These fierce struggles, the sudden arousing to intensity of dormant passions, the dislocation of the whole structure of Japanese polity, represented to the foreign nations merely the risks and sacrifices incidental to the expansion of their commerce. In order to compel the Government to permit the people to exchange the products of their soil for the merchandise of the strangers within their gates, the labour, anxiety, and expense which we have only faintly indicated were voluntarily incurred by the Western treaty Powers, and by them in turn forced on the reluctant rulers of Japan. An a priori judgment of the probable effect of the sanguinary conditions into which official intercourse had been thrown would probably have concluded that peaceful commerce could not under such circumstances exist. The restrictions resulting from an ill-regulated currency, and from the direct interference of the Government, might have been deemed sufficient of themselves to check the development of trade. When to these inimical influences were superadded the further facts that the foreign traders went in peril of their lives, that the communities of Nagasaki and Yokohama were at different times in such danger that provisional arrangements were made for conveying them, bag and baggage, on board ship, a condition of things less favourable to international traffic could scarcely be conceived. Yet these difficulties, and a score of others which could be enumerated, served only to bring into clear recognition the inherent vitality of commerce, which, like running water, finds its way through or round almost any obstacle. There were, on the other hand, circumstances favourable to trade. In Japan, as has been already hinted, the traders of the country had neither part nor lot in the strife that raged above and around them, and for the most part they could pursue their peaceful avocations without fear or hindrance. So the quality of commerce was not strained; but, shedding its benefits on buyer and seller alike, it grew from small beginnings till it attained to a volume of world-wide importance, accumulating momentum as it progressed.

The total amount of foreign trade was a little over one million sterling per annum for the first three years of the open ports. In the fourth year, 1863, the development of Japanese produce, especially the more precious commodities, silk and the eggs of the silkworm, began to tell on the gross values, and the exports for that year amounted to two and a half millions sterling, the imports of foreign goods being £811,000. The year 1864, notwithstanding its crowded events of anti-commercial character, witnessed a notable advance in the value of foreign trade, which in that year doubled itself. The same thing occurred again in 1865, when the figures reached a total of eight millions sterling, being double the returns for 1864.

Thus the foreign trade of Japan had fairly established itself as "a going concern," advancing in war and peace, but with great fluctuations and many vicissitudes to those engaged in it. From the purely commercial standpoint the result justified the anticipations of the Powers who opened Japan to the world. The event proved that when the materials of trade exist there trade is sure to follow on the removal of obstructions. And the materials of trade are not wanting wherever there is a population that wears clothes and builds houses.[11]

It is obvious to remark that had it been in the power of the Japanese Government to place an effective interdict on foreign commerce at its sources within their own jurisdiction, and beyond the reach of treaty obligations, it would have been the surest means of causing the withdrawal of foreigners from the country. That the Government had the will to do so was shown by their repeated partial attempts at preventing produce from reaching the open ports, and even inducing a temporary exodus therefrom of the native population. Why their measures of repression were not more thorough may be conjectured to have been connected with the circumstance that the advantages of the foreign trade soon began to be felt in quarters with which it was not convenient for the Tycoon to inter-meddle.

As in China, so in Japan, the relations of the merchants to their official representatives exercised a certain influence on events. The trade was carried on at first by a very small number of people. In 1861 there were not 200 foreign residents in all the ports of Japan, the British nationality predominating in Yokohama, the Dutch at Nagasaki. The British residents in the former port seem to have numbered about fifty. It was a small body to carry the burden of inaugurating commercial intercourse with an empire of thirty millions of people. Nor was it individually a community of any particular weight, being mostly composed of young men, not themselves principals, but, in the beginning at least, a considerable number of them occupying the position of delegates of mercantile houses in China. It was their representative character which lent importance to the foreign merchants in Japan. They represented, first of all, the establishments of which they were subordinates or offshoots; they represented their respective nations; and they, in a larger sense, represented the commercial creed of Christendom. The present sketch would be wanting in symmetry if no account were taken of the relationship of these handfuls of traders to their own national authorities, both being engaged in the struggle for the development and security of commerce under the trying conditions of the time and country. But of course any such inquiry practically limits itself to those of British nationality, for two reasons: British trade and British diplomacy were pre-eminently representative of all others by the preponderance of the interests involved; in addition to which, the strong individuality and matured experience of the first British envoy were such that his colleagues tacitly assigned to him the leading rôle, so that his was the personality which exerted the dominant influence in shaping events from the opening of the ports.

The tendency to divergence of view between the merchants and their official representatives has already been remarked upon in connection with affairs in China: it was most pronounced in times of difficulty such as were chronic for more than twenty years in Canton, where it was so acute at one time that English Chambers of Commerce made formal complaint to the Foreign Office that its representative in China—Sir John Davis—refused to see the merchants in Canton, who desired to present their views to him in time of danger. The antagonism was natural: it is generically the same that one hears constantly in this country in the form of complaints and criticisms of Government, Government servants, and generally of all in authority—with, however, this difference, that in the many-sided life of a large society there are buffers between the critics and the criticised. They do not meet face to face unless it be in such circumstances as on the floor of "the House" with "a substantial piece of furniture" between; whereas in nascent communities composed of a few scores of individuals, where there is no tempering medium, where the parties are never out of each other's sight, differences are apt to become accentuated like village scandals. Nothing escapes censure; the smallest indiscretions have a magnifying lens constantly applied to them, and a sinister colour is given to innocent trifles. Interests are not diversified, shaded off, or balanced as in adult nations, but are narrow, concentrated, and highly sensitive. Between Minister and merchants there was of course a general identity of interest. They had a common test to apply to all their proceedings and aspirations, the furtherance of commerce. The official would, perhaps, add the qualifying adjective "legitimate," in the interpretation of which differences of opinion might arise; and he would naturally give a wider scope to the commercial idea than those actually engaged in trade could or ought to do.

The Minister represents the interests of Great Britain as a whole; the merchants represent trade generally, but each of them his own interests particularly, and these various interests cannot always coincide. An Englishman would naturally give a preference to the manufactures of his own country, but as a merchant he has to study the requirements of the country in which he trades, and if he cannot supply them at all, or so well, by articles manufactured in his own country, he is obliged to seek them elsewhere. Officials are apt to look askance on this as not fostering the trade of Great Britain; and while recognising the necessity, the fact does not warm their sympathy for the merchants of their own country. There are times also when, from the international point of view, the general interests of the country may override the special interests of the small British community in Japan. If policy requires intimate relations between the Governments, the tendency must inevitably be for the British Minister to minimise the just causes of complaint of his countrymen in order to avoid irritation. But the sufferers can hardly be expected to appreciate sacrifices so forced on them; and so from one cause and another there will never be wanting grounds of dissatisfaction, and possibly estrangement.

But the ultimate object being definitely agreed upon between the two parties, there would still remain room for variance in the means, questions of tactics, of the nearer or the further view, of the present generation and the next, and so on ad infinitum. Where there was a third party influencing and opposing legitimate commerce by direct or indirect means, as the Government of China or Japan, whose machinations called for strong measures of resistance, the occasions of impatience and dissatisfaction would be frequent, and friction between the representative and his constituents would naturally result. But perhaps the most antagonistic of all to harmony was the fact already pointed out, that in extra-territorialised countries like China and Japan the representatives of the treaty Powers were necessarily intrusted with exceptional authority over the persons of their nationals—for they had to assume the functions denied to the native Governments, of giving the law to the settlers and punishing evil-doers. What an invidious and onerous position this entailed on British officials will presently be shown. Yet it was a temporary necessity, for which nobody was blamable.

In treating of the period of the consulship in Shanghai, a certain distance or aloofness between Consul Alcock and the community of his nationals was remarked upon, due to difference of age, taste, culture, or temperament. This characteristic was rather accentuated than otherwise by the local circumstances of Japan. The Minister was ten years older, while the community was about as much younger than in Shanghai, so that the disparity of age was increased. The mere conditions of life also placed a material gulf between the diplomatic representatives in Yedo and the lay residents of Yokohama. The capital city being closed to all but the diplomatic body, visitors not only required a pass from one of the Ministers, but, in the absence of available accommodation, strangers had to rely on the hospitality of the foreign Legations. The curiosity to see Yedo, which in the early days so attracted tourists and travellers, threw a heavy and most unfair burden of entertainment on the Ministers, the principal victim of these birds of passage being of course the representative of Great Britain. So long, therefore, as the Legations remained in Yedo the barrier was effectual against personal intercourse between the Ministers and the permanent residents in Yokohama, even had mutual affinity been stronger than it was. Like most things, this local separation between the communities and their representative had its advantages and disadvantages. While on the one hand it was not conducive to intimacy, on the other the risk of personal friction was eliminated by it. Nor was direct intercourse at all necessary in the conduct of business, seeing the regular official medium of communication was the local consuls, who had nothing of the Olympian about them, and were felt by the residents to be men of like passions with themselves, with easy manners, the spirit of good fellowship, and imbued with the characteristic sporting proclivities of Englishmen at home and abroad, always an effective bond of sympathy.

The relations of Sir Rutherford Alcock with the mercantile community had not been very happily inaugurated, for he clearly felt officially aggrieved by their settling in Yokohama, instead of waiting till accommodation could be found for them in Kanagawa; so much so, indeed, that he seemed almost to deplore the absence of means of coercing them into obedience to his will.

While the sore as to the location of the settlement was still somewhat raw, the Minister found yet another grievance against the merchants in the fabulous demands for Japanese coins which a few of them had put forward, by way of burlesquing the system of distribution by the native authorities. The severity with which this schoolboyish escapade was pilloried, and the community of Yokohama held up to the opprobrium of the world, was felt by them as going beyond what the merits of the case warranted, and the incident did not tend to mollify acerbities on either side.

A year later evidence of a certain widening of the breach became more conspicuous in the course of a rather exceptional lawsuit, in which a merchant was heavily mulcted for an offence of which the general opinion was that he was not guilty. A certain Mr Moss was arrested, cruelly maltreated, and hidden from his official protector, the consul, by a posse of Japanese police, for having shot game in the vicinity of Kanagawa. When faced by these armed men, Mr Moss cocked his gun and threatened any one who should approach to lay hands on him. The party was numerous enough to surround and wrest the gun from him, which somehow went off, wounding one of the men badly in the arm. The Minister ordered the consul to prosecute Mr Moss for murder, in the Queen's name, the consul himself being judge, sitting with two assessors. The accused was sentenced to pay a fine of 1000 dollars (£225) and to be deported from Japan. The assessors dissented, on the ground that the Japanese evidence was falsified to order, and that the prisoner was in their opinion innocent of the charge on which he was tried. In consequence of this dissent the judgment had to be referred to the Minister, who added to the consul's sentence three months' imprisonment in Hongkong, whither the culprit was conveyed in a British ship of war. After a week's incarceration in the Hongkong jail the warrant for imprisonment was found defective, and Mr Moss was released. He was then advised to bring an action against Sir Rutherford Alcock in the Supreme Court at Hongkong, which occupied twelve months, and ended in a jury awarding damages against the Minister for false imprisonment, that being the only part of the sentence which could be brought within the jurisdiction of the Hongkong court. As regards the original sentence of fine and deportation, the Foreign Office, by advice of their law officers, had long before quashed the conviction and ordered the fine to be remitted.

A parallel case had occurred in Canton in 1846. Sir John Davis instructed the consul there to levy a fine on a British subject for an alleged offence. Whether just or not, it was illegal, and on appeal to the Supreme Court in Hongkong, of which colony Sir John Davis himself was governor, the judgment of the consul was reversed, and the fine of 200 dollars refunded. Even Sir Frederick Bruce, with all his circumspection, did not escape falling into the same error with regard to the division of legal authority between himself and the Supreme Court. "From a careful perusal of ... her Majesty's Order in Council," he writes, "the chief superintendent of trade [himself] in cases arising under this section is the Supreme Court in China: it is for him to prescribe to the consul the course he is to pursue, and the Supreme Court at Hongkong cannot interfere in such matters." Her Majesty's Government, however, replied: "You fall into an error by confounding two distinct questions.... You are mistaken in treating the question which you have referred to them for decision as depending upon the 4th and following articles of the Order in Council," and so on. So that had it fallen to his lot to give a decision involving a penalty, he would have been sued not before himself, but before the Supreme Court at Hongkong, and would have sustained the same reverse as Sir Rutherford Alcock had done.

These bald facts of the case supplied a striking illustration of the vices of the consular court system, which was in vogue in China for twenty years until the establishment of the Supreme Court for China and Japan in 1865. Consuls were called upon to exercise judicial functions, and Ministers those of Courts of Appeal, without the slightest preparatory training, and as often as not without natural aptitude. In criminal cases they were at once prosecutors and judges, it might even be executioners as well. The state of conflict in which they lived with the native authorities, of whom they were accustomed to demand in vain the punishment of malefactors, placed British officers under continual temptation to prove how promptly they could bring to justice their own nationals accused of offences against the natives. This idea of giving object-lessons to Chinese and Japanese pervades the consular and diplomatic records. English officials seem to have been oppressed with the reflection of what the natives would think of the failure of justice in any particular case, and they were ever apprehensive of political dangers or embarrassments as contingent on misunderstood lenity to "white men"—natural and proper feelings on the part of mere political agents, but quite foreign to the administration of justice according to the rules and maxims of civilised nations. It seems not unlikely that the obvious lessons of the Moss case itself as to the incompatibility of judicial and administrative functions, and the unfair responsibility which their combination threw upon the consular and diplomatic officers, hastened the realisation of the scheme of an independent judiciary which was so strongly advocated by Sir Rutherford Alcock in 'The Capital of the Tycoon.'

These various incidents, and sundry vexatious restrictions imposed on them from time to time for their own security, no doubt disposed the residents to look askance at many acts of the Minister, the reasons for which failed to impress them. But though the surface of the relations between the Minister and the merchants was thus perturbed, and regrettable, in the common interest, as the lukewarmness of personal sympathy may have been, the residents never failed in their respect for the high and sterling qualities of the Minister, and the courageous manner in which he fought for his country's interests. It only needed an emergency to give definite expression to this feeling, and no testimony could be stronger, more genuine, or less conventional than the farewell addresses in which the merchants of Yokohama and Nagasaki summed up the brilliant record of a man of whom they never ceased to feel proud. Instead of detracting from the value of such spontaneous testimony, the minor differences only lent emphasis to it, and set the seal of deep conviction on what in an ordinary case might have passed as the language of mere compliment.

As shooting has been alluded to as an occasion of trouble, a word or two on the subject of this amusement may have an interest for certain readers. To the Japanese the pursuit of game seemed to be as strange a form of sport as the other vagaries of the foreigner. Firearms were not in use with them, cold steel being the regulation weapon of offence. There was a tradition that the discharge of firearms within twenty-five miles of the Tycoon's palace was prohibited by law,—what law or how promulgated was never clearly made out, though the motive was intelligible enough. For whatever reason, such game as there was in the country had evidently not been disturbed; the pheasants were not wilder than the English stall-fed variety. Small shooting-parties were in the habit of going out for a day, or half a day, from Yokohama and Kanagawa with dogs and native beaters among the coppices where the birds lay. The country itself was so charming to walk or ride over, the peasant-folk were so polite and merry, that heavy bags were not needed to attract sportsmen. Still, a good shot with industry and a shrewd acquaintance with the habits of the game could often get several brace of the splendid green pheasant of the country (Phasianus versicolor) in an afternoon; while at rarer intervals the finger would tremble on the trigger as one of those magnificent birds called locally the "copper" pheasant (Soemerring's), with tail feathers as long as a peacock's, would rise from the furrows and sail grandly into the impenetrable thicket. Objections had been taken by the Japanese officials to this form of amusement, because it was not the policy of the rulers to familiarise the people with the sight of firearms, still less to facilitate their acquiring them. In accordance with representations from the authorities, the British consul had requested his nationals in 1859 to desist for a time until some arrangement was come to. This they did, but in the following season resumed the sport, in which there were no keener participants than the British consular officers. A contemporary writer in September 1860 thus refers to the return of the shooting season: "There being nothing to do, we are all looking forward anxiously to the 1st October, on which day the first onslaught on the feathered race takes place. The weather is now hot, but we are all in very good health.... We live in a beautiful country, among a civil, amicable, kind-hearted, and intelligent people. We can roam over the country without let or hindrance." It is curious to note by the way how tenacious the Englishman is of the punctilio of his game laws, carrying his observance of them into countries where he and his laws are alike strangers, and where in many cases the principles are not applicable to the local conditions.

A new element in the sport appeared with the advent of cold weather, in the form of flocks of wildfowl, chiefly geese, which spread themselves over the low-lying grounds, mostly at some miles distant from the settlements. They were "geese," indeed, quite unsophisticated, having no fear of man before their eyes—inherited instinct apparently at fault. "Their tameness was shocking" at first, but they wonderfully soon learned to be wary with a foreigner and a gun. The morning's bag of one early riser, riding six miles and back to a nine o'clock breakfast, late in November, dwindled rapidly from 12 to 6, 4, 2. The birds were shot within 200 yards of the tokaido, and in full view of many curious spectators, armed and unarmed. Men were hired on the spot to carry the game along the six miles of highroad and through the long street of Kanagawa, the whole proceeding, in short, enjoying the utmost possible publicity.

The unfortunate Mr Moss, however, a few days later, toiled a whole day and bagged one, with the consequences we have seen. Whether it was law or not, the evidence supplied by the birds themselves of prescriptive immunity from gunpowder attack was overwhelming. Hitherto the heavy winged wildfowl had felt safe so long as they kept out of sword-range of the human biped, but the new experience of a detonating missile fatal at fifty yards broke up in a week the habits of generations, and forced them to promptly readjust themselves to their environment.

CHAPTER XX.

SIR RUTHERFORD ALCOCK IN PEKING, 1865-1869.

I. THE BRITISH LEGATION.

Sir Rutherford Alcock had spent only a few months in England when he was appointed to succeed Sir Frederick Bruce as Minister to China, he himself being succeeded in Japan by Sir Harry Parkes. Sir Rutherford reached his post in Peking at the close of 1865. The change of scene from Japan back to China was even more striking than that from China to Japan had been in 1859. The excitement of shooting the rapids was succeeded by the weariness of meandering among mud-shoals—the same medium to work in, only under different conditions. Fundamentally the international problem was identical in Japan and China—the conflict between aggression and resistance. Rational dread of, and natural repulsion to, foreigners, inspired alike the policies of both countries. Where they differed was in the manner of meeting the invasion. Japan braced herself nervously to the effort, and, distinguishing between what was feasible and what was not, organised a counter-invasion unsuspected by foreign nations, whom she subdued by their own strength. China, on the other hand, opposed a fatalistic and unreasoning resistance, making no intelligent counter-stroke and showing no true anticipation of the issues of the struggle. The energy of ambitious youth on the one side; on the other mere inertia, irresponsive to the stimulus of pride, shame, patriotism, or even material interest. Bearing this contrast in mind, we may partly understand the prosaic rôle which foreign representatives were doomed in China to play from the time the capital was forced open by Anglo-French arms in 1860.

The position of the new British Minister was different from that which he had occupied in Japan, where, being first in the field, he had to make precedents, whereas in China he had to follow the course which had been marked out during the previous four years. In judging of the wisdom of that course, it is fair to apply the same retrospective criterion that we proposed in the case of Japan—namely, to consider the situation so far as it was known and could be realised at the time. Notwithstanding all that had gone before, China in general, and Peking in particular, remained as great mysteries to foreigners as Japan itself. The pioneer diplomatists had to create their diplomacy out of their own consciousness, working upon an idea which they imported, and not on the objective facts, which were mere chaos to them.

Sir Rutherford Alcock had the happiness to find the Peking Legation in charge of his old vice-consul, Thomas Wade, from whom he had been officially separated for ten years. Mr Wade was Chinese secretary and secretary of Legation, offices which were some years later separated, to the infinite detriment of both. For the secretary of Legation, drawn from the ranks of the diplomatic service, had neither knowledge of nor interest in Chinese affairs, nor aught to do but wait idly for the contingency which might make him chargé d'affaires, reckoning every month spent in the country as a penance entitling him to swift promotion to a more congenial sphere. And the Chinese secretaryship, by itself, offered no attraction to an ambitious man. But in 1865 the combination of offices was most important, especially in the hands of a man of so much distinction as Mr Wade. As the custodian of the Bruce tradition, if indeed he had not a large share in its evolution, he bridged the gulf between the outgoing and the incoming Minister, much as the Permanent Under-Secretary does at the Foreign Office.

As Mr (afterwards Sir Thomas) Wade, in the capacity of secretary, chargé d'affaires, and Minister Plenipotentiary, represented Great Britain at the Chinese Court for the best part of a quarter of a century, a term equal to that of the other six Ministers put together, a brief reference to his personality seems necessary to a just comprehension of the course of affairs during his long residence in Peking.

Mr Wade began life as a soldier. He had been in the "Black Watch," but, being the only officer who could not speak Gaelic, found it congenial to exchange into the 98th Regiment, with which he served in China during the first war. He was adjutant of the regiment, which was commanded by Colonel Campbell, afterwards Lord Clyde. When peace was made in 1842, he resigned his commission and betook himself to the study of Chinese and of Chinese subjects. After qualifying as interpreter he became Chinese secretary to the Superintendency of Trade, which until 1858 was domiciled in Hongkong. Transferred to the consular service, he was for some years interpreter and vice-consul at Shanghai, where it fell to his lot to command the local volunteers in the attack on the Chinese Imperial camps in 1854. He was the first executive head of the Maritime Customs, established in the same year, his services being lent by his chief to start the new institution. Attached to Lord Elgin in his two missions to China, he was appointed secretary of Legation and Chinese secretary under Sir Frederick Bruce when the Legation was installed in Peking.

Wheresoever Mr Wade's lot was cast he was beloved for his Irish geniality, open-mindedness, and sincerity. He was the soul of honour, and was possessed by the spirit of chivalry much beyond the common measure. His best friends would never wish to forget his endearing infirmities of temper, associated as they were with the generous amende which never failed to follow an over-hasty word. A well-read man, with a memory like Macaulay's, a brilliant raconteur and inimitable mimic, he was the delight of every society. The services which he was enabled, by many years of arduous labour, to render to succeeding generations of students of Chinese are incalculable, and if his work begins now to be superseded by that of others, this is but the common fate of pioneers in every department of research.

Sir Thomas Wade's character may thus be fitly and fairly summed up in the hackneyed epithet, "a scholar and a gentleman,"—but not therefore a statesman. His mind was cast in another and a finer mould than befits the political arena; and, unnatural as the inference may seem, it is open to question whether his extensive knowledge of China was the best qualification for dealing at first hand with current affairs, even in that country. Profound researches into Chinese literature and philosophy tend to overshadow and induce a distaste for the jarring questions of the day. Seen through the luminous haze of its classic history, China presents to the contemplative mind an object of reverence unlike any other existing State, for the thread of its continuity since the time before Abraham is unbroken. Grander than hewn stone or graven bronze, the monuments of China are written books, and a living race, the heirs of all her ages, to be conversed with and interrogated. The burden of such vast homogeneous antiquity may well oppress the mere man of politics: he needs a certain alloy of Philistinism and a limitation of view to enable him to concentrate his attention on the exigencies of the passing hour.

Relations which might be called intimate had been established between the two Manchu statesmen, Prince Kung and Wênsiang, and the foreign representatives. When these high personages were forced to assume responsibility for international relations, they were not only unversed in foreign affairs but untrained to any kind of business. The work of the six Boards was carried on by expert secretaries, and the presidency of one of them would have been no qualification for the new duty thrust upon the emperor's Ministers of transacting business with foreign officials standing on an equality with themselves. Their older colleague, Hangki, had gained a little foreign knowledge by observation and hearsay while filling the lucrative office of hoppo at Canton; but the two younger men mistrusted him, perhaps with reason, possibly from the suspicion naturally aroused by his possession of superior knowledge. Prince Kung and Wênsiang recognised that they had everything to learn, and they were apt and eager scholars. Considering all the circumstances, it is indeed marvellous how they adjusted themselves by innate tact to the novel position, and how quickly they assimilated new knowledge. Many illuminating discussions were carried on between them and the foreign representatives, who on their part were no less desirous of imparting than the Chinese were of acquiring information respecting the outer world. In these interesting symposia Mr Wade naturally played the prominent part. On the enchanted ground of Chinese history and literature, also, the interlocutors made endless excursions together; and Chinese philosophy being directed to conduct rather than speculation, it was possible to deduce from the teaching of the sages authority for the adoption of almost any useful measure. Between the modern innovator, therefore, though in foreign garb, and the ancient moralists there was no such intellectual disagreement as sympathetic explanations could not resolve.

It might have been justifiable to conclude that the Chinese were being influenced for good by the well-meant counsels so copiously addressed to them, were it not that the tutorial being so entirely incompatible with the diplomatic function, no useful result could be expected from their strained combination. It was as if one were to teach a novice the moves in a game which the two were at the same time playing for serious stakes.

These interminable interviews and voluminous memoranda were wholly unproductive, owing, no doubt, to the fact that the ideas of the parties ran on parallel lines destined never to come to any point of fertile contact. The burden of the cry of the Western people was "progress," a word without equivalent in the language, and expressing an idea which had no place in the conception of the Chinese. Incessant repetition with varying illustrations were to the Chinese as flowers of rhetoric wasted on a deaf man, and that simply because the basis of the Chinese political thought lay at the opposite pole from that of the European. On one occasion a distinguished American promoter was expatiating to the governor of Formosa on the advantages of railway communication, his most telling example being his own experience in being rushed along after an early breakfast from his house in Albany to New York, where he spent the day transacting important business and got wheeled back again to Albany for dinner. The governor stopped him, and asked what in the name of sanity possessed him to lead such a wearing life, as the last thing he (the governor) would dream of doing would be to live a hundred miles from his work. Though the earliest public advocate of railroads in China, the governor regarded their utility from a far different point of view.

So eager were the foreigners for progress, which in their mind included the regeneration of the Chinese empire and the development of its full capacity for self-defence, that they were wont to rejoice over the slightest indications of a beginning being made. Thus the mission of a man of no standing as a secretary of the Tsungli-Yamên, who was sent to Europe in 1866 to take observations, was hailed as the beginning of the new era, and commended so warmly by the foreign Ministers to their Governments that the emissary was received like the Queen of Sheba by King Solomon, and shown—at least in Great Britain—everything that was admirable from the Western point of view. He was as far, however, from appreciating the triumph of science as was Cetewayo, the Zulu, whose admiration of England focussed itself on the elephant "Jumbo" at the Zoological Gardens, or the Scotswoman who, after being shown over the British Museum, had carried away from it one impression, and that of the "graund mat" at the door. The Chinese Government's appreciation of Western progress was by no means increased by the mission of Pin, which rather indeed produced a contrary effect. China soon began to put forth fresh claims to go her own way, her own way being directly opposed to the kind of progress which was being pressed upon her.

The Chinese in following the doctrines of the sages felt they were under the guidance of Heaven, so that innovations appeared to them tainted with impiety. So deeply did the worship of the past pervade their field of thought, that when high officials ventured to introduce something new, they usually endeavoured to disarm opposition by gilding their proposals with well-selected texts from the classics.

II. FOREIGN LIFE IN PEKING.

By the end of 1865 the foreign life in Peking, official, social, and private, had already settled into the grooves prescribed by local conditions, within which it has, more or less, run ever since.

Nevertheless, the advent of Sir Rutherford and Lady Alcock, with their daughter, now Lady Pelly, introduced an element into the social atmosphere of Peking which has afforded the happiest reminiscences to those who came under its influence. We have seen that Sir Rutherford Alcock, by force of character, conviction, and sense of duty, naturally assumed the lead among his peers wherever he happened to be placed. A German resident in Peking at the time we are speaking of says, "I remember very well that fine English gentleman, who was conscious of representing the greatest country of the world, and did it well." The official personality of the British Minister could not be more truly depicted than in these simple words; but this natural pre-eminence extended far beyond the official sphere, and made itself felt for the general good in the common relations of life. His dealings with subordinates were marked by thoroughgoing loyalty; his rule was to give his confidence without reserve to those who merited it, to support and defend them in the discharge of their duty. He was accessible, always ready to listen to the opinions even of his juniors, and though exacting as regards work, he never spared himself, but set an example of industry to those who served under him. He possessed that rare faculty of appreciation which enables a man to command services which no money could buy. The survivors of his staff to this day speak of him in affectionate terms as the best of chiefs. In business he was strictly, perhaps even rigidly, formal, and his manner was intolerant of laxity in others. When the official crust was put off like a suit of armour, the genial depths of his nature were reached, but the number of those who enjoyed this experience seems never to have been large. Select, but few, were the friends of his bosom.

The foreign residents in Peking did not number many, and, with the exception of the Legations, were rather widely scattered over a city of vast distances. The original community consisted of about sixty persons, distributed over the four Legations, the customs' staff, and missionary establishments. It was a community of young men "about twenty-four years of age," eminently social, no member being a stranger to the rest, and all living in friendly intercourse. The Legations may almost be said to have sat with open doors, so easy were their interchanges of informal visits. During the time of Sir Rutherford and Lady Alcock their hospitalities rendered the British Legation the chief centre of social interest, while the unaffected kindness which inspired these courtesies endeared its inmates to all their fellow-residents. That, indeed, was the golden age of the British Legation, and, it may be added, of the general social life of the Chinese capital, a period when life-long friendships were formed. The time had not yet come for international rivalries to mar the cordiality of personal intercourse. Indeed in the convivialities of Peking national distinctions were absolutely lost, and so to a great extent were the distinctions of rank. On the racecourse, which was early instituted, as in the billiard-room, picnic excursions, and the like, all were free and all were equal.

When we speak of the "social" life of Peking, it must be understood as referring exclusively to that of the foreign residents among themselves, for between them and the natives there was no such intimacy. But in those early days the high Chinese officials seemed to have been more genial than those of a later epoch. In the winter of 1860-61, for example, Hangki, formerly hoppo of Canton, was in the habit of receiving Mr Adkins familiarly at his private residence,—a practice which was afterwards gradually discontinued. The arrival of the two ladies at the British Legation was the signal for a display of courtesy by the Manchu Ministers, who from time to time sent them seasonable presents of plants, flowers, and other things, thus establishing agreeable personal relations with the Minister. That the advent of ladies to the Legations should have evoked the natural politeness of the high officials need not be a matter for wonder if it be remembered that the Chinese contempt for women is not shared by the Manchus. It is well known that their women are free from most of the trammels which contract the lives of their Chinese sisters. Their unbound feet symbolise liberty of locomotion generally, and they show themselves unveiled and unabashed in public thoroughfares. They have the coquetries common to the sex, among which may be reckoned a passion for floral decoration of the head, and the universal practice of painting the face and lips. This is done in a thoroughgoing manner, and as if the paint were "laid on with a trowel," leaving a sharply defined margin on cheek and neck between the pink and white and the sallow ground on which the colour is overlaid, giving it the appearance of a mask which might be easily removed. Even young children are subjected to the cosmetic treatment; and the very aged do not discard the artificial flowers in the remnant of their hair. As the fairest Chinese have no such natural colour as is thus imitated, it is rather difficult to divine whence they derived the notion of an ideal human skin.

It is not to be wondered at that the first European girls who appeared in Peking should have excited some curiosity. One young lady, probably the first arrival, whose fresh and fair complexion suggested the acme of the cosmetic art, excited intense interest among the Mongol and Manchu ladies. On one occasion she was met in the street by a great princess, who was so struck by her appearance that she stopped her cortège, alighted from her cart, and stood before the English girl and gently rubbed her cheeks to find out, as she naively said, how the colour was put on!

The foreign residents at Peking, happy as their circumstances were, lacked some of the principal elements of a community properly so called. They had, in fact, little in common besides their æsthetic culture and their Christian civilisation, the literature, philosophy, and the social tenets of the West. They had no head, no centre, no neutral meeting-ground even except the racecourse and the open fields, and were thus always either hosts or guests to each other. The assumed identity of their high political interests gave an appearance of solidarity to the diplomatic section; but the fusion of the other elements in the society was far from complete, and, in short, outside of the region of recreation and conviviality the residents could not be said to be animated by any unifying purpose, nor to have any communal existence. Individual isolation prevented the aggregate from attaining collective force.

These sterilising conditions were aggravated by another feature of the situation which had an important bearing on social life. Peking was one of the most inaccessible capitals in the world. The great tourist-stream passed it by. It stirred no human emotion unless it were languid aversion or inarticulate curiosity. The dilettante element which has ventilated Japan so well and kept her in constant touch with cosmopolitan life-currents has been absent in Northern China. Peking with its particular concerns has been thus permitted to lie secluded from the world, neither generating fruitful ideas nor inviting or profiting by their importation from without; nor, in short, making itself intelligible or interesting to mankind other than as an archaic curiosity. China, with its immense wealth and resources, weighed less in the consideration of the nations than the petty kingdom of Greece or the deadly swamps of Africa. Considerations of that kind help to explain the bewilderment with which the action of these neglected forces has been received during the past few years, and the disarray of the organs of European opinion when suddenly called on to deal with the phenomenon of Peking as a daily "headline."

Of the city itself it may be noted that it is magnificently laid out within high and massive walls, the gates and corners surmounted by bastions and imposing towers pierced with three tiers of gun-ports. The main streets are straight and extravagantly wide. Spaciousness is the dominant expression of the whole—the back-yard is a feature of the meanest one-storeyed hovels. It has not occurred to the Pekingese to economise earth-space by vertical architecture ground-ward or sky-ward. Viewed from an elevation, the city has the appearance of a vast park: the tree-foliage seen in perspective seems to cover the whole area, only picked out by yellow and green roofs of imperial and other conspicuous buildings. The palace, a city in itself of 10,000 inhabitants, occupies an immense enclave symmetrically placed in the centre of the whole.

From such a coign of vantage as the high wall affords, Peking presents at once an impressive and a pleasing spectacle. It gives the distance necessary to lend enchantment to the view. The soothing hum of a great population; the sweetness of an atmosphere untainted, if it be summer, or spiced by the aromatic herbs which grow promiscuously between the interstices of the bricks, if it be autumn,—enfolds the scene in that kind of soft drapery which memory throws over common things long past. One lingers, loth to renew a closer acquaintance with the crowd below, which no longer hums but utters wild discordant cries,—with the horrors of the streets, which are of the earth, earthy. The area contained between the rectilinear arteries of the city is dismally laid out on the plan of the rabbit-warren. These wide streets are alternately deep mire and deep dust at the best, but at the worst, receptacles of indescribable abominations. The witty and wise Bishop Favier, when describing these to a friend in France, was asked, How could a population living in such insanitary conditions resist a visitation of cholera. "Cholera!" exclaimed the Father; "it could never enter. It would be asphyxiated at the gate!"[12]

The dust is acrid to nose and eyes, from the dessicated refuse of generations, for the streets are watered by long scoops from standing pools of sewage which overflow in the summer rains and obliterate the roadway, so that animals harnessed between shafts not unfrequently meet with a cruel death by drowning in these fœtid thoroughfares.