[Page 65] PART II

HISTORY IN OUTLINE FROM THE EARLIEST TIMES TO THE EIGHTEENTH CENTURY



[Page 67] CHAPTER XIII

ORIGIN OF THE CHINESE

Parent Stock a Migratory People—They Invade China from the Northwest and Colonise the Banks of the Yellow River and of the Han—Their Conflicts with the Aborigines—Native Tribes Absorbed by Conquerors

That the parent stock in which the Chinese nation had its origin was a small migratory people, like the tribes of Israel, and that they entered the land of promise from the northwest is tolerably certain; but to trace their previous wanderings back to Shinar, India, or Persia would be a waste of time, as the necessary data are lacking. Even within their appointed domain the accounts of their early history are too obscure to be accepted as to any extent reliable.

They appear to have begun their career of conquest by colonising the banks of the Yellow River and those of the Han. By slow stages they moved eastward to the central plain and southward to the Yang-tse Kiang. At that early epoch, between 3000 and 2000 B. C., they found the country already occupied by various wild tribes whom they considered as savages. In their early traditions they describe these tribes respectively by four words: those of the south are called Man (a word with the silk radical); those on the east, Yi (with [Page 68] the bow radical); those on the north, Tih (represented by a dog and fire); and those on the west, Jung ("war-like, fierce," the symbol for their ideograph being a spear). Each of these names points to something distinctive. Some of these tribes were, perhaps, spinners of silk; some, hunters; and all of them, formidable enemies.

The earliest book of history opens with conflicts with aborigines. There can be no question that the slow progress made by the invaders in following the course of those streams on which the most ancient capitals of the Chinese were subsequently located was owing to the necessity of fighting their way. Shun, the second sovereign of whose reign there is record (2200 B. c.), is said to have waged war with San Miao, three tribes of miaotze or aborigines, a term still applied to the independent tribes of the southwest. Beaten in the field, or at least suffering a temporary check, he betook himself to the rites of religion, making offerings and praying to Shang-ti, the supreme ruler. "After forty days," it is stated, "the natives submitted."

In the absence of any explanation it may be concluded that during the suspension of hostilities negotiations were proceeding which resulted not in the destruction of the natives, but in their incorporation with their more civilised neighbours. This first recorded amalgamation of the kind was doubtless an instance of a process of growth that continued for many centuries, resulting in the absorption of all the native tribes on the north of the Yang-tse and of most of those on the south. The expanding state was eventually composed of a vast body of natives who submitted [Page 69] to their civilised conquerors, much as the people of Mexico and Peru consented to be ruled by a handful of Spaniards.[*]

[Footnote *: To this day, the bulk of the people in those countries show but small traces of Spanish blood. Juarez, the famous dictator, was a pure Indian.]

As late as the Christian era any authentic account of permanent conquests in China to the south of the "Great River" is still wanting, though warlike expeditions in that direction were not infrequent. The people of the northern provinces called themselves Han-jin, "men of Han" or "sons of Han," while those of the south styled themselves T'ang-jin, "men of T'ang." Does not this indicate that, while the former were moulded into unity by the great dynasty which took its name from the river Han (206 B. c.), the latter did not become Chinese until the brilliant period of the T'angs, nearly a thousand years later? Further confirmation need not be adduced to show that the empire of the Far East contemporary with, and superior in civilisation to, ancient Rome, embraced less than the eighteen provinces of China Proper. Of the nine districts into which it was divided by Ta-yue, 2100 B. C. not one was south of the "Great River."



[Page 70] CHAPTER XIV

THE MYTHICAL PERIOD

Account of Creation—P'an-ku, the Ancient Founder—The Three Sovereigns—The Five Rulers, the Beginnings of Human Civilisation—The Golden Age—Yau, the Unselfish Monarch—Shun, the Paragon of Domestic Virtues—Story of Ta-yue—Rise of Hereditary Monarchy

Unlike the Greeks and Hindoos, the Chinese are deficient in the sort of imagination that breeds a poetical mythology. They are not, however, wanting in that pride of race which is prone to lay claim to the past as well as to the future. They have accordingly constructed, not a mythology, but a fictitious history which begins with the creation of the world.

How men and animals were made they do not say; but they assert that heaven and earth were united in a state of chaos until a divine man, whom they call P'an-ku, the "ancient founder," rent them asunder. Pictures show him wielding his sledge-hammer and disengaging sun and moon from overlying hills—a grotesque conception in strong contrast with the simple and sublime statement, "God said, 'Let there be light' and there was light." P'an-ku was followed by a divine being named Nue-wa, in regard to whom it [Page 71] is doubtful whether to speak in the feminine or in the masculine gender. Designated queen more frequently than king, it is said of her that, a portion of the sky having fallen down (probably owing to the defective work of her predecessor), she rebuilt it with precious stones of many colours. Lien shih pu tien, "to patch the sky with precious stones," is a set phrase by which the Chinese indicate that which is fabulous and absurd.

Instead of filling the long interval between the creation of the world and the birth of history with gods and fairies, the Chinese cover that period by three sovereigns whom they call after their favourite triad, heaven, earth, and man, giving them the respective titles Tien-hwang, Ti-hwang, and Jin-hwang. Each of these reigned eighteen thousand years; but what they reigned over is not apparent. At all events they seem to have contributed little to the comfort of their people; for at the close of that long period the wretched inhabitants of the empire—the only country then known to exist on earth—had no houses, no clothes, no laws, and no letters.

Now come five personages who, in accordance with Chinese historical propriety, are likewise invested with imperial dignity and are called Wu-ti, "the five rulers." Collectively they represent the first appearance of the useful arts, the rude beginnings of human civilisation. One of these rulers, noticing that birds constructed nests, taught his people to build huts, from which he is called the "nest builder." Another was the Prometheus of his day and obtained fire, not, however, by stealing it from the sun, but by [Page 72] honestly working for it with two pieces of wood which he rubbed together. The third of these rulers, named Fuhi, appears to have been the teacher of his people in the art of rearing domestic animals; in other words, the initiator of pastoral life, and possibly the originator of sacrificial offerings. The fourth in order introduced husbandry. As has been stated in a previous chapter (see page 36), he has no name except Shin-nung, "divine husbandman"; and under that title he continues to be worshipped at the present day as the Ceres of China. The Emperor every spring repairs to his temple to plough a few furrows by way of encouragement to his people. The last of the five personages is called the "yellow ruler," whether from the colour of his robes, or as ruler of the yellow race, is left in doubt. He is credited with the invention of letters and the cycle of sixty years, the foundation of Chinese chronology (2700 B. C.).

Unlike the long twilight which precedes the dawn in high latitudes, the semi-mythical age was brief, covering no more than two reigns, those of Yao and Shun. Confucius regarded these as included in the "five rulers." To make room for them, he omits the first two; and he seldom refers to the others, but appears to accept them as real personages. He is no critic; but he has shown good sense in drawing the line no further back. He has made the epoch of these last a golden age (2356-2206) which is not the creation of a poet, but the conception of a philosopher who wished to have an open space on which to build up his political theories. He found, moreover, in these primitive times some features by which he was [Page 73] greatly fascinated. The simplicity and freedom which appeared to prevail in those far-off days were to him very attractive.

It is related that Yao, the type of an unselfish monarch, while on a tour of inspection in the disguise of a peasant, heard an old man singing this song to the notes of his guitar:

"I plough my ground and eat my own bread, I dig my well and drink my own water: What use have I for king or court?"

Yao returned to his palace, rejoicing that the state of his country was such that his people were able to forget him.

Another feature which the Chinese hold up in bold relief is the fact that in those days the occupancy of the throne was not hereditary. Yao is said to have reigned a hundred years. When he was growing old he saw with grief that his son showed no signs of being a worthy successor. Setting him aside, therefore, he asked his ministers to recommend someone as his heir. They all agreed in nominating Shun. "What are his merits?" asked the King. "Filial piety and fraternal kindness," they replied. "By these virtues he has wrought a reform in a family noted for perverseness." The King desiring to know the facts, they related the following story:

"Shun's father is an ill-natured, blind man. He has a cruel stepmother and a selfish, petulant younger brother. This boy, the pet of his parents, treated Shun with insolence; and the father and mother joined in persecuting the elder son. Shun, without showing resentment, cried aloud to Heaven and obtained [Page 74] patience to bear their harshness. By duty and affection he has won the hearts of all three." "Bring him before me," said the King; "I have yet another trial by which to test his virtues." Yao made him his son-in-law, giving him his two daughters at once. He wished to see whether the good son and brother would also be a good husband and father—an example for his people in all their domestic relations. Shun accepted the test with becoming resignation and comported himself to the satisfaction of the old king, who raised him to the throne. After a reign of fifty years, partly as Yao's associate, Shun followed the example of his father-in-law. Passing by his own son, he left the throne to Ta-yue or Yue, a man who had been subjected to trials far more serious than that of having to live in the same house with a pair of pretty princesses.

A question discussed in the school of Mencius, many centuries later, may be cited here for the light it throws on the use made by Chinese schoolmen of the examples of this period. "Suppose," said one of his students, "that Shun's father had killed a man, would Shun, being king, have allowed him to be condemned?" "No," replied the master; "he would have renounced the throne and, taking his father on his shoulders, he would have fled away to the seaside, rejoicing in the consciousness of having performed the duty of a filial son." Shun continues to be cited as the paragon of domestic virtues, occupying the first place in a list of twenty-four who are noted for filial piety.

The trial by which the virtues of Ta-yue were proved [Page 75] was an extraordinary feat of engineering—nothing less than the subduing of the waters of a deluge. "The waters," said the King, "embosom the high hills and insolently menace heaven itself. Who will find us a man to take them in hand and keep them in place?" His ministers recommended one Kun. Kun failed to accomplish the task, and Shun, who in this case hardly serves for the model of a just ruler, put him to death. Then the task was imposed on Ta-yue, the son of the man who had been executed. After nine years of incredible hardships he brought the work to a successful termination. During this time he extended his care to the rivers of more than one province, dredging, ditching, and diking. Three times he passed his own door and, though he heard the cries of his infant son, he did not once enter his house. The son of a criminal who had suffered death, a throne was the meed of his diligence and ability.

A temple in Hanyang, at the confluence of two rivers, commemorates Ta-yue's exploit, which certainly throws the labours of Hercules completely into the shade. On the opposite side of the river stands a pillar, inscribed in antique hieroglyphics, which professes to record this great achievement. It is a copy of one which stands on Mount Hang; and the characters, in the tadpole style, are so ancient that doubts as to their actual meaning exist among scholars of the present day. Each letter is accordingly accompanied by its equivalent in modern Chinese. The stone purports to have been erected by Ta-yue himself—good ground for suspicion—but it has been [Page 76] proved to be a fabrication of a later age, though still very ancient.[*]

[Footnote *: Dr. Haenisch of Berlin has taken great pains to expose the imposture.]

In the two preceding reigns the sovereign had always consulted the public good rather than family interest—a form of monarchy which the Chinese call elective, but which has never been followed, save that the Emperor exercises the right of choice among his sons irrespective of primogeniture. The man who bears the odium of having departed from the unselfish policy of Yao and Shun is this same Ta-yue. He left the throne to his son and, as the Chinese say, "made of the empire a family estate."

This narrative comes from the Shu-King or "Book of History," the most venerated of the Five Classics edited by Confucius; but the reader will readily perceive that it is no more historical than the stories of Codrus or Numa Pompilius.

In the reign of Yao we have an account of astronomical observations made with a view to fixing the length of the year. The King tells one man to go to the east and another to the west, to observe the culmination and transit of certain stars. As a result he says they will find that the year consists of 366 days, a close approximation for that epoch. The absurdity of this style, which attributes omniscience to the prince and leaves to his agents nothing but the task of verification, should not be allowed to detract from the credit due to their observations. The result arrived at was about the same as that reached by the Babylonians at the same date (2356 B. c.)

Other rulers who are credited with great inventions [Page 77] probably made them in the same way. Whether under Fuhi or Hwang-ti, Ts'ang-kie is recognised as the Cadmus of China, the author of its written characters; and Tanao, a minister of Hwang-ti, is admitted to be the author of the cycle of sixty. Both of those emperors may be imagined as calling up their ministers and saying to one, "Go and invent the art of writing," and to the other, "Work out a system of chronology."

In the same way, the inception of the culture of the silkworm and the discovery of the magnetic needle are attributed to the predecessors of Yao, probably on the principle that treasure-trove was the property of the King and that if no claimant for the honour could be found it must be attributed to some ancient monarch. The production of silk, as woman's work, they profess to assign to the consort of one of those worthies—a thing improbable if not impossible, her place of residence being in the north of China. Their picture-writing tells a different tale. Their word for a southern barbarian, compounded of "silk" and "worm," points to the south as the source of that useful industry, much as our word "silk," derived from sericum, points to China as its origin.



[Page 78] CHAPTER XV

THE THREE DYNASTIES

The House of Hia—Ta-yu's Consideration for His Subjects—Kie's Excesses—The House of Shang—Shang-tang, the Founder, Offers Himself as a Sacrificial Victim, and Brings Rain—Chou-sin Sets Fire to His Own Palace and Perishes in the Flames—The House of Chou

The Hia, Shang and Chou dynasties together extend over the twenty-two centuries preceding the Christian Era. The first occupies 440 years; the second, 644; and the last, in the midst of turmoil and anarchy, drags out a miserable existence of 874 years. They are grouped together as the San Tai or San Wang, "the Three Houses of Kings," because that title was employed by the founder of each. Some of their successors were called Ti; but Hwang-ti, the term for "emperor" now in use, was never employed until it was assumed by the builder of the Great Wall on the overthrow of the feudal states and the consolidation of the empire, 240 B. C.

THE HOUSE OF HIA, 2205-1766 B. C. (17 kings, 2 usurpers)

Unlike most founders of royal houses, who come to the throne through a deluge of blood, Ta-yue, as has been shown in the last chapter, climbed to that eminence [Page 79] through a deluge of water. Like Noah, the hero of an earlier deluge, he seems to have indulged, for once at least, too freely in the use of wine. A chapter in the "Book of History," entitled "A Warning Against Wine," informs us that one Yiti having made wine presented it to his prince. Ta-yue was delighted with it, but discontinued its use, saying that in time to come kings would lose their thrones through a fondness for the beverage. In China "wine" is a common name for all intoxicating drinks. That referred to in this passage was doubtless a distillation from rice or millet.

In the discharge of his public duties Ta-yue showed himself no less diligent than in contending with the waters. He hung at his door a bell which the poorest of his subjects might ring and thus obtain immediate attention. It is said that when taking a bath, if he heard the bell he sometimes rushed out without adjusting his raiment and that while partaking of a meal, if the bell rang he did not allow himself time to swallow his rice.

Prior to laying down his toilsome dignity Ta-yue caused to be cast nine brazen tripods, each bearing an outline map or a description of one of the provinces of the empire. In later ages these were deemed preeminently the patent of imperial power. On one occasion a feudal prince asked the question, "How heavy are these tripods?" A minister of state, suspecting an intention to remove them and usurp the power, replied in a long speech, proving the divine commission of his master, and asked in conclusion, "Why then should you inquire the weight of these tripods?"

[Page 80] Of the subsequent reigns nothing worth repetition is recorded except the fall of the dynasty. This, however, is due more to the meagreness of the language of that day than to the insignificance of the seventeen kings. Is it not probable that they were occupied in making good their claim to the nine provinces emblazoned on the tripods?

Kie, the last king, is said to have fallen under the fascination of a beautiful woman and to have spent his time in undignified carousals. He built a mountain of flesh and filled a tank with wine, and to amuse her he caused 3,000 of his courtiers to go on all fours and drink from the tank like so many cows.

THE SHANG DYNASTY, 1766-1122 B. C. (28 kings)

The founder of this dynasty was Shang-tang, or Cheng-tang, who to great valour added the virtues of humanity and justice. Pitying the oppressions of the people, he came to them as a deliverer; and the frivolous tyrant was compelled to retire into obscurity. A more remarkable exhibition of public spirit was the offering of himself as a victim to propitiate the wrath of Heaven. In a prolonged famine, his prayers having failed to bring rain, the soothsayers said that a human victim was required. "It shall be myself," he replied; and, stripping off his regal robes, he laid himself on the altar. A copious shower was the response to this act of devotion.

The successor of Shang-tang was his grandson T'ai-kia, who was under the tutelage of a wise minister [Page 81] named I-yin. Observing the indolence and pleasure-loving disposition of the young man, the minister sent him into retirement for three years that he might acquire habits of sobriety and diligence. The circumstance that makes this incident worth recording is that the minister, instead of retaining the power in his own family, restored the throne to its rightful occupant.

Another king of this house, by name P'an-keng, has no claim to distinction other than that of having moved his capital five times. As we are not told that he was pursued by vindictive enemies, we are left to the conjecture that he was escaping from disastrous floods, or, perhaps under the influence of a silly superstition, was in quest of some luckier site.

Things went from bad to worse, and finally Chou-sin surpassed in evil excesses the man who had brought ruin upon the House of Hia. The House of Shang of course suffered the same fate. An ambitious but kind-hearted prince came forward to succour the people, and was welcomed by them as a deliverer. The tyrant, seeing that all was lost, arrayed himself in festal robes, set fire to his own palace, and, like another Sardanapalus, perished in the flames.

He and Kie make a couple who are held up to everlasting execration as a warning to tyrannical princes. Like his remote predecessor, Chou-sin is reputed to have been led into his evil courses by a wicked woman, named Ta-ki. One suspects that neither one nor the other stood in need of such prompting. According to history, bad kings are generally worse than bad queens. In China, however, a woman is considered out of place [Page 82] when she lays her hand on the helm of state. Hence the tendency to blacken the names of those famous court beauties.

If Mencius may be believed, the tyrants themselves were not quite so profligate as the story makes them. He says, "Dirty water has a tendency to accumulate in the lowest sinks"; and he warns the princes of his time not to put themselves in a position in which future ages will continue to heap opprobrium on their memory.

Of the wise founders of this dynasty it is said that they "made religion the basis of education," as did the Romans, who prided themselves on devotion to their gods. In both cases natural religion degenerated into gross superstition. In the number of their gods the Chinese have exceeded the Romans; and they refer the worship of many of them to the Shang dynasty.

The following dynasty, that of Chou (35 sovereigns, 1122-249 B. C.) merits a separate chapter.



[Page 83] CHAPTER XVI

HOUSE OF CHOU

Wen-wang, the founder—Rise and Progress of Culture—Communistic Land Tenure—Origin of the term "Middle Kingdom"—Duke Chou and Cheng wang, "The Completer"—A Royal Traveller—Li and Yu, two bad kings

The merciful conqueror who at this time rescued the people from oppression was Wu-wang, the martial king. He found, it is said, the people "hanging with their heads downward" and set them on their feet. On the eve of the decisive battle he harangued his troops, appealing to the Deity as the arbiter, and expressing confidence in the result. "The tyrant," he said, "has ten myriads of soldiers, and I have but one myriad. His soldiers, however, have ten myriads of hearts, while my army has but one heart."

When the battle had been fought and won he turned his war-horses out to pasture and ordained that they should be forever free from yoke and saddle. Could he have been less humane in the treatment of his new subjects?

The credit of his victory he gave to ten wise counsellors, one of whom was his mother. History, however, ascribes it in a large degree to his father, Wen-wang, [Page 84] who was then dead, but who had prepared the way for his son's triumph.

Wen-wang, the Beauclerc of the Chous, is one of the most notable figures in the ancient history of China. A vassal prince, by wise management rather than by military prowess he succeeded in enlarging his dominions so that he became possessor of two-thirds of the empire. He is applauded for his wisdom in still paying homage to his feeble chief. The latter, however, must have regarded him with no little suspicion, as Wen-wang was thrown into prison, and only regained his liberty at the cost of a heavy ransom. Wen-wang apparently anticipated a mortal struggle; for it is related that, seeing an old man fishing, he detected in him an able general who had fled the service of the tyrant. "You," said he, "are the very man I have been looking for"; and, taking him up into his chariot, as Jehu did Jonadab, he rejoiced in the assurance of coming victory. The fisherman was Kiang Tai Kung, the ancestor of the royal House of Ts'i in Shantung. Though eighty-one years of age he took command of the cavalry and presided in the councils of his new master.

Fitting it was that the Beauclerc, Wen-wang should be the real founder of the new dynasty; for now for the first time those pictured symbols become living blossoms from which the fruits of learning and philosophy are to be gathered. The rise and progress of a generous culture is the chief characteristic of the House of Chou. Besides encouraging letters Wen-wang contributed much to the new literature. He is known as a commentator in the Yih-King, "Book of Changes," [Page 85] pronounced by Confucius the profoundest of the ancient classics—a book which he never understood.

In theory there was under this and the preceding dynasty no private ownership of land. The arable ground was laid out in plots of nine squares, thus:

- - - - - - - -

Eight of these were assigned to the people to cultivate for themselves; and the middle square was reserved for the government and tilled by the joint labour of all. The simple-hearted souls of that day are said to have prayed that the rains might first descend on the public field and then visit their private grounds.

In later years this communistic scheme was found not to work perfectly, owing, it is said, to the decay of public virtue. A statesman, named Shangyang, converted the tenure of land into fee simple—a natural evolution which was, however, regarded as quite too revolutionary and earned for him the execrations of the populace.

The charming simplicity of the above little diagram would seem to have suggested the arrangement of fiefs in the state, in which the irregular feudality of former times became moulded into a symmetrical system. The sovereign state was in the centre; and those of the feudal barons were ranged on the four sides in successive rows. The central portion was designated Chung Kwoh, "Middle Kingdom," a title which has come to be applied to the whole empire, implying, of course, that all the nations of the earth are its vassals.

Laid out with the order of a camp and ruled with martial vigour, the new state prospered for a few reigns. [Page 86] At length, however, smitten with a disease of the heart the members no longer obeyed the behests of the head. Decay and anarchy are written on the last pages of the history of the House of Chou.

The martial king died young, leaving his infant heir under the regency of his brother, the Duke of Chou. The latter, who inherited the tastes and talents of Wen-wang, was avowedly the character which the great Sage took for his pattern. With fidelity and ability he completed the pacification of the state. The credit of that achievement inured to his ward, who received the title of Cheng-wang, "The Completer."

Accused of scheming to usurp the throne, the Duke resigned his powers and withdrew from the court. The young prince, opening a golden casket, found in it a prayer of his uncle, made and sealed up during a serious illness of the King, imploring Heaven to accept his life as a ransom for his royal ward. This touching proof of devotion dispelled all doubt; and the faithful duke was recalled to the side of the now full-grown monarch.

Even during the minority of his nephew the Duke never entered his presence in other than full court costume. On one occasion the youthful king, playing with a younger brother, handed him a palm leaf saying, "This shall be your patent of nobility. I make you duke of such and such a place." The regent remonstrated, whereupon the King excused himself by saying, "I was only in sport." The Duke replied, "A king has no right to indulge in such sports," and insisted that the younger lad receive the investiture and [Page 87] emoluments. He was also, it is said, so careful of the sacred person that he never left on it the mark of his rod. When the little king deserved chastisement, the guardian always called up his own son, Pechin, and thrashed him soundly. One pities the poor fellow who was the innocent substitute more than one admires the scrupulous and severe regent. The Chinese have a proverb which runs, "Whip an ass and let a horse see it."

What shall be said of the successors of Cheng-wang? To account for the meagre chronicles of previous dynasties one may invoke the poverty of a language not yet sufficiently mature for the requirements of history; but for the seeming insignificance of the long line of Chous, who lived in the early bloom, if not the rich fruitage, of the classic period, no such apology is admissible.

Some there were, doubtless, who failed to achieve distinction because they had no foreign foe to oppose, no internal rebellion to suppress. Others, again, were so hampered by system that they had nothing better to do than to receive the homage of vassals. So wearied was one among them, Mu-wang, the fifth in succession, with those monotonous ceremonies that he betook himself to foreign travel as a relief from ennui, or perhaps impelled by an innate love of adventure. He delighted in horses; and, yoking eight fine steeds to his chariot, he set off to see the world. A book full of fables professes to record the narrative of his travels. He had, it says, a magic whip which possessed the property of compressing the surface of the earth into a small space. To-day Chinese envoys, with steam and [Page 88] electricity at command, are frequently heard to exclaim: "Now at last we have got the swift steeds and the magic whip of Mu-wang."

Two other kings, Li and Yu, are pointed at with the finger of scorn as examples of what a king ought not to be. The latter set aside his queen and her son in favour of a concubine and her son; and so offended was high heaven by this unkingly conduct that the sun hid his face in a total eclipse. This happened 775 B. C.; and it furnishes the starting-point for a reliable chronology. For her amusement the king caused the signal-fires to be lighted. She laughed heartily to see the great barons rush to the rescue and find it was a false alarm; but she did not smile when, not long after this, the capital was attacked by a real foe, the father of her injured rival. The signal-fires were again lighted; but the barons, having once been deceived by the cry of "Wolf," took care not to expose themselves again to derision.

The other king has not been lifted into the fierce light that beats upon a throne by anything so tragic as a burning palace; but his name is coupled with that of the former as a synonym of all that is weak and contemptible.

The story of the House of Chou is not to be disposed of in a few paragraphs, like the accounts of the preceding dynasties, because it was preeminently the formative period of ancient China; the age of her greatest sages, and the birthday of poetry and philosophy. I shall therefore devote a chapter to the sages and another to the reign of anarchy before closing the Book of Chou.



[Page 89] CHAPTER XVII

THE SAGES OF CHINA

Confucius—Describes Himself as Editor, not Author—"Model Teacher of All Ages"—Mencius—More Eloquent than his Great Master—Lao-tse, the Founder of Taoism

I shall not introduce the reader to all who justly bear the august title of sage; for China has had more and wiser sages than any other ancient country. Some of them may be referred to in the sequel; but this chapter I shall devote chiefly to the two who by universal consent have no equals in the history of the Empire—Confucius and Mencius. These great men owe much of their fame to the learned Jesuits who first brought them on the stage, clad in the Roman toga, and made them citizens of the world by giving them the euphonious names by which they are popularly known. Stripped of their disguise they appear respectively as K'ung Fu-tse and Meng-tse. Exchanging the ore rotunda of Rome for the sibillation of China, they never could have been naturalised as they are now.

CONFUCIUS

Born in the year 549 B. C., Confucius was contemporaneous with Isaiah and Socrates. Of a respectable but not opulent family he had to struggle for his [Page 90] education—a fact which in after years he was so far from concealing that he ascribed to it much of his success in life. To one who asked him, "How comes it that you are able to do so many things," he replied, "I was born poor and had to learn." His schoolmasters are unknown; and it might be asked of him, as it was of a greater than Confucius, "How knoweth this man letters, having never learned?"

Of his self-education, which continued through life, he gives the following concise account: "At fifteen I entered on a life of study; at thirty I took my stand as a scholar; at forty my opinions were fixed; at fifty I knew how to judge and select; at sixty I never relapsed into a known fault; at seventy I could follow my inclinations without going wrong." Note how each stage marks an advance towards moral excellence. Mark also that this passage gives an outline of self-discipline. It says nothing of his books or of his work as a statesman and a reformer.

He is said to have had, first and last, three thousand disciples. Those longest under instruction numbered twelve. They studied, not with lectures and textbooks, as in modern schools, but by following his footsteps and taking the impress of his character, much as Peter and John followed the steps and studied the life of Christ. Some of them followed Confucius when, bent on effecting a political as well as an ethical reform, he travelled from court to court among the petty principalities. They have placed it on record that once, when exposed to great peril, he comforted them by saying, "If Heaven has made me the depositary of these teachings, what can my enemies do against [Page 91] me?" Nobly conscious of a more than human mission, so pure were his teachings that, though he taught morals, not religion, he might fairly, with Socrates, be allowed to claim a sort of inspiration.

The one God, of whom he knew little, he called Heaven, and he always spoke of Heaven with the profoundest reverence. When neglected or misunderstood he consoled himself by saying, "Heaven knows me." During a serious illness a disciple inquired if he should pray for him, meaning the making of offerings at some temple. Confucius answered, "I have long prayed," or "I have long been in the habit of praying."

In letters he described himself as an "editor, not an author," meaning that he had revised the works of the ancients, but had published nothing of his own. Out of their poetry he culled three hundred odes and declared that "purity of thought" might be stamped on the whole collection. Into a confused mass of traditional ceremonies be brought something like order, making the Chinese (if a trifle too ceremonious) the politest people on earth. Out of their myths and chronicles he extracted a trustworthy history, and by his treatment of vice he made princes tremble, lest their heads should be exposed on the gibbet of history. He gave much time to editing the music of the ancients, but his work in that line has perished. This, however, cannot be regarded as a very great loss, in view of the rude condition in which Chinese music is still found. However deficient his knowledge of the art, his passion for music was extraordinary. After hearing a fine performance "he was unable for [Page 92] three months to enjoy his food." A fifth task was the editing of the Yih-King,[*] the book of divination compiled by Wen-wang. How thoroughly he believed in it is apparent from his saying, "Should it please Heaven to grant me five or ten years to study this book, I would not be in danger of falling into great errors." He meant that he would then be able to shape his conduct by the calculation of chances.

[Footnote *: This and the preceding are the Five Classics, which, like the five books of Moses, lie at the root of a nation's religion and learning.]

Great as were his labours in laying the foundation of literary culture, the impression made by his personal intercourse and by his collected sayings has been ten-fold more influential. They form the substance of the Four Books which, from a similar numerical coincidence, the Chinese are fond of comparing with our Four Gospels. Confucius certainly gives the Golden Rule as the essence of his teaching. True, he puts it in a negative form, "Do not unto others what you would not have them do to you"; but he also says, "My doctrine is comprehended in two words, chung and shu." The former denotes fidelity; the latter signifies putting oneself in the place of another, but it falls short of that active charity which has changed the face of the world.

It were easy to point out Confucius' limitations and mistakes; yet on the whole his merits were such that his people can hardly be blamed for the exaggerated honours which they show to his memory. They style him the "model teacher of all ages," but they do not invoke him as a tutelary deity, nor do they represent [Page 93] him by an image. Excessively honorific, their worship of Confucius is not idolatry.

MENCIUS

A hundred years later Mencius was born, and received his doctrine through the grandson of the Sage. More eloquent than his great master, more bold in rebuking the vices of princes, he was less original. One specimen of his teaching must suffice. One of the princes asking him, "How do you know that I have it in me to become a good ruler?" he replied, "I am told that, seeing the extreme terror of an ox that was being led to the altar, you released it and commanded a sheep to be offered in its stead. The ox was before your eyes and you pitied it; the sheep was not before your eyes and you had no pity on it. Now with such a heart if you would only think of your people, so as to bring them before your eyes, you might become the best of rulers."

Mencius lost his father in his infancy, but his mother showed rare good sense in the bringing up of her only child. Living near a butcher, she noticed that the boy mimicked the cries of the pigs. She then removed to the gate of a cemetery; but, noticing that the child changed his tune and mocked the wailing of mourners, she struck her tent and took up her abode near a high school. There she observed with joy that he learned the manners and acquired the tastes of a student. Perceiving, however, that he was in danger of becoming lazy and dilatory, she cut the warp of her web and said, "My son, this is what you are doing with the web of life."

[Page 94] The tomb of each of these sages is in the keeping of one of his descendants, who enjoys the emoluments of a hereditary noble. Mencius himself says of the master whom he never saw, "Since men were born on earth there has been no man like Confucius."

LAO-TSE

I cannot close this chapter without a word or two on Lao-tse, the founder of Taoism. He bore the family name of Li, "plum-tree," either from the fact that his cottage was in a garden or possibly because, like the Academics, he placed his school in a grove of plum-trees. The name by which he is now known signifies "old master," probably because he was older than Confucius. The latter is said to have paid him a visit to inquire about rites and ceremonies; but Lao-tse, with his love of solitude and abstract speculation, seems not to have exerted much influence on the mind of the rising philosopher. In allusion to him, Confucius said, "Away from men there is no philosophy—no tao."

Less honoured by the official class, Lao-tse's influence with the masses of China has been scarcely less than that of his younger rival. Like the other two sages he, too, has to-day a representative, who enjoys an official status as high priest of the Taoist sect. Chang Tien-shi dwells in a stately palace on the summit of the Tiger and Dragon Mountain, in Kiangsi, as the head of one of the three religions. But, alas! the sublime teachings of the founder of Taoism have degenerated into a contemptible mixture of jugglery and witchcraft.

[Page 95] Not till five centuries later did Buddhism enter China and complete the triad of religions—a triad strangely inharmonious; indeed one can scarcely conceive of three creeds more radically antagonistic.



[Page 96] CHAPTER XVIII

THE WARRING STATES

Five Dictators—Diplomacy and Strategy—A Brave Envoy—Heroes Reconciled—Ts'in Extinguishes the House of Chou

In the first half of the Chou dynasty the machinery moved with such regularity that Confucius could think of no form of government more admirable, saying, "The policy of the future may be foretold for a hundred generations—it will be to follow the House of Chou." The latter half was a period of misrule and anarchy.

Ambitions and jealousies led to petty wars. The King being too feeble to repress them, these petty wars grew into vast combinations like the leagues of modern Europe. Five of the states acquired at different times such a preponderance that their rulers are styled Wu Pa, the "five dictators." One of these, Duke Hwan of western Shantung, is famous for having nine times convoked the States-General. The dictator always presided at such meetings and he was recognised as the real sovereign—as were the mayors of the palace in France in the Merovingian epoch, or the shoguns in Japan during the long period in which the Mikado was called the "spiritual emperor."

The legitimate sovereign still sat on his throne [Page 97] in the central state; but he complained that his only function was to offer sacrifices. The Chinese dictatorship was not hereditary, or the world might have witnessed an exact parallel to the duplicate sovereignty in Japan, where one held the power and the other retained the title for seven hundred years.

In China the shifting of power from hand to hand made those four centuries an age of diplomacy. Whenever some great baron was suspected of aspiring to the leadership, combinations were formed to curb his ambitions; embassies sped from court to court; and armies were marshalled in the field. Envoys became noted for courage and cunning, and generals acquired fame by their skill in handling large bodies of soldiers. Diplomacy became an art, and war a science.

An international code to control the intercourse of states began to take shape; but the diplomat was not embarrassed by a multiplicity of rules. In negotiations individual character counted for more than it does at the present day; nor must it be supposed that in the absence of our modern artillery there was no room for generalship. On the contrary, as battles were not decided by the weight of metal, there was more demand for strategy.

All this was going on in Greece at this very epoch: and, as Plutarch indulges in parallels, we might point to compeers of Themistocles and Epaminondas. The cause which in the two countries led to this state of things was the existence of a family of states with a common language and similar institutions; but in the Asiatic empire the theatre was vastly more extensive, [Page 98] and the operations in politics and war on a grander scale.

To the honour of the Chinese it must be admitted that they showed themselves more civilised than the Greeks. The Persian invasion was provoked by the murder of ambassadors by the Athenians. Of such an act there is no recorded instance among the warring states of China. It was reserved for our own day to witness in Peking that exhibition of Tartar ferocity. The following two typical incidents from the voluminous chronicles of those times may be appropriately presented here:

A BRAVE ENVOY

The Prince of Ts'in, a semi-barbarous state in the northwest, answering to Macedonia in Greece, had offered to give fifteen cities for a kohinoor, a jewel belonging to the Prince of Chao (not Chou). Lin Sian Ju was sent to deliver the jewel and to complete the transaction. The conditions not being complied with, he boldly put the jewel into his bosom and returned to his own state. That he was allowed to do so—does it not speak as much for the morality of Ts'in as for the courage of Lin? The latter is the accepted type of a brave and faithful envoy.

HEROES RECONCILED

Jealous of his fame, Lien P'o, a general of Chao, announced that he would kill Lin at sight. The latter took pains to avoid a meeting. Lien P'o, taxing him with cowardice, sent him a challenge, to which Lin responded, "You and I are the pillars of our [Page 99] state. If either falls, our country is lost. This is why I have shunned an encounter." So impressed was the general with the spirit of this reply that he took a rod in his hand and presented himself at the door of his rival, not to thrash the latter, but to beg that he himself might be castigated. Forgetting their feud the two joined hands to build up their native state much as Aristides and Themistocles buried their enmity in view of the war with Persia.

As the Athenian orators thundered against Macedon so the statesmen of China formed leagues and counterplots for and against the rising power of the northwest. The type of patient, shrewd diplomacy is Su Ts'in who, at the cost of incredible hardships in journeying from court to court, succeeded in bringing six of the leading states into line to bar the southward movement of their common foe. His machinations were all in vain, however; for not only was his ultimate success thwarted by the counterplots of Chang Yee, an equally able diplomatist, but his reputation, like that of Parnell in our own times, was ruined by his own passions. The rising power of Ts'in, like a glacier, was advancing by slow degrees to universal sway. In the next generation it absorbed all the feudal states. Chau-siang subjugated Tung-chou-Kiun, the last monarch of the Chou dynasty, and the House of Chou was exterminated by Chwang-siang, who, however, enjoyed the supreme power for only three years (249-246 B. C).



[Page 100] CHAPTER XIX

THE HOUSE OF TS'IN, 246-206 B. C.

(2 Emperors)

Ts'in Shi-hwang-ti, "Emperor First"—The Great Wall—The Centralised Monarchy—The title Hwang-ti—Origin of the name China—Burning of the Books—Expedition to Japan—Revolution Places the House of Han on the Throne

"Viewed in the light of philosophy," says Schiller, "Cain killed Abel because Abel's sheep trespassed on Cain's cornfield." From that day to this farmers and shepherds have not been able to live together in peace. A monument of that eternal conflict is the Great Wall of China. Like the Roman Wall in North Britain, to compare great things with small, its object was not to keep out the Tartars but to reenforce the vigilance of the military pickets. That end it seems to have accomplished for a long time. It was, the Chinese say, the destruction of one generation and the salvation of many. We shall soon see how it came to be a mere geographical expression. For our present purpose it may also be regarded as a chronological landmark, dividing ancient from mediaeval China.

With the House of Chou the old feudal divisions disappeared forever. The whole country was brought [Page 101] under the direct sway of one emperor who, for the first time in the history of the people, had built up a dominion worthy of that august title. This was the achievement of Yin Cheng, the Prince of Ts'in. He thereupon assumed the new style of Hwang-ti. Hwangs and Tis were no novelty; but the combination made it a new coinage and justified the additional appellation of "the First," or Shi-hwang-ti. Four imperishable monuments perpetuate his memory: the Great Wall, the centralised monarchy, the title Hwang-ti, and the name of China itself—the last derived from a principality which under him expanded to embrace the empire. Where is there another conqueror in the annals of the world who has such solid claims to everlasting renown? Alexander overthrew many nations; but he set up nothing permanent. Julius Caesar instituted the Roman Empire; but its duration was ephemeral in comparison with that of the empire founded by Shi-hwang-ti, the builder of the Wall.

Though Shi-hwang-ti completed it, the wall was not the work of his reign alone. Similarly the triumphs of his arms and arts were due in large measure to his predecessors, who for centuries had aspired to universal sway. Conscious of inferiority in culture, they welcomed the aid and rewarded the services of men of talent from every quarter. Some came as penniless adventurers from rival or hostile states and were raised to the highest honours.

Six great chancellors stand conspicuous as having introduced law and order into a rude society, and paved the way for final success. Every one of these was a "foreigner." The princes whom they served [Page 102] deserve no small praise for having the good sense to appreciate them and the courage to follow their advice. Of some of these it might be said, as Voltaire remarked of Peter the Great, "They civilised their people, but themselves were savages." The world forgets how much the great czar was indebted for education and guidance to Le Fort, a Genevese soldier of fortune. Pondering that history one is able to gauge the merits of those foreign chancellors, perhaps also to understand what foreigners have done for the rulers of China in our day.

Shi-hwang-ti was the real founder of the Chinese Empire. He is one of the heroes of history; yet no man in the long list of dynasties is so abused and misrepresented by Chinese writers. They make him a bastard, a debauchee, and a fool. To this day he is the object of undying hatred to every one who can hold a pen. Why? it may be asked. Simply because he burned the books and persecuted the disciples of Confucius. Those two things, well-nigh incredible to us, are to the Chinese utterly incomprehensible.

Li-Sze, a native of Yen, was his chancellor, a genius more daring and far-sighted than any of the other five. The welding together of the feudal states into a compact unity was his darling scheme, as it was that of his master. "Never," he said, "can you be sure that those warring states will not reappear, so long as the books of Confucius are studied in the schools; for in them feudalism is consecrated as a divine institution." "Then let them be burned," said the tyrant.

The adherents of the Sage were ejected from the [Page 103] schools, and their teachings proscribed. This harsh treatment and the search for their books naturally gave rise to counterplots. "Put them to death," said the tyrant; and they went to the block, not like Christian marytrs for religious convictions, but like the Girondists of France for political principles. Their followers offer the silly explanation that the books were destroyed that the world might never know that there had been other dynasties, and the scholars slaughtered or buried alive to prevent the reproduction of the books.

The First Hwang-ti did not confine his ambition to China. He sent a fleet to Japan; and those isles of the Orient came to view for the first time in the history of the world. The fleet carried, it is said, a crew of three thousand lads and lasses. It never returned; but the traditions of Japan affirm that it arrived, and the islanders ascribe their initiation into Chinese literature to their invasion by that festive company—a company not unlike that with which Bacchus was represented as making the conquest of India. Their further acquaintance with China and its sages was obtained through Korea, which was long a middle point of communication between the two countries. It was, in fact, from the Shantung promontory, near to Korea, that this flotilla of videttes was dispatched.

What was the real object of that strange expedition? Chinese authors assert that it was sent in search of the "elixir of life," but do they not distort everything in the history of the First Hwang-ti? The great monarch was, in fact, a devout believer in the fables of Taoism, among which were stories of the Islands of [Page 104] the Blest, and of a fountain of immortality, such as eighteen centuries later stimulated the researches of Ponce de Leon. The study of alchemy was in full blast among the Chinese at that time. It probably sprang from Taoism; but, in my opinion, the ambitious potentate, sighing for other worlds to conquer, sent that jolly troop as the vanguard of an army.

In spite, however, of elixirs of life and fountains of youth, death put an end to his conquests when he had enjoyed the full glories of imperial power for only twelve years. His son reigned two years; and the first of the imperial dynasties came to an end—overturned by a revolution which placed the House of Han on the vacant throne.



[Page 105] CHAPTER XX

THE HOUSE OF HAN, 206—B. C.—220 A. D.

(24 Emperors, 2 Usurpers)

Liu-pang Founds Illustrious Dynasty—Restoration of the Books—A Female Reign—The Three Religions—Revival of Letters—Sze-ma Ts'ien, the Herodotus of China—Conquests of the Hans

The burning of the books and the slaughter of the scholars had filled the public mind with horror. The oppressions occasioned by the building of the Great Wall had excited a widespread discontent; and Liu-pang, a rough soldier of Central China, took advantage of this state of things to dispossess the feeble heir of the tyrant. He founded a dynasty which is reckoned among the most illustrious in the annals of the Empire. It takes the name of Han from the river on the banks of which it rose to power. When Liu-pang was securely seated on the throne one of his ministers proposed that he should open schools and encourage learning. "Learning," exclaimed the Emperor, "I have none of it myself, nor do I feel the need of it. I got the empire on horseback." "But can you govern the empire on horseback? That is the question," replied the minister. To conciliate the favour of the learned, the Emperor not only rescinded the persecuting edicts, but caused search to be made for [Page 106] the lost books, and instituted sacrificial rites in honour of the Sage.

Old men were still living who had committed those books to memory in boyhood. One such, Fu-seng by name, was noted for his erudition; and from his capacious memory a large portion of the sacred canon was reproduced, being written from his dictation. The copies thus obtained were of course not free from error. Happily a somewhat completer copy, engraved on bamboo tablets, was discovered in the wall of a house belonging to the Confucian family. Yet down to the present day the Chinese classics bear traces of the tyrant's fire. Portions are wanting and the lacunae are always ascribed to the "fires of Ts'in." The first chapter of the Great Study closes with the pregnant words, "The source of knowledge is in the study of things." Not a syllable is added on that prolific text. A note informs the reader that there was a chapter on the subject, but that it has been lost. Chinese scholars, when taxed with the barrenness of later ages in every branch of science, are wont to make the naive reply, "Yes, and no wonder—how could it be otherwise when the Sage's chapter on that subject has been lost?"

After the second reign, that of Hwei-ti, we have the first instance in Chinese history of a woman seizing the reins of government. The Empress Lu made herself supreme, and such were her talents that she held the Empire in absolute subjection for eight years. Like Jezebel she "destroyed all the seed royal," and filled the various offices with her kindred and favourites. At her death they were butchered without [Page 107] mercy, and a male heir to the throne was proclaimed. His posthumous title Wen-ti, meaning the "learned" or "patron of letters," marks the progress made by the revival of learning.

One might imagine that these literary emperors would have been satisfied with the recovery of the Confucian classics; but no, a rumour reached them that "there are sages in the West." The West was India. An embassy was sent, 66 A. D., by Ming-ti to import books and bonzes. The triad of religions was thus completed.

Totally diverse in spirit and essence, the three religions could hardly be expected to harmonise or combine. Confucianism exalts letters, and lays stress on ethics to the neglect of the spiritual world. Taoism inculcates physical discipline; but in practice it has become the mother of degrading superstition—dealing in magic and necromancy. Buddhism saps the foundations of the family and enjoins celibacy as the road to virtue. Metempsychosis is its leading doctrine, and to "think on nothing" its mental discipline. It forbids a flesh diet and deprecates scholarship. Through imperial patronage it acquired a footing in China, but it was long before it felt at home there. As late as the eighth century Han Yu, the greatest writer of the age, ridiculed the relics of Buddha and called on his people to "burn their books, close their temples, and make laity of their monks."

Yet Buddhism seems to have met a want. It has fostered a sympathy for animal life, and served as a protest against the Sadducean tenets of the lettered class. It long ago became so rooted in the minds of [Page 108] the illiterate, who form nine-tenths of the population, that China may be truly described as the leading Buddhist country of the globe.[*]

[Footnote *: THE APOTHEOSIS OF MERCY

A LEGEND OF KUANYIN PUSA—IN NORTHERN BUDDHISM

Two images adorn this mountain shrine, Not marble chiselled out by Grecian art, But carved from wood with Oriental skill. In days of yore adored by pilgrim throngs, They languish now without a worshipper.

High up a winding flight of stony steps See Gautama upon his lotus throne! More near the gate, her lovely face downcast, Sits Mercy's Goddess, pity in her eye, To greet the weary climbers and to hear Their many-coloured tales of woe and want.

The Buddha, in sublime repose, sees not His prostrate worshippers; and they to him No prayer address, save hymns of grateful praise.[1] 'Twas he who for a blinded world sought out The secret of escape from misery; The splendour of a royal court resigned, He found in poverty a higher realm! Yet greater far the victory, when he broke The chain of Fate and spurned the wheel of change. To suffering humanity he says, "Tread in my steps: You, too, may find release."

[Footnote 1: Such as Om mani padmi hum ("O the jewel in the lotus")]

Like him, the Pusa was of princely birth, But not like him did she forsake a throne, Nor yet like him did she consent to see Nirvana's pearly gates behind her close. A field for charity her regal state. Her path with ever-blooming flowers she strewed, Her sympathy to joy a relish gave, To sorrows manifold it brought relief, Forgetting self she lived for others' weal Till higher than Meru her merit rose.[2]

[Footnote 2: Mt. Meru, the Indian Olympus.]

At length a Voice celestial smote her ear. "Nirvana's portal to thee open stands, The crown of Buddhaship is thine by right. No wave of care that shore can ever reach, No cry of pain again thine ear assail; But fixed in solitary bliss thou'lt see The circling ages rolling at thy feet!"

"Shall I then have no tidings of mankind? Such heaven a throne of glittering ice would be. That changeless bliss to others thou may'st give. Happiest am I th' unhappy to upraise. Oh for a thousand hands[3] the task to ply! To succour and relieve be mine," she said, "Bought though it be by share of suffering. Turn then the wheel,[4] and back to earth again."

[Footnote 3: She is often so represented, as the symbol of present Providence.]

[Footnote 4: Lunhui, the wheel of destiny, within which birth and death succeed without end or interval.]

From out the blue came down the Voice once more: "Thy great refusal wins a higher prize; A kingdom new thy charity hath gained.[5] And there shalt thou, the Queen of Mercy, reign, Aloof from pain or weakness of thine own, With quickened sense to hear and power to save."

[Footnote 5: She escapes the wheel, but remains on the border of Nirvana, where, as her name signifies, she "hears the prayers of men."]

Fair image thou! Almost I worship thee, Frail shadow of a Christ that hears and feels!

W. A. P. M.

PEARL GROTTO, NEAR PEKING, August 8, 1906.]

Buddhist monasteries are to be seen on every hand. They are often subsidised by the state; and even at the tomb of Confucius a temple was erected called the "Hall of the Three Religions." In it the image of [Page 109] Buddha is said to have occupied the seat of honour, but prior to the date of my visit it had been demolished.

Each of these religions has a hierarchy: that of Confucius with a lineal descendant of the Sage at its head; that of Lao-tse with Chang Tien-shi, the arch-magician, as its high priest; and, higher than all, that of Buddha with the Grand Lama of Tibet.

Under the house of Han a beginning was made in the institution of civil service examinations—a system which has continued to dominate the Chinese intellect down to our time; but it was not fully developed until the dynasty of T'ang. Belles-lettres made a marked advance. The poetry of the period is more finished [Page 110] than that of the Chous. Prose composition, too, is vigorous and lucid. The muse of history claims the place of honour. Sze-ma Ts'ien, the Herodotus of China, was born in this period. A glory to his country, the treatment Sze-ma Ts'ien received at the hands of his people exposes their barbarism. He had recommended Li Ling as a suitable commander to lead an expedition against the Mongols. Li Ling surrendered to the enemy, and Sze-ma Ts'ien, as his sponsor, was liable to suffer death in his stead. Being allowed an alternative, he chose to submit to the disgrace of emasculation, in order that he might live to complete his monumental work—a memorial better than sons and daughters. A pathetic letter of the unfortunate general, who never dared to return to China, is preserved amongst the choice specimens of prose composition.

Not content with the Great Wall for their northern limit nor with the "Great River" for their southern boundary, the Hans attempted to advance their frontiers in both directions. In the north they added the province of Kansuh, and in the other direction they extended their operations as far south as the borders of Annam; but they did not make good the possession of the whole of the conquered territory. Szechuen and Hunan were, however, added to their domain. The latter seems to have served as a penal colony rather than an integral portion of the Empire. A poem by Kiayi, an exiled statesman (200 B. c.), is dated from Changsha, its capital.[*]

[Footnote *: See "Chinese Legends and Other Poems," by W. A. P. Martin.]

In the south the savage tribes by which the Chinese [Page 111] were opposed made a deep impression on the character of the people, but left no record in history. Not so with the powerful foe encountered in the north. Under the title of Shanyu, he was a forerunner of the Grand Khan of Tartary—claiming equality with the emperors of China and exchanging embassies on equal terms. His people, known as the Hiunghu, are supposed to have been ancestors of the Huns.



[Page 112] CHAPTER XXI

THE THREE KINGDOMS, THE NAN-PEH CHAO, AND THE SUI DYNASTY, 214-618 A. D.

The States of Wei, Wu, and Shuh—A Popular Historical Romance—Chu-koh Liang, an Inventive Genius—The "three P's," Pen, Paper, Printing—The Sui Dynasty

After four centuries of undisputed sway, the sceptre is seen ready to fall from the nerveless hands of feeble monarchs. Eunuchs usurp authority, and the hydra of rebellion raises its many heads. Minor aspirants are easily extinguished; but three of them survive a conflict of twenty years, and lay the foundation of short-lived dynasties.

The noble structure erected by the Ts'ins and consolidated by the Hans began to crumble at the beginning of its fifth century of existence. In 221 A. D. its fragments were removed to three cities, each of which claimed to be the seat of empire. The state of Wei was founded by Tsao Tsao, with its capital at Lo-yang, the seat of the Hans. He had the further advantage, as mayor of the palace, of holding in his power the feeble emperor Hwan-ti, the last of the house of Han. The state of Wu, embracing the provinces of Kiangsu, Kiangsi, and Chehkiang, was established by Siun Kien, a man of distinguished ability [Page 113] who secured his full share of the patrimony. The third state was founded by Liu Pi, a scion of the imperial house whose capital was at Chingtu-fu in Szechuen. The historian is here confronted by a problem like that of settling the apostolic succession of the three popes, and he has decided in favour of the last, whom he designates the "Later Han," mainly on the ground of blood relationship.

Authority for this is found in the dynastic history; but reference may also be made to a romance which deals with the wars of those three states. Composed by Lo Kwan-chung and annotated by Kin Sheng Tan, it is the most popular historical novel in the whole range of Chinese literature. Taking the place of a national epic, its heroes are not of one type or all on one side, but its favourites are found among the adherents of Liu Pi. It opens with a scene in which Liu, Kwan, and Chang, like the three Tells on Gruetli, meet in a peach-garden and take vows of brotherhood—drinking of a loving-cup tinged with the blood of each and swearing fidelity to their common cause. Of the three brothers the first, Liu Pi, after a long struggle, succeeds in founding a state in western China. The second, Kwan Yue, is the beau-ideal of patriotic courage. In 1594 he was canonised as the god of war. The gifted author has, therefore, the distinction, beyond that of any epic poet of the West, of having created for his countrymen their most popular deity. Chang-fi, the youngest of the three brothers, is the inseparable henchman of the Chinese Mars. He wields a spear eighteen feet in length with a dash and impetuosity which no enemy is able to withstand.

[Page 114] Other characters are equally fixed in the public mind. Tsao Tsao, the chief antagonist of Liu Pi, is not merely a usurper: he is a curious compound of genius, fraud, and cruelty. Another conspicuous actor is Lue Pu, an archer able to split a reed at a hundred paces, and a horseman who performs prodigies on the field of battle. He begins his career by shooting his adopted father, like Brutus perhaps, not because he loved Tung Choh less, but China more.

All these and others too numerous to mention may be seen any day on the boards of the theatre, an institution which, in China at least, serves as a school for the illiterate.[*]

[Footnote *: The stage is usually a platform on the open street where an actor may be seen changing his role with his costume, now wearing the mask of one and then of another of the contending chieftains, and changing his voice, always in a falsetto key, to produce something like variety.]

Liu Pi succeeds, after a struggle of twenty years, in establishing himself in the province of Szechuen; but he enjoys undisturbed dominion in his limited realm for three years only, and then transmits his crown to a youthful son whom he commends to the care of a faithful minister. The youth when an infant has been rescued from a burning palace by the brave Chang-fi, who, wrapping the sleeping child in his cloak and mounting a fleet charger, cut his way through the enemy. On reaching a distant point the child was still asleep. The witty annotator adds the remark, "He continued to sleep for thirty years."

The minister to whom the boy had been confided, Chu-koh Liang, is the most versatile and inventive genius of Chinese antiquity. As the founder of the house of Chou discovered in an old fisherman a [Page 115] counsellor of state who paved his way to the throne, so Liu Pi found this man in a humble cottage where he was hiding himself in the garb of a peasant, San Ku Mao Lu, say the Chinese. He "three times visited that thatched hovel" before he succeeded in persuading its occupant to commit himself to his uncertain fortunes. From that moment Chu-koh Liang served him as eyes and ears, teeth and claws, with a skill and fidelity which have won the applause of all succeeding ages. Among other things, he did for Liu Pi what Archimedes did for Dionysius. He constructed military engines that appeared so wonderful that, as tradition has it "he made horses and oxen out of wood."

Entrusted by his dying master with the education of the young prince, he has left two papers full of wise counsels which afford no little help in drawing the line between fact and fiction. Unquestionably Chu-koh Liang was the first man of his age in intellect and in such arts and sciences as were known to his times. Yet no one invention can be pointed to as having been certainly derived from Chu-koh Liang. The author of the above-mentioned romance, who lived as late as the end of the thirteenth century, constantly speaks of his use of gunpowder either to terrify the enemy or to serve for signals; but it is never used to throw a cannon-ball. It probably was known to the Chinese of that date, as the Arab speaks of gunpowder under the designation of "Chinese snow," meaning doubtless the saltpetre which forms a leading ingredient. The Chinese had been dabbling in alchemy for many centuries, and it is scarcely possible that they [Page 116] should have failed to hit on some such explosive. It is, however, believed on good authority that they never made use of cannon in war until the beginning of the fifteenth century.

There are, however, three other inventions or improvements of the known arts, which deserve notice in this connection, namely, the "three Ps"—pen, paper and printing—all preeminently instruments of peaceful culture. The pen in China is a hair pencil resembling a paint-brush. It was invented by Mung-tien in the third century B. c. Paper was invented by Tsai Lun, 100 B. c., and printing by Fungtao in the tenth century of the present era. What is meant by printing in this case is, however, merely the substitution of wood for stone, the Chinese having been for ages in the habit of taking rubbings from stone inscriptions. It was not long before they divided the slab into movable characters and earned for themselves the honour of having anticipated Gutenberg and Faust. Their divisible types were never in general use, however, and block printing continues in vogue; but Western methods are rapidly supplanting both.

The three states were reunited under the Tsin dynasty, 265 A. D. This lasted for a century and a half and then, after a succession of fifteen emperors, went down in a sea of anarchy, from the froth of which arose more than half a score of contending factions, among which four were sufficiently prominent to make for themselves a place in history. Their period is described as that of the Nan-peh Chao, "Northern and Southern Kingdoms." The names of the principals were Sung, Wei, Liang and Chin. The first [Page 117] only was Chinese, the others belonging to various branches of the Tartar race. The chiefs of the Liang family were of Tibetan origin—a circumstance which may perhaps account for their predilection for Buddhism. The second emperor of that house, Wu Ti, became a Buddhist monk and retired to a monastery where he lectured on the philosophy of Buddhism. He reminds one of Charles the Fifth, who in his retirement amused himself less rationally by repairing watches and striving, in vain, to make a number of them keep identical time.

It may be noted that behind these warring factions there is in progress a war of races also. The Tartars are forever encroaching on the Flowery Land. Repulsed or expelled, they return with augmented force; and even at this early epoch the shadow of their coming conquest is plainly visible.

In the confused strife of North and South the preponderance is greatly on the side of the Tartars. The pendulum of destiny then begins to swing in the other direction. Yan Kien, a Chinese general in the service of a Tartar principality, took advantage of their divisions to rally a strong body of his countrymen by whose aid he cut them off in detail and set up the Sui dynasty, The Tartars have always made use of Chinese in the invasion of China; and if the Chinese were always faithful to their own country no invader would succeed in conquering them.

Though the Sui dynasty lasted less than thirty years (589-618, three reigns), it makes a conspicuous figure on account of two events: (1) a victorious expedition in the north which reached the borders of [Page 118] Turkestan, and (2) the opening of canals between the Yellow River and the Yang-tse Kiang. The latter enterprise only hastened the fall of the house. It was effected by forced labour; and the discontented people were made to believe, as their historians continue to assert, that its chief object was to enable a luxurious emperor to display his grandeur to the people of many provinces. We shall see how the extension of those canals precipitated the overthrow of the Mongols as we have already seen how the completion of the Great Wall caused the downfall of the house of Ts'in.

Yang-ti, the second emperor of the Sui dynasty, though not wanting in energy, is notorious for his excesses in display and debauch. He is reported to have hastened his accession to the throne by the murder of his father. A peaceful end to such a reign would have been out of keeping with the course of human events. Li Yuen, one of his generals, rose against him, and he was assassinated in Nanking.

By wisdom and courage Li Yuen succeeded in setting up a new dynasty which he called T'ang (618 A. D.): After a long period of unrest, it brought to the distracted provinces an era of unwonted prosperity; it held the field for nearly three hundred years, and surpassed all its predecessors in splendour.



[Page 119] CHAPTER XXII

THE T'ANG DYNASTY, 618-907 A. D. (20 Emperors)

An Augustan Age—A Pair of Poets—The Coming of Christianity—The Empress Wu—System of Examinations

I have seen a river plunge into a chasm and disappear. After a subterranean course of many miles it rose to the surface fuller, stronger than before. No man saw from whence it drew its increment of force, but the fact was undeniable. This is just what took place in China at this epoch.

It is comforting to know that during those centuries of turmoil the Chinese were not wholly engrossed with war and rapine. The T'ang dynasty is conspicuously the Augustan Age. Literature reappears in a more perfect form than under the preceding reigns. The prose writers of that period are to the present day studied as models of composition, which cannot be affirmed of the writers of any earlier epoch. Poetry, too, shone forth with dazzling splendour. A galaxy of poets made their appearance, among whom two particular stars were Tufu and Lipai, the Dryden and Pope of Chinese literature.

The following specimen from Lipai who is deemed the highest poetical genius in the annals of China, may [Page 120] show, even in its Western dress, something of his peculiar talent:

ON DRINKING ALONE BY MOONLIGHT[*]

Here are flowers and here is wine, But where's a friend with me to join Hand in hand and heart to heart In one full cup before we part?

Rather than to drink alone, I'll make bold to ask the moon To condescend to lend her face The hour and the scene to grace.

Lo, she answers, and she brings My shadow on her silver wings; That makes three, and we shall be. I ween, a merry company

The modest moon declines the cup, But shadow promptly takes it up, And when I dance my shadow fleet Keeps measure with my flying feet.

But though the moon declines to tipple She dances in yon shining ripple, And when I sing, my festive song, The echoes of the moon prolong.

Say, when shall we next meet together? Surely not in cloudy weather, For you my boon companions dear Come only when the sky is clear.

[Footnote *: From "Chinese Legends and Other Poems," by W. A. P. MARTIN.]

The second emperor, Tai-tsung, made good his claims by killing two of his brothers who were plotting against him. Notwithstanding this inauspicious beginning [Page 121] he became an able and illustrious sovereign. The twenty-three years during which he occupied the throne were the most brilliant of that famous dynasty.

At Si-ngan in Shensi, the capital of the T'angs, is a stone monument which records the introduction of Christianity by Nestorians from Syria. Favoured by the Emperor the new faith made considerable headway. For five hundred years the Nestorian churches held up the banner of the Cross; but eventually, through ignorance and impurity, they sank to the level of heathenism and disappeared. It is sad to think that this early effort to evangelise China has left nothing but a monumental stone.

At the funeral of Tai-tsung his successor, Kao-tsung, saw Wu, one of his father's concubines, who pleased him so much that, contrary to law, he took her into his own harem. Raised to the rank of empress and left mother of an infant son, she swayed the sceptre after Kao-tsung's death for twenty-one years. Beginning as regent she made herself absolute.

A system of civil service examinations which had sprung up with the revival of learning under the Hans was now brought to maturity. For good or for evil it has dominated the mind of the Empire for twelve centuries. Now, however, the leaders of thought have begun to suspect that it is out of date. The new education requires new tests; but what is to hinder their incorporation in the old system? To abolish it would be fraught with danger, and to modify it is a delicate task for the government of the present day.

That the scholar should hold himself in readiness [Page 122] to serve the state no less than the soldier was an acknowledged principle. It was reserved for the statesmen of T'ang to make it the mainspring of the government. To them belongs the honour of constructing a system which would stimulate literary culture and skim the cream of the national talent for the use of the state. It had the further merit of occupying the minds of ambitious youth with studies of absorbing interest, thus diverting them from the dangerous path of political conspiracy.

Never was a more effective patronage given to letters. Without founding or endowing schools the state said: "If you acquire the necessary qualifications, we shall see that your exertions are duly rewarded. Look up to those shining heights—see the gates that are open to welcome you, the garlands that wait to crown your triumphant course!"

Annual examinations were held in every country; and the degree of S. T. (Siu-tsai), equivalent to A. B., was conferred on 3 per cent. of the candidates. To fail was no disgrace; to have entered the lists was a title to respect. Once in three years the budding talent of the province convened in its chief city to compete for the second degree. This was H. L. (Hiao Lien, "Filial and Honest"), showing how ethical ideas continued to dominate the literary tribunals. It is now Chu-jin, and denotes nothing but promotion or prize man. The prize, a degree answering to A. M., poetically described as a sprig of the Olea fragrans, was the more coveted as the competitors were all honour men of the first grade, and it was limited to one in a hundred. Its immediate effect is such social [Page 123] distinction that it is said poor bachelors are common, but poor masters are rare.

If the competition stopped here it would be an Olympic game on a grander scale. But there are loftier heights to be climbed. The new-made masters from all the provinces proceed to the imperial capital to try their strength against the assembled scholars of the Empire. Here the prizes are three in a hundred. The successful student comes forth a Literary Doctor—a Tsin-shi, "fit for office." To all such is assured a footing, high or low, on the official ladder.

But another trial remains by which those who are good at the high leap may at a single bound place themselves very near the top. This final contest takes place in the palace—nominally in the presence of the Emperor, and the questions are actually issued by him. Its object is to select the brightest of the doctors for chairs in the Hanlin Academy—an institution in which the humblest seat is one of exalted dignity. How dazzling the first name on that list! The Chuang Yuen or senior wrangler takes rank with governors and viceroys. An unfading halo rests on the place of his birth. Sometimes in travelling I have seen a triumphal arch proclaiming that "Here was born the laureate of the Empire." Such an advertisement raises the value of real estate; and good families congregate in a place on which the sun shines so auspiciously. A laureate who lived near me married his daughter to a viceroy, and her daughter became consort to the Emperor Tungchi.

What then are the objections to a regulation which is so democratic that it makes a nobleman of every [Page 124] successful scholar and gives to all the inspiration of equal opportunity? They are, in a word, that it has failed to expand with the growing wants of the people. The old curriculum laid down by Confucius, "Begin with poetry; make etiquette your strong point; and finish off with music," was not bad for his day, but is utterly inadequate for ours, unless it be for a young ladies seminary. The Sage's chapter on experiment as the source of knowledge—a chapter which might have anticipated the Novum Organum—having been lost, the statesmen of the T'ang period fell into the error of leaving in their scheme no place for original research. This it was that made the mind of China barren of discoveries for twelve centuries. It was like putting a hood on the keen-eyed hawk and permitting him to fly at only such game as pleased his master.

The chief requirement was superficial polish in prose and verse. The themes were taken exclusively from books, the newest of which was at that time over a thousand years old. To broach a theory not found there was fatal; and to raise a question in physical science was preposterous. Had anyone come forward with a new machine he might have been rewarded; but no such inventor ever came because the best minds in the Empire were trained to trot blindfold on a tread-mill in which there was no possibility of progress. Had the mind of the nation been left free and encouraged to exert its force, who can doubt that the country that produced the mariner's compass might have given birth to a Newton or an Edison?

After Wu none of the monarchs of this dynasty [Page 125] calls for notice. The last emperor was compelled to abdicate; and thus, after a career of nearly three centuries bright with the light of genius and prolific of usages good and bad that set the fashion for after ages, this great house was extinguished.