by Emily Hahn
Five months ago our wildest dream could not have been for a republic. To some, even the promise of an early constitutional government was received with skepticism. But deep down in the heart of every patriotic Chinese, were he a politician or a laborer, there was the anti-Manchu spirit. All the sufferings, such as famine, flood, and retrogression in every phase of life was traced to the tyrannical Manchus, and their court of dishonest officials. Oppression was the cause of this wonderful revolution which came as a blessing in disguise.
Already we are witnessing reforms that would never have been accomplished under a despot. We read in the papers of the queueless movement in China, and how thousands and thousands have sacrificed their appendages — the Chinese national disgrace. To appreciate this fact, which seems so commonplace to the matter-of-fact foreigner, we must remember that the queue is a trait or a characteristic of centuries, and that the Chinese are the most conservative people in the world. They love to adhere to old customs, and up to six months ago the queue, which was their most striking mark of distinction from the rest of the civilized world, was carefully cherished. Ten years ago, the number of queueless heads could be counted on the fingers. No one who expected to hold governmental offices dared to cut off his queue. Such an act was regarded as being anti-Manchu, therefore it was revolutionary. But now the anti-Manchu spirit is the order of the day and in China the number of heads with queues can be counted on the fingers. There are innumerable other reforms that are now taking place in China; among them are the social, educational and industrial reforms. Since order is restored, the Currency Problem and the Taxation Question will be the next problems to be solved. We are firm in our belief, with the knowledge of the glorious success of other important reforms, that the Chinese are capable and efficient to deal with these intelligently, to the prosperity and integrity of that ancient empire.
The Revolution has established in China Liberty and Equality, those two inalienable rights of the individual which have caused the loss of so many noble and heroic lives, but there is still Fraternity to be acquired. Dean Crawshaw of Colgate University said in one of his lectures that Fraternity is the yet unrealized ideal of humanity, and that Liberty has no safe foundation except human brotherhood, and that real Equality can never be anything but a dream until men feel towards each other as brothers. In fact, he said Fraternity is the basis of both Liberty and Equality, therefore it should be the purpose of the 20th century to foster that ideal.
And it may be for China, the oldest of nations, to point the way to this Fraternity. In other ways, too, China will take her place in the effort to uplift humanity. Napoleon Bonaparte said, “When China moves, she will move the world.” The realization of that statement does not seem to be far off. A race amounting to one-quarter of the world’s population, and inhabiting the largest empire of the globe, whose civilization displays so many manifestations of excellence, cannot help but be influential in the uplifting of mankind. China was the first possessor of a criminal code; her philosophers gave to the world some of the noblest contributions to human thinking; while her extensive literature which has delighted and won the admiration of those learned Europeans who spent their lifetime in the exclusive study of China and her exquisite code of Social and Moral Ethics are hardly paralleled elsewhere. For centuries the Chinese have been a peace-loving people. To them the pen is mightier than the sword. They have esteemed the arts of peace, and neglected the arts of war, worshipped the scholar and slighted the soldier. Sir Robert Hart said: “They believe in right so firmly that they scorn to think it requires to be supported or enforced by might. These qualities are not to be found simply in isolated cases, but are characteristic of the race as a whole.” Mr Conger, the United States ex-minister to China, has said that “If civilization means, as it should, the highest sensibility of the conscience of man, there is in China the highest civilization to be found in the world.” China, with its multitudinous population, and its love of peace — love in the real essence of the word — shall stand forth as the incarnation of Peace. It cannot but be instrumental in bringing about that humanitarian movement — Universal Peace — when Rights need not be backed by armies and “dreadnaughts,” and all political disagreements will be, at last, settled by the Hague Tribunal. [From The Wesleyan, April 1912.]
When Charlie sent Chingling the new Five-Barred Flag, she climbed up and pulled down the Dragon Banner from the wall and stamped on it, crying, “Down with the dragon! Up with the flag of the Republic!”
Sun formed his Cabinet and began to organize his duties. Years of canvassing had given him a talent for such matters that was to be useful to him now; the new Republic was totally without any working capital, and it was impossible as yet to borrow from foreign governments because of that awkward word “Provisional.” Nobody in those sedate days was willing to lend to a temporary organization. The President therefore borrowed a considerable sum from the Japanese, using for security the iron works at Hankow.
It became evident to him very soon that he was not the person for the job of the Presidency. He had never had the slightest experience in administration, and to a man of his detached attitude it seemed, no doubt, that the most direct and sensible thing to do would be to resign in favor of somebody with better qualifications. His work had all been collecting, enlisting and teaching.
Besides, there was much dissatisfaction among the lesser fry because of sectional jealousy. Sun was a Cantonese, and they accused him of putting too many Cantonese into important positions. They forgave him his Christianity, and they forebore to complain that most of his leading supporters were also Christians, but they could not, anywhere but in Kwangtung, forgive him for being Cantonese.
Then too Yuan Shih-kai was obviously anxious for the job himself, and he was the only person who could manage the abdication of the Manchus. Sun was eager to push the matter through, and he thought Yuan would be a good leader if he were watched. Yuan had promised to persuade the Ch’ing to recognize their fate and bow to it, but he allowed it to be understood that he would be more successful if he himself could be the heir to their power. Therefore the President telegraphed Yuan and invited him to be President — on condition the Emperor abdicated. It took almost another month, but Yuan persuaded the Ch’ing at last, and on February twelfth the Empress Dowager, in the name of the young Emperor, issued an edict by which the Ch’ing gave up the throne, to all appearances graciously presenting their sorrowing country with a ready-made republic. She ordered Yuan Shih-kai to organize this new government on certain conditions; namely, that the Republicans permit the Emperor to retain his title until death, that they give him an annuity, that they complete Kuang Hsu’s tomb, and that they allow the abdicating monarch the right to his palace. The five races — Chinese, Manchus, Mohammedans, Mongols and Tibetans — were promised absolute equality.
Sun Yat-sen objected to the form of the edict, arguing that the Ch’ing were in no position to speak of “conferring” any government, even a republican one, upon China, but Yuan reassured him as to the wording of the pronouncement, and an agreement was reached. Yuan was elected President and Li Yuan-hung, a hero of the Revolution, was Vice-President.
It might at first thought seem strange that the Chinese were willing to take as their President a man who had until a few days previous worked for the archenemies of the republic, the Ch’ing. It was not really unreasonable. Until the Revolution was successful there was no chance for any official to be trained in the work of administration unless he was connected with the Imperial Court; there were no other men fit for the task. There was only one practical way out, and that way was followed by the essentially practical Chinese; they assumed tactfully that all these officials had been unwilling slaves of the Ch’ing until they were set free by the Revolution. From this point of view. Yuan was quite eligible for the Presidency, and the most able man they could find. Above all, he had given them the Ch’ing abdication. He was, indeed, the most popular man in China, next to Sun himself.
It l
ooked now as if all the chief troubles were swept away. There was great rejoicing in the homes of the idealists who had toiled and worked and risked their lives for this end. A new energy filled the tired middle-aged men who had been dissatisfied with the old regime, and for every reactionary who trembled with rage and fear of the dangers ahead there were plenty of students who were blissfully confident of their ability to construct Utopia.
It is the fashion nowadays in China to paint Yuan Shih-kai as a deep-dyed villain who planned from the first to undermine all Sun Yat-sen’s work. Probably this is not true. Yuan had gained his training, that training which made him a passable President where Sun felt sure he himself would fail, in an exacting school; he had learned his ideals in the same school. One fault of old China, which is the same fault that we find in our democracies today, is that the man who goes in for politics and who makes a success at the game is usually the man who works first and foremost for himself. He has no conception of any other service. Yuan had the mentality of a Dictator. He wanted to manage the country because he was sure he knew what was best for the country. He was best for the country, to begin with. He proceeded on that assumption.
The new party of the revolutionists, the Kuomintang (People’s Party) wanted to maintain the government capital at Nanking. Yuan preferred Peking. He was used to Peking; he was a Northerner; his friends were all there. He made good excuses for postponing the move South. Moreover, he knew that the Kuomintang stood in his way.
This obvious fact did not impress itself upon Sun’s consciousness. He was still confident that all could and would go well. He visited Yuan in Peking and was charmed by the statesman’s easy manners; he came away vowing that in all important matters they were of one mind.
The first friction between north and south was felt over the question of financing the Republic. Sun’s action in borrowing from Japan had tided them over for a while, but money was needed again, and Yuan saw that he must get it from the Powers. He applied to the Consortium for that loan which Sun had stopped when he was in London; the bankers, realizing that they had China by the short hairs, proposed exorbitant terms. Immediately the Kuomintang began to grumble threateningly. While Yuan waited and haggled, syndicates secretly lent him money on various Chinese securities, against the whole original intention of the Consortium; the revolutionists grew more suspicious. One of the Consortium’s suggestions was that they supervise the salt taxes in much the same way that the Customs were being managed: the Kuomintang members pointed out that such a bargain was a typical Manchu deal, and that at this rate China would have no resources left.
Yuan Shih-kai persisted, for he could not imagine any other way to get the money (nor, probably, could the Kuomintang). He had appointed Sun Yat-sen Director of Railway Development, thinking that this honor and the large salary attached would keep the doctor out of mischief. Sun, however, took his work very seriously and kept at it; as Director he went to Japan and there began to negotiate another loan, without asking the President’s opinion of such an undertaking. Yuan did not trust anybody so much as Sun did, and especially he did not trust Japan. He preferred to risk the Consortium. Relations became strained.
By the end of the year the Consortium had offered nine million taels, and Yuan was willing to accept the terms attached to the offer. The Kuomintang’s resentment flared out when President Wilson announced the withdrawal of the United States from the bargain, basing his action on the belief that the terms agreed upon would touch nearly on the independence of China. Yuan insisted that the loan was already authorized. Sun Yat-sen cabled the Powers, requesting them not to carry on. The agreement was put through but the break between Yuan and Sun was complete.
To a man of Yuan’s mentality the actions of these Republican people, whom he considered hopelessly impractical, must have been maddening. In his own opinion he was doing the best he could and the only thing he could. His natural Dictator’s impulse was to put his house in order, as directly as possible, and the higher-handed the method the better.
If Sun and the Kuomintang seem in retrospect to be something of what Yuan accused them, if they were hypercritical and offered no alternative to the actions they decried, let us remember the terrific problems that they faced. China in overthrowing the Emperor had leaped a gap of centuries. Her Republic was not the natural outgrowth of years of development. Most democracies, though they result from revolution, are still the children of the monarchies they displace; monarchies that are part of yesterday, not of many years ago. The men upon whom the Chinese government now depended had to learn overnight the lessons of generations. The wonder is that Sun Yet-sen himself did not fall victim to temptation, that he did not try to take complete control just to hurry things along, as Yuan Shih-kai did. It was his exceptional attitude that saved Sun Yat-sen from China, and China from Sun Yat-sen.
CHAPTER IX
Eling’s Marriage
I shall soon be on my way home,” wrote Chingling, after her graduation in the spring of 1913, to one of her teachers. “I am taking a box of California fruit to Dr Sun from his admirers here, and I am also the proud bearer of a private letter to him.”
On her arrival in Shanghai she found her family absorbed in the troubled politics of the day; Eling was acting as Dr Sun’s secretary and also helping her father, who as treasurer of the Railway Commission was still consulting with Sun, still making plans, still hoping for further reform, in spite of the glorious First Revolution that was to have settled everything and left China to live happy ever after. The Soongs were living in the French Concession in an Avenue Joffre house, though they traveled back and forth between Shanghai and Nanking most of the time. Sun in Shanghai made his home with them.
Chingling’s meeting with the Leader, the first since she was a small girl and he an obscure revolutionary, must have meant far more to her than to him. She had long been hearing of him as a national hero and her father’s best friend. Her ardent enthusiasm for China and the great struggle the country had undergone was quickly transmuted to a personal hero worship; after all she was barely twenty and of a strongly idealistic nature. Sun had married at a very early age, according to Chinese custom, and his children had grown up in the care of his wife while he lived and traveled abroad. Like many another leader of men, he had sacrificed the best part of his home life to his public duty. Now, though he and his wife were reunited, he may have felt that they had grown apart. The appearance of this lovely young girl, however, could not have seemed particularly significant to him at first. His wife was very friendly with the Soongs and had even traveled with Mrs Soong and Eling to a hot-springs resort in Japan.
For a little time Chingling’s life was the normal one of a girl just returned home from college. She wrote to a former schoolmate,
Our life here is exactly like yours. We live and dress a la European, even to the decoration of the rooms, so you can sometimes picture me not as a friend of far-away China, soaked in oriental atmosphere, but as one of your American friends in the busy city. For Shanghai is really very modern, more so than Atlanta in many ways. Our house is nice and big, and has all the modern conveniences. There are plenty of bedrooms and tubs and lavatories, so you must come for a visit some time.
And again, “What of the old maids in our class? What are they doing — ‘waiting’ or ‘baiting’?”
She accompanied Sun’s party on one of his Northern trips, before the break with Yuan became inevitable. The outward forms of respect toward the father of the Revolution were still observed, even in far-off Peking; as Director of Railways he traveled where he would, and Chingling saw him as a conquering hero. Perhaps if he had remained in that position, a strong man without need of reassurance or comfort, the romance would never have developed further; Chingling would have transferred her respectful adoration to some other hero in the course of time. In China, however, people in the public eye do not usually rest in peace. Sun’s triumph was soon to be eclipsed for a period.
The Reorganization Loan from the Consorti
um went through, and in June the trouble started when Yuan dismissed three Provincial Governors, who had protested his actions, from office. He had first taken the precaution of strengthening his army and of placing troops where he thought they would do most good. In July the Southern provinces all declared independence of the Northern President, and the second revolution began. Shanghai was in the power of Yuan’s troops: the movement was quickly crushed. Sun went to Japan; so did the Soongs; so did Chiang Kai-shek.
Charlie Soong took with him all of the family that had returned to China, with his household staff and everything he owned. It looked as if the second period of reorganization would be a more arduous affair than the first one, and he was safest in assuming that he would be a refugee for a long, long time. They traveled under a false name, and lived first in Kobe, later removing to Tokyo and Yokohama, where they rented a house on the Bluff and settled down for almost two years.
In China, Yuan declared the Kuomintang a seditious organization and ordered it to be dissolved; then appointed a Political Council to advise himself and organized a Constitutional Council, supposedly made up of freely elected representatives. He also began to think of the advantages of monarchy over republicanism; a few people shared his views. From Japan, the exiled revolutionists watched the destruction, as it seemed then to be, of all their work, and began with patient industry to build it up again.