every kind of question about marriage, free love, contraception, etc., and she
answered all their questions with complete frankness. Nothing of the sort
would have been possible in any similar European institution. In spite of their
freedom of thought, traditional habits of behaviour had a great hold upon
them. We occasionally gave parties to the young men of my seminar and the
girls at the Normal School. The girls at ?rst would take refuge in a room to
which they supposed no men would penetrate, and they had to be fetched
out and encouraged to associate with males. It must be said that when once
the ice was broken, no further encouragement was needed.
The National University of Peking for which I lectured was a very remark-
able institution. The Chancellor and the Vice-Chancellor were men passion-
ately devoted to the modernising of China. The Vice-Chancellor was one
of the most whole-hearted idealists that I have ever known. The funds which
should have gone to pay salaries were always being appropriated by Tuchuns,
so that the teaching was mainly a labour of love. The students deserved what
their professors had to give them. They were ardently desirous of knowledge,
and there was no limit to the sacri?ces that they were prepared to make
for their country. The atmosphere was electric with the hope of a great
awakening. After centuries of slumber, China was becoming aware of the
modern world, and at that time the sordidnesses and compromises that go
with governmental responsibility had not yet descended upon the reformers.
The English sneered at the reformers, and said that China would always be
China. They assured me that it was silly to listen to the frothy talk of half-
baked young men; yet within a few years those half-baked young men had
conquered China and deprived the English of many of their most cherished
privileges.
Since the advent of the Communists to power in China, the policy of the
British towards that country has been somewhat more enlightened than that
of the United States, but until that time the exact opposite was the case. In
1926, on three separate occasions, British troops ?red on unarmed crowds of
Chinese students, killing and wounding many. I wrote a ?erce denunciation
of these outrages, which was published ?rst in England and then throughout
China. An American missionary in China, with whom I corresponded, came
to England shortly after this time, and told me that indignation in China had
been such as to endanger the lives of all Englishmen living in that country. He
china 343even said – though I found this scarcely credible – that the English in China
owed their preservation to me, since I had caused infuriated Chinese to
conclude that not all Englishmen are vile. However that may be, I incurred
the hostility, not only of the English in China, but of the British Government.
White men in China were ignorant of many things that were common
knowledge among the Chinese. On one occasion my bank (which was
American) gave me notes issued by a French bank, and I found that Chinese
tradesmen refused to accept them. My bank expressed astonishment, and
gave me other notes instead. Three months later, the French bank went bank-
rupt, to the surprise of all other white banks in China.
The Englishman in the East, as far as I was able to judge of him, is a man
completely out of touch with his environment. He plays polo and goes to his
club. He derives his ideas of native culture from the works of eighteenth-
century missionaries, and he regards intelligence in the East with the same
contempt which he feels for intelligence in his own country. Unfortunately
for our political sagacity, he overlooks the fact that in the East intelligence
is respected, so that enlightened Radicals have an in?uence upon a?airs
which is denied to their English counterparts. MacDonald went to Windsor
in knee-breeches, but the Chinese reformers showed no such respect to
their Emperor, although our monarchy is a mushroom growth of yesterday
compared to that of China.
My views as to what should be done in China I put into my book The
Problem of China and so shall not repeat them here.
In spite of the fact that China was in a ferment, it appeared to us, as
compared with Europe, to be a country ?lled with philosophic calm. Once a
week the mail would arrive from England, and the letters and newspapers
that came from there seemed to breathe upon us a hot blast of insanity like
the ?ery heat that comes from a furnace door suddenly opened. As we had to
work on Sundays, we made a practice of taking a holiday on Mondays, and we
usually spent the whole day in the Temple of Heaven, the most beautiful
building that it has ever been my good fortune to see. We would sit in the
winter sunshine saying little, gradually absorbing peace, and would come
away prepared to face the madness and passion of our own distracted contin-
ent with poise and calm. At other times, we used to walk on the walls of
Peking. I remember with particular vividness a walk one evening starting at
sunset and continuing through the rise of the full moon.
The Chinese have (or had) a sense of humour which I found very
congenial. Perhaps communism has killed it, but when I was there they
constantly reminded me of the people in their ancient books. One hot day
two fat middle-aged business men invited me to motor into the country to
see a certain very famous half-ruined pagoda. When we reached it, I climbed
the spiral staircase, expecting them to follow, but on arriving at the top I saw
the autobiography of bertrand russell 344them still on the ground. I asked why they had not come up, and with
portentous gravity they replied:
‘We thought of coming up, and debated whether we should do so. Many
weighty arguments were advanced on both sides, but at last there was one
which decided us. The pagoda might crumble at any moment, and we felt
that, if it did, it would be well there should be those who could bear witness
as to how the philosopher died.’
What they meant was that it was hot and they were fat.
Many Chinese have that re?nement of humour which consists in enjoying
a joke more when the other person cannot see it. As I was leaving Peking a
Chinese friend gave me a long classical passage microscopically engraved by
hand on a very small surface; he also gave me the same passage written out in
exquisite calligraphy. When I asked what it said, he replied: ‘Ask Professor
Giles when you get home.’ I took his advice, and found that it was ‘The
Consultation of the Wizard’, in which the wizard merely advises his clients
to do whatever they like. He was poking fun at me because I always refused
to give advice to the Chinese as to their immediate political di?culties.
The climate of Peking in winter is very cold. The wind blows almost always
from the north, bringing an icy breath from the Mongolian mountains. I got
bronchitis, but paid no attention to it. It seemed to get better, and one day, at
the invitation of some Chinese friends, we went to a place about two hours by
motorcar from Peking, where there were hot springs. The hotel provided a
very good tea, and someone suggested that it was unwise to eat too much tea
as it would spoil one’s dinner. I objected to such prudence on the ground that
the Day of Judgement might intervene. I was right, as it was three months
before I ate another square meal. After tea, I suddenly began to shiver, and
after I had been shivering for an hour or so, we decided that we had better get
back to Peking at once. On the way home, our car had a puncture, and by the
time the puncture was mended, the engine was cold. By this time, I was
nearly delirious, but the Chinese servants and Dora pushed the car to the top
of a hill, and on the descent the engine gradually began to work. Owing to
the delay, the gates of Peking were shut when we reached them, and it took
an hour of telephoning to get them open. By the time we ?nally got home, I
was very ill indeed. Before I had time to realise what was happening, I was
delirious. I was moved into a German hospital, where Dora nursed me by
day, and the only English professional nurse in Peking nursed me by night.
For a fortnight the doctors thought every evening that I should be dead
before morning. I remember nothing of this time except a few dreams. When
I came out of delirium, I did not know where I was, and did not recognise
the nurse. Dora told me that I had been very ill and nearly died, to which I
replied: ‘How interesting’, but I was so weak that I forgot it in ?ve minutes,
and she had to tell me again. I could not even remember my own name. But
china 345although for about a month after my delirium had ceased they kept telling
me I might die at any moment, I never believed a word of it. The nurse whom
they had found was rather distinguished in her profession, and had been the
Sister in charge of a hospital in Serbia during the War. The whole hospital had
been captured by the Germans, and the nurses removed to Bulgaria. She was
never tired of telling me how intimate she had become with the Queen of
Bulgaria. She was a deeply religious woman, and told me when I began to get
better that she had seriously considered whether it was not her duty to let
me die. Fortunately, professional training was too strong for her moral sense.
All through the time of my convalescence, in spite of weakness and great
physical discomfort, I was exceedingly happy. Dora was very devoted, and
her devotion made me forget everything unpleasant. At an early stage of my
convalescence Dora discovered that she was pregnant, and this was a source
of immense happiness to us both. Ever since the moment when I walked on
Richmond Green with Alys, the desire for children had been growing
stronger and stronger within me, until at last it had become a consuming
passion. When I discovered that I was not only to survive myself, but to have a
child, I became completely indi?erent to the circumstances of convalescence,
although, during convalescence, I had a whole series of minor diseases. The
main trouble had been double pneumonia, but in addition to that I had
heart disease, kidney disease, dysentery, and phlebitis. None of these, how-
ever, prevented me from feeling perfectly happy, and in spite of all gloomy
prognostications, no ill e?ects whatever remained after my recovery.
Lying in my bed feeling that I was not going to die was surprisingly
delightful. I had always imagined until then that I was fundamentally pessim-
istic and did not greatly value being alive. I discovered that in this I had been
completely mistaken, and that life was in?nitely sweet to me. Rain in Peking
is rare, but during my convalescence there came heavy rains bringing the
delicious smell of damp earth through the windows, and I used to think
how dreadful it would have been to have never smelt that smell again. I had
the same feeling about the light of the sun, and the sound of the wind. Just
outside my windows were some very beautiful acacia trees, which came into
blossom at the ?rst moment when I was well enough to enjoy them. I have
known ever since that at bottom I am glad to be alive. Most people, no doubt,
always know this, but I did not.
I was told that the Chinese said that they would bury me by the Western
Lake and build a shrine to my memory. I have some slight regret that this
did not happen, as I might have become a god, which would have been very
chic for an atheist.
There was in Peking at that time a Soviet diplomatic mission, whose mem-
bers showed great kindness. They had the only good champagne in Peking,
and supplied it liberally for my use, champagne being apparently the only
the autobiography of bertrand russell 346proper beverage for pneumonia patients. They used to take ?rst Dora, and
later Dora and me, for motor drives in the neighbourhood of Peking. This
was a pleasure, but a somewhat exciting one, as they were as bold in driving
as they were in revolutions.
I probably owe my life to the Rockefeller Institute in Peking which pro-
vided a serum that killed the pneumococci. I owe them the more gratitude on
this point, as both before and after I was strongly opposed to them politically,
and they regarded me with as much horror as was felt by my nurse.
The Japanese journalists were continually worrying Dora to give them
interviews when she wanted to be nursing me. At last she became a little curt
with them, so they caused the Japanese newspapers to say that I was dead.
This news was forwarded by mail from Japan to America and from America
to England. It appeared in the English newspapers on the same day as the
news of my divorce. Fortunately, the Court did not believe it, or the divorce
might have been postponed. It provided me with the pleasure of reading my
obituary notices, which I had always desired without expecting my wishes to
be ful?lled. One missionary paper, I remember, had an obituary notice of one
sentence: ‘Missionaries may be pardoned for heaving a sigh of relief at the
news of Mr Bertrand Russell’s death.’ I fear they must have heaved a sigh of
a di?erent sort when they found that I was not dead after all. The report
caused some pain to friends in England. We in Peking knew nothing about
it until a telegram came from my brother enquiring whether I was still alive.
He had been remarking meanwhile that to die in Peking was not the sort
of thing I would do.
The most tedious stage of my convalescence was when I had phlebitis,
and had to lie motionless on my back for six weeks. We were very anxious
to return home for the con?nement, and as time went on it began to seem
doubtful whether we should be able to do so. In these circumstances it was
di?cult not to feel impatience, the more so as the doctors said there was
nothing to do but wait. However, the trouble cleared up just in time, and on
July 10th we were able to leave Peking, though I was still very weak and could
only hobble about with the help of a stick.
Shortly after my return from China, the British Government decided
to deal with the question of the Boxer indemnity. When the Boxers had
been defeated, the subsequent treaty of peace provided that the Chinese
Government should pay an annual sum to all those European Powers which
had been injured by it. The Americans very wisely decided to forgo any
payment on this account. Friends of China in England urged England in vain
to do likewise. At last it was decided that, instead of a punitive payment, the
Chinese should make some payment which should be pro?table to both
China and Britain. What form this payment should take was left to be deter-
mined by a Committee on which there should be two Chinese members.
china 347While MacDonald was Prime Minister he invited Lowes Dickinson and me to
be members of the Committee, and consented to our recommendation of
V. K. Ting and Hu Shih as the Chinese members. When, shortly afterwards,
MacDonald’s Government fell, the succeeding Conservative Government
informed Lowes Dickinson and myself that our services would not be wanted
on the Committee, and they would not accept either V. K. Ting or Hu Shih as
Chinese members of it, on the ground that we knew nothing about China.
The Chinese Government replied that it desired the two Chinese whom I had
recommended and would not have anyone else. This put an end to the very
feeble e?orts at securing Chinese friendship. The only thing that had been
secured during the Labour period of friendship was that Shantung should
become a golf course for the British Navy and should no longer be open
for Chinese trading.
Before I became ill I had undertaken to do a lecture tour in Japan after
leaving China. I had to cut this down to one lecture, and visits to various
people. We spent twelve hectic days in Japan, days which were far from
pleasant, though very interesting. Unlike the Chinese, the Japanese proved
to be destitute of good manners, and incapable of avoiding intrusiveness.
Owing to my being still very feeble, we were anxious to avoid all unnecessary
fatigues, but the journalists proved a very di?cult matter. At the ?rst port at
which our boat touched, some thirty journalists were lying in wait, although
we had done our best to travel secretly, and they only discovered our move-
ments through the police. As the Japanese papers had refused to contradict
the news of my death, Dora gave each of them a type-written slip saying that
as I was dead I could not be interviewed. They drew in their breath through
their teeth and said: ‘Ah! veree funnee!’
We went ?rst to Kobe to visit Robert Young, the editor of the Japan Chronicle.
As the boat approached the quay, we saw vast processions with banners
marching along, and to the surprise of those who knew Japanese, some of the
banners were expressing a welcome to me. It turned out that there was a great
strike going on in the dock-yards, and that the police would not tolerate
processions except in honour of distinguished foreigners, so that this was
their only way of making a demonstration. The strikers were being led by a
Christian paci?st called Kagawa, who took me to strike meetings, at one of
which I made a speech. Robert Young was a delightful man, who, having left
England in the eighties, had not shared in the subsequent deterioration of
ideas. He had in his study a large picture of Bradlaugh, for whom he had a
devoted admiration. His was, I think, the best newspaper I have ever known,
and he had started it with a capital of ￡10, saved out of his wages as a
compositor. He took me to Nara, a place of exquisite beauty, where Old Japan
was still to be seen. We then fell into the hands of the enterprising editors
of an up-to-date magazine called Kaizo, who conducted us around Kyoto and
the autobiography of bertrand russell 348Tokyo, taking care always to let the journalists know when we were coming,
so that we were perpetually pursued by ?ashlights and photographed even in
our sleep. In both places they invited large numbers of professors to visit us.
In both places we were treated with the utmost obsequiousness and dogged
by police-spies. The room next to ours in the hotel would be occupied by a
collection of policemen with a typewriter. The waiters treated us as if we
were royalty, and walked backwards out of the room. We would say: ‘Damn
this waiter’, and immediately hear the police typewriter clicking. At the par-
ties of professors which were given in our honour, as soon as I got into at all
animated conversation with anyone, a ?ashlight photograph would be taken,
with the result that the conversation was of course interrupted.
The Japanese attitude towards women is somewhat primitive. In Kyoto we
both had mosquito nets with holes in them, so that we were kept awake half
the night by mosquitoes. I complained of this in the morning. Next evening
my mosquito net was mended, but not Dora’s. When I complained again the
next day, they said: ‘But we did not know it mattered about the lady.’ Once,
when we were in a suburban train with the historian Eileen Power, who was
also travelling in Japan, no seats were available, but a Japanese kindly got up
and o?ered his seat to me. I gave it to Dora. Another Japanese then o?ered me
his seat. I gave this to Eileen Power. By this time the Japanese were so disgusted
by my unmanly conduct that there was nearly a riot.
We met only one Japanese whom we really liked, a Miss Ito. She was young
and beautiful, and lived with a well-known anarchist, by whom she had a
son. Dora said to her: ‘Are you not afraid that the authorities will do some-
thing to you?’ She drew her hand across her throat, and said: ‘I know they
will do that sooner or later.’ At the time of the earthquake, the police came
to the house where she lived with the anarchist, and found him and her
and a little nephew whom they believed to be the son, and informed them
that they were wanted at the police station. When they arrived at the police
station, the three were put in separate rooms and strangled by the police,
who boasted that they had not had much trouble with the child, as they had
managed to make friends with him on the way to the police station. The
police in question became national heroes, and school children were set to
write essays in their praise.
We made a ten hours’ journey in great heat from Kyoto to Yokohama. We
arrived there just after dark, and were received by a series of magnesium
explosions, each of which made Dora jump, and increased my fear of a
miscarriage. I became blind with rage, the only time I have been so since I
tried to strangle Fitzgerald.
2
I pursued the boys with the ?ashlights, but being
lame, was unable to catch them, which was fortunate, as I should certainly
have committed murder. An enterprising photographer succeeded in photo-
graphing me with my eyes blazing. I should not have known that I could have
china 349looked so completely insane. This photograph was my introduction to
Tokyo. I felt at that moment the same type of passion as must have been felt
by Anglo-Indians during the Mutiny, or by white men surrounded by a
rebel coloured population. I realised then that the desire to protect one’s
family from injury at the hands of an alien race is probably the wildest
and most passionate feeling of which man is capable. My last experience of
Japan was the publication in a patriotic journal of what purported to be my
farewell message to the Japanese nation, urging them to be more Chauvinistic.
I had not sent either this or any other farewell message to that or any other
newspaper.
We sailed from Yokohama by the Canadian Paci?c, and were seen o? by
the anarchist, Ozuki, and Miss Ito. On the Empress of Asia we experienced a
sudden change in the social atmosphere. Dora’s condition was not yet visible
to ordinary eyes, but we saw the ship’s doctor cast a professional eye upon
her, and we learned that he had communicated his observations to the pas-
sengers. Consequently, almost nobody would speak to us, though everybody
was anxious to photograph us. The only people willing to speak to us were
Mischa Elman, the violinist, and his party. As everybody else on the ship
wished to speak to him, they were considerably annoyed by the fact that he
was always in our company. After an uneventful journey, we arrived in
Liverpool at the end of August. It was raining hard, and everybody com-
plained of the drought, so we felt we had reached home. Dora’s mother was
on the dock, partly to welcome us, but partly to give Dora wise advice, which
she was almost too shy to do. On September 27th we were married, having
succeeded in hurrying up the King’s Proctor, though this required that I
should swear by Almighty God on Charing Cross platform that Dora was the
woman with whom I had committed the o?cial adultery. On November
16th, my son John was born, and from that moment my children were for
many years my main interest in life.
LETTERS
From Johnson Yuan
6 Yu Yang Li
Avenue Jo?re
Shanghai, China
6th Oct. [? Nov.] 1920
Dear Sir
We are very glad to have the greatest social philosopher of world to arrive
here in China, so as to salve the Chronic deseases of the thought of Chinese
Students. Since 1919, the student’s circle seems to be the greatest hope of the
future of China; as they are ready to welcome to have revolutionary era in the
the autobiography of bertrand russell 350society of China. In that year, Dr John Dewey had in?uenced the intellectual
class with great success.
But I dare to represent most of the Chinese Students to say a few words
to you:
Although Dr Dewey is successful here, but most of our students are not
satis?ed with his conservative theory. Because most of us want to acquire
the knowledge of Anarchism, Syndicalism, Socialism, etc.; in a word, we are
anxious to get the knowledge of the social revolutionary philosophy. We are
the followers of Mr Kropotkin, and our aim is to have anarchical society in
China. We hope you, Sir, to give us fundamentally the thorough Social phil-
osophy, base on Anarchism. Moreover, we want you to recorrect the theory
of Dr Dewey, the American Philosopher. We hope you have the absolute
freedom in China, not the same as in England. So we hope you to have a
greater success than Dr Dewey here.
I myself am old member of the Peking Govt. University, and met you in
Shanghai many times, the ?rst time is in ‘The Great Oriental Hotel’, the ?rst
time of your reception here, in the evening.
The motto, you often used, of Lao-Tzu ought to be changed in the ?rst
word, as ‘Creation without Possession . . .’ is better than the former transla-
tive; and it is more correctly according to what you have said ‘the creative
impulsive and the possessive impulse’. Do you think it is right?
Your Fraternally Comrade
Johnson Yuan
(Secretary of the Chinese
Anarchist-Communist
Association)
From The General Educational Association of Hunan
Changsha
October 11th, 1920
Dear Sir
We beg to inform you that the educational system of our province is just at
infancy and is unfortunately further weakened by the fearful disturbances of
the civil war of late years, so that the guidance and assistances must be sought
to sagacious scholars.
The extent to which your moral and intellectual power has reached is so
high that all the people of this country are paying the greatest regard to you.
We, Hunanese, eagerly desire to hear your powerful instructions as a compass.
A few days ago, through Mr Lee-Shuh-Tseng, our representative at
Shanghai, we requested you to visit Hunan and are very grateful to have your
kind acceptance. A general meeting will therefore be summoned on the
25th instant in order to receive your instructive advices. Now we appoint
china 351Mr Kun-Chao-Shuh to represent us all to welcome you sincerely. Please come
as soon as possible.
We are, Sir
Your obedient servants
The General Educational
Association of Hunan
(Seal)
I wrote the following account on the Yiangtse:
To Ottoline Morrel
3
28th October, 1920
Since landing in China we have had a most curious and interesting time,
spent, so far, entirely among Chinese students and journalists, who are more
or less Europeanised. I have delivered innumerable lectures – on Einstein,
education and social questions. The eagerness for knowledge on the part of
students is quite extraordinary. When one begins to speak, their eyes have the
look of starving men beginning a feast. Everywhere they treat me with a
most embarrassing respect. The day after I landed in Shanghai they gave a
vast dinner to us, at which they welcomed me as Confucius the Second. All
the Chinese newspapers that day in Shanghai had my photograph. Both
Miss Black and I had to speak to innumerable schools, teachers’ conferences,
congresses, etc. It is a country of curious contrasts. Most of Shanghai is quite
European, almost American; the names of streets, and notices and advertise-
ments are in English (as well as Chinese). The buildings are magni?cent
o?ces and banks; everything looks very opulent. But the side streets are still
quite Chinese. It is a vast city about the size of Glasgow. The Europeans almost
all look villainous and ill. One of the leading Chinese newspapers invited us
to lunch, in a modern building, completed in 1917, with all the latest plant
(except linotype, which can’t be used for Chinese characters). The editorial
sta? gave us a Chinese meal at the top of the house with Chinese wine made
