 1917. But it seems pretty hard to

realize that the foreign governments have given China no assistance in

this struggle. It is too lucrative a trade. The Peking papers are

already talking of the great day, only six months distant, when China

will have freed herself from this curse. We are determined to be here

in Peking to witness the celebration.

But that brings me back to my starting-point, the fact that foreigners

are not subject to Chinese laws. In his own concession the foreigner is

amenable to the laws of his own country. If on Chinese soil he violates

Chinese law, all that the Chinese can do is to hand him to his nearest

consul, who may or may not punish him. And this immunity from

responsibility, this arrogant privilege of doing as one likes on Chinese

soil, with very small chance of being brought to book for it, has a

demoralizing influence upon the average foreigner who comes out here.

Between ourselves, the class of foreigners who come to China don't

amount to much. "Beach-combers" they were called in the good old

days--adventurers, gamblers, shady characters of all sorts, and pretty

well dwarfed ethically. But no matter what they did, they were usually

supported by their various governments, and the result to-day is a

well-defined fear of the foreigner, a desire to sidestep him, to stand

from under. It seems rather cowardly, this cringing attitude on the part

of the Chinese, but it is the result of a century of experience with the

ethics of the West. Brave men, unarmed, have been known to throw up

their hands in the presence of a bandit.

An amusing thing happened to-day. After tiffin E---- and I went out in

our rickshaws, trying to find a shop where we could buy camel's-hair

blankets. And, by the way, there aren't any, so we had a fruitless

quest. We each have our own rickshaw now, hired by the month at twenty

dollars (Mexican) apiece. It seems miserably cheap, yet they tell us

that we have paid five dollars more than the usual rate. It was pathetic

when we chose our boys the other day--chose two out of a crowd of thirty

or more that presented themselves. The disappointment of the others was

pitiable. Competition is keen, and it means much to these boys to know

they have an assured income rather than haphazard, precarious

employment. My boy is called Kwong, and is a wonderful little runner,

much faster than E----'s boy.

By this time we are much attached to them, and our days usually end up

at the bazaar out on Morrison Street, that marvelous bazaar where

everything made in North China is for sale--furs, silks, jade, jewels,

sweetmeats, everything. But it is to the sweet-stalls that we always go,

where wonderful Chinese candies and sugared fruits are for sale. We

first change a dollar into pennies, and then all four of us eat our way

from stall to stall--sesame candy, sugared walnuts, sugary plums on

straws. It's wonderful. Germs? Maybe, but we don't care. I am sick of

germs, of the emphasis that every one at home places on them. It's

restful to get into a country where there aren't any, or at least people

don't know about them. The trouble with America is that every one is so

busy thinking of clean streets, clean garbage-cans, the possibilities of

disease contained in impure food, that much of the beauty and comfort of

life is lost. Life is not all in length.

Well, as I say, with our visit to the bazaar reserved for the end of the

afternoon, we went into the Chinese City in search of camel's-hair

blankets. Soon we turned aside from the big high-street, and dived into

one of the narrow, winding, unpaved lanes of the native city, which only

the rickshaw-boys can negotiate. Presently, in this maze of narrow

streets, we met the usual block; a dozen rickshaws from opposite

directions encountered one another, and each claimed the right of way.

When an alley is six feet wide, there is neither right nor way, and

voluble conversation ensued, mounting rapidly into screams and curses.

Coolies and passengers alike took part in the discussion, and as we were

the only foreigners, we felt handicapped by our lack of language. The

storm of yells mounted higher and higher, when suddenly the crowd gave

way a little, and E----'s boy managed to slide through, while Kwong,

pulling me, slipped close behind.

Indignity! It seems the passage had been cleared for a young Chinese

gentleman, clad in gorgeous brocade, an official, perhaps, since he

had all the marks of wealth and position. As we ran past, into the

space opened for him, the young official leaned forward and shouted

some insult into Kwong's ear, and Kwong made some furious retort.

Instantly the young official jumped from his rickshaw, dashed up to

Kwong, and struck him between the eyes. Poor little Kwong staggered,

and dropped the shafts, and I leaped out and caught the wrists of

the young gentleman just as he was aiming another blow at my unhappy

boy. What happened? While I held firmly pinioned the hands of the

young gentleman, Kwong recovered, and proceeded to deal the

official a series of stunning blows! He would have fallen except for

my hold on his wrists.

"Kwong, stop it! Behave yourself!" I shouted, and released the official

in order to seize Kwong. Whereupon the young gentleman pounded Kwong

anew. I was unable to hold the hands of both; could seize only one at a

time, and my part soon resolved itself into pinioning one belligerent

while the other struck him! A silly rôle, I must say. Impartially

holding up first one, then the other, for punishment! At a modest

estimate, I should say that one half the population of Peking

swarmed out of adjacent lanes and burrows to see the excitement, and

amidst the pandemonium of yells I heard some one shouting in

English: "Police house! Police house!" The finish came when E----'s

boy came to the rescue with a hearty kick to the young man, after

which the fighters broke away, and every one took to their rickshaws

and made off with all speed.

It was too much. To go out on a peaceful shopping expedition, and

become involved in a free-for-all fight! Some one of us lost face by

that episode, whether the official, Kwong, or myself, I'm not sure.

There wasn't much prestige to the whole thing. Just one fact stands

out clearly amidst that maze of swift events. At the end of the

street, about fifty feet beyond that wild mob, stood a Chinese

policeman. One hasty look he gave to the affair, and seeing that

some foreign ladies were involved, he decided to keep out of it. He

kept his back turned the entire time, with his hands tight in the

pockets of his padded trousers.

VII

DONKEYS GENERALLY

It's all delightful here every moment of the day. The excitement begins

every morning at breakfast with the unfolding of "The Peking Gazette." I

come down-stairs early, when the corridors are being swept and dusted by

the China-boys in their long blue coats, and receive a series of

"Morning, Missy's" on my way to the breakfast-room, the nice, warm

breakfast-room, with oilcloth-covered floor, and everything else simple

accordingly. There is gilding in the big dining-room, but the

breakfast-room is as simple as a New England boarding-house. One boy

pulls out my chair, another opens my napkin,--they look after you well

here,--and a third boy, the regular waiter, leans over and says,

"Pollidge, Missy?" and a moment later brings a big bowl of porridge

and a can of cream. There is nothing but tinned milk and cream in

China, for there are no cows. There is no room to pasture cows or to

feed them, for one cow can eat as much food as twenty people, so no

land can be devoted to such superfluities as that. One of the

legations has a cow, however, and people who stand in well with the

legation can have such milk as there may be over and above the

legation's needs. But the Wagons-Lits Hotel is not on that list,

and, as I say, tinned cream is all that I get for my "pollidge." But

it is very good indeed, these chilly October mornings. After all,

what does food matter? Peking is so rich in other things!

To-day at breakfast, with the "Gazette" propped against the coffee-pot,

I began my usual search for news. Found it, too, in a moment, in the

editorial column. A fairly long leader, entitled, "The Shanghai Opium

Combine: Frantic Efforts to Secure Further Privileges in China," caused

me to forget "pollidge" and everything else, and to read hastily to the

end. As I told you the other day, the opium traffic in China is to come

to an end in six months. Well, this article says that the Shanghai

Opium Combine, the combination of a dozen British firms with

headquarters in Shanghai, is making frantic efforts to prolong the time

limit for the sale of opium, to extend it for another nine months. The

excuse offered is that the combine has not sufficient time between this

and April 1, 1917, to sell off its remaining stocks of opium, and in

consequence it is appealing to the British authorities to bring

pressure upon the Chinese Government to extend the time by nine months.

According to the "Gazette," the combine has "worked hard to induce the

local British consul-general once more to enlist his sympathies for the

Opium combine; but, happily, the latter has peremptorily declined to do

anything of the sort. It is reliably reported that the British Minister

at Peking, Sir John Jordan, was similarly approached, and the latter

has equally refused to recognize the combine any longer. As a last

resort, they telegraphed to the London Foreign Office for support, in

their desire to compel either the Chinese Government or the local

Municipal Council [at Shanghai] to aid them to secure their

nine-months' privilege. The decision of the London Foreign Office is

awaited with feverish interest, although it is considered doubtful

whether any good result can be achieved."

Think of China's position--having to await with "feverish interest" the

decision of the British Government as to whether or not it will be

possible for China to suppress the opium traffic at the end of the

ten-years' agreement! The sale and manufacture of opium is a monopoly of

the British Government, just as vodka was a monopoly of the Russian

Government at the beginning of the war. The Shanghai Opium Combine is

the distributing agent of this British opium, and until the beginning of

this ten-years' struggle China was an important customer. The loss of

revenue to the British Government through the closure of the Chinese

market is a very serious item. And these rumblings, these hints of

pressure being brought to bear upon China, are pretty ugly. Anyway, the

"Gazette" is aroused to the danger, and the "Gazette" is nothing if not

outspoken, and will give the matter full publicity if anything goes

wrong. Only it makes one uneasy. Poor old China!

We went on such a pleasant expedition to-day. It was arranged last

night on receipt of an informal note from Dr. Reinsch, our minister,

asking if we would go with him on a donkey-trip to a temple in the

hills outside Peking. Out came our khaki clothes, bought for just such

an emergency, for nothing is more appropriate for a donkey-ride than

our khaki skirts and breeches and leggings.

There are two railway stations in Peking, usually spoken of as "the

station" and "the other station." From "the station" trains run down to

Shanghai or up into Manchuria and Mukden, and connect with the

Trans-Siberian and other far-away, thrilling places. The "other station"

takes one out into the country somewhere, to various outlying spots in

the hills, and it was to one of these places that we were bound. When we

arrived we found the other members of the party waiting for us. We were

all early, ahead of time, for Chinese trains have certain idiosyncrasies

that must be reckoned with. Scheduled to start at a certain hour, they

frequently leave five or ten minutes ahead of time, or whenever the

guard thinks that no more people are coming. All six of our party found

ourselves at the station well ahead of time, having been warned of this

peculiarity of Chinese railways. Dr. Reinsch's two servants were on hand

to buy the tickets and to carry large and imposing lunch-baskets. Soon

we were all installed in an antiquated railway-carriage, first class by

courtesy only, with half an hour's ride before us.

Pandemonium greeted us when we alighted on the platform of a dusty

little station--a small house solitary upon the vast plain. Pandemonium

came from the donkey-drivers who were expecting us, thirty or forty at

least, each one dragging forward a reluctant donkey, praising its merits

and himself as donkey-driver, and disparaging all the other donkeys and

drivers and battling for our helpless persons. What can you do when a

towering coolie takes a firm clutch on your arm, and, with an equally

firm grip on his donkey's bridle, drags you and the donkey together and

is about to lift you on the animal's back, when you are suddenly jerked

in an opposite direction by an equally firm hand and confront another

stubborn and reluctant donkey and are about to be boosted upon that,

when you are clutched from the rear and meet a third possibility!

Mercifully, our khaki clothes were new and strong and stood the jerking

and hauling without giving way at a single seam. Out of the mêlée peace

was finally restored. Some one got me, and the others also were

captured, the yells finally died down, and we set off over the plains,

all mounted on donkeys much too small. Saddles? Not at all. A square

seat, about as wide and unyielding as a table-top, was strapped securely

to each donkey, and to this seat we clung, with no secureness at all. An

exceedingly wide seat it was, with stirrups dangling somewhere out of

reach, and which could not be reached even by the widest effort to

straddle that square wide pad. Behind each donkey ran its owner,

flicking its heels with a long-lashed whip, urging it to a speed likely

to pitch one off at any minute.

Do you think donkeys are sure-footed? I had thought so up to this time.

By no means. These little beasts stumbled constantly, their little

ankles having been so strained by the heavy burdens they ordinarily

carry that they seemed to give way at every step. We had eleven miles of

this, over a rough, uneven road, across the dusty plain, mounting

gradually toward the hills through loose and rolling stones. It was a

gray day, with rain threatening, and when we finally reached our temple,

Je Tai Ssu, the rain began in a steady drizzle, and steadily continued.

The temple was most interesting. We stiffly rolled off our donkeys, and

wandered through the multitude of courtyards, in and out of the many

buildings, filled with fine carving and beautiful color. A few priests

were at hand, deferential but unobtrusive, and when we finally sat down

to lunch at a big table placed in the courtyard before the main temple,

they surrounded us silently, filled with curiosity. The boys had placed

our table under a tree, which did something, but not much, to shelter us

from the rain that fell during the meal, dripping through the bare

branches. Below us spread a magnificent vista of more hills, a great,

far-reaching panorama, with the old Summer Palace in the distance. In

all directions we could see temples perching on the distant

hills--temples which are no longer used as such but are the summer homes

of the foreign residents of Peking. They were all pointed out to us.

Over yonder was Mr. So-and-So's temple; beyond, on that hilltop, was

Mrs. So-and-So's, all occupied during the summer months by foreigners

who escape from Peking in the hot weather. At once we became fired with

a desire to rent one, too. Thirty Mexican dollars a season, a hundred

Mexican dollars a year; not exorbitant, surely!

Besides the priests, the pariah dogs, or "wonks," watched our meal with

intense interest. They stood by in a silent circle, monks and wonks,

and our gay tiffin proceeded undisturbed except by the pattering rain.

But the rain was increasing in violence, so we left soon after the meal,

and it was far from easy to straddle our donkeys again and retrace our

way across the stones and sand. From time to time we dismounted and

tried to walk, but it was difficult to keep pace with our galloping

animals, eager to return home. Time was pressing, so we were finally

obliged to ride, becoming stiffer and sorer every minute. In single file

as we had come, we made our way back. Presently I heard a sort of

flumping sound behind me, and I turned, to see E---- and her donkey

lying side by side in the road, motionless. Dr. Reinsch jumped off his

animal, I rolled off mine, and we both ran back to the bundles of khaki

and fur lying together at full length.

"Are you hurt?" I asked anxiously.

"Mercy no!" replied E----, contentedly. "Leave me alone! Most

comfortable position I've been in all day!"

VIII

ADVISERS AND ADVICE

There is another quaint custom here, which, its far as I know, is unique

in the history of international relations. That is the custom of giving

advice to China. Any country can do it, apparently. Any country that

thinks China would be benefited by a little disinterested and helpful

counsel can see that she gets it--and that she pays for it, too. Any

person who wishes a lucrative position can get his government to appoint

him as an "adviser" to China, and his government will see to it that

China pays him a salary. As far as I know, China does not ask for this

advice; it is thrust upon her unsought. But she must pay for the

privilege, whether she likes it or not. So over they come, these various

"advisers" from various foreign nations, and settle down here in Peking

as the official adviser of this and that, and draw their salaries from

this bankrupt old government. The China Year Book for 1916 gives a list

of twenty-five such advisers, British, American, French, Russian, Dutch,

German, Italian, Japanese, Danish, Belgian, and Swedish. There is the

political adviser to the President; to the ministry of finance; in

connection with the five-power loan; to the ministry of war; on police

matters; to the ministry of communications; legal advice; advice on the

preparation of the constitution; advice to the bureau of forestry, and

to the mining department of the ministry of agriculture and commerce. In

addition to all this paid "advice," there is of course the unpaid,

voluntary "advice," equally disinterested and helpful, of the various

foreign legations in Peking. No wonder the poor old Chinese Government

is distraught and, as some one said last evening, in a state of anarchy.

Who wouldn't be in the circumstances? I wonder how long Washington would

tolerate such a string of "advisers," all appointed willy-nilly, and

paid for by the American Government. They say that some one once wrote a

book entitled, "Advising China to Death," but it was never published.

Some one advised against it, probably.

Another thing that China is not allowed to do is to regulate her

customs duties. This poor old country, rich as she is or as she might

become, has virtually no revenue, for she is allowed to have but a

nominal tariff. There is no use in developing her industries, she can't

protect them, or hedge them in with any sort of protective tariff. It

is not allowed. She must first consult with some seventeen different

powers if she wishes to raise the duty on a single item. And if one

power that does not import a certain article into China is willing to

have a duty laid on that article, this decision will not be agreeable

to another power that imports a lot of it. So it goes. It is pretty

hard to find seventeen powers all in accord. The great nations allow

old China just enough revenue to return to them in the shape of Boxer

indemnities; nothing more.

Oh, disabuse your mind of the fact that China is a sovereign state! She

is bound hand and foot, helpless, mortgaged up to the hilt. Every

foreigner in China knows it, and the Chinese know it themselves only too

well. It seems such a farce to give them the courtesy title of

sovereignty. I don't think you realize, never having been in this

country, what a farce it really is. I am not able to write you a learned

book. All I can do is to write you these letters, which are surely

devoid of all legal verbiage, because I don't know any. If I were a

scholar, a student of international politics, I would wrap all my

statements in fine, well-chosen language, quoting treaties and acts and

agreements and all the rest of it, and you wouldn't know what it all

meant. I can only give you the facts as they disclose themselves to me

from day to day. I can also tell you that every one over here--all the

foreigners I mean--laugh at China and ridicule her and make fun of her

weak, corrupt government, of her inertia and helplessness, and think

what she gets is good enough for her.

I grow so tired of all this talk about the corruptness of the Chinese!

They are corrupt, all the officials, or the greater part of them. But

you don't hear much about those who corrupt them. Why? Because it suits

the great Western nations to keep this government in a state of

weakness, of indecision, of susceptibility to bribes and threats; it

makes China easier to control. The one ray of hope for China lies in the

fact that there are so many foreign nations trying to gain control of

her. One could do it, two could do it, three could do it, but a dozen!

China plays off one greedy predatory power against another. One

"adviser" arranges everything nicely in the interests of his country,

and then what does the "corrupt" Chinese official do? Runs off and

tattles it all to some other "adviser," whose interests will be damaged

if the advice of Number One goes through. It is a tremendous game, each

foreign power striving to cut the ground from under the next foreign

power and to gain the ascendency for itself. Diplomatic Peking is a

great, silent battle-ground; on the surface Oriental politeness and

suave political courtesies but underneath a seething sea of strife.

The Chinese attitude toward all this reminds me of a story I heard long

ago. Two negroes were discussing a negro girl.

"Trus' dat niggah?" said one; "trus' dat niggah? I wouldn't trus' her

'hind a cornstalk!"

Yes, many of the Chinese are corrupt. They have their price. For

example, the old palace in the Forbidden City is now a museum, holding

one of the most superb collections of Chinese treasures in the world,

all that remains from the imperial go-downs. This collection is not

catalogued, however, and every few months the exhibits are changed and

others substituted; for the collection is too large, they say, for

everything to be kept on view at one time. At such times as the

exhibits are changed, current Peking gossip has it, certain of the

finest treasures disappear. They are said to find their way into the

currents of trade, to enrich the museums of Europe and America. Put

this down as you like, however, the conventional explanation for this

is that the Chinese are so corrupt!

IX

CHINESE HOUSES

We are really, seriously looking for a house in Peking, in which to set

up a Peking cart, a white mule, a camel, and a Mongolian dog! That shows

what the Orient does to one in a few short weeks, how it changes one's

whole point of view. A month ago neither of us had any idea of staying

in Peking for more than two or three weeks; we had intended to stop long

enough to see the obvious things, temples and such, and then go down to

the tropics for the winter. Now we are on the verge of giving up our

trip to Angkor and of settling right here--I was almost going to say for

life! And all in a few short weeks!

There is so much beauty and style in a Chinese house, and most of the

people we know have them, and we are becoming tired of being "tourists."

Let me describe these Chinese houses. Each "house" consists of anywhere

from two to a hundred little separate one-story buildings, the whole

collection inclosed by a stone wall, ten feet high, with broken glass on

top. Within this compound, or surrounding and protecting wall, the

various houses are arranged symmetrically in squares, built around

courtyards that open into one another. They are laid off with beautiful

balance, and the courtyards, large or small, are usually paved with

stone. Sometimes trees are planted in them, or bridges and rock gardens

and peony mountains are made. The finer and more numerous the houses,

the more beautiful and elaborate the architecture of these separate,

single buildings, the larger and more elaborate the courtyards, the more

filled they are with trees, lilac-bushes, stone bridges, and other

charming details. As one enters the compound, the building facing one is

the residence of the mandarin himself. Back of it lies the house of his

"number-one" wife, and back of that, each surrounded by its own

courtyard, are the houses of his other wives and of the various members

of his family. All are quite separate one from the other, yet all are

connected by passages leading through moon-gates in the dividing walls,

one courtyard opening into another in orderly, yet rather confusing,

profusion. However, we are not looking for anything grand and

imposing--a palace or the abode of some old mandarin. We know several

people who live in such stately homes, but we shall be satisfied with a

simpler house, consisting of fewer buildings and fewer courtyards.

Inside the compounds, these various separate buildings are divided by

invisible partitions into "rooms." In the ceiling one sees arrangements

by which a wall can be built in, a screen adjusted,--a big carved

screen,--or some sort of partition erected by which the house can be

further subdivided. These possibilities for subdivision, whether by

elaborately carved woodwork or by simple paper screens, are described as

rooms, whether partitioned off as such or left open as one big one.

Therefore one rents one's house according to the number of rooms it may

be divided into, whether the division is made or not. We find we cannot

possibly live in a house of less than twelve rooms, or four by ordinary

reckoning. One house (three rooms) for E----, one for me, one for a

salon, one for the dining-room. This makes four rooms, European

calculation, twelve according to Chinese, and leaves nothing for

guest-rooms, trunk-rooms, a study, or anything of the kind. Therefore,

all joking aside, a house of a hundred rooms might do for us nicely!

How lovely they are, these one-story stone houses, with their tiled

roofs, red lacquered doors, fine, delicate carvings on the

window-lattices, and all the rest of it! The floors are of stone, but

foreigners have wooden floors laid down. The winters are bitter here,

and before these Chinese houses can be made comfortable according to

Western ideas, much must be done to them. Some foreigners put in glass

windows in place of the thick, cottony paper windows of the Chinese. The

paper windows shut out the cold, it is true, but, being opaque, they

also shut out the sunlight. And how gorgeously they are furnished! Such

ebony chairs, such wonderful carved tables! Now and then we meet some

one who has picked up an old opium divan, a magnificent, huge bench of

carved ebony, with marble seat and marble back, very deep, capable of

holding two people lying crosswise at full length, with room for the

smoker's table between them. Only, the opium tables have been dispensed

with, and their place is taken by cushions of beautiful brocade, of rich

embroidery, which add something of warmth and comfort to the enormous

couch. Mind you, all this furniture can be bought very cheap. To live

Chinese fashion is not expensive at all, despite the impression of

magnificence and luxury, which is rather overwhelming. When one

considers that the most ordinary Chinese things are sold in America at a

profit of three or four hundred per cent., the outlay for Chinese

furniture in Peking is not great.

As to heating, stoves do it. Every room--I mean every one of these

separate buildings--is heated by its stove; a good big one, too.

Russian stoves are found here and there, and any one who possesses a

Russian stove is well equipped to withstand the bitterest winter. Now

and then open fireplaces are introduced, but the big stoves go on

functioning just the same.

These Chinese houses are charming from the outside. You wind your way

along a narrow, unpaved street, or _hutung_,--a street full of little

open-air shops, cook-shops, stalls of various kinds, and then come upon

a high, blank wall, with a pair of stone lions at the gateway and an

enormous red lacquer gate, heavily barred, and that's your house. The

gateman opens to your ring, and as the big doors swing back you see

nothing of the courtyard or of the houses within the inclosure; you are

confronted by the devil screen, a high stone wall about fifteen feet

long and ten feet high. This devil screen blocks the evil spirits that

fly in when the compound gates are opened--the blind evil spirits, that

can fly only in straight paths, and hence crash against the devil

screen when they enter. As to yourself, the gateman leads you round the

screen, and across the compound to the master's house. Along the

compound wall that gives on the street are the servants' quarters, the

house for the rickshaws, the stables for the big mules and the Peking

carts, and the house of the gateman. Life is none too secure in these

compounds. Robbers abound, and scale the walls, and slip from the roofs

of adjacent buildings into the compounds. Every household is in a

constant state of alertness, of defense. Broken glass covers the tops of

the walls, and in the courtyards Mongolian watch-dogs guard the

premises, huge, fierce, long-haired creatures, like a woolly mastiff.

Through the day they are chained, but at night they are unloosed. Oh,

there is not only style but excitement in living in a native house in

Peking! We have looked at a good many Chinese houses, but can't quite

make up our minds about renting one. If we decide to stay, it will mean

that we must give up our trip to Angkor, and it was to make that trip

that we came out to the Orient!

Not every foreigner lives in a Chinese house, however. There are a few

European ones, scattered about the Tartar City, looking so out of place,

so insignificant and ugly! The foreigners who live here a long time seem

to like them, however. They tell us that after a time China gets on

one's nerves. Chinese things become utterly distasteful, and one becomes

so sick of Chinese art and architecture and furniture that one must

approximate a home like those of one's own country. Therefore there are

a certain number of these "foreign-style" houses to be found, furnished

with golden oak furniture, ugly and commonplace to a degree. I don't

know how a long residence in Peking would affect us. At present we are

too newly arrived, too enthusiastic, to feel any sympathy with this

point of view. Let me add that when a foreign-style house is furnished

with a few Chinese articles tucked in a background of mission furniture,

the result is disastrous. One lady we met, who possesses such a house,

recognized the humor of the situation.

[Illustration: Entrance gate to compound of Chinese house]

[Illustration: Compound of Chinese house]

"I know," she explained; "it's just Eurasian."

We are undecided. If we take a house and settle down, we must give up

our nice, warm little rooms at the old Wagons-Lits, forgo all the

amusing gossip of the lobby, told in such frankness by the interesting

people who know things, or think they do. They say housekeeping is not

difficult here. You engage a "number-one boy," who engages the rest of

the servants, and any one of the servants who finds himself overworked

engages as many more servants as he may require; but that is not your

lookout. The compound is full of retainers, and the kitchen as well,

but you don't have to pay for them. They eat you out of house and

home, squeeze you at every possible point, but add an air of the

picturesque and of prosperity to the establishment. Housekeeping here

is a throw-back to the Middle Ages, with a baronial hall filled with

feudal retainers. And all for the price, except for the "squeeze," of

one servant in America!

X

HOW IT'S DONE IN CHINA

We have got to Peking at just the right moment--right for us, that is,

but one of the wrong moments for poor old China. These cycles of Cathay,

I may mention, are filled with such moments for China, and this is just

another of the long series, another of the occasions on which she is

plundered. Only here we are, by the greatest of luck, to see how it's

done. Could anything have been more fortunate? Wait; I'll tell you about

it. You will hardly believe it. We should not have been able to believe

it, either, if it had not taken place under our very noses.

Day before yesterday four of us went up to see the Ming tombs and the

Great Wall. Everything is so exciting in Peking that we could hardly

bear to absent ourselves from it even for two days; but, having come all

the way out to China, it seemed as if we really ought to see the Great

Wall. I won't describe our trip. You can read descriptions of the wall

in any book; all I can say is that it took two days to get there and

back, and that we set off on the expedition most reluctantly. E----'s

theory is that it's best to get all the sights crossed off as soon as

possible, so that we can enjoy ourselves with a clear mind. I had a

presentiment that something would go wrong if we left Peking for such a

long time, left China alone to her fate, as it were, for forty-eight

hours. But E---- and the others thought this was as good a time as any,

so in spite of our misgivings, we took advantage of what seemed like a

quiet moment and slipped off on our excursion, to get it over with.

When we returned on Monday afternoon, we found the whole place rocking

with excitement, boiling with rage and resentment, simply seething with

fury and indignation. The hotel was ablaze. The moment we pushed open

the big front door and entered--tired, dusty, and very shabby in our

khaki clothes--we were pounced upon and asked what we thought of it.

Thought of what? Well, _this_. Night before last--the 19th of October,

to be exact--the French had grabbed three hundred and thirty-three

acres in the heart of Tientsin. The attack, or charge, or party of

occupation, whatever you choose to call it, was led in person by the

French chargé d'affaires, at the head of a band of French soldiers.

They seized and arrested all the Chinese soldiers on duty in the

district, put them in prison, and in the name of the Republic of

France annexed three hundred and thirty-three acres of Chinese soil to

the overseas dominion of the great republic!

Let me explain what this means. Tientsin is a large city, nearly as

large as Peking, with about a million inhabitants. It is only two hours

distant from Peking, by rail, and is the most important seaport of North

China,--the port of Peking. Until the railway was built, a few years

ago, the only way to reach Peking (other than by a long overland

journey) was to come to Tientsin by boat, and thence to Peking by cart

or chair. In spite of the new railway, Tientsin still retains its old

importance as the seaport for North China, and is a trade center of the

first rank. To seize three hundred and thirty-three acres in such an

important city as this, was an act of no small significance. The annexed

land, containing wharfage, streets, houses, shops, and the revenue from

such, makes a goodly haul. Really, from the French point of view, it was

a neat, thrifty stroke of business, or of diplomacy, or of international

politics, whatever you choose to call it.

But from the Chinese point of view it is different. How are they taking

it, the Chinese? How are they behaving? Well, in spite of the fact that

the East is East and the West is West, that the Chinese are nothing but

a yellow race and heathen at that, their feelings and reactions seem

very similar to what I imagine ours would be in similar circumstances--I

mean, if France should suddenly "claim" and "annex" three hundred and

thirty-three acres of ground in the heart of Boston or New York. Their

newspapers have broken out into flaring head-lines an inch high, and

are wild in their denunciations of what they term an outrage; an

infamous, high-handed act, a wanton, deliberate theft of territory from

a peaceful and friendly country. Really, these Chinese newspapers seem

to be describing the business in much the same words, with much the same

force and fury and resentment, as our American papers probably would

employ in describing such an episode if it took place in some American

city. Only, our head-lines would probably be a little larger. However,

the Chinese newspapers do very well, and what type they have seems to

convey their meaning--rage and indignation. Mass meetings of protest

against this outrage are being held in Peking, in Tientsin, in all the

provinces, in fact; the governors of the different provinces are sending

in telegrams; societies and organizations are telegraphing to the Peking

government; the whole country is wild with resentment and is sending

delegations and messages and protests to the poor old wabbly Chinese

Government, urging it to "act." To act; that is, to tell the French

Government to hand back to China this "acquired" land. What the outcome

will be, I don't know. Apparently the supine, terror-stricken Chinese

Government cannot act, doesn't dare. Three days have now passed, and the

French are still sitting tight, holding to their fruits of victory,

facing an enraged but helpless country. And they will probably continue

to sit tight till the matter blows over.

I was eager to find out what constituted the French claim to this

particular piece of territory, called Lao Hsi Kai. The French already

possess a large concession in Tientsin, and why they should have wished

to enlarge it, particularly in such a summary manner, I was anxious to

discover. Their excuse is this: they asked for this Lao Hsi Kai area as

long ago as 1902. That's all. Asked for it years ago, and have been

"claiming" it ever since. Have been asking for it at intervals during

all these years. When the first request was made, in 1902, the ruling

official in Tientsin considered it so insolent that he tore up the note

and threw it into the scrap-basket, disdaining a reply. Since then,

whenever the request has been repeated, the Chinese Government has

played for time, has deferred the answer, delayed the decision,

shilly-shallied, avoided the issue by every means. This is the classic

custom of the Chinese when confronted with an unpleasant decision,--to

play for time, to postpone the inevitable, in the vain hope that

something will turn up meanwhile, some new condition arise to divert the

attention of the "powers that prey." Occasionally this method works but

not always. Not in this case, anyway. When a European power asks for a

thing, it is merely asserting its divine right.

We have talked to many people about this Lao Hsi Kai business, people of

all ranks and all nationalities--diplomats, old residents, journalists,

business men--and not one of them has made any attempt to justify or

defend the action. Without exception, they say it is an outrage, and

totally unwarranted,--at the very least, a most shocking political

blunder. None of them, however, has come forward to the aid of the

Chinese. A curious conspiracy of silence seems to reign,--not silence

in one sense, for every one is talking freely with most undiplomatic

candor, and in private every one condemns what France has done, yet not

a voice is raised in public protest. The Chinese alone are doing their

own protesting; and much good it seems to do them!

XI

THE LAO-HSI-KAI OUTRAGE

A week has passed since the French "acquired" Lao Hsi Kai, and the

situation remains unchanged. The French still sit tight, waiting for

the storm to blow over; the Chinese continue to hold their protest

meetings, to send in their delegations and requests to the central

government to act; the government sits supine, afraid to budge; and

the newspapers continue to rave. It is all most interesting. The

"Gazette" devotes almost its entire eight pages to what it calls the

"OUTRAGE" and hasn't decreased the size of its type one bit. If it

had larger letters, it would probably use them. I should think that by

this time, after such long and painful experience with foreign powers,

it would have laid in a stock suitable to such occasions.

The "Gazette" is an annoying sort of newspaper,--annoying, that is,

to the powers that prey. Under the caption "Madness or War," in the

biggest head-lines it has, it insists upon describing this Lao Hsi Kai

affair as the most Belgium-like thing that has happened since the

invasion of Belgium. Alike in principle, if not in extent. Whipped up

into a white heat of fury, it draws, over and over again, the most

disconcerting parallels.

And all this week it has continued to be irritating, referring

constantly to Belgium, and harping upon the Allies' ideals,--the

preservation of civilization, liberty, justice, and the rights of

small, weak nations. The "Gazette" insists that these ideals should

be applied to China, forgetting, apparently, that while China is

weak, she is not small!

Meanwhile, at the mass meetings which are being held all over the

country, especially at Tientsin, the officials are trying to calm the

people. It is feared that some violent action will take place, some

hostile demonstration against the French which will throw the Chinese

entirely in the wrong, no matter how great the provocation. If this

happens, the sympathy of the world will be turned against the Chinese,

and the officials are striving by all means to prevent such an outbreak.

A quaint account of one of these indignation meetings was published in

one of the Peking papers:

On Saturday morning more than four thousand merchants and

inhabitants of Tientsin gathered themselves at the Chamber

of Commerce at Tientsin, declaring that as the French

authorities had disregarded international law and

principle, they would devise means themselves for the

preservation of their own liberty against the aggression

of foreigners. The Chairman of the Chamber came out with

the representatives of the Society for the Preservation of

National Territory to appease the indignation of the

public, and to persuade them not to resort to violence,

but to seek a constitutional method to arrive at a

peaceful solution through the proper channels. He at once

proceeded with the people to the office of the Shengcheng,

who said, "The Frenchmen are indeed most aggressive and

unreasonable. Your humble servant is ready to sacrifice

position, rank, even life itself, for the preservation of

the territory of the ration. A telegram has already been

sent to the Central Government giving a detailed report of

what has happened here, and a reply will soon be received

giving instructions for our guidance." The Chairman of the

Chamber of Commerce replied: "I am afraid that the people

are out of patience now, and there are several thousands

of merchants and other classes of people awaiting

instruction, outside your office. It would be advisable

for you to come out and pacify them, informing them what

you would do." When the Shengcheng came out, the audience

clapped their hands and shouted at the top of their voice.

Some even wept, and others cried "Liberty or Death" and

suchlike expressions. The Shengcheng said: "I am also of

your opinion. I will sacrifice my life, too, for the

maintenance of the territory entrusted to me for

preservation. And I can assure you that no foreigner shall

be allowed to occupy one inch of our territory in this

unreasonable manner."

It is pitiful to read these accounts and the telegrams sent to the

President of China and to Parliament, and to realize that the weak and

cowed government at Peking cannot defend itself against the foreign

aggressor. However, the Chinese people have taken affairs into their own

hands, to a certain extent, and have organized a run on the French bank,

the Banque Industrielle de Chine. One of the branches of this bank is

around the corner from the hotel, and all day long, for the past

several days, a long, patient line of Chinese have been standing,

waiting to withdraw their accounts from the bank of the country which

has treated them so ill. This run on the bank, conducted by a huge crowd

of quiet, orderly men and women, is a favorite Chinese method of

retaliation. They say the bank is losing enormous sums in consequence,

is obliged to buy great quantities of silver to maintain its credit.

Also, there are rumors flying about that a boycott of French goods is

shortly to be established.

The attitude of the English newspapers (those that represent the foreign

point of view) is illuminating. They are laying all these manifestations

of resentment to "agitators," refusing to believe in the indignation of

the people themselves. Every day the newspapers representing the foreign

interests are becoming more and more abusive. Here is one extract that

seems particularly insulting:

The Chinese agitator, particularly if he believes that he

enjoys official support, is invariably willing to fight to

the death for some cause that he professes to have at

heart, until there is some risk that he may be taken at

his word. Then he invariably beats an ignominious retreat.

And unless we are greatly mistaken, this is what will

happen in this case. We are familiar with the normal

course of events--public and press clamor, attempts to

institute a boycott, and finally, when the Power whose

interests are affected, intimates that it has had enough

of this tomfoolery--collapse of the whole agitation.... If

the French Legation, after allowing sufficient time for

the self-styled patriots to let off steam, intimates that

this nonsense has got to cease, the great crusade for the

protection of China's sovereign rights over fifteen

hundred mow [three hundred and thirty-three acres] of land

formally promised to the French authorities several months

ago, will collapse as suddenly as it began. Whenever a

crisis in China's foreign affairs occurs, we are treated

in the Chinese press to humorous dissertations about

Chinese dignity and self-respect. How such things can

exist, even in the Chinese imagination, at the present

moment, passes comprehension. The China of to-day cannot

seriously expect much respect or consideration for her

dignity from foreign states, because these things are only

accorded to nations that are worthy of them.

Read this paragraph over and ponder it well. It appeared in an English

newspaper, the semi-official organ of the European point of view. There

is nothing veiled or hidden in the attitude of the dominant race!

XII

THE LAO-HSI-KAI AFFAIR

Another week has gone by, the atmosphere is still tense and surcharged

with feeling, and the situation remains unaltered. However, the

newspapers have changed their headings from "Outrage" to "Affair,"

although they are still devoting columns and columns to the matter.

Protest meetings are still being held, and the run on the French bank

must have been pretty successful, from the Chinese point of view, for

there is now talk of an indemnity for the damage done! Listen!

Already Threats of Indemnity. The French Consul at

Tientsin is already threatening to demand damages. He

contends that the Tientsin people should not be allowed to

hold a meeting of protest against what is clearly an

outrage on the integrity of China. He says the Chinese

authorities are guilty of the "violation of treaty rights"

and therefore must be held responsible for any damage done

to French commerce. The French Consul also objected to

the presence of officials [Chinese] at the meeting, but

omitted to state that the local officials did their best

to calm the people and persuade them to wait patiently for

the decision of the Government.

Well, I have always wondered how it was that poor old China is

forever paying indemnities, first to one country, then to another; I

have never known how it came about. Pretty easy, come to think of it!

First grab a piece of Chinese soil, then suppress all protests by

levying an indemnity.

The "Gazette" seems to have gone too far in its championship of China,

and has got into trouble. Almost from the beginning the editor has

insisted that the French Government itself was not to blame for this

affair. He has asserted repeatedly that this high-handed procedure was

the individual action of the French consul-general. As far as I can see,

these little "affairs" always take place in the absence of the

minister,--a well-timed vacation, during which an irresponsible chargé

d'affaires acts on his own initiative. Be that as it may, on this

occasion the French minister happens to be in Paris, and the "Gazette"

is insisting that the chargé d'affaires has exceeded his authority and

acted without instructions. Apparently this interpretation is given

partly because of a desire not to involve the two governments in a

hopeless snarl admitting of no retreat, and partly to calm the rising

anger of the Chinese, who are incensed at the delay in restoring the

captured land. While stoutly refusing to retire from its position as the

champion of Chinese liberty and territory, the "Gazette" is insistent

that this act could not have been committed at the instigation of a

country at present fighting for liberty and justice, a great nation

pledged to noble ideals.

Whether this attitude has been due to a sincere belief in the Allies'

professed ideals, or whether by the fixing of blame on an irresponsible

official who has exceeded his authority, the French are being offered a

loophole to retreat from an intenable position without "losing face," I

don't know. Certain it is that "justice, liberty, and civilization" have

been dragged into the argument, day after day, with irritating

persistency. Really, the Oriental mind, plus contact with a higher

civilization, was becoming unbearable. So a stop was put to it in this

way: One morning the papers contained an announcement that "The Allied

and neutral ministers despatched an identical note to the Chinese

Foreign Office, warning the Chinese Government against allowing the

Chinese press to attack the diplomatic body in the way it had lately

done, and practically demanding that the Government take some steps to

prevent the attempted raising of anti-foreign feeling."

Isn't it lucky we are here at this moment! Could you believe it! Now you

know how "indemnities" are raised, and how "anti-foreign feeling" is

aroused. A day or two afterward, a further pronouncement was made:

Comments in the Chinese press have been rather rude and

sharp, so that the Ministry [Chinese] has been requested

by the British, Russian, French and Japanese and other

foreign governments to caution the editors and proprietors

of Chinese papers to exercise more care and discretion in

their recording of foreign intercourse affairs, and that

sufficient politeness should be showed to foreign

ministers and consuls as a sign of courtesy toward the

representatives of Treaty Powers in this country.

There you have it--the Chinese press muzzled at the instigation of

foreign powers! Since that happened a few days ago, I haven't got nearly

as much fun out of my "Gazette" in the morning when I have had my

"pollidge." But, thank Heaven, the English newspapers, representing the

interests of the foreign powers, are able to spout freely. And these

papers have been having a wonderful time describing the happenings in

Tientsin, where the threatened boycott has gone into effect. For the

Chinese, baffled in their attempt to regain their captured territory,

have instituted what they call that "revenge which must take the form of

civilized retaliation, namely, refusal to buy or sell French goods." On

an appointed day there was a general walk-out in the French concession

in Tientsin. All the Chinese in French employ--house servants, waiters,

electricians in the power-houses, stall-holders in the markets,

policemen, every one in any way connected with or in French

service--took themselves off. Moving-picture shows are in darkness;

interpreters and clerks in banks and commercial houses have disappeared;

cooks, coolies and coachmen have departed; and life in the whole French

concession is entirely disorganized! The French consul-general sent a

letter of protest to the Chinese Commissioner of Foreign Affairs,

calling for "strict preventive measures on the part of the Chinese

authorities," and the answer of the Commissioner, the prompt and polite

reply, was to the effect that the only preventive measure for these

disturbances would be to hand Lao Hsi Kai back to the Chinese!

How demoralizing this boycott is may be gathered from the way the

foreign press is raging about it. One bitter editorial, entitled, "A

Plain Talk to the Chinese," has this to say:

Boycotts and strikes, in lieu of diplomatic action, are

becoming somewhat of a fad with the Chinese. They have

been practised with impunity and considerable success for

the past fifteen or twenty years.... We wish to impress

upon the Chinese people and Government that these

anti-foreign agitations are becoming somewhat of a

nuisance, and it is high time the foreign powers stepped

in and put a stop to them.... The foreign powers have no

means of getting directly after this handful of agitators,

but they have the means and the power--the will only is

necessary--to hold the Chinese Government responsible, and

to demand satisfaction in full for all losses suffered by

firms and individuals as a result of these organized

boycotts. We wish to warn the Chinese that this boycott

business can be carried out once too often, and it looks

to us that they have just now reached this once-too-often

stage. If the French Government, backed up by the Allies,

demands indemnity for all losses sustained, we will hear

the last of Lao Hsi Kai and all similar affairs in China.

It may be just as well to remind the Chinese Government,

in case they conclude that the Allies are too busy in

Europe to pay serious attention to Chinese affairs, that

the Japanese are one of the Allies, and _their_ hands are

not particularly tied at present.

Good gracious! A threat to call in the Japanese! Don't you love it!

XIII

THE LAO-HSI-KAI "INCIDENT"

It's about over, I should say. The French are going to keep their

ill-gotten gains, and the Chinese are giving up all hope of getting Lao

Hsi Kai back again. The thing has drifted from an "Outrage" into an

"Affair" and now it's only an "Incident," which means it's over. The

boycott continues, but it is dwindling in intensity and will soon

subside. It is now but a question of time before China settles down

to an acceptance of the situation, bows before the might and majesty

of Western civilization, and prepares herself for the next

outcropping of kindred ideals.

You ask, why didn't the Chinese fight? "What with, stupid Gretchen?"

How can a virtually bankrupt nation like China take up arms, which she

doesn't possess, against the mighty nations of Europe? Defenseless,

unarmed China is no match for the "civilization" of the West!

A few nights ago I got a French point of view of the affair, and will

give it to you just as I heard it, without comment. One of the

attachés of the French legation was dining with us. This Lao Hsi Kai

business, which has been uppermost in every one's thoughts for the

last four weeks, was naturally in our minds as we sat down at dinner.

Not to mention it would have savored of constraint; yet it was equally

embarrassing to speak of it. After ten or fifteen minutes, during

which the subject was carefully avoided, I took the bull by the horns.

"Seems to me you've stirred up a great mess out here," I began.

"Mess?" replied the young Frenchman. "Oh, you mean that affair of the

other day! Ah, these Chinese! Perfectly impossible people!"

He crumbled his bread a while, and then continued with much heat.

"For fourteen years," he burst out, "we have been wanting that piece of

land, and asking for it! Asked them for it fourteen years ago! Told them

fourteen years ago that we wanted it!

"And what did they do?" he went on irritably. "What did they do but

procrastinate, knowing we wanted it! Put us off. Postponed a decision.

Practically refused to give it to us, knowing we wanted it! Other things

came up in the meantime, so we did not press them, and the matter

dropped for a number of years. However, we took it up again in 1914, two

years ago. It was the same thing--procrastination: delay; no positive

answer. Then we pressed them a little harder. What did they do? Asked

for more time to think it over, more time after all these years, knowing

we wanted it! Knowing that we had asked for it fourteen years ago, as

far back as 1902! Knowing that we had asked for it as far back as 1902,

they still had the audacity to ask for more time to think it over!

"However," he resumed, "we gave them more time. They asked for a year.

We gave them a year. When the year was up, they asked for six months.

We gave them six months. When the six months were up, they asked for

three months. We gave them three months. We were most reasonable and

patient. When the three months were up, they asked for one month. We had

infinite patience. When the one month was up, they asked for two weeks.

We gave them two weeks. We had infinite forbearance. Think of it!

Naturally, at the end of two weeks, when they still had not made up

their minds, we took it. What else could we have done? We had given them

every opportunity, for fourteen years. Ah, these Chinese! They are

impossible. No one can understand them!"

We are going to leave Peking within a day or two and go down to the

tropics for the winter. This is the end of November and it is getting

bitterly cold, and with the on-coming of cold weather we seem to have

reverted suddenly to our original plan of visiting Angkor. So you will

get no more Chinese letters from me until the spring, when we are

planning to return to Peking. It has all been most exciting, most

interesting, but we are thoroughly tired out with having our sympathies

so played upon, so wrought up, and feeling ourselves impotent. It is

distressing to stand by and see such things transpire under our very

eyes, injustices which we are powerless to prevent. I shall be anxious

to know whether anything of this affair has crept into our American

papers. I suppose not, however. We are anxious only to see

"civilization" triumph in Europe. The backwash of civilization in the

Orient is not our concern. All I can say is this: The world would have

rung with news of such a grab if Japan had been guilty of it.