A dinner with General Kiang, Commander of the Peking Gendarmerie, afforded another sidelight on Chinese character. We had already been seated, when an unusually tall Chinese entered, wearing Chinese civilian dress. He was introduced as Tutuh Yin (General Yin Chang-heng), and I learned that he had just returned from Szechuan, where he had become governor during the revolution, after putting to death the Imperial Governor-General, Chao Er-feng. General Yin was of striking appearance, with strong features, and vigorous in gesture. Now, it is the custom at Chinese dinners, particularly when military are present, to engage in extensive drinkings of health. The Chinese, who are usually very abstemious, drink wine that resembles sherry, and also a liqueur-like rice wine, which latter is potent. The proposer of the toast raises his little cup and drains it in one draught; the guest to whom he addresses himself is expected to do likewise; both say "Gambey" (a challenge to empty the cup). General Yin, who seemed in high spirits, was on his legs half the time "gambeying" to the other guests, especially to myself and the other Americans, the military attaché, the Chinese secretary, the commandant of the guard, and other officers. General Yin must have performed this courtesy at least forty times in the course of the evening, which with the attentions paid us by the other members of the table round, amounted to a considerable challenge of one's capacity. It must, however, be confessed that I largely shirked this test, in company with the amiable General Yin Chang, my Manchu neighbour, by irrigating a large plant in front of us with the liquid dedicated to friendship.
I saw General Yin Chang next morning. He asked whether I knew what had been the matter with Tutuh Yin the night before. I said that he seemed very animated and carried his liquor very well. General Yin then told me that after I had left, the Tutuh Yin had sat down with him and talked seriously and intently, revealing his deep worry lest Yuan Shih-kai should have him executed. He stated that Chao Er-hsun, the brother of the murdered Viceroy, was in Peking, and with other men using every influence to destroy him. "So," the Manchu general said, "his bravado was just a cover for his worries."
Next day Yin Tutuh called on me at my residence. He expressed deep regret for having taken so much wine on the evening of the dinner. He said: "It is not my custom, but I was excited and worried because of the uncertainty of my affairs." He then launched forth into a literary discussion of Confucianism in its bearing upon modern thought. Not knowing that he was a student of the classics, I was surprised when he revealed this side of his nature. As a matter of fact, he greatly resembled the men of the Renaissance who combined harsh and cruel qualities with a deep love of literature. The last time I saw the Tutuh Yin, more than five years later, he presented me with his written works. There were gathered about twenty members of the Confucian Society, and the conversation again turned around the permanent qualities of Confucianism. When the concept of the "unknowable" was referred to, General Yin cited at length Herbert Spencer's views thereon. He said: "The greatness of Confucius lies in the fact that he centred his attention on those things which we know and can control, and that he aimed at the highest development of human action on this common-sense basis. He leaves the dreams about the unknowable to others."
Among our guests at a dinner was Dr. King Ya-mei, a Chinese lady noted for her wide information and cleverness. We spoke about the recent advance of Russia in Mongolia. "Who can resist Russia!" she exclaimed. Like all thinking Chinese, she was deeply worried about the difficulties confronting her nation on all sides. Dr. C.C. Wang, who was also present, spoke of the lack of continuity in developing expert knowledge, because of the frequent shifts which are made in the public service.
Dr. King Ya-mei then told an amusing incident, which shows how natural community action and passive resistance are to the Chinese. In an orphan asylum at Tientsin a new set of regulations had been issued, but the orphans had paid no attention to them. After a good many children had been called to order without result, a meeting was convoked by the principal. When the orphans were asked why they did not obey the regulations, their spokesman said: "We are perfectly satisfied with the old regulations, and have no desire to change them."—"But the new regulations have been made by your teachers," rejoined the superintendent, "and they must be obeyed."—"We do not think," the spokesman replied, "that they are an improvement, and we propose to obey the old rules."—"But, then you shall be punished severely."—"If you try to punish us, we shall all go away; and then what will become of the orphan asylum?"
They had reasoned it out that they were an important part of the institution. That orphans should conceive the idea to go on strike shows how normal and self-evident that mode of social action seems in China.
I was visited by the newly appointed Chinese minister to Japan, Mr. Lu Tsung-yu, who later became quite notorious in China in connection with the loans of 1918. He was accompanied by Doctor Tsur, the president of Tsing Hua College and a leading American-returned student. Mr. Lu is a slight man of suave manners, keen intelligence, and a love of manipulation. On this occasion he developed the idea that coöperation between the United States, China, and Japan was possible and desirable, as these three countries had many parallel interests. It was his opinion that Japan could not create an extensive settlement in Manchuria. He had been stationed in that region several years when Hsu Hsi-chang was viceroy; and he told me that he had observed that the Japanese came as officials, soldiers, or railway employees, or in connection with mining enterprises: but they did not seem to have any impulse to settle in the country as farmers, and as small merchants they could scarcely compete with the Chinese. Mr. Lu had been educated in Japan, being one of the first batch of Chinese students at Waseda University; together with Tsao Ju-lin, at this time Vice Minister of Foreign Affairs, who also later played an important part in Chino-Japanese affairs; and Chang Chung-hsiang, the Chief Justice of China at that time, a man who exercised considerable influence in introducing into China the Japanese idea of judicial procedure and organization and who became Chinese minister in Tokyo in 1916. This trio of associates was popularly known as "the Three Diamonds."