CYCLOPÆDIAS, NOVELS, ETC.Under the head of encyclopædias, a list of summaries, compends, and treasuries of knowledge is given, which for extent and bulkiness cannot be equalled in any language. Among them is theTai Tien, or ‘Great Record’ of the Emperor Yungloh (A.D.1403), in twenty-two thousand eight hundred and seventy-seven chapters, and containing the substance of all classical, historical, philosophical, and scientific writings in the language. Parts of this compilation were lost, and on the accession of the Manchus one-tenth of it was missing; but by means of the unequalled interest on the part of Yungloh in his national literature, three hundred and eighty-five ancient and rare works were rescued from destruction. TheSan Tsai Tu, or ‘Plates [illustrative of the] Three Powers’ (i.e., heaven, earth, and man, by which is meant the entire universe), in one hundred and thirty volumes, is one of the most valuable compilations, by reason of the great number of plates it contains, which exhibit the ideas of the compilers much better than their descriptions.The twelfth section, containing novels and tales, calledSiao Shwoh, or ‘Trifling Talk,’ gives the titles of but few of the thousands of productions of this class in the language. Works of fiction are among the most popular and exceptionable books the Chinese have, and those which are not demoralizing are, with some notable exceptions, like theTen Talented Authors, generally slighted. The books sold in the streets are chiefly of this class of writings, consisting of tales and stories generallydestitute of all intricacy of plot, fertility of illustration, or elevation of sentiment. They form the common mental aliment of the lower classes, being read by those who are able, and talked about by all; their influence is consequently immense. Many of them are written in the purest style, among which a collection calledLiao Chai, or ‘Pastimes of the Study,’ in sixteen volumes, is pre-eminent for its variety and force of expression, and its perusal can be recommended to every one who wishes to study the copiousness of the Chinese language. The preface is dated in 1679; most of the tales are short, and few have any ostensible moral to them, while those which are objectionable for their immorality, or ridiculous from their magic whimsies, form a large proportion. A quotation or two will illustrate the author’s invention:A villager was once selling plums in the market, which were rather delicious and fragrant, and high in price; and there was a Tao priest, clad in ragged garments of coarse cotton, begging before his wagon. The villager scolded him, but he would not go off; whereupon, becoming angry, he reviled and hooted at him. The priest said, “The wagon contains many hundred plums, and I have only begged one of them, which, for you, respected sir, would certainly be no great loss; why then are you so angry?” The spectators advised to give him a poor plum and send him away, but the villager would not consent. The workmen in the market disliking the noise and clamor, furnished a few coppers and bought a plum, which they gave the priest. He bowing thanked them, and turning to the crowd said, “I do not wish to be stingy, and request you, my friends, to partake with me of this delicious plum.” One of them replied, “Now you have it, why do you not eat it yourself?” “I want only the stone to plant,” said he, eating it up at a munch. When eaten, he held the stone in his hand, and taking a spade off his shoulder, dug a hole in the ground several inches deep, into which he put it and covered it with earth. Then turning to the market people, he procured some broth with which he watered and fertilized it; and others, wishing to see what would turn up, brought him boiling dregs from shops near by, which he poured upon the hole just dug. Every one’s eyes being fixed upon the spot, they saw a crooked shoot issuing forth, which gradually increased till it became a tree, having branches and leaves; flowers and then fruit succeeded, large and very fragrant, which covered the tree. The priest then approached the tree, plucked the fruit and gave the beholders; and when all were consumed, he felled the tree with a colter—chopping, chopping for a good while, until at last, having cut it off, he shouldered the foliage in an easy manner, and leisurely walked away.When first the priest began to perform his magic arts, the villager was also among the crowd, with outstretched neck and gazing eyes, and completelyforgot his own business. When the priest had gone, he began to look into his wagon, and lo! it was empty of plums; and for the first time he perceived that what had just been distributed were all his own goods. Moreover, looking narrowly about his wagon, he saw that the dashboard was gone, having just been cut off with a chisel. Much excited and incensed he ran after him, and as he turned the corner of the wall, he saw the board thrown down beneath the hedge, it being that with which the plum-tree was felled. Nobody knew where the priest had gone, and all the market folks laughed heartily.The Rationalists are considered as the chief magicians among the Chinese, and they figure in most of the tales in this work, whose object probably was to exalt their craft, and add to their reputation. Like the foregoing against hardheartedness, the following contains a little sidewise admonition against theft:On the west of the city in the hamlet of the White family lived a rustic who stole his neighbor’s duck and cooked it. At night he felt his skin itch, and on looking at it in the morning saw a thick growth of duck’s feathers, which, when irritated, pained him. He was much alarmed, for he had no remedy to cure it; but, in a dream of the night, a man informed him, “Your disease is a judgment from heaven; you must get the loser to reprimand you, and the feathers will fall off.” Now this gentleman, his neighbor, was always liberal and courteous, nor during his whole life, whenever he lost anything, had he even manifested any displeasure in his countenance. The thief craftily told him, “The fellow who stole your duck is exceedingly afraid of a reprimand; but reprove him, and he will no doubt then fear in future.” He, laughing, replied, “Who has the time or disposition to scold wicked men?” and altogether refused to do so; so the man, being hardly bestead, was obliged to tell the truth, upon which the gentleman gave him a scolding, and his disorder was removed.CHARACTER OF CHINESE FICTION.Rémusat compares the construction of Chinese novels to those of Richardson, in which the “authors render their characters interesting and natural by reiterated strokes of the pencil, which finally produce a high degree of illusion. The interest in their pages arose precisely in proportion to the stage of my progress; and in approaching to the termination, I found myself about to part with some agreeable people, just as I had duly learned to relish their society.” He briefly describes the defects in Chinese romances as principally consisting in long descriptions of trifling particulars and delineations of localities, and the characters and circumstances of the interlocutors, while the thread of the narrative is carried on mostly in a conversational way, which, fromits minuteness, soon becomes tedious. The length of their poetic descriptions and prolix display of the wonders of art or the beauties of nature, thrown in at the least hint in the narrative, or moral reflections introduced in the most serious manner in the midst of diverting incidents, like a long-metre psalm in a comedy, tend to confuse the main story and dislocate the unity requisite to produce an effect.Chinese novels, however, generally depend on something of a plot, and the characters are sometimes well sustained. “Visits and the formalities of polished statesmen; assemblies, and above all, the conversations which make them agreeable; repasts, and the social amusements which prolong them; walks of the admirers of beautiful nature; journeys; the manœuvres of adventurers; lawsuits; the literary examinations; and, in the sequel, marriage, form their most frequent episodes and ordinary conclusions.” The hero of these plots is usually a young academician, endowed with an amiable disposition and devotedly attached to the study of classic authors, who meets with every kind of obstacle and ill luck in the way of attaining the literary honors he has set his heart on. The heroine is also well acquainted with letters; her own inclinations and her father’s desires are that she may find a man of suitable accomplishments, but after having heard of one, every sort of difficulty is thrown in the way of getting him; which, of course, on the part of both are at last happily surmounted.The adventures which distinguished persons meet in wandering over the country incognito, and the happy dénouement of their interviews with some whom they have been able to elevate when their real characters have been let out, form the plan of other tales. There is little or nothing of high wrought description of passion, nor acts of atrocious vengeance introduced to remove a troublesome person, but everything is kept within the bounds of probability; and at the end the vicious are punished by seeing their bad designs fail of their end in the rewards and success given those who have done well. In most of the stories whose length and style are such as to entitle them to the name of novel, and which have attained any reputation, the story is not disgraced by anything offensive; it is rather in the shortertales that decency is violated. Among them theHung Lao Mung, or ‘Dreams of the Red Chamber,’ is one of the most popular stories, and open not a little to this objection.The historical novels, of which there are many, would, if translated, prove more interesting to foreign readers than those merely describing manners, because they interweave much information in the story. TheShui Hu Chuen, or ‘Narrative of the Water Marshes,’ and ‘The Annals of the Contending States,’ are two of the best written; the latter is more credible as a history than any other work in this class.The fourth division of the Catalogue is calledTsih Pu, or ‘Miscellanies,’ and the works mentioned in it are chiefly poems or collections of songs, occupying nearly one-third of the whole collection. They are arranged in five sections, namely: Poetry of Tsu, Complete Works of Individuals, and General Collections, On the Art of Poetry, and Odes and Songs. The most ancient poet in the language is Yuh Yuen, a talented Minister of State who flourished previous to the time of Mencius, and wrote theLí Sao, or ‘Dissipation of Sorrows.’ It has been translated into German and French. His name and misfortunes are still commemorated by the Festival of Dragon-boats on the fifth day of the fifth moon. More celebrated in Chinese estimation are the poets Lí Tai-peh and Tu Fu of the Tang dynasty, and Su Tung-po of the Sung, who combined the three leading traits of a bard, being lovers of flowers, wine, and song, and attaining distinction in the service of government.[337]The incidents in the life of the former of these bards were so varied, and his reckless love of drink brought him into so many scrapes, that he is no less famed for his adventures than for his sonnets. The following story is told of him in the ‘Remarkable Facts of all Times,’ which is here abridged from the translation of T. Pavié:STORY OF LÍ TAI-PEH, THE POET.Lí, calledTai-peh, or ‘Great-white,’ from the planet Venus, was endowed with a beautiful countenance and a well-made person, exhibiting in all hismovements a gentle nobility which indicated a man destined to rise above his age. When only ten years old, he could read the classics and histories, and his conversation showed the brilliancy of his thoughts, as well as the purity of his diction. He was, in consequence of his precocity, called the Exiled Immortal, but named himself the Retired Scholar of the Blue Lotus. Some one having extolled the quality of the wine of Niauching, he straightway went there, although more than three hundred miles distant, and abandoned himself to his appetite for liquor. While singing and carousing in a tavern, a military commandant passed, who, hearing his song, sent in to inquire who it was, and carried the poet off to his own house. On departing, he urged Lí to go to the capital and compete for literary honors, which, he doubted not, could be easily attained, and at last induced him to bend his steps to the capital. On his arrival there, he luckily met the academician Ho near the palace, who invited him to an alehouse, and laying aside his robes, drank wine with him till night, and then carried him home. The two were soon well acquainted, and discussed the merits of poetry and wine till they were much charmed with each other.As the day of examination approached, Ho gave the poet some advice. “The examiners for this spring are Yang and Kao, one a brother of the Empress, the other commander of his Majesty’s body-guard; both of them love those who make them presents, and if you have no means to buy their favor, the road of promotion will be shut to you. I know them both very well, and will write a note to each of them, which may, perhaps, obtain you some favor.” In spite of his merit and high reputation, Lí found himself in such circumstances as to make it desirable to avail of the good-will of his friend Ho; but on perusing the notes he brought, the examiners disdainfully exclaimed, “After having fingered hisprotégé’smoney, the academician contents himself with sending us a billet which merely rings its sound, and bespeaks our attention and favors toward an upstart without degree or title. On the day of decision we will remember the name of Lí, and any composition signed by him shall be thrown aside without further notice.” The day of examination came, and the distinguished scholars of the Empire assembled, eager to hand in their compositions. Lí, fully capable to go through the trial, wrote off his essay on a sheet without effort, and handed it in first. As soon as he saw the name of Lí, the examiner Yang did not even give himself time to glance over the page, but with long strokes of his pencil erased the composition, saying, “Such a scrawler as this is good for nothing but to grind my ink!” “To grind your ink!” interrupted the other examiner Kao; “say rather he is only fit to put on my stockings, and lace up my buskins.”With these pleasantries, the essay of Lí was rejected; but he, transported with anger at such a contemptuous refusal at the public examination, returned home and exclaimed, “I swear that if ever my wishes for promotion are accomplished, I will order Yang to grind my ink, and Kao to put on my stockings and lace up my buskins; then my vows will be accomplished.” Ho endeavored to calm the indignation of the poet: “Stay here with me till a new examination is ordered in three years, and live in plenty; the examiners will not be the same then, and you will surely succeed.” They therefore continued to live as they had done, drinking and making verses.After many months had elapsed, some foreign ambassadors came to the capital charged with a letter from their sovereign, whom he was ordered to receive and entertain in the hall of ambassadors. The next day the officers handed in their letter to his Majesty’s council, who ordered the doctors to open and read it, but they could none of them decipher a single word, humbly declaring it contained nothing but fly-tracks; “your subjects,” they added, “have only a limited knowledge, a shallow acquaintance with things; they are unable to read a word.” On hearing this, the Emperor turned to the examiner Yang and ordered him to read the letter, but his eyes wandered over the characters as if he had been blind, and he knew nothing of them. In vain did his Majesty address himself to the civil and military officers who filled the court; not one among them could say whether the letter contained words of good or evil import. Highly incensed, he broke out in reproaches against the grandees of his palace: “What! among so many magistrates, so many scholars and warriors, cannot there be found a single one who knows enough to relieve us of the vexation of this affair? If this letter cannot be read, how can it be answered? If the ambassadors are dismissed in this style, we shall be the ridicule of the barbarians, and foreign kings will mock the court of Nanking, and doubtless follow it up by seizing their lance and buckler and join to invade our frontiers. What then? If in three days no one is able to decipher this letter, every one of your appointments shall be suspended; if in six days you do not tell me what it means, your offices shall every one be taken away; and death shall execute justice on such ignorant men if I wait nine days in vain for its explanation, and others of our subjects shall be elevated to power whose virtue and talents will render some service to their country.”Terrified by these words, the grandees kept a mournful silence, and no one ventured a single reply, which only irritated the monarch the more. On his return home, Ho related to his friend Lí everything that had transpired at court, who, hearing him with a mournful smile, replied, “How to be regretted, how unlucky it is that I could not obtain a degree at the examination last year, which would have given me a magistracy; for now, alas! it is impossible for me to relieve his Majesty of the chagrin which troubles him.” “But truly,” said Ho, suddenly, “I think you are versed in more than one science, and will be able to read this unlucky letter. I shall go to his Majesty and propose you on my own responsibility.” The next day he went to the palace, and passing through the crowd of courtiers, approached the throne, saying, “Your subject presumes to announce to your Majesty that there is a scholar of great merit called Lí, at his house, who is profoundly acquainted with more than one science; command him to read this letter, for there is nothing of which he is not capable.”This advice pleased the Emperor, who presently sent a messenger to the house of the academician, ordering him to present himself at court. But Lí offered some objections: “I am a man still without degree or title; I have neither talents nor information, while the court abounds in civil and military officers, all equally famous for their profound learning. How then can you have recourse to such a contemptible and useless man as I? If I presume to accept this behest, I fear that I shall deeply offend the nobles of the palace”—referring especially to the premier Yang and the general Kao. When his replywas announced to the Emperor, he demanded of Ho why his guest did not come when ordered. Ho replied, “I can assure your Majesty that Lí is a man of parts beyond all those of the age, one whose compositions astonish all who read them. At the trial of last year, his essay was marked out and thrown aside by the examiners, and he himself shamefully put out of the hall. Your Majesty now calling him to court, and he having neither title nor rank, his self-love is touched; but if your Majesty would hear your minister’s prayer, and shed your favors upon his friend, and send a high officer to him, I am sure he will hasten to obey the imperial will.” “Let it be so,” rejoined the Emperor; “at the instance of our academician, we confer on Lí Peh the title of doctor of the first rank, with the purple robe, yellow girdle, and silken bonnet; and herewith also issue an order for him to present himself at court. Our academician Ho will charge himself with carrying this order, and bring Lí Peh to our presence without fail.”Ho returned home to Lí, and begged him to go to court to read the letter, adding how his Majesty depended on his help to relieve him from his present embarrassment. As soon as he had put on his new robes, which were those of a high examiner, he made his obeisance toward the palace, and hastened to mount his horse and enter it, following after the academician. Seated on his throne, Hwantsung impatiently awaited the arrival of the poet, who, prostrating himself before its steps, went through the ceremony of salutation and acknowledgment for the favors he had received, and then stood in his place. The Emperor, as soon as he saw Lí, rejoiced as poor men do on finding a treasure, or starvelings on sitting at a loaded table; his heart was like dark clouds suddenly illuminated, or parched and arid soil on the approach of rain. “Some foreign ambassadors have brought us a letter which no one can read, and we have sent for you, doctor, to relieve our anxiety.” “Your minister’s knowledge is very limited,” politely replied Lí, with a bow, “for his essay was rejected by the judges at the examination, and lord Kao turned him out of doors. Now that he is called upon to read this letter from a foreign prince, how is it that the examiners are not charged with the answer, since, too, the ambassadors have already been kept so long waiting? Since I, a student turned off from the trial, could not satisfy the wishes of the examiners, how can I hope to meet the expectation of your Majesty?” “We know what you are good for,” said the Emperor; “a truce to your excuses,” putting the letter into his hands. Running his eyes over it, he disdainfully smiled, and standing before the throne, read off in Chinese the mysterious letter, as follows:“Letter from the mighty Ko To of the kingdom of Po Hai to the prince of the dynasty of Tang: Since your usurpation of Corea, and carrying your conquests to the frontiers of our States, your soldiers have violated our territory in frequent raids. We trust you can fully explain to us this matter, and as we cannot patiently bear such a state of things, we have sent our ambassadors to announce to you that you must give up the hundred and sixty-six towns of Corea into our hands. We have some precious things to offer you in compensation, namely, the medicinal plants from the mountains of Tai Peh, and the byssus from the southern sea, gongs of Tsíching, stags from Fuyu, and horses from Sopin, silk of Wuchau, black fish from the river Meito, prunes fromKiutu, and building materials from Loyu; some of all these articles shall be sent you. If you do not accept these propositions, we shall raise troops and carry war and destruction into your borders, and then see on whose side victory will remain.”After its perusal, to which they had given an attentive ear, the grandees were stupefied and looked at each other, knowing how improbable it was that the Emperor would accept the propositions of Ko To. Nor was the mind of his Majesty by any means satisfied, and after remaining silent for some time, he turned himself to the civil and military officers about him, and asked what means were available to repulse the attacks of the barbarians in case their forces invaded Corea. Scholars and generals remained mute as idols of clay or statues of wood; no one said a word, until Ho ventured to observe, “Your venerable grandfather Taitsung, in three expeditions against Corea, lost an untold number of soldiers, without succeeding in his enterprise, and impoverished his treasury. Thanks to Heaven Kai-su-wăn died, and profiting by the dissensions between the usurper’s sons, the glorious Emperor Taitsung confided the direction of a million of veterans to the old generals Lí Sié and Pí Jin-kwei, who, after a hundred engagements, more or less important, finally conquered the kingdom. But now having been at peace for a long time, we have neither generals nor soldiers; if we seize the buckler and lance, it will not be easy to resist, and our defeat will be certain. I await the wise determination of your Majesty.”“Since such is the case, what answer shall we make to the ambassadors?” said Hwantsung. “Deign to ask Lí,” said the doctor; “he will speak to the purpose.” On being interrogated by his sovereign, Lí replied, “Let not this matter trouble your clear mind. Give orders for an audience to the ambassadors, and I will speak to them face to face in their own language. The terms of the answer will make the barbarians blush, and their Ko To will be obliged to make his respects at the foot of your throne.” “And who is this Ko To?” demanded Hwantsung. “It is the name the people of Po Hai give to their king after the usage of their country; just as the Hwui Hwui call theirs Kokan; the Tibetans, Tsangpo; the Lochau, Chau; the Holing, Sí-mo-wei: each one according to the custom of his nation.”At this rapid flood of explanations, the mind of the wise Hwantsung experienced a lively joy, and the same day he honored Lí with the title of an academician; a lodging was prepared for him in the palace of the Golden Bell; musicians made the place re-echo with their harmony; women poured out the wine, and young girls handed him the goblets, and celebrated the glory of Lí with the same voices that lauded the Emperor. What a delicious, ravishing banquet! He could hardly keep within the limits of propriety, but ate and drank until he was unconscious of anything, when the Emperor ordered the attendants to carry him into the palace and lay him on a bed.The next morning, when the gong announced the fifth watch, the Emperor repaired to the hall of audience; but Lí’s faculties, on awaking, were not very clear, though the officers hastened to bring him. When all had gone through their prostrations, Hwantsung called the poet near him, but perceiving that the visage of the new-made doctor still bore the marks of his debauch,and discovering the discomposure of his mind, he sent into the kitchen for a little wine and some well-spiced fish broth, to arouse the sleepy bard. The servants presently sent it up on a golden tray, and the Emperor seeing the cup was fuming, condescended to stir and cool the broth a long time with the ivory chopsticks, and served it out himself to Lí, who, receiving it on his knees, ate and drank, while a pleasing joy illumined his countenance. While this was going on, some among the courtiers were much provoked and displeased at the strange familiarity, while others rejoiced to see how well the Emperor knew to conciliate the good will of men. The two examiners, Yang and Kao, betrayed in their features the dislike they felt.At the command of the Emperor, the ambassadors were introduced, and saluted his Majesty by acclamation, whilst Lí Tai-peh, clad in a purple robe and silken bonnet, easy and gracious as an immortal, stood in the historiographer’s place before the left of the throne, holding the letter in his hand, and read it off in a clear tone, without mistaking a word. Then turning toward the frightened envoys, he said, “Your little province has failed in its etiquette, but our wise ruler, whose power is comparable to the heavens for vastness, disdains to take advantage of it. This is the answer which he grants you: hear and be silent.” The terrified ambassadors fell trembling at the foot of the throne. The Emperor had already prepared near him an ornamented cushion, and taking a jade stone with which to rub the ink, a pencil of leveret’s hair bound in an ivory tube, a cake of perfumed ink, and a sheet of flowery paper, gave them to Lí, and seated him on the cushion ready to draw up the answer.“May it please your Majesty,” objected Lí, “my boots are not at all suitable, for they were soiled at the banquet last evening, and I trust your Majesty in your generosity will grant me some new buskins and stockings fit for ascending the platform.” The Emperor acceded to his request, and ordered a servant to procure them; when Lí resumed, “Your minister has still a word to add, and begs beforehand that his untoward conduct may be excused; then he will prefer his request.” “Your notions are misplaced and useless, but I will not be offended at them; go on, speak,” said Hwantsung; to which Lí, nothing daunted, said, “At the last examination, your minister was turned off by Yang, and put out of doors by Kao. The sight of these persons here to-day at the head of the courtiers casts a certain discomposure over his spirits; let your voice deign to command Yang to rub my ink, whilst Kao puts on my stockings and laces up my buskins; then will my mind and wits begin to recover their energies, and my pencil can trace your answer in the language of the foreigners. In transmitting the reply in the name of the Son of Heaven, he will then not disappoint the confidence with which he is honored.” Afraid to displease Lí when he had need of him, the Emperor gave the strange order; and while Yang rubbed the ink and Kao put on the buskins of the poet, they could not help reflecting, that this student, so badly received and treated by them, only fit at the best to render such services to them, availed himself now of the sudden favors of the Emperor to take their own words pronounced against him as a text, and revenge himself upon them for past injuries. But what could they do? They could not oppose the sovereign will, and if they did feel chagrined, they did not dare at least to express it. The proverb hath it true:“Do not draw upon you a person’s enmity, for enmity is never appeased; injury returns upon him who injures, and sharp words recoil against him who says them.”The poet triumphed, and his oath was accomplished. Buskined as he desired, he mounted the platform on the carpet and seated himself on the cushion, while Yang stood at his side and rubbed the ink. Of a truth, the disparity was great between an ink-grinder and the magnate who counselled the Emperor. But why did the poet sit while the premier stood like a servant at his side? It was because Lí was the organ of the monarch’s words, while Yang, reduced to act the part of an ink-rubber, could not request permission to sit. With one hand Lí stroked his beard, and seizing his pencil in the other, applied it to the paper, which was soon covered with strange characters, well turned and even without a fault or rasure, and then laid it upon the dragon’s table. The Emperor gazed at it in amaze, for it was identical with that of the barbarians; not a character in it resembled the Chinese; and as he handed it about among the nobles, their surprise was great. When requested to read it, Lí, placed before the throne, read in a clear loud tone the answer to the strangers:“The mighty Emperor of the Tang dynasty, whose reign is called Kiayuen, sends his instructions to Ko To of the Po Hai.“From ancient times the rock and the egg have not hit each other, nor the serpent and dragon made war. Our dynasty, favored by fate, extends its power, and reigns even to the four seas; it has under its orders brave generals and tried soldiers, solid bucklers and glittering swords. Your neighbor, King Hiehlí, who refused our alliance, was taken prisoner; but the people of Putsau, after offering a present of a metal bird, took an oath of obedience.“The Sinlo, at the southern end of Corea, have sent us praises written on the finest tissues of silk; Persia, serpents which can catch rats; India, birds that can speak; and Rome, dogs which lead horses, holding a lantern in their mouth; the white parrot is a present from the kingdom of Koling, the carbuncle which illumines the night comes from Cambodia, and famous horses are sent by the tribe of Kolí, while precious vases are brought from Níal: in short, there is not a nation which does not respect our imposing power, and does not testify their regard for the virtue which distinguishes us. Corea alone resisted the will of Heaven, but the divine vengeance has fallen heavily upon it, and a kingdom which reckoned nine centuries of duration was overthrown as in a morning. Why, then, do you not profit by the terrible prognostics Heaven vouchsafes you as examples? Would it not evince your sagacity?“Moreover, your little country, situated beyond the peninsula, is little more than as a province of Corea, or as a principality to the Celestial Empire; your resources in men and horses are not a millionth part those of China. You are like a chafed locust trying to stop a chariot, like a stiff-necked goose which will not submit. Under the arms of our warriors your blood will run a thousandlí. You, prince, resemble that audacious one who refused our alliance, and whose kingdom became annexed to Corea. The designs of our sage Emperor are vast as the ocean, and he now bears with your culpable andunreasonable conduct; but hasten to prevent misfortune by repentance, and cheerfully pay the tribute of each year, and you will prevent the shame and opprobrium which will cover you and expose you to the ridicule of your neighbors. Reflect thrice on these instructions.”The reading of this answer filled the Emperor with joy, who ordered Lí to make known its contents to the ambassadors; he then sealed it with the imperial seal. The poet called Kao to put on the boots which he had taken off, and he then returned to the palace of Golden Bells to inform the envoys concerning his sovereign’s orders, reading the letter to them in a loud tone, while they heard tremblingly. The academician Ho reconducted them to the gates of the capital, and there the ambassadors asked who it was who had read the imperial instructions. “He is called Lí, and has the title of Doctor of the Hanlin.” “But among so many dignitaries, why did the first Minister of State rub his ink, and the general of the guards lace up his buskins?” “Hear,” added Ho; “those two personages are indeed intimate ministers of his Majesty, but they are only noble courtiers who do not transcend common humanity, while Doctor Lí, on the contrary, is an immortal descended from heaven on the earth to aid the sovereign of the Celestial Empire. How can any one equal him?” The ambassadors bowed the head and departed, and on their return rendered an account of their mission to their sovereign. On reading the answer of Lí, the Ko To was terrified, and deliberated with his counsellors: “The Celestial Empire is upheld by an immortal descended from the skies! Is it possible to attack it?” He thereupon wrote a letter of submission, testifying his desire to send tribute each year, which was thenceforth allowed.Lí Tai-peh afterward drowned himself from fear of the machinations of his enemies, exclaiming, as he leaped into the water, “I’m going to catch the moon in the midst of the sea!”The poetry of the Chinese has been investigated by Sir John Davis, and the republication of his first paper in an enlarged form in 1870, with the versification of Legge’s translations of theShí Kingby his nephew, and two volumes of various pieces by Stent, have altogether given a good variety.[338]Davis explains the principles of Chinese rhythm, touches upon the tones, notices the parallelisms, and distinguishes the various kinds of verse, all in a scholarly manner. The whole subject, however, still awaits more thorough treatment. Artificial poetry, wherethe sound and jingle is regarded more than the sense, is not uncommon; the great number of characters having the same sound enables versifiers to do this with greater facility than is possible in other languages, and to the serious degradation of all high sentiment. The absence of inflections in the words cripples the easy flow of sounds to which our ears are familiar, but renders such lines as the following more spirited to the eye which sees the characters than to the ear which hears them:Liang kiang, siang niang, yang hiang tsiang,Ki ní, pí chí, lí hí mí, etc.Lines consisting of characters all containing the same radical are also constructed in this manner, in which the sounds are subservient to the meaning. This bizarre fashion of writing is, however, considered fit only for pedants.The Augustan age of poetry and letters was in the ninth and tenth centuries, during the Tang dynasty, when the brightest day of Chinese civilization was the darkest one of European. No complete collection of poems has yet been translated into any European language, and perhaps none would bear an entire version. The poems of Lí Tai-peh form thirty volumes, and those of Su Tung-po are contained in one hundred and fifteen volumes, while the collected poems of the times of the Tang dynasty have been published by imperial authority in nine hundred volumes. The proportion of descriptive poetry in it is small compared with the sentimental. The longest poem yet turned into English is theHwa Tsien Kí, or ‘The Flower’s Petal,’ by P. P. Thoms, under the title ofChinese Courtship; it is in heptameter, and his version is quite prosaic. Another of much greater repute among native scholars, calledLí Sao, or ‘Dissipation of Sorrows,’ dating from about B.C. 314, has been rendered into French by D’Hervey-Saint-Denys.[339]CHINESE SONGS AND BALLADS.It is a common pastime for literary gentlemen to try theirskill in versification; epigrams and pasquinades are usually put into metre, and at the examinations every candidate must hand in his poetical exercise. Consequently, much more attention is paid by such rhymesters to the jingle of the words and artificial structure of the lines than to the elevation of sentiment or copiousness of illustrations; it is as easy for them to write a sonnet on shipping a cargo of tea as to indite a love-epistle to their mistress. Extemporaneous verses are made on every subject, and to illustrate occurrences that are elsewhere regarded as too prosaic to disturb the muse.Still, human emotions have been the stimulus to their expression in verse among the Chinese as well as other people; and all classes have found an utterance to them. Ribald and impure ditties are sung by street-singers to their own low classes, but such subjects do not characterize the best poets, as they did in old Rome. A piece called ‘Chang Liang’s Flute’ is a fair instance of the better style of songs:’Twas night—the tired soldiers were peacefully sleeping,The low hum of voices was hushed in repose;The sentries, in silence, a strict watch were keeping’Gainst surprise or a sudden attack of their foes;When a low mellow note on the night air came stealing,So soothingly over the senses it fell—So touchingly sweet—so soft and appealing,Like the musical tones of an aërial bell.Now rising, now falling—now fuller and clearer—Now liquidly soft—now a low wailing cry;Now the cadences seem floating nearer and nearer—Now dying away in a whispering sigh.Then a burst of sweet music, so plaintively thrilling,Was caught up by the echoes which sang the refrainsIn their many-toned voices—the atmosphere fillingWith a chorus of dulcet mysterious strains.The sleepers arouse, and with beating hearts listen;In their dreams they had heard that weird music before;It touches each heart—with tears their eyes glisten,For it tells them of those they may never see more.In fancy those notes to their childhood’s days brought them,To those far-away scenes they had not seen for years;To those who had loved them, had reared them, and taught them,And the eyes of those stern men were wetted with tears.Bright visions of home through their mem’ries came thronging,Panorama-like passing in front of their view;They werehome-sick—no power could withstand that strange yearning;The longer they listened the more home-sick they grew.Whence came those sweet sounds?—who the unseen musicianThat breathes out his soul, which floats on the night breezeIn melodious sighs—in strains so elysianAs to soften the hearts of rude soldiers like these?Each looked at the other, but no word was spoken,The music insensibly tempting them on:They must return home. Ere the daylight had brokenThe enemy looked, and behold! they were gone.There’s a magic in music—a witchery in it,Indescribable either with tongue or with pen;The flute of Chang Liang, in one little minute,Had stolen the courage of eight thousand men![340]SPECIMEN OF AN EXTEMPORE SONNET.The following verses were presented to Dr. Parker at Canton by a Chinese gentleman of some literary attainments, upon the occasion of a successful operation for cataract. The original may be considered as a very creditable example of extempore sonnet:A fluid, darksome and opaque, long time had dimmed my sight,For seven revolving, weary years one eye was lost to light;The other, darkened by a film, during three years saw no day,High heaven’s bright and gladd’ning light could not pierce it with its ray.Long, long I sought the hoped relief, but still I sought in vain,My treasures lavished in the search, brought no relief from pain;Till, at length, I thought my garments I must either pawn or sell,And plenty in my house, I feared, was never more to dwell.Then loudly did I ask, for what cause such pain I bore—For transgressions in a former life unatoned for before?But again came the reflection how, of yore, oft men of worth,For slight errors, had borne suff’ring great as drew my sorrow forth.“And shall not one,” said I then, “whose worth is but as naught,Bear patiently, as heaven’s gift, what it ordains?” The thoughtWas scarce completely formed, when of a friend the footstep fellOn my threshold, and I breathed a hope he had words of joy to tell.“I’ve heard,” the friend who enter’d said, “there’s come to us of lateA native of the ‘Flowery Flag’s’ far-off and foreign State;O’er tens of thousand miles of sea to the Inner Land he’s come—His hope and aim to heal men’s pain, he leaves his native home.”I quick went forth, this man I sought, this gen’rous doctor found;He gained my heart, he’s kind and good; for, high up from the ground,He gave a room, to which he came, at morn, at eve, at night—Words were but vain were I to try his kindness to recite.With needle argentine he pierced the cradle of the tear.What fears I felt! Su Tung-po’s words rung threat’ning in my ear:“Glass hung in mist,” the poet says, “take heed you do not shake;”(The words of fear rung in my ear), “how if it chance to break!”The fragile lens his needle pierced: the dread, the sting, the pain,I thought on these, and that the cup of sorrow I must drain;But then my mem’ry faithful showed the work of fell disease,How long the orbs of sight were dark, and I deprived of ease.And thus I thought: “If now, indeed, I were to find relief,’Twere not too much to bear the pain, to bear the present grief.”Then the words of kindness which I heard sunk deep into my soul,And free from fear I gave myself to the foreigner’s control.His silver needle sought the lens, and quickly from it drewThe opaque and darksome fluid, whose effect so well I knew;His golden probe soon clear’d the lens, and then my eyes he bound,And laved with water sweet as is the dew to thirsty ground.Three days thus lay I, prostrate, still; no food then could I eat;My limbs relax’d were stretched as though th’ approach of death to meetWith thoughts astray—mind ill at ease—away from home and wife,I often thought that by a thread was hung my precious life.Three days I lay, no food had I, and nothing did I feel;Nor hunger, sorrow, pain, nor hope, nor thought of woe or weal;My vigor fled, my life seemed gone, when, sudden, in my pain,There came one ray—one glimm’ring ray,—I see,—I live again!As starts from visions of the night he who dreams a fearful dream,As from the tomb uprushing comes one restored to day’s bright beam,Thus I, with gladness and surprise, with joy, with keen delight,See friends and kindred crowd around; I hail the blessed light.With grateful heart, with heaving breast, with feelings flowing o’er,I cried, “O lead me quick to him who can the sight restore!”To kneel I tried, but he forbade; and, forcing me to rise,“To mortal man bend not the knee;” then pointing to the skies:—“I’m but,” said he, “the workman’s tool; another’s is the hand;Beforehismight, and inhissight, men, feeble, helpless, stand:Go, virtue learn to cultivate, and never thou forgetThat for some work of future good thy life is spared thee yet!”The off’ring, token of my thanks, he refused; nor would he takeSilver or gold—they seemed as dust; ’tis but for virtue’s sakeHis works are done. His skill divine I ever must adore,Nor lose remembrance of his name till life’s last day is o’er.Thus have I told, in these brief words, this learned doctor’s praise:Well does his worth deserve that I should tablets to him raise.
CYCLOPÆDIAS, NOVELS, ETC.
Under the head of encyclopædias, a list of summaries, compends, and treasuries of knowledge is given, which for extent and bulkiness cannot be equalled in any language. Among them is theTai Tien, or ‘Great Record’ of the Emperor Yungloh (A.D.1403), in twenty-two thousand eight hundred and seventy-seven chapters, and containing the substance of all classical, historical, philosophical, and scientific writings in the language. Parts of this compilation were lost, and on the accession of the Manchus one-tenth of it was missing; but by means of the unequalled interest on the part of Yungloh in his national literature, three hundred and eighty-five ancient and rare works were rescued from destruction. TheSan Tsai Tu, or ‘Plates [illustrative of the] Three Powers’ (i.e., heaven, earth, and man, by which is meant the entire universe), in one hundred and thirty volumes, is one of the most valuable compilations, by reason of the great number of plates it contains, which exhibit the ideas of the compilers much better than their descriptions.
The twelfth section, containing novels and tales, calledSiao Shwoh, or ‘Trifling Talk,’ gives the titles of but few of the thousands of productions of this class in the language. Works of fiction are among the most popular and exceptionable books the Chinese have, and those which are not demoralizing are, with some notable exceptions, like theTen Talented Authors, generally slighted. The books sold in the streets are chiefly of this class of writings, consisting of tales and stories generallydestitute of all intricacy of plot, fertility of illustration, or elevation of sentiment. They form the common mental aliment of the lower classes, being read by those who are able, and talked about by all; their influence is consequently immense. Many of them are written in the purest style, among which a collection calledLiao Chai, or ‘Pastimes of the Study,’ in sixteen volumes, is pre-eminent for its variety and force of expression, and its perusal can be recommended to every one who wishes to study the copiousness of the Chinese language. The preface is dated in 1679; most of the tales are short, and few have any ostensible moral to them, while those which are objectionable for their immorality, or ridiculous from their magic whimsies, form a large proportion. A quotation or two will illustrate the author’s invention:
A villager was once selling plums in the market, which were rather delicious and fragrant, and high in price; and there was a Tao priest, clad in ragged garments of coarse cotton, begging before his wagon. The villager scolded him, but he would not go off; whereupon, becoming angry, he reviled and hooted at him. The priest said, “The wagon contains many hundred plums, and I have only begged one of them, which, for you, respected sir, would certainly be no great loss; why then are you so angry?” The spectators advised to give him a poor plum and send him away, but the villager would not consent. The workmen in the market disliking the noise and clamor, furnished a few coppers and bought a plum, which they gave the priest. He bowing thanked them, and turning to the crowd said, “I do not wish to be stingy, and request you, my friends, to partake with me of this delicious plum.” One of them replied, “Now you have it, why do you not eat it yourself?” “I want only the stone to plant,” said he, eating it up at a munch. When eaten, he held the stone in his hand, and taking a spade off his shoulder, dug a hole in the ground several inches deep, into which he put it and covered it with earth. Then turning to the market people, he procured some broth with which he watered and fertilized it; and others, wishing to see what would turn up, brought him boiling dregs from shops near by, which he poured upon the hole just dug. Every one’s eyes being fixed upon the spot, they saw a crooked shoot issuing forth, which gradually increased till it became a tree, having branches and leaves; flowers and then fruit succeeded, large and very fragrant, which covered the tree. The priest then approached the tree, plucked the fruit and gave the beholders; and when all were consumed, he felled the tree with a colter—chopping, chopping for a good while, until at last, having cut it off, he shouldered the foliage in an easy manner, and leisurely walked away.When first the priest began to perform his magic arts, the villager was also among the crowd, with outstretched neck and gazing eyes, and completelyforgot his own business. When the priest had gone, he began to look into his wagon, and lo! it was empty of plums; and for the first time he perceived that what had just been distributed were all his own goods. Moreover, looking narrowly about his wagon, he saw that the dashboard was gone, having just been cut off with a chisel. Much excited and incensed he ran after him, and as he turned the corner of the wall, he saw the board thrown down beneath the hedge, it being that with which the plum-tree was felled. Nobody knew where the priest had gone, and all the market folks laughed heartily.
A villager was once selling plums in the market, which were rather delicious and fragrant, and high in price; and there was a Tao priest, clad in ragged garments of coarse cotton, begging before his wagon. The villager scolded him, but he would not go off; whereupon, becoming angry, he reviled and hooted at him. The priest said, “The wagon contains many hundred plums, and I have only begged one of them, which, for you, respected sir, would certainly be no great loss; why then are you so angry?” The spectators advised to give him a poor plum and send him away, but the villager would not consent. The workmen in the market disliking the noise and clamor, furnished a few coppers and bought a plum, which they gave the priest. He bowing thanked them, and turning to the crowd said, “I do not wish to be stingy, and request you, my friends, to partake with me of this delicious plum.” One of them replied, “Now you have it, why do you not eat it yourself?” “I want only the stone to plant,” said he, eating it up at a munch. When eaten, he held the stone in his hand, and taking a spade off his shoulder, dug a hole in the ground several inches deep, into which he put it and covered it with earth. Then turning to the market people, he procured some broth with which he watered and fertilized it; and others, wishing to see what would turn up, brought him boiling dregs from shops near by, which he poured upon the hole just dug. Every one’s eyes being fixed upon the spot, they saw a crooked shoot issuing forth, which gradually increased till it became a tree, having branches and leaves; flowers and then fruit succeeded, large and very fragrant, which covered the tree. The priest then approached the tree, plucked the fruit and gave the beholders; and when all were consumed, he felled the tree with a colter—chopping, chopping for a good while, until at last, having cut it off, he shouldered the foliage in an easy manner, and leisurely walked away.
When first the priest began to perform his magic arts, the villager was also among the crowd, with outstretched neck and gazing eyes, and completelyforgot his own business. When the priest had gone, he began to look into his wagon, and lo! it was empty of plums; and for the first time he perceived that what had just been distributed were all his own goods. Moreover, looking narrowly about his wagon, he saw that the dashboard was gone, having just been cut off with a chisel. Much excited and incensed he ran after him, and as he turned the corner of the wall, he saw the board thrown down beneath the hedge, it being that with which the plum-tree was felled. Nobody knew where the priest had gone, and all the market folks laughed heartily.
The Rationalists are considered as the chief magicians among the Chinese, and they figure in most of the tales in this work, whose object probably was to exalt their craft, and add to their reputation. Like the foregoing against hardheartedness, the following contains a little sidewise admonition against theft:
On the west of the city in the hamlet of the White family lived a rustic who stole his neighbor’s duck and cooked it. At night he felt his skin itch, and on looking at it in the morning saw a thick growth of duck’s feathers, which, when irritated, pained him. He was much alarmed, for he had no remedy to cure it; but, in a dream of the night, a man informed him, “Your disease is a judgment from heaven; you must get the loser to reprimand you, and the feathers will fall off.” Now this gentleman, his neighbor, was always liberal and courteous, nor during his whole life, whenever he lost anything, had he even manifested any displeasure in his countenance. The thief craftily told him, “The fellow who stole your duck is exceedingly afraid of a reprimand; but reprove him, and he will no doubt then fear in future.” He, laughing, replied, “Who has the time or disposition to scold wicked men?” and altogether refused to do so; so the man, being hardly bestead, was obliged to tell the truth, upon which the gentleman gave him a scolding, and his disorder was removed.
On the west of the city in the hamlet of the White family lived a rustic who stole his neighbor’s duck and cooked it. At night he felt his skin itch, and on looking at it in the morning saw a thick growth of duck’s feathers, which, when irritated, pained him. He was much alarmed, for he had no remedy to cure it; but, in a dream of the night, a man informed him, “Your disease is a judgment from heaven; you must get the loser to reprimand you, and the feathers will fall off.” Now this gentleman, his neighbor, was always liberal and courteous, nor during his whole life, whenever he lost anything, had he even manifested any displeasure in his countenance. The thief craftily told him, “The fellow who stole your duck is exceedingly afraid of a reprimand; but reprove him, and he will no doubt then fear in future.” He, laughing, replied, “Who has the time or disposition to scold wicked men?” and altogether refused to do so; so the man, being hardly bestead, was obliged to tell the truth, upon which the gentleman gave him a scolding, and his disorder was removed.
CHARACTER OF CHINESE FICTION.
Rémusat compares the construction of Chinese novels to those of Richardson, in which the “authors render their characters interesting and natural by reiterated strokes of the pencil, which finally produce a high degree of illusion. The interest in their pages arose precisely in proportion to the stage of my progress; and in approaching to the termination, I found myself about to part with some agreeable people, just as I had duly learned to relish their society.” He briefly describes the defects in Chinese romances as principally consisting in long descriptions of trifling particulars and delineations of localities, and the characters and circumstances of the interlocutors, while the thread of the narrative is carried on mostly in a conversational way, which, fromits minuteness, soon becomes tedious. The length of their poetic descriptions and prolix display of the wonders of art or the beauties of nature, thrown in at the least hint in the narrative, or moral reflections introduced in the most serious manner in the midst of diverting incidents, like a long-metre psalm in a comedy, tend to confuse the main story and dislocate the unity requisite to produce an effect.
Chinese novels, however, generally depend on something of a plot, and the characters are sometimes well sustained. “Visits and the formalities of polished statesmen; assemblies, and above all, the conversations which make them agreeable; repasts, and the social amusements which prolong them; walks of the admirers of beautiful nature; journeys; the manœuvres of adventurers; lawsuits; the literary examinations; and, in the sequel, marriage, form their most frequent episodes and ordinary conclusions.” The hero of these plots is usually a young academician, endowed with an amiable disposition and devotedly attached to the study of classic authors, who meets with every kind of obstacle and ill luck in the way of attaining the literary honors he has set his heart on. The heroine is also well acquainted with letters; her own inclinations and her father’s desires are that she may find a man of suitable accomplishments, but after having heard of one, every sort of difficulty is thrown in the way of getting him; which, of course, on the part of both are at last happily surmounted.
The adventures which distinguished persons meet in wandering over the country incognito, and the happy dénouement of their interviews with some whom they have been able to elevate when their real characters have been let out, form the plan of other tales. There is little or nothing of high wrought description of passion, nor acts of atrocious vengeance introduced to remove a troublesome person, but everything is kept within the bounds of probability; and at the end the vicious are punished by seeing their bad designs fail of their end in the rewards and success given those who have done well. In most of the stories whose length and style are such as to entitle them to the name of novel, and which have attained any reputation, the story is not disgraced by anything offensive; it is rather in the shortertales that decency is violated. Among them theHung Lao Mung, or ‘Dreams of the Red Chamber,’ is one of the most popular stories, and open not a little to this objection.
The historical novels, of which there are many, would, if translated, prove more interesting to foreign readers than those merely describing manners, because they interweave much information in the story. TheShui Hu Chuen, or ‘Narrative of the Water Marshes,’ and ‘The Annals of the Contending States,’ are two of the best written; the latter is more credible as a history than any other work in this class.
The fourth division of the Catalogue is calledTsih Pu, or ‘Miscellanies,’ and the works mentioned in it are chiefly poems or collections of songs, occupying nearly one-third of the whole collection. They are arranged in five sections, namely: Poetry of Tsu, Complete Works of Individuals, and General Collections, On the Art of Poetry, and Odes and Songs. The most ancient poet in the language is Yuh Yuen, a talented Minister of State who flourished previous to the time of Mencius, and wrote theLí Sao, or ‘Dissipation of Sorrows.’ It has been translated into German and French. His name and misfortunes are still commemorated by the Festival of Dragon-boats on the fifth day of the fifth moon. More celebrated in Chinese estimation are the poets Lí Tai-peh and Tu Fu of the Tang dynasty, and Su Tung-po of the Sung, who combined the three leading traits of a bard, being lovers of flowers, wine, and song, and attaining distinction in the service of government.[337]The incidents in the life of the former of these bards were so varied, and his reckless love of drink brought him into so many scrapes, that he is no less famed for his adventures than for his sonnets. The following story is told of him in the ‘Remarkable Facts of all Times,’ which is here abridged from the translation of T. Pavié:
STORY OF LÍ TAI-PEH, THE POET.
Lí, calledTai-peh, or ‘Great-white,’ from the planet Venus, was endowed with a beautiful countenance and a well-made person, exhibiting in all hismovements a gentle nobility which indicated a man destined to rise above his age. When only ten years old, he could read the classics and histories, and his conversation showed the brilliancy of his thoughts, as well as the purity of his diction. He was, in consequence of his precocity, called the Exiled Immortal, but named himself the Retired Scholar of the Blue Lotus. Some one having extolled the quality of the wine of Niauching, he straightway went there, although more than three hundred miles distant, and abandoned himself to his appetite for liquor. While singing and carousing in a tavern, a military commandant passed, who, hearing his song, sent in to inquire who it was, and carried the poet off to his own house. On departing, he urged Lí to go to the capital and compete for literary honors, which, he doubted not, could be easily attained, and at last induced him to bend his steps to the capital. On his arrival there, he luckily met the academician Ho near the palace, who invited him to an alehouse, and laying aside his robes, drank wine with him till night, and then carried him home. The two were soon well acquainted, and discussed the merits of poetry and wine till they were much charmed with each other.As the day of examination approached, Ho gave the poet some advice. “The examiners for this spring are Yang and Kao, one a brother of the Empress, the other commander of his Majesty’s body-guard; both of them love those who make them presents, and if you have no means to buy their favor, the road of promotion will be shut to you. I know them both very well, and will write a note to each of them, which may, perhaps, obtain you some favor.” In spite of his merit and high reputation, Lí found himself in such circumstances as to make it desirable to avail of the good-will of his friend Ho; but on perusing the notes he brought, the examiners disdainfully exclaimed, “After having fingered hisprotégé’smoney, the academician contents himself with sending us a billet which merely rings its sound, and bespeaks our attention and favors toward an upstart without degree or title. On the day of decision we will remember the name of Lí, and any composition signed by him shall be thrown aside without further notice.” The day of examination came, and the distinguished scholars of the Empire assembled, eager to hand in their compositions. Lí, fully capable to go through the trial, wrote off his essay on a sheet without effort, and handed it in first. As soon as he saw the name of Lí, the examiner Yang did not even give himself time to glance over the page, but with long strokes of his pencil erased the composition, saying, “Such a scrawler as this is good for nothing but to grind my ink!” “To grind your ink!” interrupted the other examiner Kao; “say rather he is only fit to put on my stockings, and lace up my buskins.”With these pleasantries, the essay of Lí was rejected; but he, transported with anger at such a contemptuous refusal at the public examination, returned home and exclaimed, “I swear that if ever my wishes for promotion are accomplished, I will order Yang to grind my ink, and Kao to put on my stockings and lace up my buskins; then my vows will be accomplished.” Ho endeavored to calm the indignation of the poet: “Stay here with me till a new examination is ordered in three years, and live in plenty; the examiners will not be the same then, and you will surely succeed.” They therefore continued to live as they had done, drinking and making verses.After many months had elapsed, some foreign ambassadors came to the capital charged with a letter from their sovereign, whom he was ordered to receive and entertain in the hall of ambassadors. The next day the officers handed in their letter to his Majesty’s council, who ordered the doctors to open and read it, but they could none of them decipher a single word, humbly declaring it contained nothing but fly-tracks; “your subjects,” they added, “have only a limited knowledge, a shallow acquaintance with things; they are unable to read a word.” On hearing this, the Emperor turned to the examiner Yang and ordered him to read the letter, but his eyes wandered over the characters as if he had been blind, and he knew nothing of them. In vain did his Majesty address himself to the civil and military officers who filled the court; not one among them could say whether the letter contained words of good or evil import. Highly incensed, he broke out in reproaches against the grandees of his palace: “What! among so many magistrates, so many scholars and warriors, cannot there be found a single one who knows enough to relieve us of the vexation of this affair? If this letter cannot be read, how can it be answered? If the ambassadors are dismissed in this style, we shall be the ridicule of the barbarians, and foreign kings will mock the court of Nanking, and doubtless follow it up by seizing their lance and buckler and join to invade our frontiers. What then? If in three days no one is able to decipher this letter, every one of your appointments shall be suspended; if in six days you do not tell me what it means, your offices shall every one be taken away; and death shall execute justice on such ignorant men if I wait nine days in vain for its explanation, and others of our subjects shall be elevated to power whose virtue and talents will render some service to their country.”Terrified by these words, the grandees kept a mournful silence, and no one ventured a single reply, which only irritated the monarch the more. On his return home, Ho related to his friend Lí everything that had transpired at court, who, hearing him with a mournful smile, replied, “How to be regretted, how unlucky it is that I could not obtain a degree at the examination last year, which would have given me a magistracy; for now, alas! it is impossible for me to relieve his Majesty of the chagrin which troubles him.” “But truly,” said Ho, suddenly, “I think you are versed in more than one science, and will be able to read this unlucky letter. I shall go to his Majesty and propose you on my own responsibility.” The next day he went to the palace, and passing through the crowd of courtiers, approached the throne, saying, “Your subject presumes to announce to your Majesty that there is a scholar of great merit called Lí, at his house, who is profoundly acquainted with more than one science; command him to read this letter, for there is nothing of which he is not capable.”This advice pleased the Emperor, who presently sent a messenger to the house of the academician, ordering him to present himself at court. But Lí offered some objections: “I am a man still without degree or title; I have neither talents nor information, while the court abounds in civil and military officers, all equally famous for their profound learning. How then can you have recourse to such a contemptible and useless man as I? If I presume to accept this behest, I fear that I shall deeply offend the nobles of the palace”—referring especially to the premier Yang and the general Kao. When his replywas announced to the Emperor, he demanded of Ho why his guest did not come when ordered. Ho replied, “I can assure your Majesty that Lí is a man of parts beyond all those of the age, one whose compositions astonish all who read them. At the trial of last year, his essay was marked out and thrown aside by the examiners, and he himself shamefully put out of the hall. Your Majesty now calling him to court, and he having neither title nor rank, his self-love is touched; but if your Majesty would hear your minister’s prayer, and shed your favors upon his friend, and send a high officer to him, I am sure he will hasten to obey the imperial will.” “Let it be so,” rejoined the Emperor; “at the instance of our academician, we confer on Lí Peh the title of doctor of the first rank, with the purple robe, yellow girdle, and silken bonnet; and herewith also issue an order for him to present himself at court. Our academician Ho will charge himself with carrying this order, and bring Lí Peh to our presence without fail.”Ho returned home to Lí, and begged him to go to court to read the letter, adding how his Majesty depended on his help to relieve him from his present embarrassment. As soon as he had put on his new robes, which were those of a high examiner, he made his obeisance toward the palace, and hastened to mount his horse and enter it, following after the academician. Seated on his throne, Hwantsung impatiently awaited the arrival of the poet, who, prostrating himself before its steps, went through the ceremony of salutation and acknowledgment for the favors he had received, and then stood in his place. The Emperor, as soon as he saw Lí, rejoiced as poor men do on finding a treasure, or starvelings on sitting at a loaded table; his heart was like dark clouds suddenly illuminated, or parched and arid soil on the approach of rain. “Some foreign ambassadors have brought us a letter which no one can read, and we have sent for you, doctor, to relieve our anxiety.” “Your minister’s knowledge is very limited,” politely replied Lí, with a bow, “for his essay was rejected by the judges at the examination, and lord Kao turned him out of doors. Now that he is called upon to read this letter from a foreign prince, how is it that the examiners are not charged with the answer, since, too, the ambassadors have already been kept so long waiting? Since I, a student turned off from the trial, could not satisfy the wishes of the examiners, how can I hope to meet the expectation of your Majesty?” “We know what you are good for,” said the Emperor; “a truce to your excuses,” putting the letter into his hands. Running his eyes over it, he disdainfully smiled, and standing before the throne, read off in Chinese the mysterious letter, as follows:“Letter from the mighty Ko To of the kingdom of Po Hai to the prince of the dynasty of Tang: Since your usurpation of Corea, and carrying your conquests to the frontiers of our States, your soldiers have violated our territory in frequent raids. We trust you can fully explain to us this matter, and as we cannot patiently bear such a state of things, we have sent our ambassadors to announce to you that you must give up the hundred and sixty-six towns of Corea into our hands. We have some precious things to offer you in compensation, namely, the medicinal plants from the mountains of Tai Peh, and the byssus from the southern sea, gongs of Tsíching, stags from Fuyu, and horses from Sopin, silk of Wuchau, black fish from the river Meito, prunes fromKiutu, and building materials from Loyu; some of all these articles shall be sent you. If you do not accept these propositions, we shall raise troops and carry war and destruction into your borders, and then see on whose side victory will remain.”After its perusal, to which they had given an attentive ear, the grandees were stupefied and looked at each other, knowing how improbable it was that the Emperor would accept the propositions of Ko To. Nor was the mind of his Majesty by any means satisfied, and after remaining silent for some time, he turned himself to the civil and military officers about him, and asked what means were available to repulse the attacks of the barbarians in case their forces invaded Corea. Scholars and generals remained mute as idols of clay or statues of wood; no one said a word, until Ho ventured to observe, “Your venerable grandfather Taitsung, in three expeditions against Corea, lost an untold number of soldiers, without succeeding in his enterprise, and impoverished his treasury. Thanks to Heaven Kai-su-wăn died, and profiting by the dissensions between the usurper’s sons, the glorious Emperor Taitsung confided the direction of a million of veterans to the old generals Lí Sié and Pí Jin-kwei, who, after a hundred engagements, more or less important, finally conquered the kingdom. But now having been at peace for a long time, we have neither generals nor soldiers; if we seize the buckler and lance, it will not be easy to resist, and our defeat will be certain. I await the wise determination of your Majesty.”“Since such is the case, what answer shall we make to the ambassadors?” said Hwantsung. “Deign to ask Lí,” said the doctor; “he will speak to the purpose.” On being interrogated by his sovereign, Lí replied, “Let not this matter trouble your clear mind. Give orders for an audience to the ambassadors, and I will speak to them face to face in their own language. The terms of the answer will make the barbarians blush, and their Ko To will be obliged to make his respects at the foot of your throne.” “And who is this Ko To?” demanded Hwantsung. “It is the name the people of Po Hai give to their king after the usage of their country; just as the Hwui Hwui call theirs Kokan; the Tibetans, Tsangpo; the Lochau, Chau; the Holing, Sí-mo-wei: each one according to the custom of his nation.”At this rapid flood of explanations, the mind of the wise Hwantsung experienced a lively joy, and the same day he honored Lí with the title of an academician; a lodging was prepared for him in the palace of the Golden Bell; musicians made the place re-echo with their harmony; women poured out the wine, and young girls handed him the goblets, and celebrated the glory of Lí with the same voices that lauded the Emperor. What a delicious, ravishing banquet! He could hardly keep within the limits of propriety, but ate and drank until he was unconscious of anything, when the Emperor ordered the attendants to carry him into the palace and lay him on a bed.The next morning, when the gong announced the fifth watch, the Emperor repaired to the hall of audience; but Lí’s faculties, on awaking, were not very clear, though the officers hastened to bring him. When all had gone through their prostrations, Hwantsung called the poet near him, but perceiving that the visage of the new-made doctor still bore the marks of his debauch,and discovering the discomposure of his mind, he sent into the kitchen for a little wine and some well-spiced fish broth, to arouse the sleepy bard. The servants presently sent it up on a golden tray, and the Emperor seeing the cup was fuming, condescended to stir and cool the broth a long time with the ivory chopsticks, and served it out himself to Lí, who, receiving it on his knees, ate and drank, while a pleasing joy illumined his countenance. While this was going on, some among the courtiers were much provoked and displeased at the strange familiarity, while others rejoiced to see how well the Emperor knew to conciliate the good will of men. The two examiners, Yang and Kao, betrayed in their features the dislike they felt.At the command of the Emperor, the ambassadors were introduced, and saluted his Majesty by acclamation, whilst Lí Tai-peh, clad in a purple robe and silken bonnet, easy and gracious as an immortal, stood in the historiographer’s place before the left of the throne, holding the letter in his hand, and read it off in a clear tone, without mistaking a word. Then turning toward the frightened envoys, he said, “Your little province has failed in its etiquette, but our wise ruler, whose power is comparable to the heavens for vastness, disdains to take advantage of it. This is the answer which he grants you: hear and be silent.” The terrified ambassadors fell trembling at the foot of the throne. The Emperor had already prepared near him an ornamented cushion, and taking a jade stone with which to rub the ink, a pencil of leveret’s hair bound in an ivory tube, a cake of perfumed ink, and a sheet of flowery paper, gave them to Lí, and seated him on the cushion ready to draw up the answer.“May it please your Majesty,” objected Lí, “my boots are not at all suitable, for they were soiled at the banquet last evening, and I trust your Majesty in your generosity will grant me some new buskins and stockings fit for ascending the platform.” The Emperor acceded to his request, and ordered a servant to procure them; when Lí resumed, “Your minister has still a word to add, and begs beforehand that his untoward conduct may be excused; then he will prefer his request.” “Your notions are misplaced and useless, but I will not be offended at them; go on, speak,” said Hwantsung; to which Lí, nothing daunted, said, “At the last examination, your minister was turned off by Yang, and put out of doors by Kao. The sight of these persons here to-day at the head of the courtiers casts a certain discomposure over his spirits; let your voice deign to command Yang to rub my ink, whilst Kao puts on my stockings and laces up my buskins; then will my mind and wits begin to recover their energies, and my pencil can trace your answer in the language of the foreigners. In transmitting the reply in the name of the Son of Heaven, he will then not disappoint the confidence with which he is honored.” Afraid to displease Lí when he had need of him, the Emperor gave the strange order; and while Yang rubbed the ink and Kao put on the buskins of the poet, they could not help reflecting, that this student, so badly received and treated by them, only fit at the best to render such services to them, availed himself now of the sudden favors of the Emperor to take their own words pronounced against him as a text, and revenge himself upon them for past injuries. But what could they do? They could not oppose the sovereign will, and if they did feel chagrined, they did not dare at least to express it. The proverb hath it true:“Do not draw upon you a person’s enmity, for enmity is never appeased; injury returns upon him who injures, and sharp words recoil against him who says them.”The poet triumphed, and his oath was accomplished. Buskined as he desired, he mounted the platform on the carpet and seated himself on the cushion, while Yang stood at his side and rubbed the ink. Of a truth, the disparity was great between an ink-grinder and the magnate who counselled the Emperor. But why did the poet sit while the premier stood like a servant at his side? It was because Lí was the organ of the monarch’s words, while Yang, reduced to act the part of an ink-rubber, could not request permission to sit. With one hand Lí stroked his beard, and seizing his pencil in the other, applied it to the paper, which was soon covered with strange characters, well turned and even without a fault or rasure, and then laid it upon the dragon’s table. The Emperor gazed at it in amaze, for it was identical with that of the barbarians; not a character in it resembled the Chinese; and as he handed it about among the nobles, their surprise was great. When requested to read it, Lí, placed before the throne, read in a clear loud tone the answer to the strangers:“The mighty Emperor of the Tang dynasty, whose reign is called Kiayuen, sends his instructions to Ko To of the Po Hai.“From ancient times the rock and the egg have not hit each other, nor the serpent and dragon made war. Our dynasty, favored by fate, extends its power, and reigns even to the four seas; it has under its orders brave generals and tried soldiers, solid bucklers and glittering swords. Your neighbor, King Hiehlí, who refused our alliance, was taken prisoner; but the people of Putsau, after offering a present of a metal bird, took an oath of obedience.“The Sinlo, at the southern end of Corea, have sent us praises written on the finest tissues of silk; Persia, serpents which can catch rats; India, birds that can speak; and Rome, dogs which lead horses, holding a lantern in their mouth; the white parrot is a present from the kingdom of Koling, the carbuncle which illumines the night comes from Cambodia, and famous horses are sent by the tribe of Kolí, while precious vases are brought from Níal: in short, there is not a nation which does not respect our imposing power, and does not testify their regard for the virtue which distinguishes us. Corea alone resisted the will of Heaven, but the divine vengeance has fallen heavily upon it, and a kingdom which reckoned nine centuries of duration was overthrown as in a morning. Why, then, do you not profit by the terrible prognostics Heaven vouchsafes you as examples? Would it not evince your sagacity?“Moreover, your little country, situated beyond the peninsula, is little more than as a province of Corea, or as a principality to the Celestial Empire; your resources in men and horses are not a millionth part those of China. You are like a chafed locust trying to stop a chariot, like a stiff-necked goose which will not submit. Under the arms of our warriors your blood will run a thousandlí. You, prince, resemble that audacious one who refused our alliance, and whose kingdom became annexed to Corea. The designs of our sage Emperor are vast as the ocean, and he now bears with your culpable andunreasonable conduct; but hasten to prevent misfortune by repentance, and cheerfully pay the tribute of each year, and you will prevent the shame and opprobrium which will cover you and expose you to the ridicule of your neighbors. Reflect thrice on these instructions.”The reading of this answer filled the Emperor with joy, who ordered Lí to make known its contents to the ambassadors; he then sealed it with the imperial seal. The poet called Kao to put on the boots which he had taken off, and he then returned to the palace of Golden Bells to inform the envoys concerning his sovereign’s orders, reading the letter to them in a loud tone, while they heard tremblingly. The academician Ho reconducted them to the gates of the capital, and there the ambassadors asked who it was who had read the imperial instructions. “He is called Lí, and has the title of Doctor of the Hanlin.” “But among so many dignitaries, why did the first Minister of State rub his ink, and the general of the guards lace up his buskins?” “Hear,” added Ho; “those two personages are indeed intimate ministers of his Majesty, but they are only noble courtiers who do not transcend common humanity, while Doctor Lí, on the contrary, is an immortal descended from heaven on the earth to aid the sovereign of the Celestial Empire. How can any one equal him?” The ambassadors bowed the head and departed, and on their return rendered an account of their mission to their sovereign. On reading the answer of Lí, the Ko To was terrified, and deliberated with his counsellors: “The Celestial Empire is upheld by an immortal descended from the skies! Is it possible to attack it?” He thereupon wrote a letter of submission, testifying his desire to send tribute each year, which was thenceforth allowed.Lí Tai-peh afterward drowned himself from fear of the machinations of his enemies, exclaiming, as he leaped into the water, “I’m going to catch the moon in the midst of the sea!”
Lí, calledTai-peh, or ‘Great-white,’ from the planet Venus, was endowed with a beautiful countenance and a well-made person, exhibiting in all hismovements a gentle nobility which indicated a man destined to rise above his age. When only ten years old, he could read the classics and histories, and his conversation showed the brilliancy of his thoughts, as well as the purity of his diction. He was, in consequence of his precocity, called the Exiled Immortal, but named himself the Retired Scholar of the Blue Lotus. Some one having extolled the quality of the wine of Niauching, he straightway went there, although more than three hundred miles distant, and abandoned himself to his appetite for liquor. While singing and carousing in a tavern, a military commandant passed, who, hearing his song, sent in to inquire who it was, and carried the poet off to his own house. On departing, he urged Lí to go to the capital and compete for literary honors, which, he doubted not, could be easily attained, and at last induced him to bend his steps to the capital. On his arrival there, he luckily met the academician Ho near the palace, who invited him to an alehouse, and laying aside his robes, drank wine with him till night, and then carried him home. The two were soon well acquainted, and discussed the merits of poetry and wine till they were much charmed with each other.
As the day of examination approached, Ho gave the poet some advice. “The examiners for this spring are Yang and Kao, one a brother of the Empress, the other commander of his Majesty’s body-guard; both of them love those who make them presents, and if you have no means to buy their favor, the road of promotion will be shut to you. I know them both very well, and will write a note to each of them, which may, perhaps, obtain you some favor.” In spite of his merit and high reputation, Lí found himself in such circumstances as to make it desirable to avail of the good-will of his friend Ho; but on perusing the notes he brought, the examiners disdainfully exclaimed, “After having fingered hisprotégé’smoney, the academician contents himself with sending us a billet which merely rings its sound, and bespeaks our attention and favors toward an upstart without degree or title. On the day of decision we will remember the name of Lí, and any composition signed by him shall be thrown aside without further notice.” The day of examination came, and the distinguished scholars of the Empire assembled, eager to hand in their compositions. Lí, fully capable to go through the trial, wrote off his essay on a sheet without effort, and handed it in first. As soon as he saw the name of Lí, the examiner Yang did not even give himself time to glance over the page, but with long strokes of his pencil erased the composition, saying, “Such a scrawler as this is good for nothing but to grind my ink!” “To grind your ink!” interrupted the other examiner Kao; “say rather he is only fit to put on my stockings, and lace up my buskins.”
With these pleasantries, the essay of Lí was rejected; but he, transported with anger at such a contemptuous refusal at the public examination, returned home and exclaimed, “I swear that if ever my wishes for promotion are accomplished, I will order Yang to grind my ink, and Kao to put on my stockings and lace up my buskins; then my vows will be accomplished.” Ho endeavored to calm the indignation of the poet: “Stay here with me till a new examination is ordered in three years, and live in plenty; the examiners will not be the same then, and you will surely succeed.” They therefore continued to live as they had done, drinking and making verses.
After many months had elapsed, some foreign ambassadors came to the capital charged with a letter from their sovereign, whom he was ordered to receive and entertain in the hall of ambassadors. The next day the officers handed in their letter to his Majesty’s council, who ordered the doctors to open and read it, but they could none of them decipher a single word, humbly declaring it contained nothing but fly-tracks; “your subjects,” they added, “have only a limited knowledge, a shallow acquaintance with things; they are unable to read a word.” On hearing this, the Emperor turned to the examiner Yang and ordered him to read the letter, but his eyes wandered over the characters as if he had been blind, and he knew nothing of them. In vain did his Majesty address himself to the civil and military officers who filled the court; not one among them could say whether the letter contained words of good or evil import. Highly incensed, he broke out in reproaches against the grandees of his palace: “What! among so many magistrates, so many scholars and warriors, cannot there be found a single one who knows enough to relieve us of the vexation of this affair? If this letter cannot be read, how can it be answered? If the ambassadors are dismissed in this style, we shall be the ridicule of the barbarians, and foreign kings will mock the court of Nanking, and doubtless follow it up by seizing their lance and buckler and join to invade our frontiers. What then? If in three days no one is able to decipher this letter, every one of your appointments shall be suspended; if in six days you do not tell me what it means, your offices shall every one be taken away; and death shall execute justice on such ignorant men if I wait nine days in vain for its explanation, and others of our subjects shall be elevated to power whose virtue and talents will render some service to their country.”
Terrified by these words, the grandees kept a mournful silence, and no one ventured a single reply, which only irritated the monarch the more. On his return home, Ho related to his friend Lí everything that had transpired at court, who, hearing him with a mournful smile, replied, “How to be regretted, how unlucky it is that I could not obtain a degree at the examination last year, which would have given me a magistracy; for now, alas! it is impossible for me to relieve his Majesty of the chagrin which troubles him.” “But truly,” said Ho, suddenly, “I think you are versed in more than one science, and will be able to read this unlucky letter. I shall go to his Majesty and propose you on my own responsibility.” The next day he went to the palace, and passing through the crowd of courtiers, approached the throne, saying, “Your subject presumes to announce to your Majesty that there is a scholar of great merit called Lí, at his house, who is profoundly acquainted with more than one science; command him to read this letter, for there is nothing of which he is not capable.”
This advice pleased the Emperor, who presently sent a messenger to the house of the academician, ordering him to present himself at court. But Lí offered some objections: “I am a man still without degree or title; I have neither talents nor information, while the court abounds in civil and military officers, all equally famous for their profound learning. How then can you have recourse to such a contemptible and useless man as I? If I presume to accept this behest, I fear that I shall deeply offend the nobles of the palace”—referring especially to the premier Yang and the general Kao. When his replywas announced to the Emperor, he demanded of Ho why his guest did not come when ordered. Ho replied, “I can assure your Majesty that Lí is a man of parts beyond all those of the age, one whose compositions astonish all who read them. At the trial of last year, his essay was marked out and thrown aside by the examiners, and he himself shamefully put out of the hall. Your Majesty now calling him to court, and he having neither title nor rank, his self-love is touched; but if your Majesty would hear your minister’s prayer, and shed your favors upon his friend, and send a high officer to him, I am sure he will hasten to obey the imperial will.” “Let it be so,” rejoined the Emperor; “at the instance of our academician, we confer on Lí Peh the title of doctor of the first rank, with the purple robe, yellow girdle, and silken bonnet; and herewith also issue an order for him to present himself at court. Our academician Ho will charge himself with carrying this order, and bring Lí Peh to our presence without fail.”
Ho returned home to Lí, and begged him to go to court to read the letter, adding how his Majesty depended on his help to relieve him from his present embarrassment. As soon as he had put on his new robes, which were those of a high examiner, he made his obeisance toward the palace, and hastened to mount his horse and enter it, following after the academician. Seated on his throne, Hwantsung impatiently awaited the arrival of the poet, who, prostrating himself before its steps, went through the ceremony of salutation and acknowledgment for the favors he had received, and then stood in his place. The Emperor, as soon as he saw Lí, rejoiced as poor men do on finding a treasure, or starvelings on sitting at a loaded table; his heart was like dark clouds suddenly illuminated, or parched and arid soil on the approach of rain. “Some foreign ambassadors have brought us a letter which no one can read, and we have sent for you, doctor, to relieve our anxiety.” “Your minister’s knowledge is very limited,” politely replied Lí, with a bow, “for his essay was rejected by the judges at the examination, and lord Kao turned him out of doors. Now that he is called upon to read this letter from a foreign prince, how is it that the examiners are not charged with the answer, since, too, the ambassadors have already been kept so long waiting? Since I, a student turned off from the trial, could not satisfy the wishes of the examiners, how can I hope to meet the expectation of your Majesty?” “We know what you are good for,” said the Emperor; “a truce to your excuses,” putting the letter into his hands. Running his eyes over it, he disdainfully smiled, and standing before the throne, read off in Chinese the mysterious letter, as follows:
“Letter from the mighty Ko To of the kingdom of Po Hai to the prince of the dynasty of Tang: Since your usurpation of Corea, and carrying your conquests to the frontiers of our States, your soldiers have violated our territory in frequent raids. We trust you can fully explain to us this matter, and as we cannot patiently bear such a state of things, we have sent our ambassadors to announce to you that you must give up the hundred and sixty-six towns of Corea into our hands. We have some precious things to offer you in compensation, namely, the medicinal plants from the mountains of Tai Peh, and the byssus from the southern sea, gongs of Tsíching, stags from Fuyu, and horses from Sopin, silk of Wuchau, black fish from the river Meito, prunes fromKiutu, and building materials from Loyu; some of all these articles shall be sent you. If you do not accept these propositions, we shall raise troops and carry war and destruction into your borders, and then see on whose side victory will remain.”
“Letter from the mighty Ko To of the kingdom of Po Hai to the prince of the dynasty of Tang: Since your usurpation of Corea, and carrying your conquests to the frontiers of our States, your soldiers have violated our territory in frequent raids. We trust you can fully explain to us this matter, and as we cannot patiently bear such a state of things, we have sent our ambassadors to announce to you that you must give up the hundred and sixty-six towns of Corea into our hands. We have some precious things to offer you in compensation, namely, the medicinal plants from the mountains of Tai Peh, and the byssus from the southern sea, gongs of Tsíching, stags from Fuyu, and horses from Sopin, silk of Wuchau, black fish from the river Meito, prunes fromKiutu, and building materials from Loyu; some of all these articles shall be sent you. If you do not accept these propositions, we shall raise troops and carry war and destruction into your borders, and then see on whose side victory will remain.”
After its perusal, to which they had given an attentive ear, the grandees were stupefied and looked at each other, knowing how improbable it was that the Emperor would accept the propositions of Ko To. Nor was the mind of his Majesty by any means satisfied, and after remaining silent for some time, he turned himself to the civil and military officers about him, and asked what means were available to repulse the attacks of the barbarians in case their forces invaded Corea. Scholars and generals remained mute as idols of clay or statues of wood; no one said a word, until Ho ventured to observe, “Your venerable grandfather Taitsung, in three expeditions against Corea, lost an untold number of soldiers, without succeeding in his enterprise, and impoverished his treasury. Thanks to Heaven Kai-su-wăn died, and profiting by the dissensions between the usurper’s sons, the glorious Emperor Taitsung confided the direction of a million of veterans to the old generals Lí Sié and Pí Jin-kwei, who, after a hundred engagements, more or less important, finally conquered the kingdom. But now having been at peace for a long time, we have neither generals nor soldiers; if we seize the buckler and lance, it will not be easy to resist, and our defeat will be certain. I await the wise determination of your Majesty.”
“Since such is the case, what answer shall we make to the ambassadors?” said Hwantsung. “Deign to ask Lí,” said the doctor; “he will speak to the purpose.” On being interrogated by his sovereign, Lí replied, “Let not this matter trouble your clear mind. Give orders for an audience to the ambassadors, and I will speak to them face to face in their own language. The terms of the answer will make the barbarians blush, and their Ko To will be obliged to make his respects at the foot of your throne.” “And who is this Ko To?” demanded Hwantsung. “It is the name the people of Po Hai give to their king after the usage of their country; just as the Hwui Hwui call theirs Kokan; the Tibetans, Tsangpo; the Lochau, Chau; the Holing, Sí-mo-wei: each one according to the custom of his nation.”
At this rapid flood of explanations, the mind of the wise Hwantsung experienced a lively joy, and the same day he honored Lí with the title of an academician; a lodging was prepared for him in the palace of the Golden Bell; musicians made the place re-echo with their harmony; women poured out the wine, and young girls handed him the goblets, and celebrated the glory of Lí with the same voices that lauded the Emperor. What a delicious, ravishing banquet! He could hardly keep within the limits of propriety, but ate and drank until he was unconscious of anything, when the Emperor ordered the attendants to carry him into the palace and lay him on a bed.
The next morning, when the gong announced the fifth watch, the Emperor repaired to the hall of audience; but Lí’s faculties, on awaking, were not very clear, though the officers hastened to bring him. When all had gone through their prostrations, Hwantsung called the poet near him, but perceiving that the visage of the new-made doctor still bore the marks of his debauch,and discovering the discomposure of his mind, he sent into the kitchen for a little wine and some well-spiced fish broth, to arouse the sleepy bard. The servants presently sent it up on a golden tray, and the Emperor seeing the cup was fuming, condescended to stir and cool the broth a long time with the ivory chopsticks, and served it out himself to Lí, who, receiving it on his knees, ate and drank, while a pleasing joy illumined his countenance. While this was going on, some among the courtiers were much provoked and displeased at the strange familiarity, while others rejoiced to see how well the Emperor knew to conciliate the good will of men. The two examiners, Yang and Kao, betrayed in their features the dislike they felt.
At the command of the Emperor, the ambassadors were introduced, and saluted his Majesty by acclamation, whilst Lí Tai-peh, clad in a purple robe and silken bonnet, easy and gracious as an immortal, stood in the historiographer’s place before the left of the throne, holding the letter in his hand, and read it off in a clear tone, without mistaking a word. Then turning toward the frightened envoys, he said, “Your little province has failed in its etiquette, but our wise ruler, whose power is comparable to the heavens for vastness, disdains to take advantage of it. This is the answer which he grants you: hear and be silent.” The terrified ambassadors fell trembling at the foot of the throne. The Emperor had already prepared near him an ornamented cushion, and taking a jade stone with which to rub the ink, a pencil of leveret’s hair bound in an ivory tube, a cake of perfumed ink, and a sheet of flowery paper, gave them to Lí, and seated him on the cushion ready to draw up the answer.
“May it please your Majesty,” objected Lí, “my boots are not at all suitable, for they were soiled at the banquet last evening, and I trust your Majesty in your generosity will grant me some new buskins and stockings fit for ascending the platform.” The Emperor acceded to his request, and ordered a servant to procure them; when Lí resumed, “Your minister has still a word to add, and begs beforehand that his untoward conduct may be excused; then he will prefer his request.” “Your notions are misplaced and useless, but I will not be offended at them; go on, speak,” said Hwantsung; to which Lí, nothing daunted, said, “At the last examination, your minister was turned off by Yang, and put out of doors by Kao. The sight of these persons here to-day at the head of the courtiers casts a certain discomposure over his spirits; let your voice deign to command Yang to rub my ink, whilst Kao puts on my stockings and laces up my buskins; then will my mind and wits begin to recover their energies, and my pencil can trace your answer in the language of the foreigners. In transmitting the reply in the name of the Son of Heaven, he will then not disappoint the confidence with which he is honored.” Afraid to displease Lí when he had need of him, the Emperor gave the strange order; and while Yang rubbed the ink and Kao put on the buskins of the poet, they could not help reflecting, that this student, so badly received and treated by them, only fit at the best to render such services to them, availed himself now of the sudden favors of the Emperor to take their own words pronounced against him as a text, and revenge himself upon them for past injuries. But what could they do? They could not oppose the sovereign will, and if they did feel chagrined, they did not dare at least to express it. The proverb hath it true:
“Do not draw upon you a person’s enmity, for enmity is never appeased; injury returns upon him who injures, and sharp words recoil against him who says them.”
The poet triumphed, and his oath was accomplished. Buskined as he desired, he mounted the platform on the carpet and seated himself on the cushion, while Yang stood at his side and rubbed the ink. Of a truth, the disparity was great between an ink-grinder and the magnate who counselled the Emperor. But why did the poet sit while the premier stood like a servant at his side? It was because Lí was the organ of the monarch’s words, while Yang, reduced to act the part of an ink-rubber, could not request permission to sit. With one hand Lí stroked his beard, and seizing his pencil in the other, applied it to the paper, which was soon covered with strange characters, well turned and even without a fault or rasure, and then laid it upon the dragon’s table. The Emperor gazed at it in amaze, for it was identical with that of the barbarians; not a character in it resembled the Chinese; and as he handed it about among the nobles, their surprise was great. When requested to read it, Lí, placed before the throne, read in a clear loud tone the answer to the strangers:
“The mighty Emperor of the Tang dynasty, whose reign is called Kiayuen, sends his instructions to Ko To of the Po Hai.“From ancient times the rock and the egg have not hit each other, nor the serpent and dragon made war. Our dynasty, favored by fate, extends its power, and reigns even to the four seas; it has under its orders brave generals and tried soldiers, solid bucklers and glittering swords. Your neighbor, King Hiehlí, who refused our alliance, was taken prisoner; but the people of Putsau, after offering a present of a metal bird, took an oath of obedience.“The Sinlo, at the southern end of Corea, have sent us praises written on the finest tissues of silk; Persia, serpents which can catch rats; India, birds that can speak; and Rome, dogs which lead horses, holding a lantern in their mouth; the white parrot is a present from the kingdom of Koling, the carbuncle which illumines the night comes from Cambodia, and famous horses are sent by the tribe of Kolí, while precious vases are brought from Níal: in short, there is not a nation which does not respect our imposing power, and does not testify their regard for the virtue which distinguishes us. Corea alone resisted the will of Heaven, but the divine vengeance has fallen heavily upon it, and a kingdom which reckoned nine centuries of duration was overthrown as in a morning. Why, then, do you not profit by the terrible prognostics Heaven vouchsafes you as examples? Would it not evince your sagacity?“Moreover, your little country, situated beyond the peninsula, is little more than as a province of Corea, or as a principality to the Celestial Empire; your resources in men and horses are not a millionth part those of China. You are like a chafed locust trying to stop a chariot, like a stiff-necked goose which will not submit. Under the arms of our warriors your blood will run a thousandlí. You, prince, resemble that audacious one who refused our alliance, and whose kingdom became annexed to Corea. The designs of our sage Emperor are vast as the ocean, and he now bears with your culpable andunreasonable conduct; but hasten to prevent misfortune by repentance, and cheerfully pay the tribute of each year, and you will prevent the shame and opprobrium which will cover you and expose you to the ridicule of your neighbors. Reflect thrice on these instructions.”
“The mighty Emperor of the Tang dynasty, whose reign is called Kiayuen, sends his instructions to Ko To of the Po Hai.
“From ancient times the rock and the egg have not hit each other, nor the serpent and dragon made war. Our dynasty, favored by fate, extends its power, and reigns even to the four seas; it has under its orders brave generals and tried soldiers, solid bucklers and glittering swords. Your neighbor, King Hiehlí, who refused our alliance, was taken prisoner; but the people of Putsau, after offering a present of a metal bird, took an oath of obedience.
“The Sinlo, at the southern end of Corea, have sent us praises written on the finest tissues of silk; Persia, serpents which can catch rats; India, birds that can speak; and Rome, dogs which lead horses, holding a lantern in their mouth; the white parrot is a present from the kingdom of Koling, the carbuncle which illumines the night comes from Cambodia, and famous horses are sent by the tribe of Kolí, while precious vases are brought from Níal: in short, there is not a nation which does not respect our imposing power, and does not testify their regard for the virtue which distinguishes us. Corea alone resisted the will of Heaven, but the divine vengeance has fallen heavily upon it, and a kingdom which reckoned nine centuries of duration was overthrown as in a morning. Why, then, do you not profit by the terrible prognostics Heaven vouchsafes you as examples? Would it not evince your sagacity?
“Moreover, your little country, situated beyond the peninsula, is little more than as a province of Corea, or as a principality to the Celestial Empire; your resources in men and horses are not a millionth part those of China. You are like a chafed locust trying to stop a chariot, like a stiff-necked goose which will not submit. Under the arms of our warriors your blood will run a thousandlí. You, prince, resemble that audacious one who refused our alliance, and whose kingdom became annexed to Corea. The designs of our sage Emperor are vast as the ocean, and he now bears with your culpable andunreasonable conduct; but hasten to prevent misfortune by repentance, and cheerfully pay the tribute of each year, and you will prevent the shame and opprobrium which will cover you and expose you to the ridicule of your neighbors. Reflect thrice on these instructions.”
The reading of this answer filled the Emperor with joy, who ordered Lí to make known its contents to the ambassadors; he then sealed it with the imperial seal. The poet called Kao to put on the boots which he had taken off, and he then returned to the palace of Golden Bells to inform the envoys concerning his sovereign’s orders, reading the letter to them in a loud tone, while they heard tremblingly. The academician Ho reconducted them to the gates of the capital, and there the ambassadors asked who it was who had read the imperial instructions. “He is called Lí, and has the title of Doctor of the Hanlin.” “But among so many dignitaries, why did the first Minister of State rub his ink, and the general of the guards lace up his buskins?” “Hear,” added Ho; “those two personages are indeed intimate ministers of his Majesty, but they are only noble courtiers who do not transcend common humanity, while Doctor Lí, on the contrary, is an immortal descended from heaven on the earth to aid the sovereign of the Celestial Empire. How can any one equal him?” The ambassadors bowed the head and departed, and on their return rendered an account of their mission to their sovereign. On reading the answer of Lí, the Ko To was terrified, and deliberated with his counsellors: “The Celestial Empire is upheld by an immortal descended from the skies! Is it possible to attack it?” He thereupon wrote a letter of submission, testifying his desire to send tribute each year, which was thenceforth allowed.
Lí Tai-peh afterward drowned himself from fear of the machinations of his enemies, exclaiming, as he leaped into the water, “I’m going to catch the moon in the midst of the sea!”
The poetry of the Chinese has been investigated by Sir John Davis, and the republication of his first paper in an enlarged form in 1870, with the versification of Legge’s translations of theShí Kingby his nephew, and two volumes of various pieces by Stent, have altogether given a good variety.[338]Davis explains the principles of Chinese rhythm, touches upon the tones, notices the parallelisms, and distinguishes the various kinds of verse, all in a scholarly manner. The whole subject, however, still awaits more thorough treatment. Artificial poetry, wherethe sound and jingle is regarded more than the sense, is not uncommon; the great number of characters having the same sound enables versifiers to do this with greater facility than is possible in other languages, and to the serious degradation of all high sentiment. The absence of inflections in the words cripples the easy flow of sounds to which our ears are familiar, but renders such lines as the following more spirited to the eye which sees the characters than to the ear which hears them:
Liang kiang, siang niang, yang hiang tsiang,Ki ní, pí chí, lí hí mí, etc.
Liang kiang, siang niang, yang hiang tsiang,Ki ní, pí chí, lí hí mí, etc.
Liang kiang, siang niang, yang hiang tsiang,Ki ní, pí chí, lí hí mí, etc.
Liang kiang, siang niang, yang hiang tsiang,
Ki ní, pí chí, lí hí mí, etc.
Lines consisting of characters all containing the same radical are also constructed in this manner, in which the sounds are subservient to the meaning. This bizarre fashion of writing is, however, considered fit only for pedants.
The Augustan age of poetry and letters was in the ninth and tenth centuries, during the Tang dynasty, when the brightest day of Chinese civilization was the darkest one of European. No complete collection of poems has yet been translated into any European language, and perhaps none would bear an entire version. The poems of Lí Tai-peh form thirty volumes, and those of Su Tung-po are contained in one hundred and fifteen volumes, while the collected poems of the times of the Tang dynasty have been published by imperial authority in nine hundred volumes. The proportion of descriptive poetry in it is small compared with the sentimental. The longest poem yet turned into English is theHwa Tsien Kí, or ‘The Flower’s Petal,’ by P. P. Thoms, under the title ofChinese Courtship; it is in heptameter, and his version is quite prosaic. Another of much greater repute among native scholars, calledLí Sao, or ‘Dissipation of Sorrows,’ dating from about B.C. 314, has been rendered into French by D’Hervey-Saint-Denys.[339]
CHINESE SONGS AND BALLADS.
It is a common pastime for literary gentlemen to try theirskill in versification; epigrams and pasquinades are usually put into metre, and at the examinations every candidate must hand in his poetical exercise. Consequently, much more attention is paid by such rhymesters to the jingle of the words and artificial structure of the lines than to the elevation of sentiment or copiousness of illustrations; it is as easy for them to write a sonnet on shipping a cargo of tea as to indite a love-epistle to their mistress. Extemporaneous verses are made on every subject, and to illustrate occurrences that are elsewhere regarded as too prosaic to disturb the muse.
Still, human emotions have been the stimulus to their expression in verse among the Chinese as well as other people; and all classes have found an utterance to them. Ribald and impure ditties are sung by street-singers to their own low classes, but such subjects do not characterize the best poets, as they did in old Rome. A piece called ‘Chang Liang’s Flute’ is a fair instance of the better style of songs:
’Twas night—the tired soldiers were peacefully sleeping,The low hum of voices was hushed in repose;The sentries, in silence, a strict watch were keeping’Gainst surprise or a sudden attack of their foes;When a low mellow note on the night air came stealing,So soothingly over the senses it fell—So touchingly sweet—so soft and appealing,Like the musical tones of an aërial bell.Now rising, now falling—now fuller and clearer—Now liquidly soft—now a low wailing cry;Now the cadences seem floating nearer and nearer—Now dying away in a whispering sigh.Then a burst of sweet music, so plaintively thrilling,Was caught up by the echoes which sang the refrainsIn their many-toned voices—the atmosphere fillingWith a chorus of dulcet mysterious strains.The sleepers arouse, and with beating hearts listen;In their dreams they had heard that weird music before;It touches each heart—with tears their eyes glisten,For it tells them of those they may never see more.In fancy those notes to their childhood’s days brought them,To those far-away scenes they had not seen for years;To those who had loved them, had reared them, and taught them,And the eyes of those stern men were wetted with tears.Bright visions of home through their mem’ries came thronging,Panorama-like passing in front of their view;They werehome-sick—no power could withstand that strange yearning;The longer they listened the more home-sick they grew.Whence came those sweet sounds?—who the unseen musicianThat breathes out his soul, which floats on the night breezeIn melodious sighs—in strains so elysianAs to soften the hearts of rude soldiers like these?Each looked at the other, but no word was spoken,The music insensibly tempting them on:They must return home. Ere the daylight had brokenThe enemy looked, and behold! they were gone.There’s a magic in music—a witchery in it,Indescribable either with tongue or with pen;The flute of Chang Liang, in one little minute,Had stolen the courage of eight thousand men![340]
’Twas night—the tired soldiers were peacefully sleeping,The low hum of voices was hushed in repose;The sentries, in silence, a strict watch were keeping’Gainst surprise or a sudden attack of their foes;When a low mellow note on the night air came stealing,So soothingly over the senses it fell—So touchingly sweet—so soft and appealing,Like the musical tones of an aërial bell.Now rising, now falling—now fuller and clearer—Now liquidly soft—now a low wailing cry;Now the cadences seem floating nearer and nearer—Now dying away in a whispering sigh.Then a burst of sweet music, so plaintively thrilling,Was caught up by the echoes which sang the refrainsIn their many-toned voices—the atmosphere fillingWith a chorus of dulcet mysterious strains.The sleepers arouse, and with beating hearts listen;In their dreams they had heard that weird music before;It touches each heart—with tears their eyes glisten,For it tells them of those they may never see more.In fancy those notes to their childhood’s days brought them,To those far-away scenes they had not seen for years;To those who had loved them, had reared them, and taught them,And the eyes of those stern men were wetted with tears.Bright visions of home through their mem’ries came thronging,Panorama-like passing in front of their view;They werehome-sick—no power could withstand that strange yearning;The longer they listened the more home-sick they grew.Whence came those sweet sounds?—who the unseen musicianThat breathes out his soul, which floats on the night breezeIn melodious sighs—in strains so elysianAs to soften the hearts of rude soldiers like these?Each looked at the other, but no word was spoken,The music insensibly tempting them on:They must return home. Ere the daylight had brokenThe enemy looked, and behold! they were gone.There’s a magic in music—a witchery in it,Indescribable either with tongue or with pen;The flute of Chang Liang, in one little minute,Had stolen the courage of eight thousand men![340]
’Twas night—the tired soldiers were peacefully sleeping,The low hum of voices was hushed in repose;The sentries, in silence, a strict watch were keeping’Gainst surprise or a sudden attack of their foes;
’Twas night—the tired soldiers were peacefully sleeping,
The low hum of voices was hushed in repose;
The sentries, in silence, a strict watch were keeping
’Gainst surprise or a sudden attack of their foes;
When a low mellow note on the night air came stealing,So soothingly over the senses it fell—So touchingly sweet—so soft and appealing,Like the musical tones of an aërial bell.
When a low mellow note on the night air came stealing,
So soothingly over the senses it fell—
So touchingly sweet—so soft and appealing,
Like the musical tones of an aërial bell.
Now rising, now falling—now fuller and clearer—Now liquidly soft—now a low wailing cry;Now the cadences seem floating nearer and nearer—Now dying away in a whispering sigh.
Now rising, now falling—now fuller and clearer—
Now liquidly soft—now a low wailing cry;
Now the cadences seem floating nearer and nearer—
Now dying away in a whispering sigh.
Then a burst of sweet music, so plaintively thrilling,Was caught up by the echoes which sang the refrainsIn their many-toned voices—the atmosphere fillingWith a chorus of dulcet mysterious strains.
Then a burst of sweet music, so plaintively thrilling,
Was caught up by the echoes which sang the refrains
In their many-toned voices—the atmosphere filling
With a chorus of dulcet mysterious strains.
The sleepers arouse, and with beating hearts listen;In their dreams they had heard that weird music before;It touches each heart—with tears their eyes glisten,For it tells them of those they may never see more.
The sleepers arouse, and with beating hearts listen;
In their dreams they had heard that weird music before;
It touches each heart—with tears their eyes glisten,
For it tells them of those they may never see more.
In fancy those notes to their childhood’s days brought them,To those far-away scenes they had not seen for years;To those who had loved them, had reared them, and taught them,And the eyes of those stern men were wetted with tears.
In fancy those notes to their childhood’s days brought them,
To those far-away scenes they had not seen for years;
To those who had loved them, had reared them, and taught them,
And the eyes of those stern men were wetted with tears.
Bright visions of home through their mem’ries came thronging,Panorama-like passing in front of their view;They werehome-sick—no power could withstand that strange yearning;The longer they listened the more home-sick they grew.
Bright visions of home through their mem’ries came thronging,
Panorama-like passing in front of their view;
They werehome-sick—no power could withstand that strange yearning;
The longer they listened the more home-sick they grew.
Whence came those sweet sounds?—who the unseen musicianThat breathes out his soul, which floats on the night breezeIn melodious sighs—in strains so elysianAs to soften the hearts of rude soldiers like these?
Whence came those sweet sounds?—who the unseen musician
That breathes out his soul, which floats on the night breeze
In melodious sighs—in strains so elysian
As to soften the hearts of rude soldiers like these?
Each looked at the other, but no word was spoken,The music insensibly tempting them on:They must return home. Ere the daylight had brokenThe enemy looked, and behold! they were gone.
Each looked at the other, but no word was spoken,
The music insensibly tempting them on:
They must return home. Ere the daylight had broken
The enemy looked, and behold! they were gone.
There’s a magic in music—a witchery in it,Indescribable either with tongue or with pen;The flute of Chang Liang, in one little minute,Had stolen the courage of eight thousand men![340]
There’s a magic in music—a witchery in it,
Indescribable either with tongue or with pen;
The flute of Chang Liang, in one little minute,
Had stolen the courage of eight thousand men![340]
SPECIMEN OF AN EXTEMPORE SONNET.
The following verses were presented to Dr. Parker at Canton by a Chinese gentleman of some literary attainments, upon the occasion of a successful operation for cataract. The original may be considered as a very creditable example of extempore sonnet:
A fluid, darksome and opaque, long time had dimmed my sight,For seven revolving, weary years one eye was lost to light;The other, darkened by a film, during three years saw no day,High heaven’s bright and gladd’ning light could not pierce it with its ray.Long, long I sought the hoped relief, but still I sought in vain,My treasures lavished in the search, brought no relief from pain;Till, at length, I thought my garments I must either pawn or sell,And plenty in my house, I feared, was never more to dwell.Then loudly did I ask, for what cause such pain I bore—For transgressions in a former life unatoned for before?But again came the reflection how, of yore, oft men of worth,For slight errors, had borne suff’ring great as drew my sorrow forth.“And shall not one,” said I then, “whose worth is but as naught,Bear patiently, as heaven’s gift, what it ordains?” The thoughtWas scarce completely formed, when of a friend the footstep fellOn my threshold, and I breathed a hope he had words of joy to tell.“I’ve heard,” the friend who enter’d said, “there’s come to us of lateA native of the ‘Flowery Flag’s’ far-off and foreign State;O’er tens of thousand miles of sea to the Inner Land he’s come—His hope and aim to heal men’s pain, he leaves his native home.”I quick went forth, this man I sought, this gen’rous doctor found;He gained my heart, he’s kind and good; for, high up from the ground,He gave a room, to which he came, at morn, at eve, at night—Words were but vain were I to try his kindness to recite.With needle argentine he pierced the cradle of the tear.What fears I felt! Su Tung-po’s words rung threat’ning in my ear:“Glass hung in mist,” the poet says, “take heed you do not shake;”(The words of fear rung in my ear), “how if it chance to break!”The fragile lens his needle pierced: the dread, the sting, the pain,I thought on these, and that the cup of sorrow I must drain;But then my mem’ry faithful showed the work of fell disease,How long the orbs of sight were dark, and I deprived of ease.And thus I thought: “If now, indeed, I were to find relief,’Twere not too much to bear the pain, to bear the present grief.”Then the words of kindness which I heard sunk deep into my soul,And free from fear I gave myself to the foreigner’s control.His silver needle sought the lens, and quickly from it drewThe opaque and darksome fluid, whose effect so well I knew;His golden probe soon clear’d the lens, and then my eyes he bound,And laved with water sweet as is the dew to thirsty ground.Three days thus lay I, prostrate, still; no food then could I eat;My limbs relax’d were stretched as though th’ approach of death to meetWith thoughts astray—mind ill at ease—away from home and wife,I often thought that by a thread was hung my precious life.Three days I lay, no food had I, and nothing did I feel;Nor hunger, sorrow, pain, nor hope, nor thought of woe or weal;My vigor fled, my life seemed gone, when, sudden, in my pain,There came one ray—one glimm’ring ray,—I see,—I live again!As starts from visions of the night he who dreams a fearful dream,As from the tomb uprushing comes one restored to day’s bright beam,Thus I, with gladness and surprise, with joy, with keen delight,See friends and kindred crowd around; I hail the blessed light.With grateful heart, with heaving breast, with feelings flowing o’er,I cried, “O lead me quick to him who can the sight restore!”To kneel I tried, but he forbade; and, forcing me to rise,“To mortal man bend not the knee;” then pointing to the skies:—“I’m but,” said he, “the workman’s tool; another’s is the hand;Beforehismight, and inhissight, men, feeble, helpless, stand:Go, virtue learn to cultivate, and never thou forgetThat for some work of future good thy life is spared thee yet!”The off’ring, token of my thanks, he refused; nor would he takeSilver or gold—they seemed as dust; ’tis but for virtue’s sakeHis works are done. His skill divine I ever must adore,Nor lose remembrance of his name till life’s last day is o’er.Thus have I told, in these brief words, this learned doctor’s praise:Well does his worth deserve that I should tablets to him raise.
A fluid, darksome and opaque, long time had dimmed my sight,For seven revolving, weary years one eye was lost to light;The other, darkened by a film, during three years saw no day,High heaven’s bright and gladd’ning light could not pierce it with its ray.Long, long I sought the hoped relief, but still I sought in vain,My treasures lavished in the search, brought no relief from pain;Till, at length, I thought my garments I must either pawn or sell,And plenty in my house, I feared, was never more to dwell.Then loudly did I ask, for what cause such pain I bore—For transgressions in a former life unatoned for before?But again came the reflection how, of yore, oft men of worth,For slight errors, had borne suff’ring great as drew my sorrow forth.“And shall not one,” said I then, “whose worth is but as naught,Bear patiently, as heaven’s gift, what it ordains?” The thoughtWas scarce completely formed, when of a friend the footstep fellOn my threshold, and I breathed a hope he had words of joy to tell.“I’ve heard,” the friend who enter’d said, “there’s come to us of lateA native of the ‘Flowery Flag’s’ far-off and foreign State;O’er tens of thousand miles of sea to the Inner Land he’s come—His hope and aim to heal men’s pain, he leaves his native home.”I quick went forth, this man I sought, this gen’rous doctor found;He gained my heart, he’s kind and good; for, high up from the ground,He gave a room, to which he came, at morn, at eve, at night—Words were but vain were I to try his kindness to recite.With needle argentine he pierced the cradle of the tear.What fears I felt! Su Tung-po’s words rung threat’ning in my ear:“Glass hung in mist,” the poet says, “take heed you do not shake;”(The words of fear rung in my ear), “how if it chance to break!”The fragile lens his needle pierced: the dread, the sting, the pain,I thought on these, and that the cup of sorrow I must drain;But then my mem’ry faithful showed the work of fell disease,How long the orbs of sight were dark, and I deprived of ease.And thus I thought: “If now, indeed, I were to find relief,’Twere not too much to bear the pain, to bear the present grief.”Then the words of kindness which I heard sunk deep into my soul,And free from fear I gave myself to the foreigner’s control.His silver needle sought the lens, and quickly from it drewThe opaque and darksome fluid, whose effect so well I knew;His golden probe soon clear’d the lens, and then my eyes he bound,And laved with water sweet as is the dew to thirsty ground.Three days thus lay I, prostrate, still; no food then could I eat;My limbs relax’d were stretched as though th’ approach of death to meetWith thoughts astray—mind ill at ease—away from home and wife,I often thought that by a thread was hung my precious life.Three days I lay, no food had I, and nothing did I feel;Nor hunger, sorrow, pain, nor hope, nor thought of woe or weal;My vigor fled, my life seemed gone, when, sudden, in my pain,There came one ray—one glimm’ring ray,—I see,—I live again!As starts from visions of the night he who dreams a fearful dream,As from the tomb uprushing comes one restored to day’s bright beam,Thus I, with gladness and surprise, with joy, with keen delight,See friends and kindred crowd around; I hail the blessed light.With grateful heart, with heaving breast, with feelings flowing o’er,I cried, “O lead me quick to him who can the sight restore!”To kneel I tried, but he forbade; and, forcing me to rise,“To mortal man bend not the knee;” then pointing to the skies:—“I’m but,” said he, “the workman’s tool; another’s is the hand;Beforehismight, and inhissight, men, feeble, helpless, stand:Go, virtue learn to cultivate, and never thou forgetThat for some work of future good thy life is spared thee yet!”The off’ring, token of my thanks, he refused; nor would he takeSilver or gold—they seemed as dust; ’tis but for virtue’s sakeHis works are done. His skill divine I ever must adore,Nor lose remembrance of his name till life’s last day is o’er.Thus have I told, in these brief words, this learned doctor’s praise:Well does his worth deserve that I should tablets to him raise.
A fluid, darksome and opaque, long time had dimmed my sight,For seven revolving, weary years one eye was lost to light;The other, darkened by a film, during three years saw no day,High heaven’s bright and gladd’ning light could not pierce it with its ray.
A fluid, darksome and opaque, long time had dimmed my sight,
For seven revolving, weary years one eye was lost to light;
The other, darkened by a film, during three years saw no day,
High heaven’s bright and gladd’ning light could not pierce it with its ray.
Long, long I sought the hoped relief, but still I sought in vain,My treasures lavished in the search, brought no relief from pain;Till, at length, I thought my garments I must either pawn or sell,And plenty in my house, I feared, was never more to dwell.
Long, long I sought the hoped relief, but still I sought in vain,
My treasures lavished in the search, brought no relief from pain;
Till, at length, I thought my garments I must either pawn or sell,
And plenty in my house, I feared, was never more to dwell.
Then loudly did I ask, for what cause such pain I bore—For transgressions in a former life unatoned for before?But again came the reflection how, of yore, oft men of worth,For slight errors, had borne suff’ring great as drew my sorrow forth.
Then loudly did I ask, for what cause such pain I bore—
For transgressions in a former life unatoned for before?
But again came the reflection how, of yore, oft men of worth,
For slight errors, had borne suff’ring great as drew my sorrow forth.
“And shall not one,” said I then, “whose worth is but as naught,Bear patiently, as heaven’s gift, what it ordains?” The thoughtWas scarce completely formed, when of a friend the footstep fellOn my threshold, and I breathed a hope he had words of joy to tell.
“And shall not one,” said I then, “whose worth is but as naught,
Bear patiently, as heaven’s gift, what it ordains?” The thought
Was scarce completely formed, when of a friend the footstep fell
On my threshold, and I breathed a hope he had words of joy to tell.
“I’ve heard,” the friend who enter’d said, “there’s come to us of lateA native of the ‘Flowery Flag’s’ far-off and foreign State;O’er tens of thousand miles of sea to the Inner Land he’s come—His hope and aim to heal men’s pain, he leaves his native home.”
“I’ve heard,” the friend who enter’d said, “there’s come to us of late
A native of the ‘Flowery Flag’s’ far-off and foreign State;
O’er tens of thousand miles of sea to the Inner Land he’s come—
His hope and aim to heal men’s pain, he leaves his native home.”
I quick went forth, this man I sought, this gen’rous doctor found;He gained my heart, he’s kind and good; for, high up from the ground,He gave a room, to which he came, at morn, at eve, at night—Words were but vain were I to try his kindness to recite.
I quick went forth, this man I sought, this gen’rous doctor found;
He gained my heart, he’s kind and good; for, high up from the ground,
He gave a room, to which he came, at morn, at eve, at night—
Words were but vain were I to try his kindness to recite.
With needle argentine he pierced the cradle of the tear.What fears I felt! Su Tung-po’s words rung threat’ning in my ear:“Glass hung in mist,” the poet says, “take heed you do not shake;”(The words of fear rung in my ear), “how if it chance to break!”
With needle argentine he pierced the cradle of the tear.
What fears I felt! Su Tung-po’s words rung threat’ning in my ear:
“Glass hung in mist,” the poet says, “take heed you do not shake;”
(The words of fear rung in my ear), “how if it chance to break!”
The fragile lens his needle pierced: the dread, the sting, the pain,I thought on these, and that the cup of sorrow I must drain;But then my mem’ry faithful showed the work of fell disease,How long the orbs of sight were dark, and I deprived of ease.
The fragile lens his needle pierced: the dread, the sting, the pain,
I thought on these, and that the cup of sorrow I must drain;
But then my mem’ry faithful showed the work of fell disease,
How long the orbs of sight were dark, and I deprived of ease.
And thus I thought: “If now, indeed, I were to find relief,’Twere not too much to bear the pain, to bear the present grief.”Then the words of kindness which I heard sunk deep into my soul,And free from fear I gave myself to the foreigner’s control.
And thus I thought: “If now, indeed, I were to find relief,
’Twere not too much to bear the pain, to bear the present grief.”
Then the words of kindness which I heard sunk deep into my soul,
And free from fear I gave myself to the foreigner’s control.
His silver needle sought the lens, and quickly from it drewThe opaque and darksome fluid, whose effect so well I knew;His golden probe soon clear’d the lens, and then my eyes he bound,And laved with water sweet as is the dew to thirsty ground.
His silver needle sought the lens, and quickly from it drew
The opaque and darksome fluid, whose effect so well I knew;
His golden probe soon clear’d the lens, and then my eyes he bound,
And laved with water sweet as is the dew to thirsty ground.
Three days thus lay I, prostrate, still; no food then could I eat;My limbs relax’d were stretched as though th’ approach of death to meetWith thoughts astray—mind ill at ease—away from home and wife,I often thought that by a thread was hung my precious life.
Three days thus lay I, prostrate, still; no food then could I eat;
My limbs relax’d were stretched as though th’ approach of death to meet
With thoughts astray—mind ill at ease—away from home and wife,
I often thought that by a thread was hung my precious life.
Three days I lay, no food had I, and nothing did I feel;Nor hunger, sorrow, pain, nor hope, nor thought of woe or weal;My vigor fled, my life seemed gone, when, sudden, in my pain,There came one ray—one glimm’ring ray,—I see,—I live again!
Three days I lay, no food had I, and nothing did I feel;
Nor hunger, sorrow, pain, nor hope, nor thought of woe or weal;
My vigor fled, my life seemed gone, when, sudden, in my pain,
There came one ray—one glimm’ring ray,—I see,—I live again!
As starts from visions of the night he who dreams a fearful dream,As from the tomb uprushing comes one restored to day’s bright beam,Thus I, with gladness and surprise, with joy, with keen delight,See friends and kindred crowd around; I hail the blessed light.
As starts from visions of the night he who dreams a fearful dream,
As from the tomb uprushing comes one restored to day’s bright beam,
Thus I, with gladness and surprise, with joy, with keen delight,
See friends and kindred crowd around; I hail the blessed light.
With grateful heart, with heaving breast, with feelings flowing o’er,I cried, “O lead me quick to him who can the sight restore!”To kneel I tried, but he forbade; and, forcing me to rise,“To mortal man bend not the knee;” then pointing to the skies:—
With grateful heart, with heaving breast, with feelings flowing o’er,
I cried, “O lead me quick to him who can the sight restore!”
To kneel I tried, but he forbade; and, forcing me to rise,
“To mortal man bend not the knee;” then pointing to the skies:—
“I’m but,” said he, “the workman’s tool; another’s is the hand;Beforehismight, and inhissight, men, feeble, helpless, stand:Go, virtue learn to cultivate, and never thou forgetThat for some work of future good thy life is spared thee yet!”
“I’m but,” said he, “the workman’s tool; another’s is the hand;
Beforehismight, and inhissight, men, feeble, helpless, stand:
Go, virtue learn to cultivate, and never thou forget
That for some work of future good thy life is spared thee yet!”
The off’ring, token of my thanks, he refused; nor would he takeSilver or gold—they seemed as dust; ’tis but for virtue’s sakeHis works are done. His skill divine I ever must adore,Nor lose remembrance of his name till life’s last day is o’er.
The off’ring, token of my thanks, he refused; nor would he take
Silver or gold—they seemed as dust; ’tis but for virtue’s sake
His works are done. His skill divine I ever must adore,
Nor lose remembrance of his name till life’s last day is o’er.
Thus have I told, in these brief words, this learned doctor’s praise:Well does his worth deserve that I should tablets to him raise.
Thus have I told, in these brief words, this learned doctor’s praise:
Well does his worth deserve that I should tablets to him raise.