An American Diplomat in China

by Paul S. Reinsch

The stairway leading up the mountain, which is about 6,000 feet high, is often so steep that we had to guard against being overcome by dizziness in looking down. Occasionally a stop is made at a wayside temple, where tea is served in the shady courts. In the summer heat these refuges must be especially grateful. We reached the temples that crown the summit after a journey of about six hours. In a temple court at the very top the servants who had preceded us had set up their kitchen, and an ample luncheon was awaiting us there.

At this altitude a cold and cutting wind was blowing. Yet we preferred to stay outside of the temple buildings in order to enjoy the view which is here unrolled, embracing a great portion of the whole province of Shantung. I noted that the coolies did not seem impressed with the sanctity of this majestic height, but used the temple courts as a caravanserai.

The descent is made rapidly, as the practised chair-bearers run down the stairs with quick, sure steps—which gives the passenger the sensation of skirting the mountainside in an aeroplane. When I inquired whether accidents did not occasionally happen, they told me: "Yes, but the last time when any one has fallen was about four hundred years ago." As in the early days chair-bearers who had fallen were killed, the tendency to fall was in the course of time eradicated. They descend with a gliding motion that reminds one of the flight of birds. The chair-bearers are united in a guild, and happen to be Mohammedans by religion.

The town of Taianfu, which lies at the foot of the mountain, is notable for a very ancient and stately temple dedicated to the god who represents the original nature worship which centres around Mount Taishan, and which forms the historic basis for all religion in China. The spacious temple courts, with their immemorial trees and their forests of tall stone tablets bearing inscriptions dedicated by emperors for thousands of years past, testify to the strength of the native faith. The streets of the town, set at frequent intervals with arches bearing sculptured animal forms, were lined with shops through whose trellised windows, now that night had come, lights were shining, revealing the activities within. These, with an occasional tall tower or temple shadowing the gathering darkness, made this old town appear full of romance and strange beauty.

Sleeping on our car, we were by night carried to the railway station of Chüfu; some seven miles farther on lies the town of the same name, the home of Confucius. We hired donkey carts at the station; also, as the ladies were anxious to have the experience of using the local passenger vehicle, the wheel-barrow, we engaged a few of these; whereupon our modest cavalcade proceeded first to the Confucian burial ground, to the north of the city. On the way thither we were met by chair-bearers who carried a portable throne and brought complimentary messages from the Holy Duke. As the chair had been sent for my use, there was nothing for it but to get in. Soon appeared, also, a string of mule carts drawn by sleek and well-fed animals, contrasting with the bony and dishevelled beasts we had hired.

It was plain that the incognito was ended, and that the Duke had been apprised of our coming. Then came the emissaries of the district magistrate, offering further courtesies, such as a guard of honour; and another delegation from the Duke brought a huge red envelope containing an invitation for luncheon. We tried to decline all these civilities and to stroll about quietly, in order to come entirely under the spell of this place. But there was no more rambling and strolling for us. We had to sit in our chairs and carts, and, after two polite declinations of the luncheon invitation, alleging the shortness of our time and our desire to see everything thoroughly, and asking leave to call on the Duke later in the afternoon—we accepted the customary third issue of the ducal invitation.

Our procession was quite imposing as we passed on to the inner gate of the cemetery. Covering about one and a half square miles, the enclosure has been the burial ground of the Confucian family for at least three thousand years, antedating Confucius himself. No other family in the world has such memorials of its continuity. The simple dignity of a huge marble slab set erect before the mound-covered grave marks the burial place of the sage. The adjoining site of the house where his disciples guarded his tomb for generations, but which ultimately disappeared some two thousand years ago, also bears monuments and inscriptions.

Leaving the cemetery, a large cavalry escort sent by the district magistrate joined our cavalcade of chairs, mule carts, and wheelbarrows, together with crowds of the curious who trudged along. The village streets were lined with people anxious to see the strangers; but their curiosity had nothing intrusive. They were friendly lookers-on, nodding a pleasant welcome should your eye catch theirs.

We passed through many gates of the ancient palace before we were finally received by the Duke himself at the main inner doorway. He was accompanied by the magistrate, and with these two we sat down to chat; nearly an hour elapsed before we were summoned to the table. The meal, which was made up of innumerable courses, lasted at least two hours, during which we kept up an animated conversation concerning the more recent history of the town and of the temple.

The Duke was agitated because missionaries from Taianfu were trying to acquire land in the town of Chüfu. He looked upon this intrusion as unwarranted, saying that as his town was devoted to the memory of the Chinese sage, it did not seem suitable that any foreign religion should try to introduce its worship, and it would certainly result in local ill-feeling.