OLD CONFUCIANISM IN THE NEW CHINA
"The whole Chinese people hold the doctrines of Confucius most sacred,"
declared President Yuan Shih-kai in his decree of November 26, 1913,
which re-introduced much of the old state religion. He stopped a little
short of giving Confucianism the character of an established religion,
but ordered that the sacrificial rites and the biennial commemoration
exercises be restored. "I am strongly convinced," he said, "of the
importance of preserving the traditional beliefs of China." In this
he was upheld by the Confucian Society at Peking, in the organization
of which an American university graduate, Dr. Chen Huan-chang, was a
leading spirit. Mr. Chen's doctoral dissertation had dealt with the
economic principles of Confucius and his school; upon his return to
China his aim had been to make Confucianism the state religion under
the Republic.
The Christian missionaries were agitated. They felt it to be a step
backward for the new republic to recognize any form of belief.
Yuan, however, said: "It is rather the ethic and moral principles
of Confucius, as a part of education, that the Government wishes
to emphasize." As there is nothing mystical or theological about
Confucianism, such a view is, indeed, quite tenable.
Yuan Shih-kai again declared toward the end of December: "I have
decided to perform the worship of heaven on the day of the winter
solstice."
This fell on the 23rd of December, and again excited discussion.
"It means that Yuan is edging toward the assumption of the Imperial
dignity," many said.
I had a talk about this matter with the Minister of the Interior, Mr.
Chu Chi-chien, who was thoroughly informed concerning the details
of Confucian worship and the worship of Heaven; he had, in fact, an
inexhaustible fund of knowledge of Chinese traditions. Nevertheless, he
was a man of action, planning cities, building roads, and developing
industries. Comparatively young and entirely Chinese by education and
character, he had supremely that knowledge of the personalities of
Chinese politics which was necessary in his ministry. As a builder he
became the Baron Haussmann of Peking, widening and paving the avenues,
establishing parks, rearranging public places, in all of which he
did marvels within his short term of two years. He established the
National Museum of Peking, and converted a part of the Imperial City
into a public park which has become a centre of civic life theretofore
unknown in China. Mr. Chu's familiarity with religion, art, and
architecture--he was a living encyclopædia of archæology and art--and
his pleasure in reciting the history of some Chinese temple or palace
did not free him from a modern temptation. He would try to import too
many foreign elements in the improvements which he planned, so that
foreign friends of Chinese art had to keep close to him to prevent the
bringing in of incongruous Western forms which would have spoiled the
marvellous harmony of this great city.
"It would be dangerous," Mr. Chu informed me, "for the republican
government to neglect the worship of Heaven. The entire farm population
observes the ceremonial relative to sowing, harvesting, and other
rural occupations according to the old calendar. Should the worship of
Heaven be omitted on the winter solstice day, now that the Government
has become established; and should there follow a leanness or entire
failure of crops, the Government would surely be held responsible by
the farmers throughout the land."
"Of course," he added, smilingly, "the worship will not guarantee
good crops, but at any rate it will relieve the Government of
responsibility."
I could not but reflect that, even in our own democracy,
administrations have been given credit and blame by reason of general
prosperity or of the lack of it, and that good crops certainly do help
the party in power.
"In the ritual, we shall introduce some changes appropriate to
republicanism," Mr. Chu assured me. "I am myself designing a special
ceremonial dress to be worn by those participating, and the music
and liturgy will be somewhat changed." But it was difficult to see
wherein consisted the specific republican bias of the changes. Yuan
Shih-kai did proceed to the Temple of Heaven before daybreak on
December 23rd; in the dark of the morning the President drove to that
wonderfully dignified open-air sanctuary in its large sacred grove
along the southern wall of the Chinese city. He drove surrounded by
personal bodyguards over streets covered with yellow sand and lined
three-fold with soldiers stationed there the evening before. With him
were the Chief Justice of the Supreme Court, the Master of Ceremonies,
the Censor General, the Minister of War, and a staff of other high
officials and generals. Arrived at the temple, he changed his uniform
for the sacrificial robes and hat, and, after ablutions, proceeded
together with all the other dignitaries to the great circular altar,
which he ascended. He was there joined by the sacrificial meat-bearers,
the silk and jade bearers, the cupbearers, and those who chanted
invocations. In succession the different ceremonial offerings were
brought forward and presented to Heaven with many series of bows. A
prayer was then offered, as follows:
Heaven, Thou dost look down on us and givest us the nation. All-seeing
and all-hearing, everywhere, yet how near and how close: We come
before Thee on this winter solstice day when the air assumes a new
life; in spirit devout, and with ceremony old, we offer to Thee jade,
silk, and meat. May our prayer and offerings rise unto Thee together
with sweet incense. We sanctify ourselves and pray that Thou accept
our offerings.
The first Confucian ceremony, which the President attended in person
at four o'clock in the morning, took place about two months later. A
complete rehearsal of the ceremony, with all details, had been held on
the preceding afternoon. Many foreigners were present. Passing from
the entrance of the Temple, between rows of immemorial ilex trees,
and through lofty porticoes, in one of which are preserved the famous
stone drums which date from the time of the Sage, the visitors entered
the innermost enclosure. It, too, is set with ancient trees, which,
however, leave the central portion open. The musical instruments were
placed on the platform in front of the main temple hall. Here the
ceremony itself was enacted, while the surface of the court was filled
with members of the Confucian Society, ranks of dignified long-gowned
men, members of the best classes of Peking.
I was told that the music played on this occasion was a modification
of the classic strains which had from time immemorial been heard
here. Perfect knowledge of this music seems no longer to exist. The
music accompanying the ceremony was nevertheless attractive, produced
with jade plaques, flutes, long-stringed instruments resembling small
harps, but with strings of more uniform length, drums, and cymbals.
A dominant note was struck on one of the jade plaques, whereupon
all the instruments fell in with a humming sound, held for fully a
minute, which resembled the murmur of forest trees or the surging
of waves. There was no melody; only a succession of dominants, with
the accompaniment of this flow of sound surging up, then ebbing and
receding. One of the instruments is most curious, in the shape of a
leopard-like animal, in whose back there are closely set about twenty
small boards. At certain stages of the music a stick is rapidly passed
over these boards, giving a very peculiar punctuation to the strains
that are being played.
The chief dignitaries officiating were Mr. Chu Chi-chien, the Minister
of the Interior, and Mr. Sun Pao-chi, the Minister for Foreign Affairs,
gorgeous in their newly devised ceremonial costumes. The splendid and
dignified surroundings of the temple courts enhanced the ceremony, but
it depended for its effect on the manner of chanting, the music, and
the very dignified demeanour of all who participated. Quite apart from
the question of the advisability of a state religion or the possible
reactionary influences which such ceremonies might have, I could not
but feel that the refusal to cast off entirely such traditions was
inspired by sound instinct.
Moreover, this revival came during the adoption of new ways. Chinese
ladies came out in general society for the first time on the night of
the 5th of February, at the Foreign Office ball. Many representatives
of the outlying dependencies of China were there in picturesque
costumes, invariably exhibiting a natural self-confidence which made
them seem entirely in place in these modern surroundings. The Foreign
Office building, planned by an American architect, contains on the main
floor an impressive suite of apartments so arranged as to give ample
space for large entertainments, while it affords every opportunity for
the more intimate gathering of smaller groups. Guests were promenading
through the long rows of apartments from the ballroom, where the
excellent Navy Band was playing for the dancers.
The Chinese women gave no hint of being unaccustomed to such general
gatherings of society, but bore themselves with natural ease and
dignity. Nor did they conceal their somewhat amused interest in the
forms of the modern dance; for only a few of the younger Chinese
ladies had at that time acquired this Western art. The number of
votaries, however, increased rapidly during the next few years.
From among the Tartars of the outlying regions this occasion was graced
by a Living Buddha from Mongolia, to whom the Chinese officials were
most attentive. Surrounded by a large retinue, he overtopped them
all, and his bodily girth seemed enormous. He found his way early in
the evening to a room where refreshments were being offered, took
possession of a table, and proceeded to divest himself of seven or
eight layers of outer garments. Thus reduced, he became a man of
more normal dimensions. Several of his servitors then went foraging
among the various tables, bringing choice dishes to which the Living
Buddha did all justice. Long after midnight reports still came to the
ballroom: "The Living Buddha is still eating."
It seems remarkable that Chinese women should so readily adapt
themselves to wholly new situations. They have shown themselves capable
of leadership in social, political, and scientific matters; a great
many develop wide intellectual interests and manifest keen mental
powers. When I gave the Commencement address at the Women's Medical
College of Peking, the 13th of February, I was curious to see what
types of Chinese women would devote themselves to a medical education.
In this field Dr. King Ya-mei and Dr. Mary Stone are the pioneers.
With the advance of modern medicine in China many Chinese women have
adopted the career of nurses and of physicians. On this occasion the
women students of the middle school sang various selections, and I
was impressed with the cello-like quality of their alto voices. As
customary on such occasions my address was made through an interpreter.
The delivery of these chopped-off paragraphs can scarcely be inspiring,
yet Chinese audiences are so courteous and attentive that they never
give the speaker any suggestion of impatience.
A luncheon at the Botanical Gardens was given the next day by the
Minister of Agriculture, Mr. Chang Chien. This institution, to
which a small and rather hungry-looking collection of animals is
appended, occupies an extensive area outside of the northwest gate,
and was formerly a park or pleasure garden of the Empress Dowager. A
modern-style building, erected for her use and composed of large main
apartments on each floor, with smaller side-chambers opening out from
them, was used for our luncheon party. Its walls were still hung with
pictures painted by the hand of the august lady, who loved to vary her
busy life by painting flowers. The conversation here was mostly on
Chinese art, there being among the guests an antiquarian expert, Chow,
who exhibited some fine scrolls of paintings. I noted that the Chinese
evinced the same interest in the writing appended to the paintings
(colophon) as in the picture itself. They seemed to admire especially
the ability, in some famous writers, of executing complicated strokes
without hesitation and with perfect control. When we were looking at a
page written by a famous Sung poet, Mr. Chow said: "He always finished
a stroke lightly, like his poems, still leaving something unsaid."
Chinese handwriting has infinite power to express differences of
character and cultivation. It is closely associated with personality.
Some writing has the precision of a steel engraving; other examples,
again, show the sweep and assurance of a brush wielded by a Franz Hals.
It is the latter that the Chinese particularly admire; and even without
any knowledge of Chinese script one cannot but be impressed with its
artistic quality and its power to reveal personal characteristics. It
is still the great ambition of educated Chinese to write well--that is,
with force and individual expression. My host on this occasion was one
of the most noted calligraphers in China. Many emulated him; among them
a northern military governor who had risen from the ranks, but spent
laborious hours every day decorating huge scrolls with a few characters
he had learned, with which to gladden the hearts of his friends.
The new things cropping out in Chinese life had their detractors. Mr.
and Mrs. Rockhill had come to Peking for a visit. Relieved of official
duties through a change in the administration, it was quite natural
that Mr. Rockhill should return where his principal intellectual
interests lay. Throughout our first conversation at dinner Mrs.
Rockhill affected a very reactionary view of things in China, praising
the Empire and making fun of all attempts at modernization. One would
have thought her not only a monarchist, but a believer in absolutism
of the old Czarist type. A woman so clever can make any point of view
seem reasonable. Mr. Rockhill did not express himself so strongly, but
he was evidently also filled with regret for the old days in China
which had passed. While we were together receiving guests at a dinner I
was giving Mr. Rockhill, some of the young Foreign Office counsellors
appeared in the distance, wearing conventional evening clothes. "How
horrible," Mr. Rockhill murmured, quite distressed. Not perceiving
anything unusual to which his expression of horror could refer, I
asked, "What?" "They ought to wear their native costume," he answered;
"European dress is intolerable on them, and it is so with all these
attempted imitations."
The talk at another dinner, a small gathering including Mr. Rockhill,
Doctor Goodnow, and Dr. Henry C. Adams, revolved around conditions
in China and took a rather pessimistic tone. Doctor Adams had been
elaborating a system of unified accounting for the railways. "At every
turn," he said, "we seem to get into a blind alley leading up to a
place where some spider of corruption sits, the whole tribe manipulated
by a powerful head spider."
This inheritance of corruption from the easy-going past, when the
larger portion of official incomes was made up of commissions and
fees, was recognized to be a great evil by all the more enlightened
Chinese officials. They attempted to combat it in behalf of efficient
administration but they could not quite perform the heroic task of
lifting the entire system bodily onto a new basis. Because the new
methods would require greatly increased salaries, the ideal of strict
accountability, honesty, and efficiency, could only be gradually
approached. Doctor Goodnow for his part contributed to the conversation
a sense of all the difficulties encountered by saying: "Here is a
hitherto non-political society which had vegetated along through
centuries held together by self-enforced social and moral bonds,
without set tribunals or formal sanction. Now it suddenly determines
to take over elections, legislatures, and other elements of our more
abstract and artificial Western system. I incline to believe that it
would be infinitely better if the institutional changes had been more
gradual, if the system of representation had been based rather on
existing social groupings and interests than on the abstract idea of
universal suffrage. These political abstractions as yet mean nothing to
the Chinese by way of actual experience."
He also did not approve of the persistent desire of the democratic
party to establish something analogous to the English system of cabinet
government. He felt that far more political experience was needed for
working so delicate a system. "I am inclined to look to concentration
of power and responsibility in the hands of the President for more
satisfactory results," he said.
Mr. Rockhill's fundamental belief was that it would be far better for
the world not to have meddled with China at all. "She should be allowed
to continue under her social system," he urged, "a system which has
stood the test of thousands of years; and to trust that the gradual
influence of example would bring about necessary modifications." He
had thorough confidence in the ability of Yuan Shih-kai, if allowed a
free hand, to govern China in accordance with her traditional ideas but
with a sufficient application of modern methods. He even considered the
strict press censorship applied by Yuan Shih-kai's government as proper
under the circumstances.
Throughout this conversation, which dwelt mostly on difficulties,
shortcomings and corruption, there was, nevertheless, a notable
undercurrent of confidence in the Chinese _people_. These experienced
men whose work brought them into contact with specific evils, looked at
the Chinese, not from the ordinary viewpoint so usual with foreigners
who assume the utter hopelessness of the whole China business, but much
as they would consider the shortcomings of their own nation, with an
underlying faith in the inherent strength and virtue of the national
character. The idea of China being bankrupt was laughed to scorn by
Mr. Rockhill. "There are its vast natural and human resources," he
exclaimed. "The human resources are not just a quantity of crude
physical man power, but there is a very highly trained industrial
capacity in the handicrafts." But it is exactly when we realize the
stupendous possibilities of the country, her resources of material
wealth, her man power, her industrial skill, and her actual capital
that the difficulties which obstruct her development seem so deplorable.
Mr. Liang Chi-chao gave a dinner at about this time, at which Doctor
Adams, Doctor Goodnow, President Judson of Chicago, and the ladies
were present. Mr. Liang had a cook who was a master in his art, able
to produce all that infinite variety of savory distinction with which
meat, vegetables, and pastry can be prepared by the Chinese. One
usually speaks of Chinese dinners as having from one hundred fifty
to two hundred courses. It would be more accurate, however, to speak
of so many dishes, as at all times there are a great many different
dishes on the table from which the guests make selection. The profusion
of food supplied at such a dinner is certainly astonishing. The
guests will take a taste here and there; but the greater part of it
is sent back to the household and retainers. It is a popular mistake
to believe that Chinese food is composed of unusual dishes. There are
indeed birdsnest soup, shark fins, and ducks' kidneys, but the real
excellence of Chinese cooking lies in the ability to prepare one thing,
such as chicken, or fish, in innumerable ways, with endless varieties
of crispness, consistency, and flavour. It is notable to what extent
meat predominates. Although there is always a variety of vegetables
and of fruit, the amount of meat consumed by the Chinese is certainly
astonishing to one who has classified them, as is usually done, as a
vegetarian people.
The show of abundance at a Chinese banquet seems the fare of poverty
compared with the cargoes of delicacies served at the Imperial table.
It was a rule of the Imperial household that any dish which the Emperor
had at any time called for, must be served him at the principal meal
every day; as his reign lengthened the numbers of dishes at his table,
naturally, constantly increased. It is related that the dinner of the
Emperor Chen Lung required one hundred and twenty tables; and the
Empress Dowager, at the time of her death, had worked up to about
ninety-six tables. It is not to be wondered at that the Emperor's
kitchen had an army of three hundred cooks! At one time when the Duke
Tsai was discussing with me the financial situation of the Imperial
family, he remarked, with a deep sigh: "The Emperor has had to reduce
the number of his servants. For instance, at present he has only thirty
cooks." Not knowing of the custom described above, I was inclined to
consider that number quite adequate. I believe the little Emperor has
at the time I write reached the quota of about fifteen tables.
At the hospitable board of Mr. Liang Chi-chao, while the dishes were
served in Chinese style and the food eaten with chopsticks, some
modifications of the usual dinner procedure had been made. The
etiquette of a Chinese meal requires that when a new set of dishes with
food has been placed in the centre of the table, the host, hostess,
and other members of the family survey what is there and pick out the
choicest morsels to lay on the plates of their guests. The guests then
reciprocate the courtesy, and the interchange of favours continues
throughout the dinner, giving the whole affair a most sociable aspect.
At Mr. Liang Chi-chao's table these courtesies were observed, but there
were special chopsticks provided for taking the food from the central
dishes and transferring it to a neighbour's or to one's own.
The conversation after dinner wandered toward Chinese ethics. Mr. Liang
Chi-chao is one of the most competent authorities on this subject
and on its relations to Western thought and life. I ventured this
opinion: "While the high respect in which the elders are held by the
younger generation in China is a remarkably strong social cement, it is
discouraging to progress in that it gives the younger and more active
little chance to carry out their own ideas."
"But the system does not," Mr. Liang rejoined, "necessarily work
to retard change; because it is, after all, society rather than
individuals which controls. With all proper respect for elders, the
younger element has ample opportunity to bring forward and carry out
ideas of social change."
He regarded the principle of respect for elders and of ancestor worship
of fundamental importance; in addition to its direct social effects,
it gave to Chinese society all that the Western peoples derive from
the belief in immortality. The living individual feels a keen sense
of permanence through the continuity of a long line of ancestors,
whose influence perceptibly surrounds those actually living; moreover,
their own actions are raised to a higher plane, as seen not from the
narrow interests of the present, but in relation to the life of the
generations that are to succeed, in whom the character and action of
the individual now living will persist.
This evening's entertainment, with its intimate Chinese setting
and its conversation dealing with the deeper relationships between
different civilizations, has remained a memorable experience for those
who attended it. Only recently it was thus recalled by one of the
guests: "Think of going to a dinner with the 'Secretary of Justice' in
Washington, and conversing about the immortality of the soul!"
Interested to see how, despite the new ways in China, the old
Confucianism persisted, I determined upon a pilgrimage to the Confucian
shrines. Dr. Henry C. Adams invited me in November, 1914, to join him
on a trip to the sacred mountain, Taishan, in Shantung Province, and to
Chüfu, the home of Confucius.
A small party was made up. I slipped away quietly in order to avoid
official attentions and to spare the local authorities all the bother
of formally entertaining a foreign representative. We arrived at
Taianfu early in the morning, where with the help of missionaries
chair-bearers had been secured to carry us up the mountain.
The trip to these sacred heights is of an unusual character. The ascent
from the base is almost continuously over stair-ways. Up these steep
and difficult grades two sturdy chairmen, with a third as alternate,
will carry the traveller rapidly and with easy gait. The route is
fascinating not only because of the singular natural beauty of the
ravines through which it passes, and of the constantly broadening
prospects over the fruitful plains of Shantung from every eminence, but
because of the historic interest of the place; this is testified to by
innumerable temples, monuments, tablets, and inscriptions sculptured
in the living rock which line the path up the mountain. It must be
remembered that in the time of Confucius this was already a place
of pilgrimage of immemorial tradition; a place of special grandeur,
wherein the mind might be freed of its narrow needs and find its
place in the infinite. Many of its monuments refer to Confucius and
record his sayings as he stopped by the way to rest or to behold the
prospect. At one point, whence one looks off a steep precipice down to
the plain thousands of feet below, his saying, as reported, was: "Seen
from this height, man is indeed but a speck or insect." But not all
of his remarks were of this obvious nature, which justifies itself in
its appeal to the common mind, to be initiated into the truths of the
spirit.
In these thousands of years many other sages, emperors, and statesmen
have ascended the sacred hill, also leaving memorials in the shape of
sculptured stones bearing their sentiments. It would be an agreeable
task for a vacation to read these inscriptions and to let the
imagination shadow forth again these unending pilgrimages extending
back to the dawn of history.
The stairway leading up the mountain, which is about 6,000 feet high,
is often so steep that we had to guard against being overcome by
dizziness in looking down. Occasionally a stop is made at a wayside
temple, where tea is served in the shady courts. In the summer heat
these refuges must be especially grateful. We reached the temples that
crown the summit after a journey of about six hours. In a temple court
at the very top the servants who had preceded us had set up their
kitchen, and an ample luncheon was awaiting us there.
At this altitude a cold and cutting wind was blowing. Yet we preferred
to stay outside of the temple buildings in order to enjoy the view
which is here unrolled, embracing a great portion of the whole province
of Shantung. I noted that the coolies did not seem impressed with the
sanctity of this majestic height, but used the temple courts as a
caravanserai.
The descent is made rapidly, as the practised chair-bearers run
down the stairs with quick, sure steps--which gives the passenger
the sensation of skirting the mountainside in an aeroplane. When I
inquired whether accidents did not occasionally happen, they told me:
"Yes, but the last time when any one has fallen was about four hundred
years ago." As in the early days chair-bearers who had fallen were
killed, the tendency to fall was in the course of time eradicated. They
descend with a gliding motion that reminds one of the flight of birds.
The chair-bearers are united in a guild, and happen to be Mohammedans
by religion.
The town of Taianfu, which lies at the foot of the mountain, is
notable for a very ancient and stately temple dedicated to the god
who represents the original nature worship which centres around Mount
Taishan, and which forms the historic basis for all religion in
China. The spacious temple courts, with their immemorial trees and
their forests of tall stone tablets bearing inscriptions dedicated by
emperors for thousands of years past, testify to the strength of the
native faith. The streets of the town, set at frequent intervals with
arches bearing sculptured animal forms, were lined with shops through
whose trellised windows, now that night had come, lights were shining,
revealing the activities within. These, with an occasional tall tower
or temple shadowing the gathering darkness, made this old town appear
full of romance and strange beauty.
Sleeping on our car, we were by night carried to the railway station of
Chüfu; some seven miles farther on lies the town of the same name, the
home of Confucius. We hired donkey carts at the station; also, as the
ladies were anxious to have the experience of using the local passenger
vehicle, the wheel-barrow, we engaged a few of these; whereupon our
modest cavalcade proceeded first to the Confucian burial ground, to the
north of the city. On the way thither we were met by chair-bearers who
carried a portable throne and brought complimentary messages from the
Holy Duke. As the chair had been sent for my use, there was nothing for
it but to get in. Soon appeared, also, a string of mule carts drawn by
sleek and well-fed animals, contrasting with the bony and dishevelled
beasts we had hired.
It was plain that the incognito was ended, and that the Duke had been
apprised of our coming. Then came the emissaries of the district
magistrate, offering further courtesies, such as a guard of honour; and
another delegation from the Duke brought a huge red envelope containing
an invitation for luncheon. We tried to decline all these civilities
and to stroll about quietly, in order to come entirely under the spell
of this place. But there was no more rambling and strolling for us. We
had to sit in our chairs and carts, and, after two polite declinations
of the luncheon invitation, alleging the shortness of our time and our
desire to see everything thoroughly, and asking leave to call on the
Duke later in the afternoon--we accepted the customary third issue of
the ducal invitation.
Our procession was quite imposing as we passed on to the inner gate of
the cemetery. Covering about one and a half square miles, the enclosure
has been the burial ground of the Confucian family for at least three
thousand years, antedating Confucius himself. No other family in the
world has such memorials of its continuity. The simple dignity of a
huge marble slab set erect before the mound-covered grave marks the
burial place of the sage. The adjoining site of the house where his
disciples guarded his tomb for generations, but which ultimately
disappeared some two thousand years ago, also bears monuments and
inscriptions.
Leaving the cemetery, a large cavalry escort sent by the district
magistrate joined our cavalcade of chairs, mule carts, and
wheelbarrows, together with crowds of the curious who trudged
along. The village streets were lined with people anxious to see
the strangers; but their curiosity had nothing intrusive. They were
friendly lookers-on, nodding a pleasant welcome should your eye catch
theirs.
We passed through many gates of the ancient palace before we were
finally received by the Duke himself at the main inner doorway. He was
accompanied by the magistrate, and with these two we sat down to chat;
nearly an hour elapsed before we were summoned to the table. The meal,
which was made up of innumerable courses, lasted at least two hours,
during which we kept up an animated conversation concerning the more
recent history of the town and of the temple.
The Duke was agitated because missionaries from Taianfu were trying to
acquire land in the town of Chüfu. He looked upon this intrusion as
unwarranted, saying that as his town was devoted to the memory of the
Chinese sage, it did not seem suitable that any foreign religion should
try to introduce its worship, and it would certainly result in local
ill-feeling.
I tried to quiet his apprehensions by speaking of the educational work
of missionaries, of the fact that they, also, respected the great sage;
but it was hard to allay his opposition.
The magistrate was jovial, laughing uproariously at the mildest joke.
When we arose from the table, the Duke took us to the apartments of the
Duchess, who was staying with the infant daughter recently born, their
first child. The Duchess was his second wife, and he was considerably
her senior. The little lady seemed to be particularly fond of cats, of
which at least forty were playing about her; one of these she presented
to Mrs. Adams.
The great Temple of Confucius immediately adjoins the palace. Although
the afternoon was wearing on, we still had time to visit it and to
wander about in its noble courts. The pillars in the main halls are
adorned by marvellous sculpture, and the temple is remarkable for
the refined beauty of the structures composing it and for the serene
dignity of its aspect. Adjoining the main temple is an ancient well
near which stood the original house of Confucius. Stone reliefs
present in a long series the history of Confucius in pictures, and
there is a great collection of instruments used in performing the
classical music. But the chief charm of the temple lies in the vistas
afforded by its courts, set with magnificent trees and with the
monuments of the past seventy generations.
It was dark when we had finished our visit to the temple. We bade
the Duke farewell, and our cavalcade, starting back to the station,
was now made picturesque by the flaring torches and the huge paper
lanterns which were carried alongside each chair and cart. Slowly the
procession wound its way back over the dark plains toward the lights
of the station platform and the emblems of a mechanical civilization
that contrasted at every point with the life we had seen. The Duke had
regretted having objected so strongly to the proposal to bring the
railway closer to the town, for it was of inconvenience to visitors;
but he felt, after all, that the great sage himself would always prefer
the peacefulness and quiet of the older civilization.
I revisited Chüfu three years later, this time with Mr. Charles R.
Crane and Mrs. Reinsch, who had been unable to accompany me on the
first visit. The officials were expecting us, and everywhere we were
followed with attentions. Not satisfied with giving us two private
cars, the railway officials insisted that we have a special engine,
too. In the region of Chüfu we gathered an army of military escorts.
Arriving at the palace, the Duke greeted us with a child on either
arm. The little daughter was now over three, the son slightly over
one year old. I have never seen any one who appeared more devoted to
his children than the Duke. He always had them with him, carried them
about, playing with them and fondling them. When he and the Duchess
visited us in Peking he brought the two little ones, and they and my
small children played long together joyfully and to the amusement
of their elders. The Duke was tall, broad-shouldered, aristocratic
looking. While not credited with great ability, he was undoubtedly a
man of intelligence, although his education had been narrowly classical
and had not given him contact with the world's affairs. He was
seventy-third in line from the great sage. At that time he was engaged
especially with plans to create in Chüfu a university wherein the
Confucian tradition should be preserved in its purity, but which should
also teach modern science.
Once during the revolution against the Manchus the Duke was considered
a possible successor to the throne. If the country had had a Chinese
family of great prominence in affairs, the transfer of the monarchy
to a Chinese house might have been accomplished, but the Duke was by
no means a man of action or a politician. Neither had the descendants
of the Ming, Sung, and Chow emperors, or of other Imperial houses,
sufficient prominence or genius for leadership to command national
attention.
The title of the Holy Duke is the only one in China which remains
permanently the same. Under the empire, titles were granted, but in
each succeeding generation the rank was lowered by one grade until the
status of a commoner had again been reached. By this arrangement, under
which noble rank gradually "petered out," China escaped the creation of
a class or caste of nobility.