The next morning we were just about to start, when the magistrate of the city was announced (imagine a ceremonious call at 7 A.M.!), and he was ushered in, together with his present to us—a tray containing fine pears, pomegranates, dates, and nuts. We accepted part (in Chinese etiquette this stands for “gratitude for his generosity”), and returned part (“humility of the recipient”). He was immediately served with tea and cakes, and explained to us that, owing to a message from the Governor of the province, he had been expecting our arrival and had prepared an inn for us. Understanding that we were just setting out on our journey, he only stayed a short time after we had thanked him for his hospitality, so that we were able to do our day’s stage in good time.

The following day we started at 6 A.M., and managed our thirty-six miles in twelve hours, as the roads were in good condition. At midday we halted for lunch at an inn, where we were told that the magistrate had made preparations for our entertainment. A scarlet curtain was hung in front of the door; there were mats and carpet on the floor of the two rooms, coverlets on the khangs (= brick bedsteads), a good table and European chairs, scrolls on the walls, a white table-cloth, and, to complete all—a champagne lunch! We declined the champagne, lager-beer, and most of the “plats,” but enjoyed the chicken and eggs. The advantage of having the inns cleaned up and fresh mats put down is great. Our military escort, varying from one to four, is highly diverting, and they are usually mounted on shaggy ponies, on which they look quite fine, especially when they have their scarlet or yellow umbrellas up.

As we approached our destination, Küfow, a man came dashing across the plain at full gallop, and flung himself off his horse at our feet, announcing that the magistrate had ordered a private house in the city to be prepared for our reception, to which he would conduct us. Just outside the gates we found four soldiers standing at attention: they gave us a military salute, bobbing down till their right hands touched the ground and then emitting a startling yell. Accompanied by them (they remained with us in attendance till we left Küfow) we soon reached our quarters, a characteristic Chinese gentleman’s house, very nice and clean, in which a suite of three rooms was placed at our disposal (the block seen in the sketch). A major-domo received us at the entrance and led us ceremoniously to the inner courtyard, where tea was at once served, and we were told that dinner would be ready shortly, and that the magistrate would call on us as soon as we had dined.

Our interpreter, Mr. Summer, had informed us that he was the son of an official and knew exactly what ought to be done; so we placed ourselves in his hands, and our visiting-cards and thanks were at once despatched to the magistrate. After dinner the chairs were arranged in rows, and tea and cakes set on the table in readiness for his arrival. He asked particularly if we had enjoyed our dinner, which he had ordered to be cooked in European style, and it was quite good and palatable, especially as we had the best of sauces after our long day’s march. It appeared that our host had provided three cooks (trained in European ways), three other servants, four soldiers, and two policemen to look after us, but our own men undertook all the personal attendance.

Next morning we went in procession to the temple—the Holy of Holies of Confucianism—for all the establishment seemed to think they should accompany us. We decided to make a détour in order to approach it from the most picturesque side, and the view was certainly charming as we walked along the moat outside the city wall, where lotus leaves floated on the still water, and tall rushes and flags rustled under the leafy trees. Nothing was needed to enhance the beauty of the spot, and a few minutes’ walk brought us to the celebrated avenue of cypresses leading to the south gate of the city, within which is the fine entrance to the temples. They are enclosed in a park which occupies a whole quarter of the town, and has plenty of trees to form a worthy setting for the large groups of buildings connected with Confucianism, temples not only to Confucius but to his parents, followers, and to the other great sages, Mencius and Yentzu. The buildings are some of the finest in the Empire, and very lofty, with their double-storied roofs covered with orange and green tiles. The eaves are heavily decorated with fine coloured woodwork, protected with netting from the vast flocks of birds and bats that hover round them, and the pillars of the Hall of Perfection are magnificently carved monoliths. In the first courtyard are many interesting stone tablets, eight or ten feet high, standing on the backs of stone tortoises or mythical beasts of similar shape in picturesque little temples with yellow-tiled roofs and Venetian red woodwork. Hoary cypresses towered above them. In the next courtyard was a preaching hall (not in use for that purpose, however), from which we ascended by a long steep flight of stairs, with folding gates half-way up, to a dark upper chamber. Another flight of steps took us to a room surrounded by a balcony, from which we had a splendid view over the many temples clustered round a great central one, which appears above the orange and green tiled temple in the sketch which I took from this point of view. It is the most imposing of the group of buildings, and is entirely tiled with orange, none but Confucian temples being allowed to have this colour. Flocks of crows, pigeons, and other birds were circling round it; indeed, we had been awakened by the deafening noise they made in the early morning. In the courtyard as well as in the temples were fine old bronzes; carved marble steps led up to the principal hall, a lofty building with pillars and red painted woodwork. Here Confucius sits under a canopy, with handsomely embroidered curtains partly shrouding him, and an altar bearing bronze incense bowls in front. On either side, at right angles, are the figures of two other great Chinese sages, Mencius and Tze-Sze, seated in shrines, and behind them again are six disciples seated against the walls on either side.

The sacrifices to Confucius were formally established by an emperor (A.D. 59), who also ordered that the teaching of Confucius should be studied in all schools throughout the Empire. This is still done everywhere, even in the new universities, but the actual sacrifices—pigs, sheep, and cattle—are reserved for temple worship. These take place before dawn in the second and eighth month. There is plenty of room in the grounds belonging to the temple for pasturage, even for the vast number of animals required, as it is about 8000 acres in extent. More than 500 years elapsed after the death of Confucius before he was universally worshipped, but the worship had the royal sanction, for his teaching is aristocratic in character, whereas that of the yet greater but less noted sage, Mencius, was as thoroughly democratic.

Confucianism is rather a system of ethics than a religion. Confucius merely accepted (and that only to a limited extent) the religion of the age and country in which he lived, and he added to it a code of morals dealing largely with the government of the State. He said, “I am not an originator, but a transmitter.” Confucius lived contemporaneously with the Buddha, but no two great teachers of mankind could have differed more widely from one another than did these, both in character and in teaching. In the Buddha, love and pity for the sorrows of humanity drowned every other feeling, and he resolutely refused to use his powerful intellectual faculties for any other purpose than to lessen suffering, and eventually to rid the world of it. Confucius, on the other hand, allowed his intellect free play, and it appears to have led him to look with tolerance, and a certain measure of acquiescence, on the religious beliefs of the age. There is a famous saying of his, “Respect the spirits, but keep them at a distance.” At the same time, he was conscious of his mission as a teacher sent by God; he says, when threatened by the people of K’uang: “After the death of King Wen, was not wisdom lodged in me? If God were to destroy this wisdom, future generations could not possess it. So long as God does not destroy this wisdom, what can the people of K’uang do to me?” Confucius seems to have been a superstitious man; he was apt to turn pale at a thunderclap, and he sanctioned the practices of the village folk for driving away evil spirits.

The most important features of his teaching are the high ideals which he inculcated for the ruling of the State, and the stress he laid on the obligations of men to their fellow-men, even more than on their obligations towards God. One of his fundamental doctrines was that all men are born radically good. This doctrine is not accepted—at all events, at the present day—with regard to women; the Chinese would be more inclined to say, “All women are born radically stupid,” or, as the women themselves frequently put it, “We are only wooden-heads.” Confucius also strongly advocated the duty of reverence and sincerity, and “protested against any attempt to impose on God.” He rose from his seat in the presence of any one dressed in mourning. The five cardinal virtues taught by Confucius are righteousness, benevolence, politeness, discernment of good, and sincerity.

It will be readily understood from the above brief account of Confucianism that it is quite possible to combine it as a religion either with Buddhism or Taoism, and in point of fact it is not unusual for a Chinaman to profess all three religions at the same time, or by turns. I was told in Shansi that sometimes a village would feel aggrieved at their gods not having protected them from some disaster, or given them sufficiently good crops, so they would decide to try another religion for a time. The transformation in a village temple is easily effected.

Not only were divine honours paid to Confucius, but his family also were promoted to places of honour in the cult, and had adjoining temples raised to them, though only his father was granted a statue. In one of the temples is a fine series of stones engraved like brasses, descriptive of the life of Confucius. These are so greatly admired that it has been found necessary for their preservation to have papers pasted across them intimating that rubbings are not to be taken from them. Some of these tablets are fine specimens of writing—for Küfow is above all places the home of Chinese literature—and the inscriptions aim at being brief, telling, and enigmatic. Their value depends also on beauty of style and calligraphy.

The temples are only about two hundred years old, as they have twice been destroyed by lightning. The first time it happened, a thrill of terror ran through the whole Empire: nothing further happened, so the next time the nation took it quite calmly. There are no priests to look after the place, and, to judge by its neglected appearance, the five families exempted from taxation by some bygone emperor, in order that they might devote themselves to the care of it, have become extinct. The emperor used formerly to come at stated times in order to offer sacrifices, as being the visible head of Confucianism, but now he contents himself with sending every two or three years to decorate the temple and keep it in repair.

As we were leaving it began to rain a little, so the soldiers and police put on their hats, till then slung on their backs: when it rains heavily they put up the scarlet umbrella as well!

After lunch we called on the magistrate to thank him for his hospitality and to take leave of him, attended by all our retinue, plus the rag-tag and bobtail of the town, with our card-case (measuring 11½ inches by 6½ inches) carried in front by the servant; then came “Mr. Summers,” who had managed to raise a horse for the occasion. Tea and cigarettes were handed round, and we were placed in seats of honour on a sort of platform. We did not linger, as we were anxious to complete our pilgrimage by visiting the grave of Confucius, situated in a park a short distance outside the town. It is approached through a series of gateways of varying sizes and importance. Long avenues of cypresses lead from one gateway to another, and at last a spot is reached from which every one is commanded to approach the grave on foot. This is simple and dignified, as befits a sage—nothing but a tablet bearing an inscription, set up on a plain low pedestal, shaded by trees. Near it are the graves of other members of the family of Confucius, which are much less modest. His grandson’s tablet has two curious tall stone figures of servants on each side. This descendant wrote a celebrated treatise called the “Doctrine of the Mean.”

In the evening the ladies of the family of the official to whom the house in which we were staying belonged asked permission to call on us. We entertained them and asked all the polite questions we could think of, such as their names, where they came from (Chinese officials always seem to be moving about the country), number of children, their age, &c., and we were asked similar questions in return. Suddenly a hitherto silent member of the party asked in a shrill tone, “What is your rank?” a most difficult question to answer so that they could understand, except in an ambiguous way. They were much pleased to drink “English” tea, which is quite different from what is prepared for the Chinese market, and to eat English cakes, some of which they carried away in their handkerchiefs.

The following morning we took our leave, hoping that our guide would prove his official skill by correctly tipping the various members of the establishment, and the same ceremonies were gone through as on our arrival. The guide sent the cook to “buy cash,” which was carried after him, as he felt far too important to carry it himself. The money worry was beginning to grow acute, as its value varies every day, and at Küfow we found two complete systems of coinage in use, one reckoning only half as much as the other; the 100 cash meaning anything between 80 and 97, but never by any chance meaning 100. The Government, not to mention banks and officials, reckons to get a “squeeze” out of everything, so it is lucky that money is subdivided into infinitesimally small values; 100 cash being worth about twopence-halfpenny.

On leaving Küfow we took a somewhat different route from what we did in coming, as we wished to visit a Buddhist monastery, and again we were entertained by hospitable magistrates on the road. Evidently they have found former travellers thirsty for something else than the national beverage, so Münchenes Bier was provided. On the second day we had a long stage—38 miles—to do, so we got up at 4.30. Alas! No sooner were we ready than down came the rain, in a most uncompromising way, and the men refused to set out. After waiting a couple of hours it seemed to be clearing; we made a feeble start, but the men crept along like snails, and their steps were so uncertain on the slippery ground as to make us quite nervous. We got safely across the ferry, though the water had risen a good deal considering how little rain had fallen. Our soldier escort galloped away under his red umbrella, and we saw him no more. The men set us down in an inn doorway on the farther side of the river, provided themselves with hot sweet potatoes from an itinerant vendor who happened to be passing, and refused to go any farther in the rain. By dint of persuasion and the promise of sixpence each extra (exorbitant sum!) if they would do the stage that day, we got them to make a fresh start. We plodded slowly on for five hours, and found we had done twenty miles by the time we reached our midday rest; we halted for an hour, and the rain stopped, so that we got on much better afterwards. During the rain there was not a creature to be seen except ourselves in all the wide landscape, but the minute it stopped the people appeared in every direction as if by magic. In the village streets we found great difficulty, as the rain had converted them into one big puddle, and the men tried to hop about from stone to stone. When it grew dark we were terrified, and I clutched a large eider-down pillow in readiness to cover my face when I should take the seemingly inevitable plunge into the morass. However, we escaped all disaster, and the men walked without stumbling through dry water-courses and over rough boulders, and the cart jogged along over impossible places. When the moon rose it was like fairyland; and at eight o’clock we triumphantly trudged into our inn.

The following morning we started at six o’clock for the celebrated Buddhist monastery of Lu, and reached it about 11.30. This monastery is situated up a solitary valley about six miles from the high-road, and the situation was splendid. It nestled in a hollow of lofty hills, its tall pagoda standing out sharply from the trees. There was a pylon part way up, and two stone bridges with yew-trees overarching them. The buildings round the temple are not at all imposing, but the entrance gate has a gilt Buddha seated in the centre, surrounded by four huge statues, each of a different colour, representing tutelary deities belonging to the Taoist religion; and back to back with Buddha was another god.

The first temple we came to contained three seated Buddhas with a curious rockwork background, but beyond it and up a flight of steps was a much more imposing temple, of which both design and colouring were a facsimile of what we had just seen at Küfow, only on a smaller scale. It was impossible, judging by the exterior, to tell that it was Buddhist and not Taoist or Confucian, but inside there was no mistake. Buddha sat enthroned on a large lotus blossom, with a halo behind him and a thousand little seated gilt Buddhas on shelves all round the hall. Life-size figures of the 42 Lo Han were seated against the walls, and amongst them were the two emperors, pointed out to us by one of the monks. We discovered for ourselves a figure who we felt sure was Marco Polo: he had the face of an Arab and wore a drapery over his head, unlike any of the other figures; the monk could only tell us that he was a man from the West. What would Marco Polo have said if he could have foreseen that he would be placed among the Buddhist “holy ones”?

The rest of our journey back to Tsinan was accomplished safely in two and a half days.