CHAPTER XVI

DOWNFALL AND DEATH OF YUAN SHIH-KAI

Everybody thought that the monarchy was to be proclaimed on New Year's Day, 1916. Disaffection, it was realized, though hitherto confined to a remote province, might spread; delay was dangerous. Business in the Yangtse Valley and elsewhere was dull. Merchants blamed the Central Government, and murmurings were heard. General Feng Kuo-chang, who had at first encouraged Yuan Shih-kai, now reserved his independence of action.

The revolt remained localized in Yunnan throughout January. With the rise of an opposition, Yuan was now more ready to accentuate the constitutional character of the new monarchy. His Minister of Finance, Mr. Chow Tsu-chi, told me that a constitutional convention would be convoked when the monarchy was proclaimed. This would provide a representative assembly and a responsible cabinet. Constructive reforms were to be announced. No further patents of nobility were to be awarded, the titles already granted would be treated as purely military honours.

If Yuan and his advisers had acted boldly at this time in promulgating the monarchy, recognition by a number of powers would probably have followed, especially as the continuity of the personnel of the Government made recognition easier. But hesitation and delay strengthened the opposition. Yunnanese troops had by the end of January penetrated into the neighbouring provinces of Szechuan and Kuangsi. To learn what was going on in these provinces I sent the military attaché, Major Newell, up the Yangtse River to Szechuan, and the naval attaché, Lieut.-Commander Hutchins, to Canton. Efforts of the generals loyal to Yuan to expel the Yunnanese from Szechuan Province were unsuccessful.

After the peculiarly complex manner of Chinese political relationships, Yunnan began to exercise an influence in Szechuan Province which was to last for years. The Yunnanese were protected by natural barriers of mountains; to make headway against them was difficult, even had the troops of the President shown greater energy. How hollow was the unanimity which had been proclaimed in the November elections now became thoroughly apparent. Encouraged by the open opposition, ill-will against Yuan Shih-kai began to be shown in other localities, particularly in Hunan and in the southernmost provinces, Kuangsi and Kuangtung. Rivalries hitherto held in check by Yuan's strong hand also came to the fore. In central China the two men holding the greatest military power, Generals Feng Kuo-chang and Chang Hsun, began to cherish resentment against the President; for, in exchanging notes upon meeting, they discovered that Yuan had set each of them to watch the other.

Even now the monarchical movement might have gained strength from the moderates, who feared the Japanese. They did not wish to see the national unity disrupted. "Get a constitution and a representative legislature," they advised Yuan Shih-kai; "put in play a constructive programme of state action; reform the finances and the audit, simplify the taxes, extend works of public use, build roads, reclaim lands, develop agriculture and industry, and all might yet be well." Mr. Liang Shih-yi and Mr. Chow Tsu-chi hoped, once the question of succession was definitely settled, to "put in commission" the dictatorial power of Yuan. As Mr. Chow this time put it: "Yuan will have the seat of honour but others will order the meal."

Toward the end of January the formal proclamation of the empire was further postponed. Mr. Chow Tsu-chi was to go on a special mission to Japan, probably to induce the Japanese Government to be more favourable to the new monarchy, and to bear handsome concessions to the Japanese. But the Japanese Government declared that for personal reasons the Emperor of Japan could not receive a Chinese embassy at that time. Possibly various other concessionaire governments intimated to Japan that they did not expect her to entertain any special proposals at this time. Nevertheless, the Japanese must have made strong representations to cause Yuan Shih-kai, who was a decisive and determined man, to risk all by hesitating at this critical moment.

To present some Americans I called on Yuan Shih-kai on February 16th. Mr. and Mrs. Ulysses S. Grant were visiting Peking, and Yuan was glad to have me present the son of the famous American President who had himself visited China and established cordial relations with Li Hung-chang, Yuan's great master. Significantly the President said to Mr. Grant: "Your honoured father had great power, but he could safely resign it to others when the time came. You have great political experience in the West." It was quite a little party, including the newly appointed commercial attaché, Mr. Julean H. Arnold; the commandant of the guard, Colonel Wendell C. Neville; and two young writers, Miss Emerson and Miss Weil, who have since devoted themselves to Far Eastern studies and literary work. While the Emperor-elect betrayed traces of strain and worry, he had his accustomed genial manners. Apropos of the commercial attaché and the commandant he made a little pleasantry about commerce and war coming hand in hand. After a brief interview the visitors were taken by the master of ceremonies to see the gardens, while I remained with Yuan Shih-kai for a long conversation. This was interpreted by Doctor Tenney and by Dr. Hawkling L. Yen, of the Foreign Office; it was understood by us all that the conversation was personal and unofficial.

"I have not sought new honours and responsibilities, but now that a course of action has been formally decided upon, it is my duty to carry it out," Yuan said. "The people coöperated in this, I desire that they shall coöperate at all times."

I asked how soon he would announce definitely his constitutional policy. I had some doubt as to how far he intended to apply any, and his answer was evasive. "It is hard," he replied, "to make a constitution before the monarchy is actually reëstablished. Then, too, if the Emperor heads the Government, the powers of departments under him would need to be more restricted than under a republic." His advisers, it seemed, were unduly optimistic in expecting Yuan to stand squarely for constitutional government, with power devolving on the parliament and the different departments. I reminded him of the British monarchy in its various historic forms to refute his idea.

"Well," he responded, "the new constitution must wait for a People's Convention. This is soon to be called; its action must not be in any way anticipated."

He then fell back on his record, stating that he had pressed the Manchu Government to adopt a constitution. He also referred to the title chosen for his reign, "Hung Hsien," which means "great constitutional era."

A mandate of February 22nd announced the postponement of formal accession to the throne. Mr. C.C. Wu, who brought me information concerning certain state plans of Yuan Shih-kai, said that this mandate would put an end to the innumerable petitions sent to accelerate the formal coronation. He added that essentially the Government, so far as domestic matters were concerned, was already a monarchy, that only in its international aspects had it failed to assume this character.

Suddenly, on March 18th, the Province of Kuangsi demanded the cancellation of the monarchy; events were moving more rapidly.

At this juncture I had to decide whether to allow the Lee Higginson loan to be completed without a caution or warning, or to assume responsibility of virtually stopping that transaction. As soon as it became clear that open opposition to Yuan Shih-kai's government was no longer confined to one province and its immediate sphere of influence, it seemed no longer proper for any American institution to furnish money to the Chinese Government. Many appeals had been made by the Opposition based on the demand that, since the country was divided, no loans should be made to the Government. In ordinary circumstances the protests of factions would not have weight, but when several provinces expressed their disapproval of a basic governmental policy the case was different. To have to counsel delay in execution of the loan agreement was intensely disappointing to me, fervently as I had wished the American financiers to participate in Chinese finance, in order that credit and resources might be organized and developed for the benefit of all. Unfortunately, in the lull after the disposal of the twenty-one demands the Chinese had immediately embarked on this doubtful political enterprise, consuming precious energies and money. The sums spent on military expeditions, in favourably attuning doubtful military leaders, and in the creation of the alleged unanimous consent through a popular vote, had been thrown away. They merely added to the burdens carried by the Chinese people.

With the disaffection of yet more provinces the Government on March 22nd promulgated a decree cancelling the monarchy, and announcing that Yuan Shih-kai would retain the Presidency of the Republic.

This sudden and unilateral concession, without a guaranteed _quid pro quo_ by way of submission to the Central Government by the revolting forces, came as a surprise. Doubtless the step was taken because the President feared that the Province of Kuangtung, whose military governor had urged him to compromise, would join the revolutionaries. Moreover, the former Secretary of State, Hsu Shih-chang, who had been in retirement, advised it. The Anhui Party in Peking saw an opportunity to regain control and oust the Cantonese leaders, in whose hands the monarchical movement had been since August. The President believed that the return of such men as Hsu Shih-chang and Tuan Chi-jui would strengthen him in the eyes of the revolutionists. Hsu Shih-chang personally had lived up to the canons of Confucian morality in failing to approve the action of Yuan Shih-kai when he tried to assume the rank of his former master, the Emperor. This gained him universal respect in China. But his impelling motive was personal loyalty to the old Imperial Family rather than attachment to its government.

Of course, the cancellation of the monarchy failed to satisfy the revolutionists. They interpreted it as a confession of weakness and defeat. Nor was it more welcome to the adherents of the President in the provinces, especially the military, who felt that he was surrendering without getting anything in return. Thus the President lost his friends and failed to placate his enemies. Had the southern leaders been content, the chastened Yuan might have been satisfied to be formal head of a constitutional government. But they were not. His authority and prestige had been too gravely compromised; revolutionists were appearing in various parts of China; Tsingtau was being used as a base for revolutionary activities in the Province of Shantung with connivance of the Japanese authorities. The Peking Government was thrown into confusion. The official world was apprehensive as to what the President would do, while the foreign community feared military riots.

The leaders of the so-called Anhui Party had evidently expected that it would be easy to proscribe the Cantonese leaders, Liang Shih-yi, Chow Tsu-chi, lately Minister of Agriculture and Commerce, and Chu Chi-chien, Minister of the Interior, and have them banished or executed. But contrary to their expectations these men did not at that critical time take to the woods. To the amusement of everyone, the leaders of the other party then became frightened and began to remove their families from Peking and to plan for places of safety for themselves. With somewhat grim humour, Minister Chu Chi-chien declared that as conditions in Peking were perfectly normal, and as any unwarranted show of nervousness by officials would tend unnecessarily to disturb the populace, officials would no longer be permitted to remove their families from the city.

It now became a question whether Yuan Shih-kai could remain even as President. I had a conversation with Mr. Hioki, the Japanese minister, who spoke at length about the shortcomings of Yuan, and his tendency to use all the functions of state, including particularly the financial, to satisfy his personal ambitions. Mr. Hioki did not believe that Yuan Shih-kai could possibly restore his authority. The month of April was a period of great depression in Peking. All constructive work, and even planning therefor, had been entirely suspended. The new ministry came in on April 24th, under General Tuan Chi-jui as Minister of War. This fact indicated shiftings of power, as General Tuan had never supported the President in his imperialist ambitions. The Cantonese leaders stepped out of the Government, maintaining their influence thereafter by the familiar methods of Liang Shih-yi. Mr. Tsao Ju-lin, who belonged to the Communications Party, but had been specializing in establishing closer relations with the Japanese, became Minister of Communications. The President agreed to turn over to the cabinet full governmental powers, and to make the ministers responsible to the national parliament, which was to be summoned forthwith. Yuan ceased his personal control over all important branches of the Administration. The control of the army was transferred from the President to the Board of War. He was stripped of all military forces but his Honanese bodyguard, which numbered about twenty thousand.

The name of Yuan Shih-kai, however, was retained as a symbol of authority, for all the military leaders owed him allegiance. Mr. Liang Shih-yi, as president of the Bank of Communications, still controlled the finances, and his associate, Mr. Chow Tsu-chi, was placed in charge of the Bank of China.

The Government was driven to such extremes by its financial needs that in May the cabinet declared a moratorium suspending specie payments on notes of the government banks. The term "moratorium," which had just then come into prominence in Europe, was greeted by the Chinese financiers as the password to save them--a respectable name for what was otherwise not so honourable. Through this step, whatever confidence still remained in Yuan Shih-kai was dissipated. Because of the complex nature of Chinese affairs peculiar consequences followed. Thus, the postal administration offices and those of certain railways independently announced that they would not accept notes but would demand payment in silver.

All reports of local troubles coming from reliable sources in various parts of China spoke of the participation of Japanese in revolutionary activities. Specific reports from Shantung indicated that the revolutionaries there were favoured by the Japanese. At Tsingtau bandits had come over from Manchuria and were openly drilling early in May under the noses of the Japanese military. About a thousand of these rebels left Tsingtau on May 4th over the Shantung railway, carrying machine guns to the centre of the province, where they took part in the disturbances. Meanwhile, the same railway, under Japanese control, had refused to carry Chinese government troops on the ground that neutrality must be maintained. When questioned about the rebels transported, the railway officials stated that the rebels must have been in civilian clothes and must have carried their armament as baggage.

It is not clear whether the Japanese were systematically working for the establishment of an independent government in the south, or whether they were merely covertly encouraging opposition to the Central Government, to foment division and unrest. But the plans of Japan for gaining a dominant position in China were certainly favoured by the final breakdown of the authority of Yuan Shih-kai.

Japanese correspondents at this time started the report that Chinese merchants in the Yangtse Valley were so provoked with Americans for making a loan to the Chinese Government--the Lee Higginson loan--that they were planning a boycott against American goods. The Japanese paper, _Shun Tim Shih Pao_, incidentally drew on its imagination, and published a yarn to the effect that in addition to the $5,000,000 loan already agreed to, the American firm had promised to hand over to the Peking authorities $15,000,000 before the end of July. As a matter of fact, beyond the original payment of $1,000,000, nothing was ever paid over. The Chinese did not take up the suggestion of a boycott; although, had the making of the loan proceeded, such a result might have followed. In Peking, on the other hand, the Japanese tried to impress upon Chinese officials that the non-completion of the Lee Higginson loan offered new proof that Americans could not be relied upon when it came to a showdown.

Throughout this difficult period the European Allied Powers felt that they lacked a free hand, and that any joint action undertaken might easily assume such form as to create a Japanese hegemony. The Japanese at all times urged that as they were on the spot it would be only natural to entrust them with the representation of the interests of the Allies. Many representative Europeans in China plainly intimated to us the hope that the American Government might show a strong interest in Chinese affairs, and might not fail to insist on the maintenance of existing treaty rights and of Chinese sovereignty.

I knew from the Chinese who saw him daily that Yuan Shih-kai suffered under the strain of his troubles and disappointment. As early as March Mr. Liang Tun-yen besought me to visit the President and give him encouragement, as worry and despair were breaking him down. Yuan had lived a sedentary life of intense work and great responsibility. He had developed Bright's disease, but his strong constitution had fought it off. Now when great trouble beset him his strength failed. Mr. Chow Tzu-chi remarked to me: "The President's power of quick decision has left him; he is helpless in the troublesome alternatives that confront him. Formerly it was 'yes' or 'no' in an instant, to my proposals. Now he ruminates, and wavers, and changes a decision many times." Yuan contemplated resignation, and seemed taken with the idea of visiting America. I was sounded as to giving him safe conduct and asylum. The Opposition, it seemed, would make no objection to his leaving the country. He was confined to his room during the latter half of May, but continued to give his personal attention to telegrams and important correspondence. In the first days of June his health seemed to improve. I went with my family to Peitaiho to instal them in their summer residence, and to rest for a few days. I had left a special code with Mr. MacMurray, in which the word _Pan_ stood for Yuan Shih-kai. I was shocked on the afternoon of June 6th to receive the brief telegram: "Pan is dead."

By the night train I returned to the capital. Yuan's sons, the ex-Premier Hsu Shih-chang, and several officials close to the President, were with him when he died. During the night he had made solemn declaration to the ex-Premier that it had not been his wish to become Emperor; he had been deceived into believing that the step was demanded by the public, and was necessary to the country. After saying this he seemed exhausted, and continued to sink until the end came. He had weakened himself and further aggravated his illness by indiscriminately taking medicine prescribed by a foreign physician together with all sorts of Chinese remedies which his women urged upon him.

The ministers of the Allied Powers at once called on General Tuan to inquire whether the Government was prepared to prevent disorders. Some time previously the Japanese minister had asked me whether I would consider it suitable for the diplomatic corps, in the event of danger of disturbances, to make such an inquiry. I felt it unnecessary and undesirable, as it might cause apprehension among the public.

The German and Austrian commandants were included in the conference to agree on measures of protection--probably the only instance during the war where the belligerents of both sides met to consider common action. Subsequently the Belgian minister requested the American Legation to take over the patrol of the city wall immediately back of the Belgian Legation, which had thus far had German sentinels. It illustrates the complexity of all things in China that, as late as 1916, German troops were concerned in the formal protection of the Belgian Legation.

Yuan Shih-kai before his death wrote a declaration to the effect that in the event of his disability the Presidency should devolve on General Li Yuan-hung. The accession of the Vice-President was announced immediately. The members of the cabinet, as well as Prince Pu-Lun, as chairman of the State Council, waited on President Li on the 7th of June; with a simple ceremonial, including three deferential bows, the cabinet expressed its allegiance to the new President. He was accepted peaceably and with unanimity by all the provinces.

General Tuan Chi-jui and Mr. Liang Shih-yi coöperated in arranging for the transfer of authority to the new President. That this was done so quietly and in so orderly a fashion caused the foreigners to regard Chinese republicanism with much higher respect.

The body of Yuan was not transferred from Peking to his Honan home until June 28th, when the mausoleum on the ancestral estate was ready. As part of the Imperial movement, Yuan Shih-kai had previously begun the construction of this large tomb. The commemorative ceremony took place on the 26th in Peking. The great hall of the Presidential palace, where we had often witnessed New Year receptions and other festivities, was used. There were gathered the foreign representatives with their staffs and the high officials of the Chinese Republic. It was a strange mingling of old and new. The President's body lay on a high catafalque, in the very place where he had so often received us. In front of the entrance to the inner apartments stood rows of tables bearing the usual funeral offerings as well as the weapons, clothes, and other objects of personal use of the departed. Here were gorgeous Mandarin coats of the old régime, including the famous Yellow Jacket, and generals' uniforms of the new, and innumerable decorations sent by all the countries bestowing such honours; also tall riding boots, soft Chinese slippers, long native pipes and foreign smoking sets, swords, and pistols.

The service was a litany conducted by Lama priests from temples in Peking and Mongolia. Some of the priests wore a huge headdress resembling a dragoon's helmet; others, a large round hat not unlike that of a cardinal. As they intoned the ritual their deep voices rolled as if they issued from an underground cavern. The music accompanying the singing was Chinese, supplied by flutes and stringed instruments; but at the beginning the President's band had played a Western funeral march. The second part of the service consisted of the burning of incense in memory of the departed. First, the sons of Yuan, wearing the white garments of mourners, came forth from an inner apartment and took their station before the catafalque. They prostrated themselves, struck their foreheads heavily against the floor, and wailed with loud voices. Yuan Ko-ting, as chief mourner, offered sacrifice. Meanwhile, the women of the Presidential household peered through the windows of the apartments which opened into the central hall.

When the sons of Yuan had withdrawn, the singing of the priests was taken up again, now in a different key and accompanied by the tinkling of many bells clear as silver, but some of them as deep as the sea. Buddhist prayers were intoned in voices sonorous and deep as the grave. The new President next offered sacrifice at the bier of his predecessor.

What contrasts of character and aims, what mingling of old and new forces, what a rush of incongruous ideas and practices were typified in this ceremony, with all its accompaniments! And these were embodied, too, in the personality of the dead leader and in his successor!

The foreign representatives next paid their respect to the memory of Yuan. We rose and each in turn deposited before the catafalque a huge wreath, and returned after making the customary three bows of high ceremony. Following the diplomats came the Secretary of State and high Chinese officials, as well as the foreign advisers.

The procession to the railway station, on June 28th, testified to the genius of the Chinese for pageantry. They had preserved some of the colour and brilliance of an Imperial procession, and what was remarkable, had so arranged the parade that the modern elements--troops in modern uniform, brass bands, officials in evening dress, and diplomats in their varied uniforms--myself alone wearing ordinary civilian dress--did not impart to the pageant a jarring note. In fact, throughout the ceremony at the palace and the subsequent procession, there was a gratifying absence of dissonance, notwithstanding the multifariousness of the elements included.

The huge catafalque upon which the body of Yuan lay was borne by a hundred men by means of a complicated arrangement of poles. It was covered with crimson silk embroidered in gold; its imperial splendour accentuated the tragedy of the occasion. Old Chinese funeral customs, such as the throwing into the air of paper resembling money, were observed. Heading the procession rode twenty heralds, then followed in succession three large detachments of infantry, bearing their arms reversed. Between each two detachments marched a band. After the infantry came Chinese musicians, playing weirdly plaintive strains on their flutes. Then came the beautiful and fascinating part of the cortège--a large squadron of riders in old Chinese costume, carrying huge banners, long triangular pennants, and fretted streamers of many colours, which, as they floated gracefully in the air, made a charming picture. The Chinese have a genius for using banners with dazzling effect. Then followed lancers escorting an empty state carriage; Buddhist monks beating drums and cymbals; the President's band; long lines of bearers with sacrificial vessels preceding the sedan chair in which was set the soul tablet of Yuan; then still other lines of men bearing the food offerings, the mementoes of Yuan's personal life, and the wreaths, all from the funeral ceremony of two days before. High officials came next, on foot, in military uniform or civilian full dress, and here indeed the frock coats and top hats did seem somewhat out of keeping. A throng of white-clad mourners preceded the catafalque; the sons of Yuan walked under a white canopy. Yuan Ko-ting in the midst of it all seemed a pathetic figure.

The vast throngs that lined the route behind lines of troops looked on in respectful silence. There was no sign of grief, rather mute indifference. Yuan had not won the heart of the people, who regarded him as a masterful individual dwelling in remote seclusion whose contact with them came through taxes and executions. I believe a Chinese crowd is incapable of the enthusiastic hero-worship which great political leaders in the Occident receive. The people have not yet come to look upon such men as their leaders. The Peking population, imbued still with traditions of imperial splendour and the remoteness and semi-divinity of their rulers, are as yet only onlookers at the pageant of history.

The tragedy of the great man who had died as a consequence of his ambition made this occasion impressive to the foreigners present, even to the most cynical. It was the last act in one of the most striking dramas of intrigue, achievement, and defeat. The foreign representatives left the cortège before it issued from the southernmost gate of the Imperial City, stopping while the mourners and the catafalque moved past. A piece of paper money thrown into the air to pacify the spirits fell on me, and I kept it as a characteristic memento. I walked back to the Legation Quarter with the Russian minister, Prince Koudacheff, who, like myself, was deeply impressed; we agreed that in ceremony and pageantry the Chinese stand supreme.

Thus, with the fluttering of bright banners and the wailing of the reed flutes, another crowded chapter in the history of the new China drew to its close.