Taiyüan is surrounded by a lofty wall, with a gateway at each of the four points of the compass. The Chinese always use these terms when we should use “right” and “left”: they speak of the position of furniture in a room, for instance, as being north, south, east, or west, and can always tell you the relative positions of places and things in that way. It is the seat of the Government of the province, and was the first place in the Empire to have a Western university after the 1900 troubles.

The finest of all its temples—whether Confucian, Buddhist, Mohammedan, or Taoist—is the temple of Heaven and Hell. The entrance is magnificent in colouring, with roof and walls covered with turquoise-coloured tiles peculiar to this province, which make its temples so much more beautiful than those in the west. There are interesting but repulsive statues within, mostly depicting the torments of hell. In one temple, however, there is a deity to which childless women especially come to pray. She is a hideous figure about life size, with a gaping mouth, into which they stuff raw eggs by way of offering. On the adjoining wall is a fresco representing people receiving babies out of a cash-bag full of them, which a man carries over his shoulder.

I visited the temple at the time of a large fair, which was held in its courtyards (a common custom in China), and had one of the teachers in attendance, to his great disgust, as it is not the correct thing for Chinese ladies to go to fairs, and European manners had not yet penetrated to this part of the Empire. It was a very fine sight, notwithstanding the absence of the élite, for the women and children were most gaily attired—and then the setting! They were all perfectly civil to us and ready to talk. A woman was feeding her five-year-old baby, not yet weaned. Family parties kept arriving on donkeys, and women had their feet tied up in bags to protect their dainty shoes from the dust of the road. At one side theatricals were going on, to a loud and ceaseless accompaniment of drums. The theatres are all connected with the temples, a visible sign of their origin in the East as well as in the West; and the theatre and temple dues are collected together. Actors are looked down on, and none is allowed to compete in the literary examinations; they are in the lowest grade of society. The accompanying sketch gives some idea of the beautiful colour scheme of temple and theatre eaves. It is the open-air stage of a theatre at Showyang, about sixty miles from Taiyüan. The little figures of beasts on the roof are a characteristic feature.

The stalls were full of interesting objects from all parts of the province, and we went round buying various things that took our fancy. There were handsome embroideries and lovely silks, and I was surprised to find that we could take whatever we liked without paying for it; it was sufficient to say, “Come to the mission hospital to-morrow and the doctor will pay.” No Chinaman could have had better credit, and few, I think, as good, in this city.

From the temple of Heaven and Hell we returned past the barracks, and saw the men practising walking on stilts; apparently that was part of their drill, as finally they all filed off into the yard on them. The soldiers are quite a decent set of men, and one of the officers frequently sent them to the hospital to be broken of the opium habit. It is terribly common here. In a neighbouring town it is estimated that 90 per cent. of the population (men, women, and children) are smokers.

From Taiyüanfu we made an interesting little excursion to a place to the south-west called Tsinssu, where there is a magnificent old temple on the rocky hillside dominating the village. The temple is overshadowed by hoary trees, and has remarkable golden dragons twisted round the pillars of the façade. In the grounds are hot springs, and the water flows under an ornamental bridge leading to the terrace on which the temple stands. Had it not been for the hot water it would have been impossible to sketch, as the water froze on the surface of the paper, and every few minutes I had to put my paint-box in the stream to thaw the coating of ice formed on the colours. The subject, however, was so charming that I could not waste the one chance I had of sketching, and in the afternoon I made a rapid drawing of a pagoda, with the little bells hung on each story tinkling in the breeze; an adjacent tower looked precisely like an English church, but its real use was as a granary. The hot springs are valuable in enabling the people to grow rice, which is not grown elsewhere so far north, and it is the motive-power of many paper-mills in the district. In a recent expedition roe-deer, leopards, boars, and David squirrels have been found in this neighbourhood, but we saw nothing more interesting than a beautiful pastoral scene—a shepherd lad piping a melancholy ditty to his sheep under the clear blue sky. I should like to have sketched him, but the shadows were already lengthening, and we had to hasten our return before the city gates were closed.

We attended a review one day, and saw the old régime in its full glory, now already a thing of the past. We started at 7 A.M. in the cart, and although the parade-ground was only a quarter of a mile away we were none too early. The soldiers were already mustered, and two gorgeously arrayed officials were seated in state under a canopy waiting for the Governor, with a fine sort of helmet on a stand behind them. He arrived shortly after we did, and although there was a drizzling rain the numberless banners looked lovely, bowing down while the Governor passed, and then floating proudly up again. Many of them were pale-blue silk and carried on long bamboo rods. There were a good many soldiers mounted on smart ponies that scampered along bravely; but the black turbans surmounting the blue or red uniforms made them look rather like women. Some of them were armed with bows and arrows, slung on their backs; others had prehistoric guns which required two men to work them, one to hold and the other to fire off by means of a lighted stick of incense, which at other times was thrust (lighted) into the soldier’s chest, where also he carried his powder!

One regiment was a great contrast to the others—the celebrated tiger braves. They were clad cap-à-pie in yellow cloth striped with black, even the boots and cap being of the same material. The latter was most cunningly made, with little pink-lined ears which stood erect, and ferocious black eyes, and white fangs, and a red tongue hanging out. This alarming costume was supposed to render all further equipment unnecessary, and I asked one of the “braves” if he had no weapon, on which he showed me merely an ordinary knife stuck in his waistband. I asked if he would sell me his uniform, but as he could not do that he lent it, and I had an exact copy made. On my return home Mr. Chamberlain saw it, and was struck with the idea that the braves scared away the enemy by their uniform and their roaring, and made a telling use of it later on in describing the tactics of “the opposition”!

Yet a step farther back in history, it is interesting to learn how the soldiers used to travel in earlier times. A model has recently been constructed (by Professor Hopkinson) of the chariot used to convey eighteen soldiers. This chariot was in use about a thousand years ago in China, and registered distance, a gong sounding at the end of every “li” (about one-third of a mile), and a bell at the end of every ten “li.” This vehicle was called the “measure-mile drum carriage,” and it is from the description of the mechanism given in the writings of the period that the professor has made his model. An ode was written in its honour. The chariot was drawn by four horses.

The main features of the review were the sword exercises, varied with turning somersaults, the charging of soldiers with two-pronged pikes, accompanied by roaring—and various feats of horsemanship. The men rode about clinging to their horses from underneath, or jumped on them going at full gallop. The review lasted all day, and we got tired long before it was over. The military examinations of officers were on the old lines, and success in getting promotion depended on the strength shown in drawing a bow, or lifting a weight. Two officers came to hospital for treatment on account of having overstrained themselves by their exertions, and were anxious lest they should be disqualified in consequence. Now everything is changed. There are military colleges springing up, where everything is modelled on the military systems of the West, and students go in increasing numbers to Europe to study these at first hand. The Ministry of War has decided to adopt the same gradations of rank as those of the British army and navy respectively; thus a second lieutenant in the navy will be of equal rank with a senior lieutenant in the army, and so on. In the past, military service was one of the two only ways in which it was possible in China to climb the social ladder.

In September 1904 I saw one of the last great triennial examinations, to which students came from all parts of the province. It opened with a great procession, headed by the Governor and examiners who had come from Peking. Some of the big men rode in chairs, preceded by scarlet umbrellas, and boys carrying boards enjoining silence, many banners and discordant drums. It seemed as if all the rag-tag and bobtail of the city had been collected to grace the occasion; they were decked out in magenta felt hats and scarlet cloaks which by no means covered their rags and dirt. Some wore scarlet and gilt, others green and gilt caps, but no shoes on their feet. The three principal men were carried on chairs, raised on little platforms and covered with yellow rugs, supposed to represent the imperial dragon. The imperial letters were carried (wrapped in yellow cloth) across the shoulders of men on horseback, and the imperial seals under gay canopies. The examination buildings are extensive, and are well seen from the city wall. There are 10,000 cells, arranged in rows of 100 each in alleys closed by a door. Each cell is about 6 feet high, 4 feet wide, and 5 feet deep, and is provided with a sliding seat and a board for writing on, which the student can slide into the same groove as the seat to curl up on at night, for he has to spend three days and nights without leaving it. The cell is open in front, and an invigilator walks up and down to see that no cheating goes on. If the student is taken ill he may not leave, and if he dies (not an infrequent occurrence at examination times) his body is simply put over the wall at the outside end of the alley. These examinations are competitive, and there may be only thirty or forty vacancies for thousands of students. At Canton there are 25,000 cells in the examination hall, and each province has its own examination, to which students of other provinces may not come. There are characters at the end of the rows of cells, drawn from one of the classics, which are used as numerals, to distinguish the rows from one another.

It is interesting to observe what supreme importance is attached by the Chinese to learning and to morals. Learning is the main road to eminence; the only other one—the military service—is quite subsidiary. The highest grade of the people is the Sze, the scholar, and from it all public servants are drawn. There is no bar to prevent men of other grades passing into this class, provided they fit themselves to do so and pass the necessary examinations. There are six examinations possible.

The first examination is held yearly by the district magistrate; it lasts for three days, and the candidate has to write two essays, one on poetry. The second examination is held (generally a few months later) in a prefectural town, and is therefore called Fu Kau, or country examination. The students who pass this examination are called Shu Tsai. The third examination (only open to those who have passed the previous one) is the triennial one, which takes place in the capital of each province, as above described, and is called the Ju Jen degree. This time the candidate has to write several more essays than for the Shu Tsai degree; the quality most valued in these essays is skill in quotation, both as to the number of quotations made from the classics and the way in which they are combined—this might aptly be compared to a string of pearls. The candidates who obtain the Ju Jen degree are alone eligible for the degree of Tsin Sze. This fourth examination takes place triennially at Peking. The candidate is confined for nine days in a small compartment in the examination building. No matter how great the discomfort of this confinement may be, he has to write nine essays. I obtained the most fascinating little crib containing the whole classics, not larger than one inch square, which would offer a severe temptation under such circumstances to the most conscientious student! If the candidate is successful with his nine essays he receives the title of Tsin Sze, but if not, he may be appointed to a clerkship of a more or less important nature, according to the merit of his essays.

A yet higher degree may be obtained called the Tien Sze, because it is held in one of the buildings of the Imperial Palace. The student at the head of the list is called Cheong Yuan; the second is Paun Yien; the third is called Tua Hwa, and the fourth Chuan Lo To. Their official title, which is also given to other successful candidates in this examination, is Han Lin Yuan Shu Chi Sze, and they are obliged to study for the next three years at the Han Lin Yuan for the next examination. The successful candidates are retained at the Han Lin, and the unsuccessful ones receive posts of lesser importance, such as magistracies and other civil appointments. They are considered to have a first claim to all such appointments.6

This old examination system is being replaced by one in which Western subjects are to a large extent taking the place of the classics. Since 1904 the degrees of the Ju Jen and Han Lin have been granted in this way to students educated abroad and examined on their return to China. At the present time there are about 300 Chinese students in England, studying mainly law, medicine, engineering, and manufactures: some are still in public schools, grammar schools, &c.; others are at the English or Scotch universities.

In the accompanying sketch of a scholar, the gold square worn on the chest and a corresponding one on the back are equivalent to the hoods granted by our universities, and the different designs on them indicate the kind of degree. Wives of scholars have also the right to wear the same insignia as their husbands.

The city of Taiyüanfu as described in this chapter is already a thing of the past. Now a railway comes to its very gates. New European-looking buildings are springing up in every direction; the streets are being widened and properly paved, officials drive about in smart broughams, and there is a daily delivery of letters instead of a private post once a fortnight.

I return to Tientsin and take up the thread of my narrative in 1907. No sooner had we arrived there than a Chinese friend, clad in a beautiful maize-coloured silk gown, came to call. He had come from Peking expressly to meet us, and escorted us there next day, being an old friend of my Taiyüanfu days. We were seen off in the Chinese railway (so much preferable to the German and Belgian lines) next day by one of the directors, who had kindly ordered a special reserved carriage for us. A few hours of pleasant travel, with tea served on board, brought us to the special goal of our ambition—Peking.