Chapter V: Part 5

"What would happen if the Emperor and the Empress Dowager should both suddenly snap the frail cord of life at or about the same time?"

Had such a question come to me, I confess I should not have known how to answer it. It is a problem that probably never presented itself to any one outside of that mysterious Forbidden City, or the equally mysterious spectres that come and go through its half-open gates in the darkness of the early morning. There are three parties to whom it may have come again and again, and to whom we may perhaps be indebted both for the problem and the solution.

When the deaths of both of their Imperial Majesties were announced at the same time, the news also came that the Japanese suspected that there had been foul play. With them, however, it was only suspicion; none of them, so far as I know, ever undertook to analyze the matter or unravel the mystery. There is no doubt a reasonable explanation, but we must go for it to the Forbidden City, the most mysterious royal dwelling in the world, where white men have never gone except by invitation from the throne, save on one occasion.

In 1901, while the court was in hiding at Hsianfu, the city to which they fled when the allies entered Peking, the western half of the Forbidden City was thrown open to the public, the only condition being that said public have a certificate which would serve as a pass to the American boys in blue who guarded the Wu men, or front gate. I was fortunate enough to have that pass.

My first move was to get a Chinese photographer--the best I could find in the city--to go with me and take pictures of everything I wanted as well as anything else that suited his fancy.

The city of Peking is regularly laid out. Towards the south is the Chinese city, fifteen miles in circumference. To the north is a square, four miles on each side, and containing sixteen square miles. In the centre of this square, enclosed by a beautifully crenelated wall thirty feet thick at the bottom, twenty feet thick at the top and twenty-five feet high, surrounded by a moat one hundred feet wide, is the Forbidden City, occupying less than one-half a square mile. In this city there dwells but one male human being, the Emperor, who is called the "solitary man."

There is a gate in the centre of each of the four sides, that on the south, the Wu men, being the front gate, through which the Emperor alone is allowed to pass. The back gate, guarded by the Japanese during the occupation, is for the Empress Dowager, the Empress and the women of the court, while the side gates are for the officials, merchants or others who may have business in the palace.

Through the centre of this city, from south to north, is a passageway about three hundred feet wide, across which, at intervals of two hundred yards, they have erected large buildings, such as the imperial examination hall, the hall in which the Emperor receives his bride, the imperial library, the imperial kitchen, and others of a like nature, all covered with yellow titles, and known to tourists, who see them from the Tartar City wall, as the palace buildings. These, however, are not the buildings in which the royal family live. They are the places where for the past five hundred years all those great diplomatic measures--and dark deeds--of the Chinese emperors and their great officials have been transacted between midnight and daylight.

If you will go with me at midnight to the great gate which leads from the Tartar to the Chinese city--the Chien men--you will hear the wailing creak of its hinges as it swings open, and in a few moments the air will be filled with the rumbling of carts and the clatter of the feet of the mules on the stone pavement, as they take the officials into the audiences with their ruler. If you will remain with me there till a little before daylight you will see them, like silent spectres, sitting tailor-fashion on the bottom of their springless carts, returning to their homes, but you will ask in vain for any information as to the business they have transacted. "They love darkness rather than light," not perhaps "because their deeds are evil," but because it has been the custom of the country from time immemorial.

Immediately to the north of this row of imperial palace buildings, and just outside the north gate, there is an artificial mound called Coal Hill, made of the dirt which was removed to make the Lotus Lakes. It is said that in this hill there is buried coal enough to last the city in time of siege. This, however, was not the primary design of the hill. It has a more mysterious meaning. There have always been spirits in the earth, in the air, in every tree and well and stream. And in China it has ever been found necessary to locate a house, a city or even a cemetery in such surroundings as to protect them from the entrance of evil spirits. "Coal Hill," therefore, was placed to the north of these imperial palace buildings to protect them from the evil spirits of the cold, bleak north.

Just inside of that north gate there is a beautiful garden, with rockeries and arbours, flowering plants and limpid artificial streams gurgling over equally artificial pebbles, though withal making a beautiful sight and a cool shade in the hot summer days. In the east side of this garden there is a small imperial shrine having four doors at the four points of the compass. In front of each of these doors there is a large cypress-tree, some of them five hundred years old, which were split up from the root some seven or eight feet, and planted with the two halves three feet apart, making a living arch through which the worshipper must pass as he enters the temple. To the north of the garden and east of the back gate there is a most beautiful Buddhist temple, in which only the members of the imperial family are allowed to worship, in front of which there is also a living arch like those described above, as may also be found before the imperial temples in the Summer Palace. This is one of the most unique and mysterious features of temple worship I have found anywhere in China, and no amount of questioning ever brought me any explanation of its meaning.

Now if you will go with me to the top of Coal Hill I will point out to you the buildings in which their Majesties have lived. There are six parallel rows of buildings, facing the south, each behind the other, in the northwest quarter of this Forbidden City, protected from the evil spirits of the north by the dagoba on Prospect Hill.

Perhaps you would like to go with me into these homes of their Majesties--or, as a woman's home is always more interesting than the den of a man, let me take you through the private apartments of the greatest woman of her race--the late Empress Dowager. She occupied three of these rows of buildings. The first was her drawing-room and library, the second her dining-room and sleeping apartments, and the third her kitchen.

One was strangely impressed by what he saw here. There was no gorgeous display of Oriental colouring, but there was beauty of a peculiarly penetrating quality--and yet a homelike beauty.

No description that can be written of it will ever do it justice. Not until one can see and appreciate the paintings of the old Chinese masters of five hundred years ago hanging upon the walls, the beautiful pieces of the best porcelain of the time of Kang Hsi and Chien Lung, made especially for the palace, arranged in their natural surroundings, on exquisitely carved Chinese tables and brackets, the gorgeously embroided silk portieres over the doorways, and the matchless tapestries which only the Chinese could weave for their greatest rulers, can we appreciate the beauty, the richness, and the refined elegance of the private apartments of the great Dowager.

I went into her sleeping apartments. Others also entered there, sat upon her couch, and had their friends photograph them. I could not allow myself to do so. I stood silent, with head uncovered as I gazed with wonder and admiration at the bed, with its magnificently embroidered curtains hanging from the ceiling to the floor, its yellow-satin mattress ten feet in length and its great round, hard pillow, with the delicate silk spreads turned back as though it were prepared for Her Majesty's return. On the opposite side of the room there was a brick kang bed, such as we find in the homes of all the Chinese of the north, where her maids slept, or sat like silent ghosts while the only woman that ever ruled over one-third of the human race took her rest. The furnishings were rich but simple. No plants, no intricate carvings to catch the dust, nothing but the two beds and a small table, with a few simple and soothing wall decorations, and the monotonous tick-tock of a great clock to lull her to sleep.

If Shakespeare could say with an English monarch in his mind, "Uneasy lies the head that wears a crown," we might repeat it with added emphasis of Tze Hsi. For forty years she had to rise at midnight, winter as well as summer, and go into the dark, dreary, cold halls of the palace, lighted much of the time with nothing but tallow dips, and heated only with brass braziers filled with charcoal, and there sit behind a screen where she could see no one, and no one could see her, and listen to the reports of those who came to these dark audiences. Then she must, in conjunction with them, compose edicts which were sent out to the Peking Gazette, the oldest and poorest newspaper in the world, to be carved on blocks, and printed, and then sent by courier to every official in the empire. Ruling over a conquered race, she must always be watching out for signs of discontent and rebellion; being herself the daughter of a poor man, and beginning as only the concubine of an emperor, and he but a weak character, she must be alert for dissatisfaction on the part of the princes who might have some title to the throne. She must watch the governors in the distant provinces and the viceroys who are in charge of great armies, that they do not direct them against instead of in defense of the throne.

When her husband died while a fugitive two hundred miles from her palace, she must see to it that her three-year-old child was placed upon the throne with her own hand at the helm, and when he died she must also be ready with a successor, who would give her another lease of office. Even when he became of age and took the throne she must watch over him like a guardian, to prevent his bringing down upon their own heads the structure which she had builded. Nay, more, when it became necessary for her to dethrone him and rule in his name, banishing his friends and pacifying his enemies, keeping him a prisoner in his palace, it required a courage that was titanic to do so. But she never flinched, though we may suppose that many of her poorest subjects, who could sleep from dark till daylight with nothing but a brick for a pillow, might have rested more peacefully than she.

She had a myriad of other duties to perform. She was the mother-in-law of that imperial household, with the Emperor, the Empress, sixty concubines, two thousand eunuchs, and any number of court ladies and maid-servants. Their expenses were enormous and she must keep her eye on every detail. The food they ate was similar to that used by all the Chinese people. I happen to know this, because one of her eunuchs who visited me frequently to ask my assistance in a matter which he had undertaken for the Emperor, often brought me various kinds of meat, or other delicacies of a like nature, from the imperial kitchens.

I want you to visit three of the imperial temples in these beautiful palace grounds. The first is a tall, three-story building at the head of that magnificent Lotus Lake. In it there stands a Buddhist deity with one thousand heads and one thousand arms and hands. Standing upon the ground floor its head reaches almost to the roof. Its body, face and arms are as white as snow. There is nothing else in the building--nothing but this mild-faced Buddhist divinity for that brilliant, black-eyed ruler of Chinas millions to worship.

Standing near by is another building of far greater beauty. It is faced all over with encaustic tiles, each made at the kiln a thousand miles away, for the particular place it was to occupy. Each one fits without a flaw, a suggestion to American architects on Chinese architecture.

The second of these temples stands to the west of the Coal Hill, immediately to the north of the homes of their Majesties. One day while passing through the forbidden grounds I came upon this temple from the rear. In the dome of one of the buildings is a circular space some ten feet in diameter, carved and gilded in the form of two magnificent dragons after the fabled pearl. It is to this place the Emperor goes in time of drought to confess his sins, for he confesses to the gods that the drought is all his doing, and to pray for forgiveness, and for rain to enrich the thirsty land. The towers on the corners of the wall of the Forbidden City are the same style of architecture as the small pavilion in the front court of this temple.

Now as the buds of spring are bursting and the eaves on the mulberry-trees are beginning to develop, will you go with the Empress Dowager or the Empress into a temple on Prospect Hill, between the Coal Hill and the Lotus Lake, where she offers sacrifices to the god of the silkworm and prays for a prosperous year on the work of that little insect? Above it stands one of the most hideous bronze deities I have ever seen--male and naked--in a beautiful little shrine, every tile of which is made in the form of a Buddha's head. During the occupation tourists were allowed to visit this place freely, and their desire for curios overcoming their discretion, they knocked the heads off these tiles until, when the place was closed, there was not a single tile which had not been defaced.

One other building in the Forbidden City is worthy of our attention. It is the art gallery. It is not generally known that China is the parent of all Oriental art. We know something of the art of Japan but little about that of China. And yet the best Japanese artists have never hoped for anything better than to equal their Chinese teacher. In this art gallery there are stored away the finest specimens of the old masters for ten centuries or more, together with portraits of all the noted emperors. Among these portraits we may now find two of the Empress Dowager, one painted by Miss Carl, and another by Mr. Vos, a well-known American portrait painter.

XIII

The Ladies of the Court

I love to talk with my people of their Majesties, the princesses, and the Chinese ladies, as I have seen and known them. Your friendship I will always remember. Her Majesty, your imperial sister, found a warm place in my heart and is treasured there. Please extend to the Imperial Princess my cordial greetings and to the other princesses my best of good wishes.--Mrs. E. H. Conger, in a letter to the Princess Shun.

XIII

THE LADIES OF THE COURT

The leading figure of the court is Yehonala, wife of the late Emperor Kuang Hsu. She has always been called the Young Empress, but is now the Empress Dowager. After the great Dowager was made the concubine of Hsien Feng, she succeeded in arranging a marriage, as we have seen, between her younger sister and the younger brother of her husband, the Seventh Prince, as he was called, father of Kuang Hsu and the present regent.

The world knows how, in order to keep the succession in her own family, she took the son of this younger sister, when her own son the Emperor Tung Chih died, and made him the Emperor Kuang Hsu when he was but little more than three years of age. When the time came for him to wed, she arranged that he should marry his cousin, Yehonala, the daughter of her favourite brother, Duke Kuei. This Kuang Hsu was not inclined to do, as his affections seem to have been centred on another. The great Dowager, however, insisted upon it, and he finally made her Empress, and to satisfy,--or shall we say appease him?--she allowed him to take as his first concubine the lady he wanted as his wife; and it was currently reported in court circles that when Yehonala came into his presence he not infrequently kicked off his shoe at her, a bit of conduct that is quite in keeping with the temper usually attributed to Kuang Hsu during those early years. This may perhaps explain why she stood by the great Dowager through all the troublous times of 1898 and 1900, in spite of the fact that her imperial aunt had taken her husband's throne.

Mrs. Headland tells me that "Yehonala is not at all beautiful, though she has a sad, gentle face. She is rather stooped, extremely thin, her face long and sallow, and her teeth very much decayed. Gentle in disposition, she is without self-assertion, and if at any of the audiences we were to greet her she would return the greeting, but would never venture a remark. At the audiences given to the ladies she was always present, but never in the immediate vicinity of either the Empress Dowager or the Emperor. She would sometimes come inside the great hall where they were, but she always stood in some inconspicuous place in the rear, with her waiting women about her, and as soon as she could do so without attracting attention, she would withdraw into the court or to some other room. In the summer-time we sometimes saw her with her servants wandering aimlessly about the court. She had the appearance of a gentle, quiet, kindly person who was always afraid of intruding and had no place or part in anything. And now she is the Empress Dowager! It seems a travesty on the English language to call this kindly, gentle soul by the same title that we have been accustomed to use in speaking of the woman who has just passed away."

My wife tells me that,--"A number of years ago I was called to see Mrs. Chang Hsu who was suffering from a nervous breakdown due to worry and sleeplessness. On inquiry I discovered that her two daughters had been taken into the palace as concubines of the Emperor Kuang Hsu. Her friends feared a mental breakdown, and begged me to do all I could for her. She took me by the hand, pulled me down on the brick bed beside her, and told me in a pathetic way how both of her daughters had been taken from her in a single day.

"'But they have been taken into the palace,' I urged, to try to comfort her, 'and I have heard that the Emperor is very fond of your eldest daughter, and wanted to make her his empress.'

"'Quite right,' she replied, 'but what consolation is there in that? They are only concubines, and once in the palace they are dead to me. No matter what they suffer, I can never see them or offer them a word of comfort. I am afraid of the court intrigues, and they are only children and cannot understand the duplicity of court life--I fear for them, I fear for them,' and she swayed back and forth on her brick bed.

"Time, however, the great healer with a little medicine and sympathy to quiet her nerves, brought about a speedy recovery, though in the end her fears proved all too true."

In 1897 the brother of this first concubine met Kang Yu-wei in the south, and became one of his disciples. Upon his return to Peking, knowing of the Emperor's desire for reform, and his affection for his sister, he found means of communicating with her about the young reformer.

At the time of the coup d'etat, and the imprisonment of the Emperor, this first concubine was degraded and imprisoned on the ground of having been the means of introducing Kang Yu-wei to the notice of the Emperor, and thus interfering in state affairs. She continued in solitary confinement from that time until the flight of the court in 1900 when in their haste to get away from the allies she was overlooked and left in the palace. When she discovered that she was alone with the eunuchs, fearing that she might become a victim to the foreign soldiers, she took her life by jumping into a well. On the return of the court in 1902, the Empress Dowager bestowed upon her posthumous honours, in recognition of her conduct in thus taking her life and protecting her virtue.

Some conception of the haste and disorder with which the court left the capital on that memorable August morning may be gleaned from the fact that her sister was also overlooked and with a eunuch fled on foot in the wake of the departing court. She was overtaken by Prince Chuang who was returning in his chair from the palace, where, with Prince Ching, he had been to inform their Majesties that the allies were in possession of the city. The eunuch, recognizing him, called his attention to the fleeing concubine, who, when he had alighted and greeted her, begged him to find her a cart that she might follow the court. Presently a dilapidated vehicle came by in which sat an old man. The Prince ordered him to give the cart to the concubine and sent her to his palace where a proper conveyance was secured, and she overtook the court at the Nankow pass.

At the audiences, this concubine was always in company with the Empress Yehonala, standing at her left. She, however, lacked both the beauty and intelligence of her sister.

The ladies of the court, who were constantly associated with the Empress Dowager as her ladies in waiting, are first, the Imperial Princess, the daughter of the late Prince Kung, the sixth brother of the Empress Dowager's husband. Out of friendship for her father, the Empress Dowagers adopted her as their daughter, giving her all the rights, privileges and titles of the daughter of an empress. She is the only one in the empire who is entitled to ride in a yellow chair such as is used by the Empress Dowager, the Emperor or Empress. The highest of the princes--even Prince Ching himself--has to descend from his chair if he meet her. Yet when this lady is in the palace, no matter how she may be suffering, she dare not sit down in the presence of Her Majesty.

"One day when we were in the palace," says Mrs. Headland, "the Imperial Princess was suffering from such a severe attack of lumbago, that she could scarcely stand. I suggested to her that she retire to the rear of the room, behind some of the pillars and rest a while.

"'I dare not do that,' she replied; 'we have no such a custom in China.'"

She is austere in manner, plain in appearance, dignified in bearing, about sixty-five years of age, and is noted for her accomplishment in making the most graceful courtesy of any lady in the court.

During the Boxer troubles and the occupation, her palace was plundered and very much injured, and she escaped in her stocking feet through a side door. At the first luncheon given at her palace thereafter, she apologized for its desolate appearance, saying that it had been looted by the Boxers, though we knew it had been looted by the allies. At later luncheons, however, she had procured such ornaments as restored in some measure its original beauty and grandeur, though none of these dismantled palaces will regain their former splendour for many years to come.

Next to the Imperial Princess are the two sisters of Yehonala, one of whom is married to Duke Tse, who was head of the commission that made the tour of the world to inquire as to the best form of government to be adopted by China in her efforts at renovation and reform. It is not too much to suppose that it was because the Duke was married to the Empress Dowager's niece that he was made the head of this commission, which after its return advised the adoption of a constitution. The other sister is the wife of Prince Shun, and is the opposite of the Empress. She is stout, but beautiful. She has always been the favourite niece of the Empress Dowager, appeared at all the functions, and though very sedate when foreign ladies were present at an audience, I was told by the Chinese that when the imperial family were alone together she was the life of the company. She would even stand behind the Empress Dowager's chair "making such grimaces," the Chinese expressed it, as to make it almost impossible for the others to retain their equilibrium. As she was the youngest of the three sisters, and because of her happy disposition, the Chinese nicknamed her hsiao kuniang, "the little girl." These three sisters are all childless.

The Princess Shun and Princess Tsai Chen, only daughter-in-law of Prince Ching, herself the daughter of a viceroy, were very congenial, and the most intimate friends of all those in court circles. The latter is beautiful, brilliant, quick, tactful, and graceful. Of all the ladies of the court she is the most witty and, with Princess Shun, the most interesting. These two more than any others made the court ladies easy to entertain at all public functions, for they were full of enthusiasm and tried to help things along. They seemed to feel that they were personally responsible for the success of the audience or the luncheon as a social undertaking.

Lady Yuan is one of two of these court ladies who dwelt with the Empress Dowager in the palace, the other being Prince Ching's fourth daughter. She is a niece by marriage of the Empress Dowager, though she really was never married. The nephew of the Empress Dowager, to whom she was engaged, though she had never seen him, died before they were married. After his death, but before his funeral, she dressed herself as a widow, and in a chair covered with white sackcloth went to his home, where she performed the ceremonies proper for a widow, which entitled her to take her position as his wife. Such an act is regarded as very meritorious in the eyes of the Chinese, and no women are more highly honoured than those who have given themselves in this way to a life of chastity.

The second of these ladies who remained in the palace with the Empress Dowager is the fourth daughter of Prince Ching. Married to the son of a viceroy, their wedded life lasted only a few months. She was taken into the palace, and being a widow, she neither wears bright colours nor uses cosmetics. She is a fine scholar, very devout, and spends much of her time in studying the Buddhist classics. She is considered the most beautiful of the court ladies.

The Empress Dowager took charge of most of the domestic matters of all her relatives, taking into the palace and associating with her as court ladies some who were widowed in their youth, and keeping constantly with her only those whom she has elevated to positions of rank, or members of her own family. Nor was she too busy with state affairs to stop and settle domestic quarrels.

Among the court ladies there was one who was married to a prince of the second order. Her husband is still living, but as they were not congenial in their wedded life, the Empress Dowager made herself a kind of foster-mother to the Princess and banished her husband to Mongolia, an incident which reveals to us another phase of the great Dowager's character--that of dealing with fractious husbands.

XIV

The Princesses--Their Schools

The position accorded to woman in Chinese society is strictly a domestic one, and, as is the case in other Eastern countries, she is denied the liberty which threatens to attain such amazing proportions in the West. There is no reason to suppose that woman in China is treated worse than elsewhere; but people can of course paint her condition just as fancy seizes them. They are rarely admitted into the domestic surroundings of Chinese homes, therefore there is nothing to curb the imagination. The truth is that just as much may be said on one side as on the other. Domestic happiness is in China--as everywhere else the world over--a lottery. The parents invariably select partners in marriage for their sons and daughters, and sometimes make as great blunders as the young people would if left to themselves.--Harold E. Gorst in "China."

XIV

THE PRINCESSES--THEIR SCHOOLS[1]

[1] Taken from Mrs. Headland's note-book.

One day while making a professional call on the Princess Su our conversation turned to female education in China. I was deeply interested in the subject, and was aware that the Prince had established a school for the education of his daughters and the women of his palace, and was naturally pleased when the Princess asked:

"Would you care to visit our school when it is in session?"

"Nothing would please me more," I answered. "When may I do so?"

"Could you come to-morrow morning?" she inquired.

"With pleasure; at what time?"

"I will send my cart for you."

The following morning the Prince's cart appeared. It was lined with fur, upholstered in satin, furnished with cushions, and encircled by a red band which indicated the rank of its owner. A venerable eunuch, the head of the palace servants, preceded it as an outrider, and assisted me in mounting and dismounting, while the driver in red-tasselled hat walked decorously by the side.

The school occupies a large court in the palace grounds. Another evidence of Western influence in the same court is a large two-story house of foreign architecture where the Prince receives his guests. Prince Su was the first to have this foreign reception hall, but he has been followed in this respect by other officials and princes as well as by the Empress Dowager.

"This is not unlike our foreign compounds," I remarked to the Princess as we entered the court.

"Yes," she replied, "the Prince does not care to have the court paved, but prefers to have it sodded and filled with flowers and shrubs."

The school building was evidently designed for that purpose, being light and airy with the whole southern exposure made into windows, and covered with a thin white paper which gives a soft, restful light and shuts out the glare of the sun. The floor is covered with a heavy rope matting while the walls are hung with botanical, zoological and other charts. Besides the usual furniture for a well-equipped schoolroom, it was heated with a foreign stove, had glass cases for their embroidery and drawing materials, and a good American organ to direct them in singing, dancing and calisthenics.

I arrived at recess. The Princess took me into the teacher's den, which was cut off from the main room by a beautifully carved screen. Here I was introduced to the Japanese lady teacher and served with tea. She spoke no English and but little Chinese, and the embarrassment of our effort to converse was only relieved by the ringing of the bell for school. The pupils, consisting of the secondary wives and daughters of the Prince, his son's wife, and the wives and daughters of his dead brother who make their home with him, entered in an orderly way and took their seats. When the teacher came into the room the ladies all arose and remained standing until she took her place before her desk and made a low bow to which they all responded in unison. This is the custom in all of the schools I have visited. Even where the superintendent is Chinese, the pupils stand and make a low Japanese bow at the beginning and close of each recitation.

"How long has the school been in session?" I asked the Princess.

"Three and a half months," she replied.

"And they have done all this embroidery and painting in that time?"

"They have, and in addition have pursued their Western studies," she explained.

In arithmetic the teacher placed the examples on the board, the pupils worked them on their slates, after which each was called upon for an explanation, which she gave in Japanese. While this class was reciting the Prince came in and asked if we might not have calisthenics, evidently thinking that I would enjoy the drill more than the mathematics. It was interesting to see those Manchu ladies stand and go through a thorough physical drill to the tune of a lively march on a foreign organ. The Japanese are masters in matters of physical drill, and in the schools I have visited I have been pleased at the quiet dignity, and the reserve force and sweetness of their Japanese teachers. The precision and unanimity with which orders were executed both surprised and delighted me. Everything about these schools was good except the singing, which was excruciatingly poor. The Chinese have naturally clear, sweet voices, with a tendency to a minor tone, which, with proper training, admit of fair development. But the Japanese teacher dragged and sang in a nasal tone, in which the pupils followed her, evidently thinking it was proper Western music. I was rather amused to see the younger pupils go through a dignified dance or march to the familiar strains of "Shall we gather at the river," which the eldest daughter played on the organ.

"The young ladies do not comb their hair in the regular Manchu style," I observed to the Princess.

"No," she answered, "we do not think that best. It is not very convenient, and so we have them dress it in the small coil on top of the head as you see. Neither do we allow them to wear flowers in their hair, nor to paint or powder, or wear shoes with centre elevations on the soles. We try to give them the greatest possible convenience and comfort."

They were proud of their bits of crocheting and embroidery, each of which was marked with the name of the person who did it and the date when it was completed. Many of them were made of pretty silk thread in a very intricate pattern, though I admired their drawing and painting still more.

"Of what does their course of study consist?" I asked the Princess.

She went to the wall and took down a neat gilt frame which contained their curriculum, and which she asked her eldest daughter to copy for me. They had five studies each day, six days of the week, Sunday being a holiday. They began with arithmetic, followed it up with Japanese language, needlework, music and calisthenics, then took Chinese language, drawing, and Chinese history with the writing of the ideographs of their own language, which was one of the most difficult tasks they had to perform. The dignified way in which the pupils conducted themselves, the respect which they showed their teacher, and the way in which they went about their work, delighted me. The discipline it gave them, the self-respect it engendered, and the power of acquisition that came with it were worth more perhaps than the knowledge they acquired, useful as that information must have been.

The Princess Ka-la-chin, the fifth sister of Prince Su, is married to the Mongolian Prince Ka-la. It is a rule among the Manchus that no prince can marry a princess of their own people, but like the Emperor himself, must seek their wives from among the untitled. These ladies after their marriage are raised to the rank of their husbands. It is the same with the daughters of a prince. Their husbands must come from among the people, but unlike the princes they cannot raise them to their own rank, and so their children have no place in the imperial clan. Many of the princesses therefore prefer to marry Mongolian princes, by which they retain their rank as well as that of their children.

Naturally a marriage of this kind brings changes into the life of the princess. She has been brought up in a palace in the capital, lives on Chinese food, and is not inured to hardships. When she marries a Mongol prince, she is taken to the Mongolian plains, is not infrequently compelled to live in a tent, and her food consists largely of milk, butter, cheese and meat, most of which are an abomination to the Chinese. They especially loathe butter and cheese, and not infrequently speak of the foreigner smelling like the Mongol--an odour which they say is the result of these two articles of diet.

Prince Su's fifth sister was fortunate in being married to a Mongol prince who was not a nomad. He had established a sort of village capital of his possessions, the chief feature of which was his own palace. Here he lives during the summers and part of the winters; though once in three years he is compelled to spend at least three months in his palace in Peking when he comes to do homage to the Emperor.

During one of these visits to Peking the Princess sent for me to come to her palace. I naturally supposed she was ill, and so took with me my medical outfit, but her first greeting was:

"I am not ill, nor is any member of my family, but I wanted to see you to have a talk with you about foreign countries."

She had prepared elaborate refreshments, and while we sat eating, she directed the conversation towards mines and mining, and then said:

"My husband, the Prince, is very much interested in this subject, and believes that there are rich stores of ore on his principality in Mongolia."

"Indeed, that is very interesting," I answered.

"You know, of course, it is a rule," she went on to say, "that no prince of the realm is allowed to go more than a few miles from the capital without special permission from the throne."

"No, I was not aware of that fact."

She then went on to say that her husband was anxious to attend the St. Louis Exposition, and study this subject in America, but so long as these hindrances remained it was impossible for him to do so. She then said:

"I am very much interested in the educational system of your honourable country, and especially in your method of conducting girls' schools."

"Would you not like to come and visit our girls' high school?" I asked.

"I should be delighted," she replied.

This she did, and before leaving the capital she sent for a Japanese lady teacher whom she took with her to her Mongolian home, where she established a school for Mongolian girls.

In this school she had a regular system of rules, which did not tally with the undisciplined methods of the Mongolians, and it was amusing to hear her tell how it was often necessary for the Prince to go about in the morning and wake up the girls in order to get them into school at nine o'clock.

The next time she came to Peking she brought with her seventeen of her brightest girls to see the sights of the city and visit some of the girls' schools, both Christian and non-Christian. Everything was new to them and it was interesting to hear their remarks as I showed them through our home and our high school. When the Princess returned to Mongolia she took with her a cultured young Chinese lady of unusual literary attainments to teach the Chinese classics in the school. This is the only school I have known that was established by a Manchu princess, for Mongolian girls, and taught by Chinese and Japanese teachers. This young lady was the daughter of the president of the Board of Rites, head examiner for literary degrees for all China, and was himself a chuang yuan, or graduate of the highest standing. Before going, this Chinese teacher had small bound feet, but she had not been long on the plains before she unbound her feet, dressed herself in suitable clothing, and went with the Princess and the Japanese teacher for a horseback ride across the plains in the early morning, a thing which a Chinese lady, under ordinary circumstances, is never known to do. The school is still growing in size and usefulness.

Prince Su's third sister is married to a commoner, but as is usual with these ladies who marry beneath their own rank, she retains her maiden title of Third Princess, by which she is always addressed.

"How did you obtain your education?" I once asked her.

"During my childhood," she answered, "my mother was opposed to having her daughters learn to read, but like most wealthy families, she had old men come into the palace to read stories or recite poetry for our entertainment. I not infrequently followed the old men out, bought the books from which they read, and then bribed some of the eunuchs to teach me to read them. In this way I obtained a fair knowledge of the Chinese character."

She is as deeply interested in the new educational movement among girls as is her sister. When this desire for Western education began, she organized a school, in which she has eighty girls or more, taken from various grades of society, whom she and some of her friends, in addition to employing teachers and providing the school-rooms, gave a good part of their time to teaching the Chinese classics, while a Japanese lady taught them calisthenics and the rudiments of Western mathematics.

She is aggressively pro-foreign, and is ready to do anything that will contribute to the success of the new educational movement, and the freedom of the Chinese woman. On one occasion when the Chinese in Peking undertook to raise a fund for famine relief, they called a large public meeting to which men and women were alike invited, the first meeting of the kind ever held in Peking. Such a gathering could not have occurred before the Boxer rebellion. The Third Princess, having promised to help provide the programme, took a number of her girls, and on a large rostrum, had them go through their calisthenic exercises for the entertainment of the audience. On another occasion she took all her girls to a private box at a Chinese circus, where men and women acrobats and horseback riders performed in a ring not unlike that of our own circus riders. In this circus small-footed women rode horseback as well as the women in our own circus, and one woman with bound feet lay down on her back, balanced a cart-wheel, weighing at least a hundred pounds, on her feet, whirling it rapidly all the time, and then after it stopped she continued to hold it while two women and a child climbed on top. The Princess was determined to allow her girls to have all the advantages the city afforded.

At the school of this Third Princess I once attended a unique memorial service. A lady of Hang Chou, finding it impossible to secure sufficient money by ordinary methods for the support of a school that she had established, cut a deep gash in her arm and then sat in the temple court during the day of the fair, with a board beside her on which was inscribed the explanation of her unusual conduct. This brought her in some three hundred ounces of silver with which she provided for her school the first year. When it was exhausted and she could get no more, she wrote letters to the officials of her province, in which she asked for subscriptions and urged the importance of female education, to which she said she was willing to give her life. To her appeal the officials paid no heed, and she finally wrote other letters renewing her request for help to establish the school, after which she committed suicide. The letters were sent, and later published in the local and general newspapers. Memorial services were held in various parts of the empire at all of which funds were gathered not only for her school but for establishing other schools throughout the provinces.

The school of the Third Princess at which this service was held was profusely decorated. Chinese flags floated over the gates and door-ways. Beautifully written scrolls, telling the reason for the service and lauding the virtues of the lady, covered the walls of the schoolroom. At the second entrance there was a table at which sat a scribe who took our name and address and gave us a copy of the "order of exercises." Here we were met by the Third Princess, who conducted us into the main hall. Opposite the doorway was hung a portrait of the lady, wreathed in artificial flowers, and painted by a Chinese artist. A table stood before it on which was a plate of fragrant quinces, candles, and burning incense, giving it the appearance of a shrine. Pots of flowers were arranged about the room, which was unusually clean and beautiful. The Chinese guests bowed three times before the picture on entering the room, which I thought a very pretty ceremony.

The girls of this school, to the number of about sixty, appeared in blue uniform, courtesying to the guests. Sixteen other girls' schools of Peking were represented either by teachers or pupils or both. One of the boys' schools came en masse, dressed in military uniform, led by a band, and a drillmaster with a sword dangling at his side. Addresses were made by both ladies and gentlemen, chief among whom were the Third Princess and the editress of the Woman's Daily Newspaper, the only woman's daily at that time in the world, who urged the importance of the establishment and endowment of schools for the education of girls throughout the empire.

XV

The Chinese Ladies of Rank

Though your husband may be wealthy,
You should never be profuse;
There should always be a limit
To the things you eat and use.
If your husband should be needy,
You should gladly share the same,
And be diligent and thrifty,
And no other people blame.
--"The Primer for Girls," Translated by I. T. H.

XV

THE CHINESE LADIES OF RANK[2]

[2] Taken from Mrs. Headland's note-book.

The Manchu lady's ideal of beauty is dignity, and to this both her deportment and her costume contribute in a well-nigh equal degree. Her hair, put up on silver or jade jewelled hairpins, decorated with many flowers, is very heavy, and easily tilted to one side or the other if not carried with the utmost sedateness. Her long garments, reaching from her shoulders to the floor, give to her tall figure an added height, and the central elevation of from four to six inches to the soles of her daintily embroidered slippers, compel her to stand erect and walk slowly and majestically. She laughs but little, seldom jests, but preserves a serious air in whatever she does.

The Chinese lady, on the contrary, aspires to be petite, winsome, affable and helpless. She laughs much, enjoys a joke, and is always good-natured and chatty.

One of their poets thus describes a noted beauty:

"At one moment with tears her bright eyes would be swimming,
The next with mischief and fun they'd be brimming.
Thousands of sonnets were written in praise of them,
Li Po wrote a song for each separate phase of them.

"Bashfully, swimmingly, pleadingly, scoffingly,
Temptingly, languidly, lovingly, laughingly,
Witchingly, roguishly, playfully, naughtily,
Willfully, waywardly, meltingly, haughtily,
Gleamed the eyes of Yang Kuei Fei.

"Her ruby lips and peach-bloom cheeks,
Would match the rose in hue,
If one were kissed the other speaks,
With blushes, kiss me too."

She combs her hair in a neat coil on the back of her head, uses few flowers, but instead prefers profuse decorations of pearls. Her upper garment extends but little below her knees, and her lower garment is an accordion-plaited skirt, from beneath which the pointed toes of her small bound feet appear as she walks or sways on her "golden lilies," as if she were a flower blown by the wind, to which the Chinese love to compare her. Her waist is a "willow waist" in poetry, and her "golden lilies," as her tiny feet are often called, are not more than two or three inches long--so small that it not infrequently requires the assistance of a servant or two to help her to walk at all. And though she may not need them she affects to be so helpless as to require their aid.

Until very recently education was discouraged rather than sought by the Manchu lady. Many of the princesses could not read the simplest book nor write a letter to a friend, but depended upon educated eunuchs to perform these services for them. The Chinese lady on the contrary can usually read and write with ease, and the education of some of them is equal to that of a Hanlin.

Socially the ladies of these two classes never meet. Their husbands may be of equal rank and well known to each other in official life, but the ladies have no wish to meet each other. One day while the granddaughter of one of the Chinese Grand Secretaries was calling upon me, the sisters of Prince Ching and Prince Su were announced. When they entered I introduced them. The dignity of the two princesses when presented led me to fear that we would have a cold time together. I explained who my Chinese lady friend was, and they answered in a formal way (wai t ou tou jen te, li to'u k'e pu jen te) "the gentlemen of our respective households are well acquainted, not so the ladies," but the ice did not melt. For a time I did my best to find a topic of mutual interest, but it was like trying to mix oil and water. I was about to give up in despair when my little Chinese friend, observing the dilemma in which I was placed, and the effort I was making to relieve the situation, threw herself into the conversation with such vigour and vivacity, and suggested topics of such interest to the others as to charm these reserved princesses, and it was not long until they were talking together in a most animated way.

One of the Manchu ladies expressed regret at the falling of her hair and the fact that she was getting bald. "Why," said my little Chinese friend, "after a severe illness not long since, I lost all my hair, but I received a prescription from a friend which restored it all, and just look at the result," she continued turning her pretty head with its great coils of shiny black hair. "I will be delighted to let you have it." The Manchu princesses finally rose to depart, and in their leave-taking, they were as cordial to my little Chinese friend, who had made herself so agreeable, as they were to me, for which I shall ever be grateful.

After they had gone I asked:

"Why is it that the Manchu and Chinese ladies do not intermingle in a social way?"

"The cause dates back to the beginning of the Manchu dynasty," she responded. "When the Chinese men adopted the Manchu style of wearing the queue, it was stipulated that they should not interfere with the style of the woman's dress, and that no Chinese should be taken to the palace as concubines or slaves to the Emperor. We have therefore always held ourselves aloof from the Manchus. Our men did this to protect us, and as a result no Chinese lady has ever been received at court, except, of course, the painting teacher of the Empress Dowager, who, before she could enter the palace, was compelled to unbind her feet, adopt the Manchu style of dress and take a Manchu name."

"Is not the Empress Dowager very much opposed to foot-binding? Why has she not forbidden it?"

"She has issued edicts recommending them to give it up, but to forbid it is beyond her power. That would be interfering with the Chinese ladies' dress."

"Do the Manchus consider themselves superior to the Chinese?"