I
THE RETURN TO PEKING
We have been away now for three months, and it seems like getting home,
to be back in our beloved Peking. We reached the shabby old station, the
other evening, worn out from the long two-days' journey up from
Shanghai, and it was good to have the porter from the Wagons-Lits greet
us and welcome us like old friends. It was pleasant to walk back along
the long platform of the station, under the Water Gate, and to find
ourselves, in a minute or two, in the warm, bright lobby of this
precious hotel. The door-keeper knew us; the clerks at the desk knew
us; and the various "boys," both in the dining-room and up-stairs in our
corridor, all knew us and greeted us with what seemed to our tired souls
real and satisfying cordiality. "Missy way long time. Glad Missy back,"
"Missy like Peking best?" And Missy certainly does. Moreover, if you
have once lived in Peking, if you have ever stayed here long enough to
fall under the charm and interest of this splendid barbaric capital, if
you have once seen the temples and glorious monuments of Chili, all
other parts of China seem dull and second rate. We began here, you see.
If we had begun at the other end,--landed at Shanghai, for instance, and
worked our way northward,--we should probably have been enthusiastic
over the lesser towns. But we began at the top; and when you have seen
the best there is, everything else is anticlimax.
We arrived the other evening in a tremendous dust-storm, the first real
dust-storm we have experienced. We ran into it at Tientsin, where we
changed trains to continue the last two hours of our journey north, and
were uncomfortable beyond description. The Tientsin train was absolutely
unheated, cold as a barn. The piercing wind from the plains penetrated
every nook and crevice of the carriage, and the cracks were legion: the
windows leaked, the closed ventilators overhead leaked, the doors at
each end of the carriage leaked, and we wrapped ourselves in our ulsters
and traveling-rugs and sat huddled up, miserable and shivering. But it
wasn't wind alone that blew in through the numerous holes. There was
wind, of course, in plenty, but it carried in it a soft, powdery red
dust, a fine, thin dust, able as the wind that bore it to sift through
every crack and opening. It filled the carriage, it filled the
compartment, and when the lamps were lit we sat as in a fog, dimly able
to see each other through the thick, hazy atmosphere. There we sat,
coughing and sputtering, breathing dust into ourselves at every breath,
unable to escape. We became covered with it; it piled itself upon us in
little ridges and piles; no one moved much, for that shook it off into
the surcharged air, already thick enough, Heaven knows.
Two hours of this, bitter cold and insufferable, choking dust. And every
one in the crowded compartment was suffering from Chinese colds; we had
them too, contracted at Shanghai. And let me tell you that a Chinese
cold is something out of the ordinary. Whatever happens here happens on
a grand scale, and these colds, whatever the germ that causes them, are
more venomous than anything you've ever known. No wonder the railway
station looked good to us; no wonder we were glad to be welcomed back to
the old hotel, at the end of such a journey!
We found plenty of hot water when we got here. Not that hot water does
one much good in Peking. For Peking water is hard and alkaline, and
about as difficult to wash in as sea-water, if one uses soap; we are
dirty despite all the facilities afforded us. I should say that the
Chinese had given up the struggle several generations ago; and small
blame to them. We reached here the last day of February, and are now
experiencing a taste of real Northern winter, just the tail of it but
sufficient. Coming up from the Equator, as we have done, the shock is
rather awful. This winter, they say, has been an extraordinarily severe
one, even for Peking, where it is always cold; they tell us it has been
the coldest winter within the memory of the oldest foreign resident. I
don't believe much in these superlative statements, however: people
always make them concerning hot or cold weather, in any climate or in
any country. However, the thermometer went so low on several occasions
that the pipes burst, and the hotel was without heat; very trying with
the weather at twenty below zero. Nevertheless, in spite of the
lingering cold, in spite of the dust, in spite of the hard water and
other discomforts, Peking is the most delightful place in the world, not
even excepting Paris, than which, as an American, I can say no more.
We have been here a week now, have recovered from our Chinese colds, and
are getting hold of things again. We are catching up with all the
gossip, all the rumors, all the _dessous_ of Chinese politics, which are
such fun. And just as I expected, too, it wasn't safe for us to go away,
to leave China to flounder along without us. Things have happened in
our absence: I won't say that we could have prevented them, but at least
we could have been on the spot to take notes. That is what makes Peking
so absorbing,--the peculiar protective feeling that it gives one. In a
way it seems to belong to us; its interests are _our_ interests; its
well-being is peculiarly our concern. You wish the best to happen to
China, you wish Chinese interests to have the right of way. And
whatever you can do to promote such interests, however small and
humble your part may be in advancing them, it is your part
nevertheless, and the obligation to fulfil it rests upon you with
overwhelming insistence. As I told you before, China is overrun with
"advisers." Consequently we all feel ourselves "advisers," more or
less, all capable of giving advice just as worthless or just as
valuable as, certainly more disinterested than, that which the Chinese
Government is compelled to pay for. Everything is in such a mess
here--so anarchic, so chaotic--that you feel you must put out a hand
to steady this rocking old edifice; and you also feel that your hand
is as strong, and probably as honest, as the next one.
[Illustration: Chinese funeral]
[Illustration: Chinese funeral]
In no other country that I know of do you feel so keenly this sense of
possession, this wish to protect. The other countries belong to
themselves, absolutely. For example, Japan owns itself and directs
itself; the Japanese don't let you know much about what's going on in
their country; and you feel that it is none of your business anyway.
They are quite capable of managing their own affairs. So in Europe:
the affairs of the European peoples are their affairs, not your
concern at all. But the case is so different with poor, weak, helpless
China. China enlists all your sympathies, calls forth every decent
instinct you possess.
For these are dark, distressful days for China. At present she is
passing through a reconstruction period corresponding to our
reconstruction period after the Civil War. Just five years ago the
revolution occurred by which she rid herself of the Manchu rulers, an
alien race which had dominated her and ruled her for two hundred years.
And chaos followed that upheaval, just as political chaos followed the
close of our Civil War. We, however, were free to work our way upward
and outward from the difficulties that beset us at that time, out of the
maze of corruption and intrigue that almost overwhelmed us. We were
permitted to manage our own affairs, to bring order out of that chaos,
harmony out of strife, without having to deal with foreign predatory
powers who for their own ends were anxious to prolong the period of
internal dissension. China is not free in that respect: not only must
she set her house in order, but she must deal with those foreign powers
who do not wish her house in order, who are slily and adroitly using
their enormous, subtle influence to defeat this end. During our
reconstruction period in America we made mistakes; but after those
mistakes we did not have to hear a chorus from European nations telling
us that we were unfit to govern ourselves. Nor were we forced to have
other nations trying to corrupt every honest man we wished to put in
office, nor to have these alien nations attempting to put into power
dishonest and inefficient men as their own tools. That is China's
problem at present: not only must she contend against the inherent
weakness and dishonesty, the inefficiency and graft of her own people,
but she must contend against unseen, suave enemies, who under diplomatic
disguise are intriguing to bring the nation under foreign control.
I have not been able to get much definite news so far. Our Chinese colds
proved so severe that they were nearly our undoing. I fancied myself
reposing under a little mound on the plains, after an imposing Chinese
funeral. I must say I should have enjoyed a Chinese funeral, with drums
and horns, flags and banners, carried along in a car supported by three
score bearers. But for the present it's not to be.
II
THE OPIUM SCANDAL
I knew it would happen. I knew that if we went away from Peking for even
a short time, let alone for three months, something would take place
that oughtn't to. The minute you turn your head the other way, take your
hand off the throttle, pop goes the weasel! It's popped this time with
an awful bang. The papers are full of it, pages and pages, the entire
paper, and not only one or two but all of them. You have probably not
been permitted to hear a word of it at home, but the Chinese papers are
allowed to explode all they please, to rail and rave and rant. As I said
before, much good may it do them.
I wrote you last autumn of the ten-year contract entered into between
China and the British Government, the final outcome of the contract to
be the total suppression of the opium trade. Every year for ten years
the importation of British opium into China was to decrease in
proportion to the decrease of native-grown Chinese opium, until at the
expiration of the ten years the vanishing-point would be reached. During
these ten years each side has lived up to its part of the bargain.
British imports have been lessened year by year, scrupulously, and the
Chinese have rigidly supervised and suppressed the production of native
opium. China began to plant poppies extensively after 1858, the year in
which Great Britain forced the opium trade upon her.
The ten-year contract was to expire on April 1, 1917, a day which the
Chinese press referred to as "a glorious day for China and her
well-wishers throughout the world, a day on which a nation liberated
herself from an age-long vice." I also told you last autumn something of
the activities of the Shanghai Opium Combine, a combination of several
firms of British opium-dealers, who were making prodigious efforts to
have the time limit extended. This Shanghai Opium Combine are not
officials of the British Government: they are private firms, private
dealers; but they buy their opium direct from the British Government,
and may therefore be considered its unofficial agents or middlemen. This
Opium Combine had been appealing for an extension of the ten-year
contract, an extension of nine months. They had appealed to the
various British officials in China, and to the Foreign Office in
London, but apparently the British Government had turned a deaf ear to
these pleas, which must have been a hard thing to do, considering the
enormous revenue that country derives from her opium monopoly. Even
without the Chinese markets, one would have supposed that the markets
of India, Siam, the Straits Settlements, etc., and other subject or
helpless states, would afford these dealers opportunity to get rid of
their surplus stocks. But no. The opium was in China, in their
go-downs in Shanghai, and they wanted nine months' additional time in
which to get rid of it.
If this time extension had once been granted, however, pressure would
have been brought to bear at the end of the nine months for a further
extension; and so on, and so on, upon various pretexts. Accordingly, the
British Government refused to interfere in the matter, and very
honorably decided that the opium traffic in China was to end on the date
specified, April 1, 1917.
But what did the Shanghai Combine do? Finding they could not sell their
remaining chests of opium before the first of April (which they could
easily have done had they not held them at such exorbitant prices), they
apparently "influenced" the Vice-President of China to purchase them in
behalf of the Chinese Government! There were some three thousand of
these chests, each one containing about a hundred and forty pounds of
opium, and the sum which the Vice-President pledged China to pay for
this opium was twenty million dollars. China was under no obligation
whatsoever to purchase this. In a few more weeks the contract would have
expired, and China would have been automatically freed. The Shanghai
Combine could either have disposed of their chests at reasonable prices
within the time limit, or else hawked them round to other markets. But,
the Vice-President having been "influenced" in this manner, this
well-nigh bankrupt country is now about to issue domestic bonds to the
value of twenty million dollars to pay for this indebtedness.
This secret treaty, this dastardly betrayal of China by her
Vice-president and the British opium-dealers, is apparently a one-man
deal. After the contract between them was signed, Parliament and the
country at large was notified of the transaction, and once more the
country is ablaze with indignation. Once more mass meetings of
protest are being held throughout the provinces; telegrams from
governors and officials are pouring in; the contract is denounced and
repudiated by Parliament; but all to no purpose. This infamous
contract holds and cannot be broken. China must pay out twenty
millions of dollars for this drug, which she has made a superhuman
struggle to get rid of. And as twenty millions is a sum far in
excess of the real value of these three thousand chests, the papers
are freely hinting that Baron Feng was bribed.
[Illustration: Courtesy of Far Eastern Bureau
Vice-President Feng Kuo-Chang]
[Illustration: View of Peking, looking north, towards Forbidden and
Imperial Cities]
Feng's excuse is that he was obliged to conclude this deal for
"diplomatic reasons." You can draw your own conclusions as to what that
implies. He also says that it was better for China to buy these chests
outright than to have them smuggled in later. Also he says the Chinese
Government can now sell this opium at discretion, in small amounts, for
"medical purposes." Legitimately to dispose of three thousand chests of
opium for medical purposes, would require about five hundred years.
By reason of this infamous deal China is now faced with the probable
resumption of the opium traffic. The Chinese Government has become, like
the British Government, a dealer in opium. It must dispose of this opium
either for "medical purposes" or for smoking purposes. This will
undoubtedly mean that poppy cultivation will again be resumed. It is
not inconceivable that the same sinister pressure which was brought
to bear upon the Vice-president may also be brought to bear upon
planters in the interior provinces, should they be unwilling, which
is unlikely, to raise once more these profitable crops. And if China
goes back to poppy cultivation, Great Britain may feel at liberty to
import opium again. If that happens, the whole vicious circle will be
complete. All barriers will be down, and this whole long, ten-years'
struggle will have been in vain.
The whole country is shocked, appalled, dismayed. No one sees any way
out of this _impasse_. One suggestion is made that this opium be
destroyed, a bonfire made of it. It would be a costly proceeding, for
this almost bankrupt nation cannot afford to destroy twenty million
dollars with a wave of the hand. We can only wait and see what the
outcome will be. Only once can a drug-sodden nation rise to grapple with
such a habit as this. Only once can a nation set itself such a colossal
task. The fight was made against great odds, under a tremendous
handicap. But it was carried on in the belief that at the end of ten
years the fight would be won. If betrayal is to be the outcome of such a
mighty effort, what incentive is there to begin again, to renew the
struggle, should things slip back to the conditions of ten years ago?
The country is overwhelmed with disappointment and humiliation. No one
knows what the future holds in store. The great nations of the world
stand silent, in this hour of China's betrayal.[2]
FOOTNOTES:
[Footnote 2: See Appendix I.]
III
THE WALRUS AND THE CARPENTER
We have got back to China just in time to witness another interesting
event. The decision has now been reached that the time has come for
China to go to war. She has been "notified" to this effect. What she
will eventually do is the question. Anyway, the screws are now being put
on in earnest: you can fairly hear them creaking.
As I wrote you in one of my letters last autumn, ever since the outbreak
of the war numerous but vain efforts have been made from time to time to
draw China in. Inducements of various kinds have been offered her during
these last two years, but she has resolutely turned a deaf ear to these
overtures and remained neutral. But the time has now come when her
resources and her man power are needed; consequently the screws are
turning gently but relentlessly, and China is being crowded along into
a realization of her duty toward civilization.
Wilson's note to China, asking her to break off diplomatic relations
with Germany, was similar to the notes he despatched to the other
neutral countries, asking them to do the same thing. In the case of
China, however, it gives the Allies the opportunity they have been
looking for, and they have all sprung forward in a chorus of
endorsement. They have been unable, for obvious reasons, to make much of
an appeal on the score of high morality: the Orient is not quite the
ground in which to sow seed of that kind, especially after Lao Hsi Kai
and the recent opium deal. But America's record in the Far East is
well-nigh irreproachable, and when we ask China to join with us--
So the papers are discussing the question back and forth, from every
angle, for and against, with every shade of frankness, bitterness,
enthusiasm, and doubt. There are those who would trust America utterly:
we have always been China's friend, sincerely and disinterestedly; we
would not lure her into a disastrous adventure. There are others who
distrust the predatory powers, and who are frankly puzzled at our
joining them. They question our motives. Are we going to pull them up to
our level, to our high idealism, or are we going to sink to theirs? The
Oriental mind is an old, old mind, richly stored with experience and
memories,--not in the least gullible and immature. Therefore, they very
earnestly desire to know. America has never deceived them, never played
them false. But--but--what does it all mean? They cannot be sure.
This is no fertile field for crass, popular propaganda. On the one
hand the Allies urging China to join with them. On the other hand
America, their friend. This great country sways back and forth
between them, very much puzzled.
So the papers discuss the affair freely, frantically, copiously,
favorably and unfavorably, and one wonders what the outcome will be.
The first step, of course, is to induce China to break diplomatic
relations with Germany. After that the next step, naturally, will be a
declaration of war. So high is feeling running, that they freely
prophesy that this will split the country wide open, into civil war. If
China could get rid of all her European masters at one fell swoop, well
and good. But she hesitates to pack off one enemy, and surrender herself
hard and fast into the keeping of the rival group.
Here let me tell you of a doctrine that seems to be making much headway
in the Orient: we have come across it over and over again, in varying
circumstances. That is the doctrine of Pan-Asianism, or Asia for the
Asiatics. Logical enough, come to think of it. The Monroe Doctrine for
Asia, in which the Orientals shall govern and own themselves, and not be
subject to the control and guidance, however benevolent, of Europe. They
argue that Oriental control of Europe would be hotly and bitterly
resented; and they are prepared to resent Occidental control of Asia.
Do not dismiss this theory lightly. It is spreading more and more widely
throughout Asia, and some day it will be a force to be reckoned with.
Also, these Pan-Asians will tell you the contention that the Orientals
cannot manage their own affairs is untenable. Japan is an example to the
contrary. If the smallest and least of the countries of Asia has been
able to do this, it is because she has _been let alone_,--not conquered,
exploited, nor drugged.
Which reminds me of that poem in "Through the Looking Glass," called
"The Walrus and the Carpenter." It will bear re-reading. The nations of
the East have been playing the part of little oysters to the Walrus and
the Carpenter, and the little oysters are having their eyes opened.
* * * * *
"A loaf of bread," the Walrus said,
"Is what we chiefly need:
Pepper and vinegar besides
Are very good indeed--
Now if you're ready, Oysters dear,
We can begin to feed."
"But not on us!" the Oysters cried,
Turning a little blue.
"After such kindness, that would be
A dismal thing to do!"
"The night is fine," the Walrus said.
"Do you admire the view?"
* * * * *
"It seems a shame," the Walrus said,
"To play them such a trick.
After we've brought them out so far,
And made them trot so quick!"
The Carpenter said nothing but
"The butter's spread too thick!"
"I weep for you," the Walrus said:
"I deeply sympathize."
With sobs and tears he sorted out
Those of the largest size,
Holding his pocket-handkerchief
Before his streaming eyes.
"O Oysters," said the Carpenter,
"You've had a pleasant run!
Shall we be trotting home again?"
But answer came there none--
And this was scarcely odd, because
They'd eaten every one.
"I like the Walrus best," said Alice: "because he was a _little_ sorry
for the poor oysters."
"He ate more than the Carpenter, though," said Tweedledee. "You see he
held his handkerchief in front, so that the Carpenter couldn't count:
contrariwise."
"That was mean!" Alice said indignantly. "Then I like the Carpenter
best--if he didn't eat so many as the Walrus."
"But he ate as many as he could get," said Tweedledum.
IV
CHINA'S COURSE CLEAR
China has sent a note of protest to Germany, under date of February 9.
It was a dignified note, but, somehow, one could almost see the mailed
fist guiding the slim, aristocratic, bony hand that penned it; the
delicate, sensitive hand, with long finger nails; the weak hand of
China.
To His Excellency von Hintze, Envoy Extraordinary and
Minister Plenipotentiary of Germany.
Your Excellency: A telegraphic communication has been
received from the Chinese Minister at Berlin, transmitting
a note from the German Government dated February 1, 1917,
which makes known that the measures of blockade newly
adopted by the Government of Germany will, from that day,
endanger neutral merchant vessels navigating in certain
prescribed zones.
The new menace of submarine warfare inaugurated by
Germany, imperilling the lives and property of Chinese
citizens to even greater extent than measures previously
taken which have already cost so many human lives to
China, constitute a violation of the principles of public
international law at present in force; the tolerance of
their application would have as a result the introduction
into international law of arbitrary principles
incompatible with even legitimate commercial intercourse
between neutral states, and between neutral states and
belligerent powers.
The Chinese Government, therefore, protests energetically
to the Imperial German Government against the measures
proclaimed on February 1, and sincerely hopes that with a
view to respecting the rights of neutral states and to
maintaining the friendly relations between these two
countries, the said measures will not be carried out.
In case, contrary to its expectations, its protest be
ineffectual, the Government of the Chinese Republic will
be constrained, to its profound regret, to sever the
diplomatic relations at present existing between the two
countries. It is unnecessary to add that the attitude of
the Chinese Government has been dictated purely by the
desire to further the cause of the world's peace and by
the maintenance of the sanctity of international law.
Well, well, thinks I, on reading that note, wonders will never cease! Is
this the same China, prating about the sanctity of international law,
that sat supine and helpless under the French grab of Lao Hsi Kai? Is
this the same China that accepted the deal of the Shanghai Opium
Combine, powerless to prevent it? How comes it that she's got this
sudden influx of moral strength? Who or what has suddenly inspired her
to make these bold assertions about "arbitrary principles incompatible
with even legitimate commercial intercourse," and what pressure is it
that suddenly inspires her to step into the arena as the champion of
"world's peace" and the defender of the "sanctity of international law"?
Besides the note to Germany, China transmitted a note to the United
States. This was addressed to Dr. Paul S. Reinsch, American Minister,
etc., to Peking:
Your Excellency: I have the honor to acknowledge the
receipt of Your Excellency's Note of the 4th of February,
1917, informing me that the Government of the United
States of America, in view of the adoption by the German
Government of its new policy of submarine warfare on the
1st February, has decided to take certain action which it
judges necessary as regards Germany.
The Chinese Government, like the President of the United
States of America, is reluctant to believe that the German
Government will actually carry into execution those
measures which imperil the lives and property of citizens
of neutral countries and jeopardize the commerce, even
legitimate, between neutrals as well as between neutrals
and belligerents, and which tend, if allowed to be
enforced without opposition, to introduce a new principle
into public international law.
The Chinese Government, being in accord with the
principles set forth in Your Excellency's Note, and firmly
associating itself with the Government of the United
States of America, has taken similar action by protesting
energetically to the German Government against the new
measures of blockade. The Chinese Government also proposes
to take such action in future as will be deemed necessary
for the maintenance and principles of international law.
Again I marveled at the lofty tone of this note, and wondered how this
moral strength had been so suddenly acquired. Thought I to myself, can
this be poor old browbeaten China,--humbled and prostrate before the
powers of Europe, unable to protest when her territory is snatched
away from her,--now suddenly giving voice to these exalted ideas?
Does it not seem rather ludicrous that she should suddenly proclaim
herself the upholder of international law? Like Moses of old, she is
now stretching forth her arms; but who are they who uphold those arms?
These solemn notes are given forth to the world, and the world is
asked to believe sincerely, as China herself states, that they were
"dictated purely by the desire to further the cause of the world's
peace and by the maintenance of the sanctity of international law."
Let us believe it, if we can.
An editorial in the "Shanghai Times," a British paper, under the date
of February 12 throws some light upon the matter. The article is
entitled "China's Course Clear"; the italics are mine.
To those of us who live in this corner of the Far East, a
question of paramount importance is the attitude which the
Republic of China is likely to take up in regard to the
war. The pendulum of Fate may swing in our favor, and the
Peking Government--acting on the counsels of its statesmen
_and its friends_--may decide to unite its forces with the
Allies. This is a question which interests us
individually, it touches our daily lives, and becomes a
theme of much discussion at a moment when neutrals are
emphasizing to the Hun their rights and their insistence
of Germany's recognition of these privileges.... Germans
in Shanghai and possibly other ports are to-day existing
on the instalments which are being paid as Boxer
Indemnity. _The Germans have big interests up north in
railway and other enterprises; they penetrated the Customs
and captured positions in other Government circles. There
is a great deal at stake in China._
This frank and lucid statement contains food for thought. It may
possibly lie at the root of China's sudden acquisition of moral
strength. It is true that the Japanese have acquired Shan-tung since
the war, but there are "big interests up north in railway and other
enterprises" which have not yet been captured. Fat plums which may
yet be shaken into some expectant lap. But will the Chinese, in spite
of their ample skirts, have laps wide enough to catch them? Would it
not be well to see that these ripe plums do not fall into the lap of
Chinese incompetence?
The Lord knows.
V
FEAR OF THE PLUNGE
China is now wavering on the brink. Having despatched her two notes,
and thereby proclaimed herself worthy to rank as a first-class power,
with a seat at the Peace Table promised her, and all the benefits
which accrue therefrom, she still hesitates to make the break.
Unquestionably several of her officials and other prominent men have
already succumbed to what the papers call "foreign influence," lured
by the words of spellbinders, but there are others who are stoutly
resisting all appeals, and who see in such a step dire calamity for
the country. The fact that China has no real reason to break with
Germany makes the decision more difficult. A plausible excuse of some
kind must be offered the country, and such flimsy pretexts as the
necessity of upholding the sanctity of international law are
difficult to get away with. The Chinese press is full of the
incongruity of the situation, and outspoken of its amusement.
Besides keeping the Lao Hsi Kai affair constantly before the people, it
is relentless in its denunciation of Vice-President Feng's opium deal,
and the methods of the British opium-dealers. Columns in regard to
this transaction are published every day in the papers, throwing light
on some new phase of it, keeping the public constantly informed
regarding it, and asking the people at large to consider well the
advisability of allying themselves with such friends as the French and
English have proved within the last few months. Thus, in regard to the
opium deal we read:
High Official Offered Bribe of $5,000,000. A report is
current in the Capital that some time ago, a man
representing himself as the Manager of the Shanghai Opium
Combine, approached a certain high official and solicited
his good offices in consummating the opium transaction,
which is now being carried out by the Vice President.
According to the paper, the man promised the high official
five million dollars as a "birthday present," a
euphemistic term for bribery in this country, if the
Combine, through his influence, succeeded in concluding a
deal with the Government. The attempt fell through because
the high official is too honest to be thus corrupted.
Finding the authorities in Peking incorruptible, the
Combine turned its attention to Nanking.
Nanking being the residence of Baron Feng.
It is very interesting to watch this struggle, to see the various forces
at work. The passions of the Chinese are being played upon: the public
is constantly reminded of the insults and indignities that China has
suffered at the hands of those nations who are now urging her to join
with them. The people are not allowed to forget it is through force and
bribery that China has been reduced to her present plight; they are
asked to be skeptical of promises made by those nations who employ such
methods. It is having its effect, too, this press campaign. While the
foreign diplomats are working upon a handful of officials, the people
are being reminded of the wrongs they have suffered through the
machinations of these diplomats, representing predatory powers.
But, after all, the Chinese people, four hundred millions of them, are a
negligible quantity. The ultimate decision rests with a dozen high
officials. It simply remains to influence these officials, and the thing
is done. They are of three types: those, like the Vice-president, open
to direct bribery; those, like the premier, Tuan Chi jui, who have
political ambitions and whose ambitions can be played upon (they say
Tuan wishes to become president); and certain others, of the younger
school, who are dazzled by the promises made to China and are unable to
offset these promises with the experience of years. These last rejoice
to think that China has been promised a seat at the Peace Table, which
means that China is recognized as a first-class power. All sorts of
inducements are offered, including cancelation of the Boxer indemnity
now being paid to Germany. (The Allies have very obligingly decided that
payment of their own Boxer indemnities shall be postponed, not
canceled.) Also, there are vague, indefinite hints afloat to the effect
that if China is very, very good, the Allies will consider, kindly
consider, the right of China to raise her customs-duties. She may,
perhaps, be allowed some sort of protective tariff. This latter hint is
very vague indeed, too nebulous, in fact, to have much weight. But,
after all, the cancelation of the German indemnity is something.
The disadvantages, on the other hand, are these: If China enters the
war, she must equip her armies. Being virtually bankrupt, she must
first borrow. From whom? She must mortgage herself again, to somebody,
before she can borrow money to equip her armies. And will the country
from whom she borrows money, who agrees to train and equip her armies,
also have full military control over the affairs of China? Will that
nation be given liberty to suppress her press, to stifle all opposition
to whatever moves military necessity may dictate? It looks like
complete surrender.
But the Chinese are not blind, not all of them. Nor are they all
corruptible. And very few of them have utter, childlike faith in the
motives of the Allies.
VI
A DUST-STORM
S---- invited us to go with him to the Gymkana at the race-course.
"It's a rather amusing sight," he explained. "You'll see all foreign
Peking scrambled together out there." Then he went on: "Take the
special train from the 'other station,' and, when you arrive, follow the
crowd to the club-house. I'm riding out from town, so may possibly be a
minute or two late, though I expect to be on hand to welcome you when
you arrive. But if I'm a little late, please don't mind."
We assured him that we shouldn't mind at all; and then he went on to say
that he hoped we'd have a pleasant day and no dust.
These dust-storms are the curse of Peking and of North China. To-day,
however (March 5), dawned bright and clear and sunny, as usual; but
clear, bright weather is not necessarily the sign of a fine day in this
part of the world. Not in spring. Every day is one of brilliant
sunshine, the winter sunshine of China just south of the Great Wall,
and just south of the Mongolian desert. That's where the dust comes
from. It blows in straight from the Gobi Desert, and makes the late
winter and the spring, particularly the spring, almost intolerable.
Since our return we have been having dust-storms on an average of twice
a week, big ones and little ones, lasting from a few hours to several
days. There are two kinds: surface storms, when a tremendous wind blows
dense clouds of fine, sharp dust along the streets and makes all
outdoors intolerable; and overhead storms, which are another thing.
These latter really are a curious phenomenon: fine, red, powdery dust
is whirled upward into the higher levels of the atmosphere blown
overhead by the upper air currents, from which it drifts down, covering
everything in sight. On such occasions there is frequently no wind at
all on the streets, but the air is so filled with dust that the sun
appears as in a fog, a red disk showing dimly through the thick, dense
atmosphere. The dust floats downward and sifts indoors through every
crack and crevice, until everything lies under a soft red blanket. You
simply breathe dust for days; there is no possibility of escape until
the wind changes and it is over.
To-day, however, apparently was going to be a good day. I ran down the
hotel corridor to look at the flags flying over the legation quarter,
the flags of most of the nations of the world. The sight was
reassuring. No wind at all, apparently; they were all idly flapping
from their poles, whereas yesterday they had been frantically tearing
at them, whipped out stiff by a piercing, cold north wind. So we took
rickshaws and were soon running along toward the Hankow station, where
we found a large crowd of foreigners assembling for the special train
that was to take us to Pao Ma Tchang, literally "Run Horse Place," the
race-course six miles from Peking.
When we dismounted, we had the usual arguments with the coolies as to
fares. There are three classes of fares here,--one for the Chinese, one
for the sophisticated resident, and one for the tourist; each one double
that for the preceding class. By this time we consider ourselves
sufficiently at home to pay the tariff which the foreign residents pay,
sufficiently sophisticated to avoid being overcharged. No use. We never
seem able to manage it. Inside of a minute we had half the coolies of
Peking yelling round us, just as if we were the greenest tourists that
ever set foot on Chinese soil. I'm sorry for the rickshaw boys, they
have a hard life of it; yet I must confess that our sympathies are
somewhat alienated by the way they "do" us on every possible occasion.
The special was waiting in the station, and we installed ourselves in a
compartment and looked eagerly out upon the platform for the signs of
the "scrambling" we had come to see. There it was, too, all the Who's
Who of Peking,--all the ministers and secretaries of the legations, with
their families and guests, and all the foreign residents of the
legation quarter and the East City and the West City and every city
contained within the walls of the capital. Americans, English, French,
Danes, Russians, Swedes; only the Germans were absent. The railway
pierces the wall of the West City, and for a time we ran along under the
walls outside, with the great crenelated battlements rising above us,
and their magnificent gates or towers glittering in the sunshine. How
incongruous and insignificant seemed that train-load of chattering
foreigners beneath the majestic, towering ramparts of this old royal
city! The arid plains presented rather a Biblical appearance, with
camel-trains moving slowly across the desolate landscape, while here and
there flocks of broad-tailed sheep were browsing, tended by their
shepherds. We passed the usual graves,--little mounds of earth ploughed
round very closely, as closely as the people felt they might without
disturbing the spirits within.
Twenty minutes later we came to a stop on the plains, and every one
began getting off. In a moment we were surrounded by crowds of yelling
donkey-boys leading donkeys, and a few rickshaw-pullers as well. No one
seemed to care for either form of conveyance, and we soon left behind
the blue-coated coolies still shouting the merits of their tiny gray
donkeys with their tinkling bells, and began a journey on foot across
the dusty plain. Road there was none: merely an ill-defined track
presented itself, along which all the ministers and secretaries of the
great nations of the world walked, ankle-deep in dust.
But something had gone wrong with the weather. Our pleasant day, on
which we had staked our hopes, had somehow disappeared. We had noticed,
as the train moved along, that clouds of dust seemed to be rising; but
we laid this to the speed of the train, fully twelve miles an hour. But
once outside the shelter of our carriage, it was impossible to deceive
ourselves any longer. The wind was rising, and the dry dust of many
rainless months was rising with it, flying in dense, enveloping clouds.
It was a curious sight that presented itself: a long, straggling
procession of two or three hundred men and women, beating their way,
heads downward, across the plains of Chili in what turned out to be a
dust-storm of colossal proportions. Presently the Chinese band passed
us, its members mounted on donkeys, galloping by with their drums and
horns bumping up and down behind them. We were glad when they
disappeared over a knoll on the horizon.
We finally reached the club-house, a simple, unpretentious little
building, with wide, open verandas in front, which afforded no shelter
from the biting wind. The whole procession staggered in, a choking,
coughing, sputtering crowd, and from one end of the line to the other
rose imprecations on the weather, in every language known to Europe. As
E---- and I stood there, beating the dust off our clothes and looking
for some sign of S----, one of the foreign ministers came up to us,
raising an immaculate gray hat, in sharp contrast to a very dusty
overcoat. "Have you an invitation to tiffin?" he asked, as he shook
hands. We hastily said we had, were expecting our host any minute. We
don't know what his intentions were. These are war times, and Peking is
surging with furious suspicions. He may have meant to ask us to lunch
with him, or he may have meant to put us out as intruders. Fortunately,
at that minute S---- appeared round the corner, wiping his face and
eyes; he claimed us and all was well.
Two or three races were to be run before tiffin, and we went out to have
a look at the ponies, little Mongolian ponies with short, clipped hair.
They were the same breed as the shaggy little animals one sees
everywhere in Peking. E---- and I know nothing of horses; there's no use
pretending. But in spite of that blinding dust, every one else was
attempting to distinguish the various points, good and bad, of the
snorting, struggling little beasts, who were as unhappy about the
weather as we were. And between you and me, I think it was a fine
affectation to pretend to distinguish qualities in that storm. In the
paddock racing-camels and donkeys also were tied up, and let me say I
think it was all an honest person could do in the circumstances to tell
the difference between a camel and a horse. Our interest centered in the
camels, the great, disdainful camels, who looked down upon ministers
plenipotentiary and potentates and powers with such superb hauteur.
Really, these Peking camels are the aristocrats of the world; you feel
it every time they condescend to glance at you.
The wind, which was getting higher and colder every moment, soon drove
all but the most ardent enthusiasts indoors. We mounted to the upper
story of the club-house, and looked out over the course from the windows
of the big dining-room, which occupies the entire upper floor. Before us
stretched the same bleak, arid plains that we had crossed on our way
from the station: only the railing marking the outer boundaries of the
track divided it from the barren stretches of earth which extended
northward to the uttermost confines of China. Not a blade of grass was
anywhere in sight. And over all, the dust--not the ordinary dust of a
windy March day at home, but great, thick, solid clouds of dust,
reaching upward, and covering the entire sky. The noon sun gleamed down
in a circle of hazy red.
There were two races before lunch. One couldn't see the ponies till
they were within a hundred yards of the winning-post. S----, who has
great courage, and moreover felt his responsibility as host, would
remain outside on the upper veranda, straining his eyes in the biting
gale, and then signal to us when they came in sight. Whereupon we
would rush outdoors for a brief moment, clinging to our hats and
groping for the veranda rail, and stand there for an agonizing minute
till he told us it was over.
Now and then, in brief pauses in the wind, the horizon would clear for a
moment and we could see beyond the outer boundaries of the course. We
caught occasional glimpses of long caravans of camels, two or three
hundred of them, bound for the coal-mines up north. Once, in a short
interval, we saw a funeral procession stretching away over the
plains--a straggling procession on foot, in dingy white dresses,
carrying banners and flags and parasols. The coffin was slung on a
pole between bearers, and the wailing drone of a horn, and the thud of
a big drum came down the wind. Then the dust rose again, and the
melancholy sight was shut out. How curious was this little pleasure
spot of the Europeans, in the midst of this barbaric setting, in the
heart of old, old Asia!
Tiffin time. Every one who had not already taken refuge in the
dining-room now trooped up-stairs, hungry and laughing. I must tell you
of the dining-room. It was just a huge, square, bare room, with
whitewashed walls, with not a picture, with not an attempt at
decoration. A dozen trestle tables ran across it, with narrow, backless
benches on each side,--benches which had to be stepped over before one
could sit down. Every one stepped over them, however--ministers and
first-secretaries and Russian princesses and smart American women; and
you had to step over them again when the meal was finished, too, unless
by some preconcerted agreement every one rose at the same time. There
was not a chair in the place. Every one was dust-grimed, wind-blown and
bedraggled, and it was a gay, noisy meal, with laughter and cigarette
smoke and dust all through it.
In spite of the noise, however, there seemed little real merriment. One
became conscious of the atmosphere,--of the forced, rather strained, I
was going to say hostile, atmosphere. Every nation, as if by
prearrangement, withdrew to itself. The English sat together, the French
sat together; the Russians were apart; and the Americans in still
another section. There was no real intermingling, no real camaraderie,
except among the individual groups. There was much hand-shaking of
course, and greetings and perfunctory politeness, but no genuine
friendliness. The various ministers, for instance, did not sit together
as ministers, off on a holiday. On the contrary, each one sat at the
table with his countrymen. Over all there was a feeling of constraint,
distrust, national antipathies but thinly veiled, with but the merest
superficial pretense of disguising intense dislikes and jealousies.
In Peking there is great freedom of speech, and much outspoken criticism
of one nation by another; for there hatred and suspicions run high.
Therefore, of course, such feelings could not be submerged on an
occasion of this kind. Perhaps the war has intensified them; perhaps
they are always there; perhaps this is the chronic atmosphere of Peking,
where each power is trying to outdo the other, to overreach the other,
in their dealings with China. Anyway, E---- and I were intensely aware
of it in this "scrambling together" of all diplomatic Peking.
No Japanese was present, although a few Japanese are members of the
club. And it is significant that no Chinese, no matter how high in rank,
is admitted to membership. The impression we derived of this European
playground is that the attempt to play is a farce. You look over your
shoulder to behold a knife at your back.
After tiffin two more invisible races took place, but no one made an
attempt to see them. The dust sifted in through the windows and lay
thick on the tables, and one made footprints in it on the floor. Then we
were all cheered by the announcement that the special train was
returning an hour earlier than the time scheduled, and there was a
general move to go. The walk back across the plains was even worse, if
possible, than that from the station to the club-house, for the wind was
stronger, the dust more blinding. Yet the whole procession was
light-hearted, somehow: there were prospects of a bath at the journey's
end. As we reached the station the train was pulling in. E---- was
walking just ahead of me, talking to the Russian minister, Prince K----.
A gust more violent than usual struck us, and I saw her suddenly leap
aboard while the train was moving. When I joined her a moment later she
seemed rather dubious.
"I don't know that that's exactly the way to take leave of a prince,"
she said doubtfully, "to jump on a moving train in the middle of a
sentence."
VII
A BOWL OF PORRIDGE
While we were at the races yesterday in all that dust, exciting things
were happening in Peking. We no sooner returned to the hotel than there
were a dozen people to tell us of them. It seems that at a cabinet
meeting yesterday morning (March 5) the prime minister, Tuan Chi jui,
wished to send a circular telegram to the governors of the various
provinces announcing China's determination to sever diplomatic relations
with Germany. The President of China, Li Yuan Hung, who is strongly
opposed to this course, rejected the premier's proposal, whereupon Tuan
tendered his resignation and flew off in a huff to Tientsin. Tuan is
forever resigning his post as prime minister, and is forever being
coaxed back. A deputation to coax him back was sent the day afterward,
and there were those who hoped he would return and those who hoped he
wouldn't. And now, a day or two later (March 7) back he comes and all is
well. The problem, however, is still to be settled. Tuan is pretty
powerful, has the backing of the military, and is said to be desirous of
becoming president. It is all very complicated and difficult to
understand, and there are rumors floating about that he departed not
because the President refused to break with Germany but because his life
was in danger. There was some plot on foot to assassinate him, and his
suggestion concerning the telegram to the governors was merely an excuse
for his resignation, for the necessity for quickly leaving Peking. Plots
to assassinate people always occur at critical moments, and it is most
uncomfortable for all concerned.
The papers are full of tales of coercion, of charges of bribery, of
hints of pressure being brought to bear upon Chinese officials. China
must be made to break with Germany and to do it soon. A few days ago
we met an intelligent little Chinese lady, wife of an "official in
waiting." (This is a nice title, and means an official waiting for a
job.) She is an alert, well-educated, advanced little person, who has
spent several years in America, and speaks English fluently with
almost no accent. She is thoroughly conversant with the present
political situation, too,--having doubtless discussed it with her
husband, the official in waiting,--and was most outspoken concerning
it. She grew very indignant as she spoke of the pressure being brought
to bear upon China, and she told of a dinner recently given in Peking,
given by certain foreign officials to certain Chinese officials whom
they wished to "influence." When the plates were lifted, a check was
found lying beneath each plate. She got so excited over this
incident--as I did, too--that I forgot to ask her what the Chinese
officials did with these checks.
"I should think you would hate all foreigners," I said. "I should, in
your place."
"We do!" she replied emphatically, and her black eyes flashed. "Why
don't you leave us alone?"
"Which of us do you hate most?" I asked, "or least?--if you like it
better that way."
The Chinese have a delightful sense of humor, something that you can
always count upon. She wrung her little claw-like hands together,
twisted them with emotion; yet her sense of humor prevailed. She
flashed a brilliant smile upon me.
"You Americans we hate least," she explained. "You have done the least
harm to us. And some of you, individually, we like."
"But, naturally, you hate us all?"
"Why not?" she replied. "See what you foreigners are doing to us, have
done to us, are still trying to do to us. Can you blame us? Judge for
yourself."
"I can perfectly understand your Boxer uprising," I told her, "when you
tried to get rid of us all--"
"I'm glad you can understand that," she retorted. "Few foreigners do. We
feel that way still; only we can't show it as we did then."
Into my mind came a recollection of the high stone wall surrounding the
British legation, on which are painted the words, "Lest we forget."
Every day, as one passes in or out of the legation quarter by that road,
one's attention is arrested by those words. "Lest we forget." Every
foreigner in Peking is thus reminded of those dreadful months of siege
in 1900. But so is every Chinese of the upper classes; so is every
rickshaw coolie who stops to point out those words to the tourists as he
passes. Why remember? Why not try to forget? Neither side will forget.
Neither foreigner nor Chinese has any intention of forgetting. The huge
indemnities that are paid out year by year by the Chinese make
forgetting impossible. Of all the countries that received an indemnity,
America was the only one that tried to forget. Yet she did it by
erecting a monument to her forgetfulness, or forgivingness, in the shape
of a college-preparatory school for Chinese boys, and is using part of
her yearly indemnity fund to maintain it; and "Lest we forget" is
written large upon its walls.
But in contrast to the bitterness of the little Chinese lady, we
received an impression to-day of quite opposite character. We called
upon the editor of one of the Chinese papers. We have seen him many
times, and he has often had tea with us in the lobby of our hotel, but
upon this occasion he sent us a note and asked us to call on him at
his office. He kept us waiting a few minutes in a shabby, dingy
office, littered with papers and newspaper clippings, the regulation
untidy office of a newspaper man. When he finally arrived, after ten
minutes' delay, he apologized profusely, saying it was five o'clock,
the hour for his bowl of porridge. He looked as if he needed it, too,
for he was a thin, nervous little man, a burning, ardent soul
contained in a gaunt, emaciated body.
Straightway, after his allusion to his porridge, he burst into a eulogy
of America, such as it did our hearts good to hear. In his mind there
was absolutely no question that China should trust herself to America,
enter the war on the side of America. No other nation in the world, he
said, had such great ideals, and so thoroughly lived up to them.
Wilson's Mexican policy filled him with enthusiasm; he spoke of it at
length, almost with tears in his eyes. Next he touched on our Philippine
possessions. Our record in the Philippines is an example to the world.
No exploitation of a helpless people but a noble constructive policy to
educate them, develop them, and, finally, bring them to a point where
they could exercise their own sovereignty. The first thing we did, he
reminded us, on taking possession of the Philippines, was to throw out
opium. It was at that time a drug-sodden country, but our first act was
to banish the traffic, root and branch.
It was also America, he went on, which had given China moral support
and active backing in her ten-years' struggle against the drug. We had
called together the Opium Conference at Shanghai, and later the Hague
International Opium Conference, and owing to the publicity gained
through these conferences China had had the courage to demand the
opportunity to eradicate the curse. On and on he went, and it was
good hearing. He would use his influence, and it was great, to
induce China to accept America's invitation and enter the war on the
side of the Allies.
It made one rather humble to hear him. China will place her fate and her
fortunes so implicitly in our hands. It will be a great responsibility
for us to meet. Do you think we can do so?
VIII
FROM A SCRAP-BOOK
This isn't a letter. I shall take a bunch of old newspapers and with
scissors and paste-pot, stick upon this sheet of paper such press
comments as seem relevant to the situation. First of all, remember that
China has a population of four hundred million people, of whom three
hundred and ninety-nine million have never heard of the European war.
But the opinion of the million that may have heard of it is of no
moment. The few people it is necessary to convert to a sympathetic
understanding of the European war are the handful of officials
composing the Cabinet, about two hundred members of Parliament, and a
small, outlying fringe of "officials in waiting" and other odds and
ends, generals and such like. Once convince them, and the thing is
done. The understanding million, and the three hundred and ninety-nine
millions who do not understand are negligible. At present there is a
good deal of talk about restoring the monarchy. You don't have to deal
with as many people in a monarchy as in a so-called republic. A
monarchy is a more wieldy body. China, however, a five-year-old
republic, is behaving just like any other democracy,--forever appealing
to the people, as if the people even in a democracy had any chance
against their masters and rulers.
Thus the "Peking Gazette," under date of Tuesday, March 1:
The Entente and China. Reported Allied Decision. A report
reaches us--which we have been unable to confirm--that,
the Entente Ministers and Chargés d'Affaires in the
capital met at the French Legation on Tuesday and
considered the advisability of deputing the Japanese
Chargé d'Affaires to call on the President, the
Vice-President and the Premier, to ascertain the decision
of the Chinese Government regarding further action against
Germany. In the event of failure on the part of the
Chinese Government to decide on the matter this week,
the report adds that a joint Allied inquiry will follow
next week.
In the absence of confirmation, we have to reserve comment
on what looks like an amazing blunder, if true. In the
meantime, we have to warn those concerned, that unless
they are bent on alienating the growing Chinese sympathy
for the Allied cause, and arresting the powerful movement
for some form of action, in association with or in
coöperation with the Entente, it will be well if anything
like Allied pressure be avoided at this juncture.
Since writing the foregoing--or rather as we go to
press--we learn from a responsible quarter that the French
Minister and the Belgian Chargé d'Affaires called at the
Chinese Foreign Office yesterday afternoon and either
informally suggested or actually invited China to join the
Entente. In the name of the Allies, they are understood to
have promised the postponement of the instalments of the
Boxer indemnities accruing due and payable during the war,
and guaranteed the revision of the Chinese customs tariff.
We have just time to register our emphatic protest against
this proceeding; and limiting ourselves to the bare
statement of one of the many grave objections to this
action of the Entente, we have to point out that it is not
real Chinese interest for the Allies to thrust large sums
of money on persons who may not be able to apply the same
to national ends. The Chinese Government is in need of
money for specific objects, like the resumption of specie
payment, the disbandment of superfluous troops, and the
liquidation of certain unfunded indemnities. Financial
assistance to the authorities is something for which the
country would feel grateful to any Power or group of
Powers who might render the same. But Chinese who have the
real interest of their country at heart will not thank
those who--without regard to the vital interest of
China--are resolved upon securing the support of a few
ambitious men whose single aim is to have enough money
to influence, first, the Parliamentary elections, due
in a few months, and next, the Presidential election to
be held next year. Curses not blessings would issue from
our lips for such questionable assistance to the forces
of reaction in Peking.
On March 2 appears a translation from a vernacular paper, the "Shuntien
Shih-Pao":
At a recent meeting of Allied Ministers in the French
Legation, it was decided that if China does not declare
her intention to join the Allied nations within the next
few days, the Allied nations should give advice to China
to that effect.
Apart from "advice" of this sort,--rather threatening advice, it would
seem,--appeals are being made to Chinese vanity, by the contrasting of
the potential might of China with the might of Japan. In an article
entitled "China and the World War," Putnam Weale, speaking for the
British interests in China, makes some clever but rather blunt
suggestions:
So far, no one has gone beyond suggesting the general
mobilization of Chinese labor-battalions, some of which
are already at work on the Tigris building docks, and
thereby contributing very materially to the vastly
improved position in Mesopotamia. But it does not do
credit to the stature of the Chinese giant, or to the
qualities of the Chinese intellect, for Chinese to remain
hewers of wood and drawers of water; it is imperative that
if the nation goes to war she should actually fight, as
the experience of the last five years shows what she can
do with skill and science. In advancing the contention
that a definite offer of a picked Chinese Division, or of
several divisions, to Great Britain, against a definite
treaty, to hasten the Mesopotamian campaign would be a
master-stroke of policy, we have to recall that Japan
herself refused to send contingents to the Balkans, and is
therefore looked upon as a semi-belligerent whose stature
can at once be overtopped by the Chinese giant merely
rising to his feet.
A clipping from a Paris paper, the "Petit Parisien," has been
reproduced in the Chinese press, and given prominence. The Chinese
colossus is not asked to rise to its feet merely to demonstrate its
huge proportions. If it rises, it must be to serve a purpose. With a
simple frankness due perhaps to a failure to consider possible
quotation in the Peking press, the "Petit Parisien" comments upon the
"Value of China's Intervention" thus:
The intervention of China is not to be underrated. The
Chinese army at present is sufficiently instructed and
equipped, well officered and supplied, and possesses large
reserves. The military schools are in a position to train
nearly five thousand officers a year, and this figure
could be increased five times, if needed. The natural
resources of China would enable her to supply raw
materials for the ammunition and machinery, as well as
leather, cotton, rice, tea, and other commodities.
In exchange for these natural resources, to develop which China will
have to mortgage herself to the Allies, is offered cancelation of the
Boxer indemnity to the Germans, and postponement (not cancelation) of
the indemnities paid to the other nations. There are also, as I have
said before, vague hints that China may be allowed to revise her
tariffs and place a duty upon certain commodities. But even with the
first suggestion of such tariff revision comes opposition, from Japan.
The Allies, who have no cotton to import to China at the present
moment, may generously consent to protective duties on this article,
but Japan, which has plenty of it to import, objects to a handicap to
her cotton-trade. If the Allies require China's intervention, then let
them pay for it. Thus the "Chugwai Shogyo," a Japanese newspaper, under
date of March 7:
Buying China's Friendship. We maintain that the Foreign
Office [Japanese] officials should resolutely refuse to
agree to the raising of the Chinese customs tariff. But it
is reported that the officials are backing out. They are
goody-goody people. They seem to think that the Chinese
proposal is a just one. There is no reason why China
should make any unjust claim. But even if China's claim is
intrinsically just from her own standpoint, we should not
agree to it if it is disadvantageous to us. Besides, if
China makes that claim as her condition of her joining the
Entente Powers, it is not right. If China thinks that to
sever her relations with Germany and Austria is
disadvantageous to her, and therefore wants to obtain a
_quid pro quo_ for so doing, this consideration should be
given by the Entente Powers, not Japan. Is the
participation in the war beneficial to China or to the
Entente Powers? If the former, then China should not ask
any compensation. If the latter, then the compensation
should be paid by the Entente Powers, not Japan. From the
point of view of Oriental peace, there is no absolute
necessity for China to participate in the war.
Sun Yat Sen, the great revolutionary leader and spokesman for the more
enlightened Chinese of South China and Canton, has also sprung into the
arena, and makes a protest against dragging China into the war. In an
open letter to the Prime Minister of England, which appeared in the
papers under the date of March 7, he says:
To His Excellency Lloyd George, London.
Your Excellency: As a patriot of China and grateful friend
of England, to whom I owe my life, I deem it my duty to
point out to you the injurious consequences to China and
England caused by this agitation of some of your officials
here, to bring China into the European conflict. I have
been approached by prominent English to consider the
question of China joining the Allies. After careful study
I come to the conclusion that it would be disastrous to
both countries should China break her neutrality.