France and England marched on Peking. They gave to the most ferocious and depraved of old-style Chinese bandits many points in the art of looting and pillage, made them look in fact like a lot of Sunday-school children raiding their mothers' pantries. They burnt down Yuan-ming Yuan, that pearl of a summer palace, which all the wealth of this our boasted day and all its art and culture can never hope to reproduce in a thousand years. The Imperial Court fled to Jehol. Through the unspeakable mess flowed a turbid stream of chaos and of blood, an ideal stream for a politician to fish in. And on its bank sat a master fisherman-the Russian Minister. While the allied forces were marching on Peking he told the Peking Court, in the politest manner imaginable, what Russia wanted. When the Chinese became absent-minded he hinted that the Russian fleet would be ordered to Peitang forthwith. Then suddenly he turned round and offered the suffering Peking court guns and war supplies. He talked to the allied commanders, too, when they got to Peking. He persuaded them to come to terms with China-on their own terms! When they were gone, after doing all the damage they could think of, and when the frightened Imperial Court returned to Peking, General Ignatieff posed as a leading man playing hero in a melodrama: was he not the savior of China? So stupendous was his nerve (and he had a good deal of art, too) that he got a prize package sometimes known as the Peking Treaty of November, 1860. Wrapped up in it was the Maritime Province-the empire taking in the whole territory east of the Ussuri River to the Sea of Japan-of more than 933,000 square miles. Big enough land to cut out six Japans-Proper and have more than 40,000 square miles left over.

So Russia closed on Manchuria on the east, as on the north, down to the mouth of the Tumen River on its Chosen frontier. That is a few waves below Peter

the-Great Bay, on which Count Muravieff had taken precious care to found the port of Vladivostok and occupy it with his soldiers for the accommodation of the Russian Far-Eastern Fleet.

But that was a mere hint, a bare beginning of the troubles for Manchuria from the general direction of Russia.

In those days there lived in Peking an old man whose name was Li Hungchang. He had a palm that itched continuously and fervorously. It demanded oiling. One of the greatest oilers known to history was at Peking in the person of the Russian Minister there. So M. Cassini and Li used to come together a good deal. When old man Li started for the coronation ceremony of Tsar Nicholas II, in March, 1896, he carried with him a pretty substantial fruit of his many meetings with Cassini, who had oiled his palm enthusiastically.

On March 27th, 1896, a foreign-language newspaper at Shanghai published the text of what comes down to us through the whispering gallery of History as the "Cassini Convention." The reader will find it in Appendix 4. Whether this secret convention was actually signed or not is still an open question. But that does not matter. Most of the important promises contained in it were made good by China.

The main thing in it was the concession of the right of building what is now called the "Eastern Chinese Railway"-extending the trans-Siberian Railway through the heart of Manchuria and connecting it with Vladivostok, with the permission of stationing armed railway guards. By way of good measure, the right of exploiting the mineral wealth of Manchuria went with it. Then there was another thing in it—a kindly thought by Russia of letting Chinese employ the Russian military officers if and when the Chinese took the notion of westernizing the army of Manchuria.

All the railways to be built by China in Manchuria, from Shanhaikwan to Newchwang, to Chinchow, to Port Arthur, to Talienwan (the present Dairen), were to follow the Russian railway pattern, for no other reason whatever than to facilitate commercial intercourse between the two countries.

In addition to the above highly profitable things-for the Russian territorial hunger-China agreed to fortify Port Arthur and Talienwan with all haste. Russia agreed on her part generously to assist in this good work. It was not hard to understand this Russian generosity. Look what China consented to do for Russia:

"If in future the exigencies of the case require it and Russia should find herself suddenly involved in a war, China consents to allow Russia temporarily to concentrate her land and naval forces within the said ports in order the better to enable Russia to attack the enemy or to guard her own position."

As if these were not handsome enough fruits for the concentrated and expert oiling by M. Cassini of the old palm of Li Hungchang, there was another pretty gift for Russia included: namely, the fifteen-year lease of Kiaochou in Shantung, which in later years made the name of Germany infamous in the history of Far-Eastern diplomacy.

RUSSO-CHINESE TREATY OF ALLIANCE OF 1896

In Russia Li Hungchang met a princely reception. Whether the Cassini Convention was signed or not, there is little doubt that Prince Lobanoff's conversation with Li Hungchang traveled along the lines the famous secret understanding had indicated. The Li HungchangLobanoff treaty of defensive and offensive alliance of May, 1896 (Appendix 5), was the outcome of the chats they had together in Moscow. The military alliance was