miles. At the end of our journey two of our sleds were in good
condition and eleven dogs healthy and happy. Not once had we needed to
help our dogs and to push the sleds ourselves.

Our provisions consisted of pemmican, biscuits, desiccated milk, and
chocolate. We therefore did not have very much variety, but it was
healthful and robust nourishment which built up the body, and it was,
of course, just this that we needed. The best proof of this was that we
felt well during the whole time and never had reason to complain of our
food, a condition which has occurred so often on long sledge journeys
and must be considered a sure indication of improper nourishment.

Simultaneously with our work on land, scientific observations were made
on board the _Fram_ by Captain Nilsen and his companions which probably
stamp this expedition as the most valuable of all. The _Fram_ made a
voyage from Buenos Aires to the coast of Africa and back, covering a
distance of 8,000 nautical miles, during which a series of
oceanographical observations was made at no less than sixty stations.
The total length of the _Fram's_ journey equaled twice the
circumnavigation of the globe. The _Fram_ has successfully braved
dangerous voyages which made high demands upon her crew. The trip out
of the ice region in the fall of 1911 was of an especially serious
character. Her whole complement then comprised only ten men. Through
night and fog, through storm and hurricane, through pack ice and
between icebergs the _Fram_ had to find her way. One may well say that
this was an achievement that can be realized only by experienced and
courageous sailors, a deed that honors the whole nation.

In conclusion, you will allow me to say that it was these same ten men,
who on February 15, 1911, hoisted the flag of their country, the
Norwegian flag, on a more southerly point of the earth than the crew of
any other ship whose keel ever cleft the waves. This is a worthy record
in our record century. Farthest north, farthest south did our dear old
_Fram_ penetrate.




THE CHINESE REVOLUTION A.D. 1912

ROBERT MACHRAY R.F. JOHNSTON TAI-CHI QUO

The story of "China's Awakening" in 1905 was told in our preceding
volume. Most startling and most important of the results of this
arousing was the sudden successful revolution by which China became a
republic. This Chinese Revolution burst into sudden blaze in October,
1911, and reached a triumphant close on February 12, 1912, when the
Royal Edict, given in the following article, was proclaimed at Peking.
In this remarkable edict the ancient sovereigns of China deliberately
abdicated, and declared the Chinese Republic established.

We give here the account of the revolution itself and of its causes, by
the well-known English writer on Eastern affairs, Robert Machray. Then
comes a discussion of the doubtful wisdom of the movement by a European
official who has long dwelt in China, Mr. R.F. Johnston, District
Officer of Wei-hai-wei. Then a patriotic Chinaman, educated in one of
the colleges of America, gives the enthusiastic view of the
revolutionists themselves, their opinion of their victories, and their
high hopes for the future.

ROBERT MACHRAY

With Yuan Shih-kai acknowledged as President by both the north and the
south, by Peking and Nanking alike, "The Great Republic of China," as
it is called by those who have been mainly instrumental in bringing it
into being, appears to have established itself, or at least it enters
upon the first definite stage of its existence. Thus opens a fresh
volume, of extraordinary interest as of incalculable importance, in the
history of the Far East.

Even in the days of the great and autocratic Dowager Empress, Tzu Hsi,
who had no love for "reform," but knew how to accept and adapt herself
to the situation, it was evident that a change, deeply influencing the
political life and destinies of China, was in process of development.
After her death, in 1908, the force and sweep of this momentous
movement were still more apparent--it took on the character of
something irresistible and inevitable; the only question was whether
the change would be accomplished by way of evolution--gradual, orderly,
and conservative--or by revolution, or a series of revolutions,
probably violent and sanguinary, and perhaps disastrous to the dynasty
and the country. The events of the last few months have supplied the
answer--at any rate, to a certain extent. A successful revolution has
taken place, in which, it is true, many thousands have been killed, but
which on the whole has not been attended by the slaughter and carnage
that might have been anticipated considering the vastness of the
country and the enormous interests involved. Actual warfare gave way to
negotiations conducted in a spirit of moderation and of give-and-take
on the part of all concerned. The Manchu dynasty has collapsed, though
the "Emperor" still remains as a quasi-sacred, priestly personage, and
the princes have been pensioned off. The Great Republic of China has
come into being, albeit it is in large measure inchoate and, as it
were, on trial. China has long been the land of rebellions and risings,
and it is hardly to be expected that the novel republican form of
government, however well constructed, intentioned, or conducted, will
escape altogether from internal attacks. And nearly everything has yet
to be done in organization.

General surprise has been expressed at the comparative ease and speed
with which the revolutionary movement has attained success in driving
the Manchus from power and in founding a republican _regime_. The
factor which chiefly contributed to this success was undoubtedly the
weakness of the Manchu dynasty and of the Imperial Clan, who, hated by
the Chinese and without sufficient resources of their own, were utterly
unable to offer any real resistance to the rebellious provinces of the
south, the loyalty of their troops being uncertain, and any spirit or
gift of leadership among themselves having disappeared with the passing
of the great Tzu Hsi in 1908. But it is a mistake to imagine that the
idea of a republican form of government in place of the centuries-old,
autocratic, semi-divine monarchy, was something that had never been
mooted before and was entirely unknown to the Chinese. To the great
majority, no doubt, it was, if known at all, something strange and
hardly intelligible, as it still is. But in the south, especially on
and near the coast, it has been familiar for some time; among the
possibilities of the future it was not unknown even to the "Throne."
Fourteen years ago, after the _coup d'etat_ by which Tzu Hsi smashed
the reform movement that had been patronized by the Emperor Kuang Hsu,
the then Viceroy of Canton stated in a memorial to her that among some
treasonable papers found at the birthplace of Kang Yu-wei, the leading
reformer of the time, a document had been discovered which not only
spoke of substituting a republic for the monarchy, but actually named
as its first president one of the reformers she had caused to be
executed. It must be admitted, on the other hand, that the idea has
been imported into China comparatively recently; the Chinese language
contains no word for republic, but one has been coined by putting
together the words for self and government; it must be many years
before the masses of the Chinese--the "rubbish people," as Lo Feng-lu,
a former minister to England, used to call them--have any genuine
understanding of what a republic means.

The Manchus were in power for nearly two hundred and seventy years, and
during that period there were various risings, some of a formidable
character, against them and in favor of descendants of the native Ming
dynasty which they had displaced; powerful secret organizations, such
as the famous "Triad Society," plotted and conspired to put a Ming
prince on the throne; but all was vain. It had come to be generally
believed that the race of the Mings had died out, but a recent dispatch
from China speaks of there still being a representative in existence,
who possibly might give serious trouble to the new republic. In any
case, for a long time past the Mings had ceased to give the Manchus any
concern; the pressure upon the latter came from outside the empire, but
that in its turn reacted profoundly on the internal situation. The wars
with France and England had but a slight effect on China; though the
foreign devils beat it in war it yet despised them. The effect of the
war with Japan, in 1894, was something quite different, beginning the
real awakening of China and imparting life and vigor to the new reform
movement which had its origin in Canton, the great city of the south,
whose highly intelligent people have most quickly felt and most readily
and strongly responded to outside influences. Regarded by the Chinese
as at least partially civilized, the Japanese were placed in a higher
category than the Western barbarians, but as their triumph over China
was attributed to their adoption of Western military methods and
equipment, the more enlightened Chinese came to the conclusion that,
however contemptible the men of the Western world were, the main secret
of their success, as of that of Japan, was open enough. They decided
that Western learning and modes of government and organization must be
studied and copied, as Japan had studied and copied them, if the
Celestial Empire was to endure. It was a case on the largest scale of
self-preservation, and some part, at least, of the truth was glimpsed
by the Throne itself.

Something, but not much, was heard of a republic while Tzu Hsi lived;
before her death the principle of a constitution, with a national
parliament and provincial assemblies, had been accepted by the
Throne--with reservations limiting the spheres of these representative
bodies, retaining the supreme power in the Throne, and in the case of
the national parliament delaying its coming into existence for a term
of years.

By Tzu Hsi's commands, the Throne passed at her death into the hands of
a sort of commission; a child of two years of age, a nephew of Kuang
Hsu, called Pu Yi, became Emperor under the dynastic name of Hsuan
Tung; his father, Prince Chun, was nominated Regent, but was ordered to
consult the new Dowager Empress, Lung Yu, the widow of Kuang Hsu, and
to be governed by her decisions in all important matters of State.
Prince Chun, amiable in disposition but weak and vacillating in
character, and not always on the best of terms with Lung Yu, began
well; one of his first acts was to assure President Taft, who had
written entreating him to expedite reforms as making for the true
interests of China, that he was determined to pursue that policy. Among
those who had suggested reforms to Tzu Hsi, often going far beyond her
wishes or plans, but who steadily supported her in all she did in that
direction, the leading man was Yuan Shih-kai; with the possible
exception of Chang Chih-tung, the Viceroy of Hunan and Hupeh, mentioned
above, Yuan Shih-kai had become the greatest man in China, and even as
he had advised and supported Tzu Hsi, so he advised and supported
Prince Chun at the commencement of the Regency. But the prince had
received an unfortunate legacy from his brother, the Emperor Kuang Hsu,
who, believing that Yuan Shih-kai had betrayed him to Tzu Hsi at the
time of the _coup d'etat,_ had given instructions to Prince Chun that
if he came into power he was to punish Yuan for his treachery. At the
beginning of 1909 the Regent dismissed Yuan on an apparently trivial
pretext, but every one in China knew the real reason for his fall, and
not a few wondered that his life had been spared. It is idle to surmise
what might have happened if his services had been retained by the
Throne all the time, but who could have imagined that so swift and
almost incredible an instance of time's revenges was in store--that
within barely three years Yuan Shih-kai would be the acknowledged head
of the State, and Prince Chun and all the Manchus in the dust?

Representative government of a kind started in 1909 with the
establishment of provincial assemblies; elections were held, and
assemblies met in most of the provinces. In the following year a senate
or imperial assembly was decreed by an imperial edict; its first
session was held in Peking in October of that year, and was opened by
the Regent; one of the first things the assembly did was to memorialize
the Throne for the rapid hastening on of reforms, and in response an
edict was issued announcing the formation of a national parliament,
consisting of an Upper and a Lower House, within three years. Under
further pressure the Throne in May of 1911 abolished the Grand Council
and the Grand Secretariat, and created a Cabinet of Ministers, after
the Western model. But the agitation continued and went on growing in
intensity; still it sought nothing apparently but a development of the
constitution, and at least on the surface was neither anti-dynastic nor
republican.

An anti-dynastic outburst at Changsha, Hunan, in 1910, was easily
suppressed, and certainly gave no indication of what was so soon to
take place. So late as September of 1911 a rising on a considerable
scale in the province of Szechuan was not antidynastic, but was
declared by the rebels themselves to be directed against the railway
policy of the Government. The best hope for China lies in a wide
building of railways; the Chinese do not object to them, but, on the
contrary, make use of them to the fullest extent where they are in
existence; they do not wish, however, the lines to be constructed with
foreign money, holding that such investments of capital from without
might be regarded as setting up liens on their lands in favor of
outside Powers--how far they can do without outside capital is another
matter. Then the whole question of railway-building involved the old
quarrel between the provinces and the central government--which is
another way of saying that the provinces did not see why all the spoils
should go to Peking.

A month after the rebellion in Szechuan had broken out, the great
revolution began, and met with the most astonishing success from the
very outset. Within a few weeks practically the whole of southern China
was in the hands of the revolutionaries, and the Throne in hot panic
summoned Yuan Shih-kai from his retirement to its assistance; after
some hesitation and delay he came--but too late to save the dynasty and
the Manchus, though there is no shadow of doubt that he did his best
and tried his utmost to save them. With Wuchang, Hankau, and
Hanyang--the three form the metropolis, as it may be termed, of
mid-China--in the possession of the revolutionaries, and other great
centers overtly disaffected or disloyal, the Regent opened the session
of the national assembly, and it forthwith proceeded to assert itself
and make imperious demands with which the Throne was compelled to
comply--this was within a fortnight after the attack on Wuchang that
had begun the revolution. On November 1st the Throne appointed Yuan
Shih-kai Prime Minister, and a week later the national assembly
confirmed him in the office; he arrived in Peking on the thirteenth of
the month, was received in semi-regal state, and immediately instituted
such measures as were possible for the security of the dynasty and the
pacification of the country. But ten days before he reached Peking the
Throne had been forced to issue an edict assenting to the principles
which the national assembly had set forth in nineteen articles as
forming the basis of the Constitution; these articles, while preserving
the dynasty and keeping sacrosanct the person of the Emperor, made the
monarchy subject to the Constitution and the Government to Parliament,
with a responsible Cabinet presided over by a Prime Minister, and gave
Parliament full control of the budget.

Here, then, was the triumph of the constitutional cause, and Yuan
Shih-kai and most of the moderate progressive Chinese would have been
well satisfied with it if it had contented the revolutionaries of the
south. But from the beginning the southerners had made it plain that
they were determined to bring about the abdication of the dynasty, the
complete overthrow of the Manchus, and the establishment of a
republican form of government, nor would they lay down their arms on
any other terms. In a short time Yuan Shih-kai saw that the
revolutionaries were powerful enough to compel consideration and at
least partial acquiescence in their demands. It can not be thought
surprising that the proposed elimination of the hated Manchus from the
Government was popular, yet it must seem remarkable that the
revolutionary movement was so definitely republican in its aims, and as
such achieved so much success. There had been little open agitation in
favor of a republic, but the ground had been prepared for it to a
certain extent by a secret propaganda. The foreign-drilled troops of
the army were disaffected in many cases and were approached with some
result; the eager spirits of the party in the south, where practically
the whole strength of the movement lay, formed an alliance with certain
of the officers of these troops. No sooner was the revolution begun
than a military leader appeared in the person of Li Yuan-hung, a
brigadier-general, who had commanded a considerable body of these
foreign-drilled soldiers, and was supported by large numbers of such
men in the fighting in and around Wuchang-Hankau. That the
revolutionaries, who were chiefly of the student class, and not of the
"solid" people of the country, were able to enlist the active
cooperation of these officers and their troops accounts for the quick
and astonishing success of the movement. And at the outset, whatever is
the case now, many of the solid people--magistrates, gentry, and
substantial merchants--also indorsed it.

Toward the end of November the revolutionaries captured Nanking, a
decisive blow to the imperialists, and this former capital of China
became the headquarters of a Provisional Republican Government. Soon
afterward, through the good offices of Great Britain, a truce was
arranged between the north and the south. Yuan Shih-kai was striving
with all his might to retain the dynasty as a limited monarchy, but
"coming events cast their shadows before" in the resignation of the
Regent early in December. Negotiations went on between Yuan, who was
represented at a conference held in Shanghai by Tang Shao-yi, an able
and patriotic man and a protege of his own, and the revolutionaries,
but the leaders of the latter made it clear that there could be no
peaceful solution of the situation short of the abdication of the
dynasty and the institution of some form of republic. At the end of
December Dr. Sun Yat-sen, whose striking and romantic story is well
known, was appointed Provisional President by Nanking; in January he
published a manifesto to the people of China, bitterly attacking the
dynasty, promising that the republic would recognize treaty
obligations, the foreign loans and concessions, and declaring that it
aimed at the general improvement of the country, the remodeling of the
laws, and the cultivation of better relations with the Powers.

Meanwhile, the Dowager Empress and the Manchu princes had discussed the
position of affairs with Yuan Shih-kai, and the question of the
abdication of the dynasty was under consideration, but though the
situation was desperate there were some counsels of resistance. What
finally made opposition impossible was the presentation to the Throne
in the last days of January of a memorial, signed by the generals of
the northern army, requesting it to abandon any idea of maintaining
itself by force. This settled the matter. No other course being
practicable, terms were agreed to between Peking and Nanking, and on
February 12th imperial edicts, commencing for the last time with the
customary formula, were issued from the capital giving Yuan Shih-kai
plenary powers to establish a Provisional Republican Government, and to
confer with the Provisional Republican Government at Nanking, approving
of the arrangements which had been made for the Emperor and the
imperial family, and exhorting the people to remain tranquil under the
new regime. These edicts will remain among the most remarkable things
in history, and it can not be said that the passing of the Manchus was
attended by any want of that ceremonious calmness and dignity for which
China is famed. Two or three days later Sun Yat-sen in a disinterested
spirit resigned, and Yuan Shih-kai was unanimously elected President by
the Nanking Assembly; Yuan accepted the office, and thus north and
south were united in "The Great Republic of China." At the end of March
progress in the settlement of affairs was seen in the formation of a
Coalition Cabinet, comprising Ministers of both the Peking and the
Nanking Governments, those selected being men with a considerable
knowledge of Western life and thought, as, for instance, Lu
Cheng-hsiang, the Foreign Minister, who has lived many years in Europe
and speaks French as well as English. A further advance took place on
April 2d, when the Nanking Assembly agreed by a large majority to
transfer the Provisional Government to Peking, which thus resumed its
position as the capital of the country and the center of its
Administration.

Among the causes which contributed to the success of the revolution
were the inability of the north to obtain loans from outside, and the
pressure, both direct and indirect, exerted upon both parties by
foreign Powers. Both of these causes were important, the latter
especially so. The action of Russia with respect to Mongolia, and of
Japan with regard to Manchuria, alarmed patriotic Chinese, led them to
fear that foreign interference might not be confined to these
territories, and to dread that the result would be the disintegration
of the country. Under the Manchus they had seen the loss of Korea, the
Liaotung, Formosa, and, in a sense, of Manchuria itself; they were
apprehensive of German designs in Shantung, of Japanese in Fuhkien. The
feeling that the country was in danger helped both sides to be of one
mind. But the pressure from the outside was not all of this sinister
sort; friendly representations from the genuinely well-disposed Powers
did a good deal to bring the combatants to a mutual understanding. But
throughout the revolution, as in the final result, the great
outstanding, commanding figure was Yuan Shih-kai himself. Evidently a
man of great gifts, he knew how and when to yield and how and when to
be firm; the compromise which solved the situation--at all events, for
the time--was mostly his work; statesman and patriot, he saved his
country. And it will always redound to his credit that he can not be
charged with faithlessness to the Manchus, for he did all that was
possible for them, standing by them to the last. By retaining the
"Emperor" as the priestly head of the nation, _pater patriae_,
according to Chinese ideas, he has left something to the Manchus and at
the same time contrived that the republican form of government shall
bring as slight a shock to "immemorial China" as can be imagined.

What does this "immemorial China"--meaning thereby the great bulk of
the Chinese, the un-Westernized Chinese--think of the republic? In
other words, is the republic likely to last? What sort of republic will
it probably be, viewing the situation as it stands? At one of the early
stages of the revolution Yuan Shih-kai stated that only three-tenths of
his countrymen were in favor of a republic--in itself, however, a
considerable proportion of the population; now that the republic is in
existence, will it be accepted tranquilly by the rest? The majority of
these people are the inoffensive and industrious peasants of the
interior, who have long been accustomed to bad government; as they will
scarcely find their lot harder now, they will probably quietly accept
the new order, unless some radical change is made affecting their
habits of life, which is unlikely. Some of the old conservative gentry
are opposed to the republic; but, now the Manchu dynasty is gone, whom
or what can they suggest in its place that would be received favorably
by the country? The descendant of the Mings? Or the descendant of
Confucius?

Neither seems a likely candidate in present circumstances. For it may
very well be the case that as the revolution has been so largely
military, and parts of the army need careful handling, as the recent
riots in Peking showed, the Republican Government will assume something
of a distinctively military character, and Yuan Shih-kai, as its head,
be in a position not very different from that of a military
dictator--as Diaz was in Mexico. The republic will, of course, have its
troubles, and serious ones enough, to face, but the balance of
probabilities certainly suggests its lasting awhile.


R.F. JOHNSTON

Like political upheavals in other ages and other lands, the Chinese
revolution has been the outcome of the hopes and dreams of impetuous
and indomitable youth. Herein lies one of its main sources of strength,
but herein also lies a very grave danger. Young China to-day looks to
Europe and to America for sympathy. Let her have it in full measure.
Only let us remind her that the work she has so boldly, and perhaps
light-heartedly, undertaken is not only the affair of China, not only
the affair of Asia, but that the whole world stands to gain or lose
according as the Chinese people prove themselves worthy or unworthy to
carry out the stupendous task to which they have set their hands.

The grave peril lies, of course, in the tendency of the Chinese
"Progressives"--as of all hot-headed reformers, whether in China or in
England--to break with the traditions of past ages, and to despise what
is old, not because it is bad, but because it is out of harmony with
the latest political shibboleth. Those of us who believe in the
fundamental soundness of the character of the Chinese people, and are
aware of the high dignity and value of a large part of their inherited
civilization and culture, are awaiting with deep anxiety an answer to
this question: Is the New China about to cast herself adrift from the
Old?

But surely, many a Western observer may exclaim, the matter is settled
already! Surely the abolition of the monarchy is in itself a proof that
the Chinese have definitely broken with tradition! Was not the Emperor
a sacred being who represented an unbroken political continuity of
thousands of years, and who ruled by divine right? Was not loyalty to
the sovereign part of the Chinese religion?

These questions can not be answered with a simple yes or no. Reverence
for tradition has always been a prominent Chinese characteristic in
respect of both ethics and politics. We must beware of assuming too
hastily that the exhortations of a few frock-coated revolutionaries
have been sufficient to expel this reverence for tradition from Chinese
hearts and minds; yet we are obliged to admit that the national
aspirations are being directed toward a new set of ideals which in some
respects are scarcely consistent with the ideals aimed at (if rarely
attained) in the past.

The Chinese doctrine of loyalty can not be properly understood until we
have formed a clear conception of the traditional Chinese theory
concerning the nature of Political Sovereignty. The political edifice,
no less than the social, is built on the Confucian and pre-Confucian
foundation of filial piety. The Emperor is father of his people; the
whole population of the empire forms one vast family, of which the
Emperor is the head. As a son owes obedience and reverence to his
parent, so does the subject owe reverence and obedience to his
sovereign.

In the four thousand years and more that have elapsed since the days of
Yue, over a score of dynasties have in their turn reigned over China.
The _Shu Ching_--the Chinese historical classic--gives us full accounts
of the events which led to the fall of the successive dynasties of Hsia
(1766 B.C.) and Shang (1122 B.C.). In both cases we find that the
leader of the successful rebellion lays stress on the fact that the
_T'ien-ming_ (Divine right) has been forfeited by the dynasty of the
defeated Emperor, and that he, the successful rebel, has been but an
instrument in the hands of God. Thus the rebel becomes Emperor by right
of the Divine Decree, and it remains with his descendants until by
their misdeeds they provoke heaven into bestowing it upon another
house.

The teachings of the sages of China are in full accordance with the
view that the sovereign must rule well or not at all. Confucius
(551-479 B.C.) spent the greater part of his life in trying to instruct
negligent princes in the art of government, and we know from a
well-known anecdote that he regarded a bad government as "worse than a
tiger." We are told that when one of his disciples asked Confucius for
a definition of good statecraft, he replied that a wise ruler is one
who provides his subjects with the means of subsistence, protects the
state against its enemies, and strives to deserve the confidence of all
his people. And the most important of these three aims, said Confucius,
is the last: for without the confidence of the people no government can
be maintained. If the prince's commands are just and good, let the
people obey them, said Confucius, in reply to a question put by a
reigning duke; but if subjects render slavish obedience to the unjust
commands of a bad ruler, it is not the ruler only, but his sycophantic
subjects themselves, who will be answerable for the consequent ruin of
the state. So far from counseling perpetual docility on the part of the
governed, Confucius clearly indicates that circumstances may arise
which make opposition justifiable. The minister, he says, should not
fawn upon the ruler of whose actions he disapproves: let him show his
disapproval openly.

Mencius, the "Second Sage" of China (372-289 B.C.), is far more
outspoken than Confucius in his denunciation of bad rulers. There was
no sycophancy in the words which he uttered during an interview with
King Hsuan of the State of Ch'i. "When the prince treats his ministers
with respect, as though they were his own hands and feet, they in their
turn look up to him as the source from which they derive nourishment;
when he treats them like his dogs and horses, they regard him as no
more worthy of reverence than one of their fellow subjects; when he
treats them as though they were dirt to be trodden on, they retaliate
by regarding him as a robber and a foe." It is interesting to learn
that this passage in Mencius so irritated the first sovereign of the
Ming dynasty (1368-1398 A.D.) that he caused the "spirit-tablet" of the
sage to be removed from the Confucian Temple, to which it had been
elevated about three centuries earlier; but the remonstrances of the
scholars of the empire soon compelled the Emperor to revoke his decree,
and the tablet of Mencius was restored to its place of honor, from
which it was never subsequently degraded. It is no matter for surprize
that the people have reverenced the "Second Sage," for he it was who
has come nearest in China to the enunciation of the somewhat doubtful
principle, _Vox populi vox Dei_.

It was unmistakably the view of Mencius that a bad ruler may be put to
death by the subjects whom he has misgoverned. King Hsuan was once
discussing with him the successful rebellions against the last
sovereigns of the Hsia and Shang dynasties, and, with reference to the
slaying of the infamous King Chou (1122 B.C.), asked whether it was
allowable for a minister to put his sovereign to death. Mencius, in his
reply, observed that the man who outrages every principle of virtue and
good conduct is rightly treated as a mere robber and villain. "I have
heard of the killing of a robber and a villain named Chou; I have not
heard about the killing of a king." That is to say, Chou by his
rascality had already forfeited all the rights and privileges of
kingship before he was actually put to death.

On another occasion Mencius was questioned about the duties of
ministers and royal relatives. "If the sovereign rules badly," he said,
"they should reprove him; if he persists again and again in
disregarding their advice, they should dethrone him." The prince for
whose edification the philosopher uttered these daring sentiments
looked grave. "I pray your Majesty not to take offense," said Mencius.
"You asked me for my candid opinion, and I have told you what it is."

Several other passages of similar purport might be cited from Mencius,
but two more will suffice. "Let us suppose," said the sage, "that a man
who is about to proceed on a long journey entrusts the care of his wife
and family to a friend. On his return he finds that the faithless
friend has allowed his wife and children to suffer from cold and
hunger. What should he do with such a friend?" "He should treat him
thenceforth as a stranger," replied King Hsuan. "And suppose,"
continued Mencius, "that your Majesty had a minister who was utterly
unable to control his subordinates: how would you deal with such a
one?" "I should dismiss him from my service," said the King. "And if
throughout all your realm there is no good government, what is to be
done then?" The embarrassed King, we are told, "looked this way and
that, and changed the subject."

The last of Mencius's teachings on kingship to which we shall refer is
perhaps the most remarkable of all. "The most important element in a
State," he says emphatically, "is the people; next come the altars of
the national gods; least in importance is the king."

These citations from the revered classics should be sufficient to prove
that the people of China are not necessarily cutting themselves adrift
from the traditions of ages and the teachings of their philosophers
when they rise in their might to overthrow an incompetent dynasty. For
it can not be denied that China has known little prosperity under the
later rulers of the Manchu line, and when the revolutionary leaders
declared that the reigning house had forfeited the _T'ien-ming_ we must
admit that they had ample justification for their belief that such was
the case. But many Western friends of China, while fully recognizing
the right of the people to remove the Manchus, entertain very grave
doubts as to the wisdom of abolishing the monarchy altogether and the
establishment of a republican government in its stead. The _T'ien-ming_
has always passed from dynasty to dynasty, never from dynasty to
people. From the remotest days of which we have record, the Chinese
system of government has been monarchic. If the revolutionaries can
break tradition to the extent of abolishing the imperial dignity, what
guaranty have we that they will not break with tradition in every other
respect as well, and so destroy the foundations on which the whole
edifice of China's social, political, and religious life has rested
through all the centuries of her known history?

Whether the Chinese people--as distinct from a few foreign-educated
reformers--do, as a matter of fact, honestly believe that a republican
government is adapted to the needs of the country, is a very different
question. It certainly has not been proved that "the whole nation is
now inclined toward a republic"--in spite of the admission to that
effect contained in the imperial Edict of abdication. Perhaps it would
be nearer the truth to say that the overwhelming majority of the people
of China have not the slightest idea what a republic means, and how
their lives and fortunes will be affected by its establishment, and
therefore hold no strong opinions concerning the advantages or
disadvantages of republican government.

It can not be denied, however, that the social system under which the
Chinese people have lived for untold ages has in some ways made them
more fit for self-government than any other people in the world. It
would be well if Europeans--and especially Englishmen--would try to rid
themselves of the obsolete notion that every Oriental race, as such, is
only fit for a despotic form of government. Perhaps only those who have
lived in the interior of China and know something of the organization
of family and village, township and clan, are able to realize to how
great an extent the Chinese have already learned the arts of
self-government. It was not without reason that a Western authority
(writing before the outbreak of the revolution) described China as "the
greatest republic the world has ever seen."

The momentous Edict in which the Manchu house signed away its imperial
heritage was issued on the twelfth day of February, 1912. It contains
many noteworthy features, but the words which are of special interest
from the constitutional point of view I translate as follows: "The
whole nation is now inclined toward a republican form of government.
The southern and central provinces first gave clear evidence of this
inclination, and the military leaders of the northern provinces have
since promised their support in the same cause. _By observing the
nature of the people's aspirations we learn the Will of Heaven
(T'ien-ming)._ It is not fitting that We should withstand the desires
of the nation merely for the sake of the glorification of Our own
House. We recognize the signs of the age, and We have tested the trend
of popular opinion; and We now, with the Emperor at Our side, invest
the Nation with the Sovereign Power and decree the establishment of a
constitutional government on a republican basis. In coming to this
decision, We are actuated not only by a hope to bring solace to Our
subjects, who long for the cessation of political tumult, but also by a
desire to follow the precepts of the Sages of old who taught that
political sovereignty rests ultimately with the people."

Such was the dignified and yet pathetic swan-song of the dying Manchu
dynasty. Whatever our political sympathies may be, we are not obliged
to withhold our tribute of compassion for the sudden and startling
collapse of a dynasty that has ruled China--not always
inefficiently--for the last two hundred and sixty-seven years.

The Abdication Edict can not fail to be of interest to students of the
science of politics. The Throne itself is converted into a bridge to
facilitate the transition from the monarchical to the republican form
of government. The Emperor remains absolute to the last, and the very
Republican Constitution, which involves his own disappearance from
political existence, is created by the fiat of the Emperor in his last
official utterance. Theoretically, the Republic is established not by a
people in arms acting in opposition to the imperial will, but by the
Emperor acting with august benevolence for his people's good. The cynic
may smile at the transparency of the attempt to represent the
abdication as entirely voluntary, but in this procedure we find
something more than a mere "face-saving" device intended for the
purpose of effecting a dignified retreat in the hour of disaster.

Perhaps the greatest interest of the decree centers in its appeal to
the wisdom of the national sages, and its acceptance of their theory as
to the ultimate seat of political sovereignty. The heart of the drafter
may have quailed when he wrote the words that signified the surrender
of the imperial power, but the spirit of Mencius guided his hand. It
now remains for us to hope that the teachings of the wise men of old,
which have been obeyed to such momentous issues by the last of the
Emperors, will not be treated with contempt by his Republican
successors.


TAI-CHI QUO

The entire civilized world, as well as China, is to be heartily
congratulated upon the glorious revolution which has been sweeping over
that vast ancient empire, and which is now practically assured of
success. "Just as conflagrations light up the whole city," says Victor
Hugo, "revolutions light up the whole human race." Of no revolution
recorded in the world's history can this be said with a greater degree
of truth than of the present revolution in China. It spells the
overthrow of monarchy, which has existed there for over forty
centuries, and the downfall of a dynasty which has been the enemy of
human progress for the last two hundred and seventy years. It effects
the recognition and establishment of personal liberty, the sovereignty
of man over himself, for four hundred and thirty-two million souls,
one-third of the world's total population.

The Chinese revolution marks, in short, a great, decisive step in the
onward march of human progress. It benefits not only China, but the
whole world, for just as a given society should measure its prosperity
not by the welfare of a group of individuals, but by the welfare of the
entire community, so must humanity estimate its progress according to
the well-being of the whole human race. Society can not be considered
to be in a far advanced stage of civilization if one-third of the
globe's inhabitants are suffering under the oppression and tyranny of a
one-man rule. Democracy can not be said to exist if a great portion of
the people on the earth have not even political freedom. Real democracy
exists only when all men are free and equal. Hence, any movement which
brings about the recognition and establishment of personal liberty for
one-third of the members of the human family, as the Chinese revolution
is doing, may well be pronounced to be beneficial to mankind.

But is it really true and credible that conservative, slumbering, and
"mysterious" China is actually having a revolution, that beautiful and
terrible thing, that angel in the garb of a monster? If it is, what is
the cause of the revolution? What will be its ultimate outcome? What
will follow its success? Will a republic be established and will it
work successfully? These and many other questions pertaining to the
Chinese situation have been asked, not only by skeptics, but also by
persons interested in China and human progress.

There can be no doubt that China is in earnest about what she is doing.
Even the skeptics who called the revolution a "mob movement," or
another "Boxer uprising," at its early stage must now admit the truth
of the matter. The admirable order and discipline which have
characterized its proceedings conclusively prove that the revolution is
a well-organized movement, directed by men of ability, intelligence,
and humanitarian principles. Sacredness of life and its rights, for
which they are fighting, have generally guided the conduct of the
rebels. The mob element has been conspicuous by its absence from their
ranks. It is very doubtful whether a revolution involving such an
immense territory and so many millions of people as are involved in
this one could be effected with less bloodshed than has thus far marked
the Chinese revolution. If some allowance be made for exaggeration in
the newspaper reports of the loss of lives and of the disorders that
have occurred during the struggle, allowance which is always
permissible and even wise for one to make, there has been very little
unnecessary bloodshed committed by the revolutionists.

Although anti-Manchu spirit was a prominent factor in bringing about
the uprising, it has been subordinated by the larger idea of humanity.
With the exception of a few instances of unnecessary destruction of
Manchu lives at the beginning of the outbreak, members of that tribe
have been shown great clemency. The rebel leaders have impressed upon
the minds of their followers that their first duty is to respect life
and property, and have summarily punished those having any inclination
to loot or kill. Despite the numerous outrages and acts of brutality by
the Manchus and imperial troops, the revolutionaries have been
moderate, lenient, and humane in their treatment of their prisoners and
enemies. Unnecessary bloodshed has been avoided by them as much as
possible. As Dr. Wu Ting-fang has said: "The most glorious page of
China's history is being written with a bloodless pen." Regarding the
cause of the revolution, it must be noted that the revolt was not a
sudden, sporadic movement, nor the result of any single event. It is
the outcome of a long series of events, the culmination of the friction
and contact with the Western world in the last half-century, especially
the last thirty years, and of the importation of Western ideas and
methods into China by her foreign-educated students and other agents.

During the last decade, especially the last five years, there has been
a most wonderful awakening among the people in the empire. One could
almost see the growth of national consciousness, so rapidly has it
developed. When the people fully realized their shortcomings and their
country's deplorable weakness as it has been constantly brought out in
her dealings with foreign Powers, they fell into a state of
dissatisfaction and profound unrest. Filled with the shame of national
disgrace and imbued with democratic ideas, they have been crying for a
strong and liberal government, but their pleas and protests have been
in most cases ignored and in a few cases responded to with half-hearted
superficial reforms which are far from satisfactory to the
progressives. The Manchu government has followed its traditional
_laissez faire_ policy in the face of foreign aggressions and
threatening dangers of the empire's partition, with no thought of the
morrow. Until now it has been completely blind to the force of the
popular will and has deemed it not worth while to bother with the
common people.

Long ago patriotic Chinese gave up hope in the Manchu government and
realized that China's salvation lay in the taking over of the