X. STRUCTURE OF THE CHINESE LANGUAGE…

X. STRUCTURE OF THE CHINESE LANGUAGE

It might reasonably be inferred, judging from the attention paid to learning, and the honors conferred upon its successful votaries, that the literature of the Chinese would contain much to repay investigation. Such is not the case, however, to one already acquainted with the treasures of Western science, and, in fairness, such a comparison is not quite just. Yet it has claims to the regard of the general student, from its being the literature of so vast a portion of the human species, and the result of the labors of its wisest and worthiest minds during many successive ages. The fact that it has been developed under a peculiar civilization, and breathes a spirit so totally different from the writings of Western sages and philosophers, perhaps increases the curiosity to learn what are its excellences and defects, and obtain some criteria by which to compare it with the literature of other Asiatic or even European nations. The language in which it is written--one peculiarly mystical and diverse from all other media of thought--has also added to its singular reputation, for it has been surmised that what is “wrapped up” in such complex characters must be pre-eminently valuable for matter or elegant for manner, and not less curious than profound. Although a candid examination of this literature will disclose its real mediocrity in points of research, learning, and genius, there yet remains enough to render it worthy the attention of the oriental or general student.

~INFLUENCE OF THE LANGUAGE UPON LITERATURE.~

Some of its peculiarities are owing to the nature of the language, and the mode of instruction, both of which have affected the style and thoughts of writers: for, having, when young, been taught to form their sentences upon the models of antiquity, their efforts to do so have moulded their thoughts in the same channel. Imitation, from being a duty, soon became a necessity. The Chinese scholar, forsaking the leadings of his own genius, soon learned to regard his models as not only being all truth themselves, but as containing the sum total of all things valuable. The intractable nature of the language, making it impossible to study other tongues through the medium of his own, moreover tended to repress all desire in the scholar to become acquainted with foreign books; and as he knew nothing of them or their authors, it was easy to conclude that there was nothing worth knowing in them, nothing to repay the toil of study, or make amends for the condescension of ascertaining. The neighbors of the Chinese have unquestionably been their inferiors in civilization, good government, learning, and wealth; and this fact has nourished their conceit, and repressed the wish to travel, and ascertain what there was in remoter regions. In judging of the character of Chinese literature, therefore, these circumstances among others under which it has risen to its present bulk, must not be overlooked; we shall conclude that the uniformity running through it is perhaps owing as much to the isolation of the people and servile imitation of their models, as to their genius: each has, in fact, mutually acted upon and influenced the other.

The “homoglot” character of the Chinese people has arisen more from the high standard of their literature, and the political institutions growing out of its canonical books (which have impelled and rewarded the efforts of students to master the language), than from any one other cause. This feature offers a great contrast to the polyglot character which the Romans possessed even to the last, and suggests the cause and results as interesting topics of inquiry. The Egyptian, Jewish, Syriac, Greek, and Latin languages had each its own national literature, and its power was enough to retain these several nations attached to their own mother tongue, while the Gauls, Iberians, and other subject peoples, having no books, took the language and literature of their rulers and conquerors. Thus the kingdom, “part iron and part clay,” fell apart as soon as the grasp of Rome was weakened; while the tendency in China always has been to reunite and homologate.

In this short account of the Chinese tongue, it will be sufficient to give such notices of the origin and construction of the characters, and of the idioms and sounds of the written and spoken language, as shall convey a general notion of all its parts, and to show the distinction between the spoken and written media, and their mutual action. They are both archaic, because the symbols prevented all inflexion and agglutination in the sounds, and all signs to indicate what part of speech each belonged to. They are like the ten digits, containing no vocable and imparting their meaning more to the eye than the ear.

Chinese writers, unable to trace the gradual formation of their characters (for, of course, there could be no intelligible historical data until long after their formation), have ascribed them to Hwangtí, one of their primeval monarchs, or even earlier, to Fuh-hí, some thirty centuries before Christ; as if they deemed writing to be as needful to man as clothes or marriage, all of which came from Fuh-hí. A mythical personage, Tsang-kieh, who flourished about B.C. 2700, is credited with the invention of symbols to represent ideas, from noticing the marking on tortoise-shell, and thence imitating common objects in nature.

The Japanese have tried to attach their kana to the Chinese characters to indicate the case or tense, but the combination looks incongruous to an educated Chinese. We might express, though somewhat crudely, analogous combinations in English by endeavoring to write 1-ty, 1-ness, 1-ted, for unity, oneness, united, or 3-1 God for triune God.

At this crisis, when a medium for conveying and giving permanency to ideas was formed, Chinese historians say: “The heavens, the earth, and the gods, were all agitated. The inhabitants of hades wept at night; and the heavens, as an expression of joy, rained down ripe grain. From the invention of writing, the machinations of the human heart began to operate; stories false and erroneous daily increased, litigations and imprisonments sprang up; hence, also, specious and artful language, which causes so much confusion in the world. It was for these reasons that the shades of the departed wept at night. But from the invention of writing, polite intercourse and music proceeded; reason and justice were made manifest; the relations of social life were illustrated, and laws became fixed. Governors had laws to which they might refer; scholars had authorities to venerate; and hence, the heavens, delighted, rained down ripe grain. The classical scholar, the historian, the mathematician, and the astronomer can none of them do without writing; were there no written language to afford proof of passing events, the shades might weep at noonday, and the heavens rain down blood.”[290] This singular myth may, perhaps, cover a genuine fact worthy of more than passing notice--indicating a consentaneous effort of the early settlers on the Yellow River to substitute for the purpose of recording laws and events something more intelligible than the knotted cords previously in use. Its form presents a curious contrast to the personality of the fable of Cadmus and his invention of the Greek letters.

~ORIGIN OF THE LANGUAGE.~

The date of the origin of this language, like that of the letters of Western alphabets, is lost in the earliest periods of post-diluvian history, but there can be no doubt that it is the most ancient language now spoken, and along with the Egyptian and cuneiform, among the oldest written languages used by man. The Ethiopic and Coptic, the Sanscrit and Pali, the Syriac, Aramaic, and Pehlvic, have all become dead languages; and the Greek, Latin, and Persian, now spoken, differ so much from the ancient style, as to require special study to understand the books in them: while during successive eras, the written and spoken language of the Chinese has undergone few alterations, and done much to deepen the broad line of demarkation between them and other branches of the human race. The fact, then, that this is the only living language which has survived the lapse of ages is, doubtless, owing to its ideographic character and its entire absence of sound as an integral factor of any symbol. Their form and meaning were, therefore, only the more strongly united because each reader was at liberty to sound them as he pleased or had been taught by local instructors. He was not hindered, on account of his local brogue, from communicating ideas with those who employed the same signs in writing. Upon the subsequent rise of a great and valuable literature, the maintenance of the written language was the chief element of national life and integrity among those peoples who read and admired the books. Nor has this language, like those of the Hebrews, the Assyrians, and others already mentioned, ever fallen into disuse and been supplanted by the sudden rise and physical or intellectual vigor of some neighboring community speaking a patois. For we find that alphabetic languages, whose words represent at once meaning and sound, are as dependent upon local dialects as is the Chinese tongue upon its symbols; consequently, when in the former case the sounds had so altered that the meanings were obscured, the mode of writing was likely to be changed. The extent of its literature and uses made of it were then the only safeguard of the written forms; while as men learned to read books they became more and more prone to associate sense and form, regarding the sound as traditionary. We have, in illustration of this, to look no further than to our own language, whose cumbersome spelling is in a great measure resulting from a dislike of changing old associations of sense and form which would be involved in the adoption of a phonetic system.

The Chinese have had no inducement, at any stage of their existence, to alter the forms of their symbols, inasmuch as no nation in Asia contiguous to their own has ever achieved a literature which could rival theirs; no conqueror came to impose his tongue upon them; their language completely isolated them from intellectual intercourse with others. This isolation, fraught with many disadvantages in the contracted nature of their literature, and the reflux, narrowing influence on their minds, has not been without its compensations. A national life of a unique sort has resulted, and to this self-nurtured language may be traced the origin of much of the peace, industry, population, and healthy pride of the Chinese people.

~IDEOGRAPHIC NATURE OF THE SYMBOLS.~

The Chinese have paid great and praiseworthy attention to their language, and furnished us with all needed books to its study. Premising that the original symbols were ideographic, the necessities of the case compelled their contraction as much as possible, and soon resulted in arbitrary signs for all common uses. Their symbols varied, indeed, at different times and in different States; it was not until a genuine literature appeared and its readers multiplied that the variants were dropped and uniformity sought. The original characters of this language are derived from natural or artificial objects, of which they were at first the rude outlines. Most of the forms are preserved in the treatises of native philologists, where the changes they have gradually undergone are shown. The number of objects chosen at first was not great; among them were symbols for the sun, moon, hills, animals, parts of the body, etc.; and in drawing them the limners seem to have proposed nothing further than an outline sketch, which, by the aid of a little explanation, would be intelligible. Thus the picture [Illustration] would probably be recognized by all who saw it as representing the moon; that of [Illustration] as a fish; and so of others. It is apparent that the number of pictures which could be made in this manner would hear no proportion to the wants and uses of a language, and therefore recourse must soon be had to more complicated symbols, to combining those already understood, or to the adoption of arbitrary or phonetic signs. All these modes have been more or less employed.

~SIX CLASSES OF CHARACTERS.~

Chinese philologists arrange all the characters in their language into six classes, called luh shu, or ‘six writings.’ The first, called siang hing, morphographs, or ‘imitative symbols,’ are those in which a plain resemblance can be traced between the original form and the object represented; they are among the first characters invented, although the six hundred and eight placed in this class do not include all the original symbols. These pristine forms have since been modified so much that the resemblance has disappeared in most of them, caused chiefly by the use of paper, ink, and pencils, instead of the iron style and bamboo tablets formerly in use for writing; circular strokes being more distinctly made with an iron point upon the hard wood than with a hair pencil upon thin paper; angular strokes and square forms, therefore, gradually took the place of round or curved ones, and contracted characters came into use in place of the original imitative symbols. In this class such characters as the following are given:

[Illustrations] tortoise, chariot, child, elephant, deer, vase, hill, eye.

altered to

龜 車 子 象 鹿 壺 山 目 kwei, chí, tsz’, siang, luh, hu, shan, muh.

The second class, only one hundred and seven in number, is called chí sz’, i.e., ‘symbols indicating thought.’ They differ from the preceding chiefly in that the characters are formed by combining previously formed symbols in such a way as to indicate some idea easily deducible from their position or combination, and pointing out some property or relative circumstance belonging to them. Chinese philologists consider these two classes as comprising all the symbols in the language, which depict objects either in whole or in part, and whose meaning is apparent from the resemblance to the object, or from the position of the parts. Among those placed in this class are,

[Illustration] moon half appearing, signifies evening; now written 夕 [Illustration] sun above the horizon, denotes morning; now written 旦 [Illustration] something in the mouth, meaning sweet; now written 甘

The third class, amounting to seven hundred and forty characters, is called hwui í, i.e., ‘combined ideas,’ or ideographs, and comprises characters made up of two or three symbols to form a single idea, whose meanings are deducible either from their position, or supposed relative influence upon each other. Thus the union of the sun and moon, [Illustration] ming, expresses brightness; [Illustration] kien, a piece of wood in a doorway, denotes obstruction; two trees stand for a forest, as [Illustration] lin; and three for a thicket, as [Illustration] săn; two men upon the ground conveys the idea of sitting; a mouth in a door signifies to ask; man and words means truth and to believe; heart and death imports forgetfulness; dog and mouth means to bark; woman and broom denotes a wife, referring to her household duties; pencil and to speak is a book, or to write. But in none of these compounded characters is there anything like that perfection of picture writing stated by some writers to belong to the language, which will enable one unacquainted with the meaning of the separate symbols to decide upon the signification of the combined group. On the contrary it is in most cases certain that the third idea made by combining two already known symbols, usually required more or less explanation to fix its precise meaning, and remove the doubt which would otherwise arise. For instance, the combination of the sun and moon might as readily mean a solar or lunar eclipse, or denote the idea of time, as brightness. A piece of wood in a doorway would almost as naturally suggest a threshold as an obstruction; and so of others. A straight line in a doorway would more readily suggest a closed or bolted door, which is the signification of 閂 shan, anciently written [Illustration]; but the idea intended to be conveyed by these combinations would need prior explanation as much as the primitive symbol, though it would thenceforth readily recur to mind when noticing the construction.

It is somewhat singular that the opinion should have obtained so much credence, that their meanings were easily deducible from their shape and construction. It might almost be said, that not a single character can be accurately defined from a mere inspection of its parts; and the meanings now given of some of those which come under this class are so arbitrary and far-fetched, as to show that Chinese characters have not been formed by rule and plummet more than words in other languages. The mistake which Du Ponceau so learnedly combats arose, probably, from confounding sound with construction, and inferring that, because persons of different nations, who used this as their written language, could understand it when written, though mutually unintelligible when speaking, that it addressed itself so entirely to the eye, as to need no previous explanation.

The fourth class, called chuen chu, ‘inverted significations,’ includes three hundred and seventy-two characters, being such as by some inversion, contraction, or alteration of their parts, acquire different meanings. This class is not large, but these and other modifications of the original symbols to express abstract and new ideas show that those who used the language either saw at once how cumbrous it would become if they went on forming imitative signs, or else that their invention failed, and they resorted to changes more or less arbitrary in characters already known to furnish distinctive signs for different ideas. Thus yu [Illustration] the hand, turning toward the right means the right; inclined in the other direction, as tso [Illustration] it means the left. The heart placed beneath slave, 怒 signifies anger; threads obstructed, as [Illustration], means to sunder; but turned the other way, as [Illustration], signifies continuous.

~METHOD OF FORMING PHONETIC CHARACTERS.~

The fifth class, called kiai shing, i.e., ‘uniting sound symbols,’ or phonogram, contains twenty-one thousand eight hundred and ten characters, or nearly all in the language. They are formed of an imitative symbol united to one which merely imparts its sound to the compound; the former usually partakes more or less of the new idea, while the latter loses its own meaning, and gives only its name. In this respect, Chinese characters are superior to the Arabic numerals, inasmuch as combinations like 25, 101, etc., although conveying the same meaning to all nations using them, can never indicate sound. This plan of forming new combinations by the union of symbols expressing idea and sound, enables the Chinese to increase the number of characters without multiplying the original symbols; but these compounds, or lexigraphs, as Du Ponceau calls them, do not increase very rapidly. In Annam they have become so numerous in the course of years that the Chinese books made in that country are hard to read. The probable mode in which this arose can best be explained by a case which occurred at Canton in 1832. Immature locusts were to be described in a proclamation, but the word nan, by which they were called, was not contained in any dictionary. It would be sufficient to designate this insect to all persons living where it was found by selecting a well-understood character, like 南 south, having the exact sound nan, by which the insect itself was called, and joining it to the determinative symbol chung 虫 insect. It would then signify, to every one who knew the sound and meaning of the component parts, the insect nan; and be read nan, 蝻 meaning this very insect to the people in Kwangtung. If this new combination was carried to a distant part of the country, where the insect itself was unknown, it would convey no more information to the Chinese who saw the united symbol, than the sounds insect nan would to an Englishman who heard them; to both persons a meaning must be given by describing the insect. If, however, the people living in this distant region called the phonetic part of the new character by another sound, as nam, nem, or lam, they would attach another name to the new compound, but the people on the spot would, perhaps, not understand them when they spoke it by that name. If they wrote it, however, both would give it the same signification, but a different sound.

In this way, the thousands of characters under this class have probably originated. But this rule of sounding them according to the phonetic part is not in all cases certain; for in the lapse of time, the sounds of many characters have changed, while those of the parts themselves have not altered; in other cases, the parts have altered, and the sounds remained; so that now only a great degree of probability as to the correct sound can be obtained by inspecting the component parts. The similarity in sound between most of the characters having the same phonetic part is a great assistance in reading Chinese, though very little in understanding it, and has had much influence in keeping the sounds unchanged.

There are a few instances of an almost inadvertent arrival at a true syllabic system, by which the initial consonant of one part, when joined to the final vowel of the other, gives the sound of the character; as ma and fí, in the character 靡, when united in this way, make mí. The meanings of the components are hemp and not, that of the compound is extravagant, wasteful, etc., showing no relation to the primary signification. The number of such characters is very small, and the syllabic composition here noticed is probably fortuitous, and not intentional.

The sixth class, called kia tsié, i.e., ‘borrowed uses,’ includes metaphoric symbols and combinations, in which the meaning is deduced by a somewhat fanciful accommodation; their number is five hundred and ninety-eight. They differ but little from the second class of indicative symbols. For instance, the symbol 字 or [Illustration], meaning a written character, is composed of a child under a shelter--characters being considered as the well-nurtured offspring of hieroglyphics. The character for hall means also mother, because she constantly abides there. The word for mind or heart is sin [Illustration], originally intended to represent that organ, but now used chiefly in a metaphorical sense. Chinese grammarians find abundant scope for the display of their fancy in explaining the etymology and origin of the characters, but the aid which their researches give toward understanding the language as at present used is small. This classification under six heads is modern, and was devised as a means of arranging what existed already, for they confess that their characters were not formed according to fixed rules, and have gradually undergone many changes.

The total number in the six classes is twenty-four thousand two hundred and thirty-five, being many less than are found in Kanghí’s Dictionary, which amount to forty-four thousand four hundred and forty-nine; but in the larger sum are included the obsolete and synonymous characters, which, if deducted, would reduce it to nearly the same number. It is probable that the total of really different characters in the language sanctioned by good usage, does not vary greatly from twenty-five thousand, though authors have stated them at from fifty-four thousand four hundred and nine, as Magaillans does, up to two hundred and sixty thousand eight hundred and ninety-nine, as Montucci. The Chinese editor of the large lexicon on which Dr. Morrison founded his Dictionary, gives it as his opinion that there are fifty thousand characters, including synonyms and different forms; and taking in every variety of tones given to the words, and sounds for which no characters exist, that there are five thousand different words. But even the sum of twenty-five thousand different characters contains thousands of unusual ones which are seldom met with, and which, as is the case with old words in English, are not often learned.

The burden of remembering so many complicated symbols, whose form, sound, and meanings are all necessary to enable the student to read and write intelligibly, is so great that the result has been to diminish those in common use, and increase their meanings. This course of procedure really occurs in most languages, and in the Chinese greatly reduces the labor of acquiring it. It may be safely said, that a good knowledge of ten thousand characters will enable one to read any work in Chinese, and write intelligibly on any subject; and Prémare says a good knowledge of four or five thousand characters is sufficient for all common purposes, while two-thirds of that number might in fact suffice. The troublesome ones are either proper names or technics peculiar to a particular science. The nine canonical works contain altogether only four thousand six hundred and one different characters, while in the Five Classics alone there are over two hundred thousand words. The entire number of different characters in the code of laws translated by Staunton is under two thousand.

~MODES OF ARRANGING CHARACTERS.~

The invention of printing and the compilation of dictionaries have given to the form of modern characters a greater degree of certainty than they had in ancient times. The variants of some of the most common ones were exceedingly numerous before this period; Callery gives forty-two different modes of writing pao, ‘precious;’ and forty-one for writing tsun, ‘honorable;’ showing the absence of an acknowledged standard, and the slight intercourse between learned men. The best mode of arranging the characters so as to find them easily, has been a subject of considerable trouble to Chinese lexicographers, and the various methods they have adopted renders it difficult to consult their dictionaries without considerable previous knowledge of the language. In some, those having the same sound are grouped together, so that it is necessary to know what a character is called before it can be found; and this arrangement has been followed in vocabularies designed principally for the use of the common people. One well-known vocabulary used at Canton, called the Făn Yun, or ‘Divider of Sounds,’ is arranged on this plan, the words being placed under thirty-three orders, according to their terminations. Each order is subdivided into three or four classes according to the tones, and all the characters having the same tone and termination are placed together, as kam, lam, tam, nam, etc. As might be supposed, it requires considerable time to find a character whose tone is not exactly known; and even with the tone once mastered, the uncertainty is equally troublesome if the termination is not familiar: for singular as it may seem to those who are acquainted only with phonetic languages, a Chinese can, if anything, more readily distinguish between two words ♯ming and ♭ming, whose tones are unlike, than he can between ♯ming and ♯meng, ♯ming or ♯bing, where the initial or final differs a little, and the tones are the same.

An improvement on this plan of arrangement was made by adopting a mode of expressing the sounds of Chinese characters introduced by the Buddhists, in the Yuh Pien, published A.D. 543, and ever since used in all dictionaries. This takes the initial of the sound of one character and the final of another, and combines them to indicate the sound of the given character; as from li-en and y-ing to form ling. There are thirty-six characters chosen for the initial consonants, and thirty-eight for the final sounds, but the student is perplexed by the different characters chosen in different works to represent them.[291] The inhabitants of Amoy use a small lexicon called the Shih-wu Yin, or ‘Fifteen Sounds,’ in which the characters are classified on this principle, by first arranging them all under fifty finals, and then placing all those having the same termination in a regular series under fifteen initials. Supposing a new character, chien, is seen, whose sound is given, or the word is heard in conversation and its meanings are wanted, the person turns to the part of the book containing the final ien, which is designated perhaps by the character kien, and looks along the initials until he comes to ch, which is indicated by the character chang. In this column, all the words in the book read or spoken chien, of whatever tone they may be, are placed together according to their tones; and a little practice readily enables a person speaking the dialect to use this manual. It is, however, of little or no avail to persons speaking other dialects, or to those whose vernacular differs much from that of the compiler, whose own ear was his only guide. Complete dictionaries have been published on the phonetic plan, the largest of which, the Wu Ché Yun Fu, is arranged with so much minuteness of intonation as to puzzle even the best educated natives, and consequently abridge its usefulness as an expounder of words.

~CLASSIFICATION ACCORDING TO COMPOSITION.~

The unfitness of either of these modes of arrangement to find an unknown character, led to another classification according to their composition, by selecting the most prominent parts of each character as its key, or radical, and grouping those together in which the same key occurred. This plan was adopted subsequently to that of arranging the characters according to the sounds, about A.D. 543, when their number was put at five hundred and forty-two; they were afterward reduced to three hundred and sixty, and toward the close of the Ming dynasty finally fixed at two hundred and fourteen in the Tsz’ Lui. It is now in general use from the adoption of the abridged dictionary, the Kanghí Tsz’ Tien; though this number could have been advantageously reduced, as has been shown by Gonçalves, its universal adoption, more than anything else, renders it the best system. All characters found under the same radical are placed consecutively, according to the number of strokes necessary to write them, but no regularity is observed in placing those having the same number of strokes. The term primitive has been technically applied to the remaining part of the character, which, though perhaps no older than the radical, is conveniently denoted by this word. The characters selected for the radicals are all common ones, and among the most ancient in the language; they are here grouped according to their meanings in order to show something of the leading ideas followed in combination.

~RADICALS AND PRIMITIVES.~

Corporal.--Body, corpse, head, hair, down, whiskers, face, eye, ear, nose, mouth, teeth, tusk, tongue, hand, heart, foot, hide, leather, skin, wings, feathers, blood, flesh, talons, horn, bones.

Biological.--Man, woman, child; horse, sheep, tiger, dog, ox, hog, hog’s head, deer; tortoise, dragon, reptile, mouse, toad; bird, gallinaceous fowls; fish; insect.

Botanical.--Herb, grain, rice, wheat, millet, hemp, leeks, melon, pulse, bamboo, sacrificial herb; wood, branch, sprout, petal.

Mineral.--Metal, stone, gems, salt, earth.

Meteorological.--Rain, wind, fire, water, icicle, vapor, sound; sun, moon, evening; time.

Utensils.--A chest, a measure, a mortar, spoon, knife, bench, couch, crockery, clothes, tiles, dishes, napkin, net, plough, vase, tripod, boat, carriage, pencil; bow, halberd, arrow, dart, ax, musical reed, drum, seal.

Descriptives.--Black, white, yellow, azure, carnation, sombre; color; high, long, sweet, square, large, small, strong, lame, slender, old, fragrant, acrid, perverse, base, opposed.

Actions.--To enter, to follow, to walk slowly, to arrive at, to stride, to walk, to run, to reach to, to touch, to stop, to fly, to overspread, to envelop, to encircle, to establish, to overshadow, to adjust, to distinguish, to divine, to see, to eat, to speak, to kill, to fight, to oppose, to stop, to embroider, to owe, to compare, to imitate, to bring forth, to use, to promulge.

Miscellaneous.--A desert, cave, field, den, mound, hill, valley, rivulet, cliff, retreat. A city; roof, gate, door, portico. One, two, eight, ten. Demon; an inch, mile; without, not, false; a scholar, statesman, letters; art, wealth; motion; self, myself, father; a point; again; wine; silk; joined hands; a long journey; print of a bear’s foot; a surname; classifier of cloth.

The number of characters found under each of these radicals in Kanghí’s Dictionary varies from five up to one thousand three hundred and fifty-four. The radical is not uniformly placed, but its usual position is on the left of the primitive. Some occur on the top, others on the bottom; some inclose the primitive, and many have no fixed place, making it evident that no uniform plan was adopted in the original construction. They must be thoroughly learned before the dictionary can be readily used, and some practice had before a character can be quickly found.[292] The groups occurring under a majority of the radicals are more or less natural in their general meaning, a feature of the language which has already been noticed (page 375). Some of the radicals are interchanged, and characters having the same meaning sometimes occur under two or three different ones--variations which seem to have arisen from the little importance of a choice out of two or three similar radicals. Thus the same word tsien, ‘a small cup,’ is written under the three radicals gem, porcelain, and horn, originally, no doubt, referring to the material for making it. This interchange of radicals adds greatly to the number of duplicate forms, which are still further increased by a similar interchange of primitives having the same sound. These two changes very seldom occur in the same character, but there are numerous instances of synonymous forms under almost every radical, arising from an interchange of primitives, and also under analogous radicals caused by their reciprocal use. Thus, from both these causes, there are, under the radical ma, ‘a horse,’ one hundred and eighteen duplicate forms, leaving two hundred and ninety-three different words; of the two hundred and four characters under niu, ‘an ox,’ thirty-nine are synonymous forms; and so under other radicals. These characters do not differ in meaning more than favor and favour, or lady and ladye; they are mere variations in the form of writing, and though apparently adding greatly to the number of characters, do not seriously increase the difficulty of learning the language.

Variants of other descriptions frequently occur in books, which needlessly add to the labor of learning the language. Ancient forms are sometimes adopted by pedantic writers to show their learning, while ignorant and careless writers use abridged or vulgar forms, because they either do not know the correct form, or are heedless in using it. When such is the case, and the character cannot be found in the dictionary, the reader is entirely at fault, especially if he be a foreigner, though in China itself he would not experience much difficulty where the natives were at hand to refer to. Vulgar forms are very common in cheap books and letters, which are as unsanctioned by the dictionaries and good usage, as cockney phrases or miner’s slang are in pure English. They arise, either from a desire on the part of the writer to save time by making a contracted form of few strokes instead of the correct character of many strokes; or he uses common words to express an energetic vulgar phrase, for which there are no authorized characters, but which will be easily understood phonetically by his readers. These characters would perchance not be understood at all outside of the range of the author’s dialect, because the phrase itself was new; their individual meaning, indeed, has nothing to do with the interpretation of the sentence, for in this case they are merely signs of sound, like words in other languages, and lose their lexigraphic character. For instance, the words kia-fí for coffee, kap-tan for captain, mí-sz’ for Mr., etc., however they were written, would be intelligible to a native of Canton if they expressed those sounds, because he was familiar with the words themselves; but a native of Shensí would not understand them, because, not knowing the things intended, he would naturally refer to the characters themselves for the meaning of the phrase, and thus be wholly misled. In such cases, the characters become mere syllables of a phonetic word. Foreign names are often transliterated by writers on geography or history, and their recognition is no easy task to their readers.[293]

~SIX STYLES OF CHINESE CHARACTERS.~

In addition to the variations in the forms of characters, there are six different styles of writing them, which correspond to black-letter, script, italic, roman, etc., in English. The first is called Chuen shu (from the name of the person who invented it), which foreigners have styled the seal character, from its use in seals and ornamental inscriptions. It is next to the picture hieroglyphics, the most ancient fashion of writing, and has undergone many changes in the course of ages. It is studied by those who cut seals or inscriptions, but no books are ever printed in it.

The second is the lí shu, or style of official attendants, which was introduced about the Christian era, as an elegant style to be employed in engrossing documents. It is now seen in prefaces and formal inscriptions, and requires no special study to read it, as it differs but slightly from the following.

The third is the kiai shu, or pattern style, and has been gradually formed by the improvements in good writing. It is the usual form of Chinese characters, and no man can claim a literary name among his countrymen if he cannot write neatly and correctly in this style.

The fourth is called hing shu, or running hand, and is the common hand of a neat writer. It is frequently used in prefaces and inscriptions, scrolls and tablets, and there are books prepared in parallel columns having this and the pattern style arranged for school-boys to learn to write both at the same time. The running hand cannot be read without a special study; and although this labor is not very serious when the language of books is familiar, still to become well acquainted with both of them withdraws many days and months of the pupil from progress in acquiring knowledge to learning two modes of writing the same word.

The fifth style is called tsao tsz’, or plant character, and is a freer description of running hand than the preceding, being full of abbreviations, and the pencil runs from character to character, without taking it from the paper, almost at the writer’s fancy. It is more difficult to read than the preceding, but as the abbreviations are somewhat optional, the tsao tsz’ varies considerably, and more or less resembles the running hand according to the will of the writer. The fancy of the Chinese for a “flowing pencil,” and a mode of writing where the elegance and freedom of the caligraphy can be admired as much or more than the style or sentiment of the writing, as well as the desire to contract their multangular characters as much as possible, has contributed to introduce and perpetuate these two styles of writing. How much all these varieties of form superadd to the difficulty of learning the mere apparatus of knowledge need hardly be stated.

The sixth style is called Sung shu, and was introduced under the Sung dynasty in the tenth century, soon after printing on wooden blocks was invented. It differs from the third style, merely in a certain squareness and angularity of stroke, which transcribers for the press only are obliged to learn. Of these six forms of writing, the pattern style and running hand are the only two which the people learn to any great extent, although many acquire the knowledge of some words in the seal character, and the running hand of every person, especially those engaged in business, approaches more or less to the plant character. But foreigners will seldom find time or inclination to learn to write more than one form, to be able to read and communicate on all occasions.

Besides these styles, there are fanciful ones, called ‘tadpole characters,’ in imitation of various objects;[294] the Emperor Kienlung brought together thirty-two of them in an edition of his poem, the Elegy upon the City of Mukden.[295]

~ELEMENTARY STROKES OF THE CHARACTERS.~

All the strokes in the characters are reduced to eight elementary ones, which are contained in the single character 永 yung, ‘eternal.’

㇔ ㇐ ㇑ ㇚ ㇀ ㇁ A dot, a line, a perpendicular, a hook, a spike, a sweep,

㇒ ㇏ a stroke, a dash-line.

Each of these is subdivided into many forms in copy-books, having particular names, with directions how to write them, and numerous examples introduced under each stroke.[296]

The Chinese regard their characters as highly elegant, and take unwearied pains to learn to write them in a beautiful, uniform, well-proportioned manner. Students are provided with a painted board upon which to practise with a brush dipped in blackened water. The articles used in writing, collectively called wan fang sz’ pao, or ‘four precious things of the library,’ are the pencil, ink, paper, and ink-stone. The best pencils are made of the bristly hair of the sable and fox, and cheaper ones from the deer, cat, wolf and rabbit; camel’s hair is not used. A combination of softness and elasticity is required, and those who are skilled in their use discern a difference and an excellence altogether imperceptible to a novice. The hairs are laid in a regular manner, and when tied up are brought to a delicate tip; the handle is made of the twigs of a bamboo cultivated for the purpose. The ink, usually known as India ink, is made from the soot of burning oil, pine, fir, and other substances, mixed with glue or isinglass, and scented. It is formed into oblong cakes or cylinders, inscribed with the maker’s name, the best kinds being put up in a very tasteful manner. A singular error formerly obtained credence regarding this ink, that it was inspissated from the fluid found in the cuttle-fish. When used, the ink is rubbed with water upon argillite, marble, or other stones, some of which are cut and ground in a beautiful manner. Chinese paper is made from bamboo, by triturating the woody fibre to a pulp in mortars after the pieces have been soaked in ooze, and then taking it up in moulds; the pulp is sometimes mixed with a little cotton fibre. Inferior sorts are made entirely from cotton refuse; and in the North, where the bamboo does not grow, the bark of the Broussonetia, or paper mulberry, furnishes material for a tough paper used for windows, wrappings, and account books, etc. Bamboo paper has no sizing in it, and is a frail material for preserving valuable writings, as it is easily destroyed by insects, mildew, or handling.[297]

~PAPER AND PRINTING.~

In the days of Confucius, pieces of bamboo pared thin, palm leaves, and reeds, were all used for writing upon with a sharp stick or stile. About the third century before Christ, silk and cloth were employed, and hair pencils made for writing. Paper was invented about the first century, and cotton-paper may have been brought from India, where it was in use more than a hundred years before. India ink was manufactured by the seventh century; and the present mode of printing upon blocks was adopted from the discovery of Fungtau in the tenth century, of taking impressions from engraved stones. In the style of their notes and letters, the Chinese show both neatness and elegance; narrow slips of tinted paper are employed, on which various emblematic designs are stamped in water lines, and enclosed in fanciful envelopes. It is common to affix a cipher instead of the name, or to close with a periphrasis or sentence well understood by the parties, and thereby avoid any signature; this, which originated, no doubt, in a fear of interception and unpleasant consequences, has gradually become a common mode of subscribing friendly epistles.

~THE MANUFACTURE OF CHINESE BOOKS.~

The mode of printing is so well fitted for the language that few improvements have been made in its manipulations, while the cheapness of books brings them within reach of the poorest. Cutting the blocks, and writing the characters, form two distinct branches of the business; printing the sheets, binding the volumes, and publishing the books, also furnish employment to other craftsmen. The first step is to write the characters upon thin paper, properly ruled with lines, two pages being cut upon one block, and a heavy double line surrounding them. The title of the work, chapter, and paging are all cut in a central column, and when the leaf is printed it is folded through this column so as to bring the characters on the edge and partly on both pages. Marginal notes are placed on the top of the page; comments, when greatly extended, occupy the upper part, separated from the text by a heavy line, or when mere scholia, are interlined in the same column in characters of half the size. Sometimes two works are printed together, one running through the volume on the upper half of the leaves, and separated from that occupying the lower half by a heavy line. Illustrations usually occupy separate pages at the commencement of the book, but there are a few works with woodcuts of a wretched description, inserted in the body of the page. In books printed by government, each page is sometimes surrounded with dragons, or the title page is adorned in red by this emblem of imperial authority.

When the leaf has been written out as it is to be printed, it is turned over and pasted upon the block, face downward. The wood usually used by blockcutters is pear or plum; the boards are half or three-fourths of an inch thick, and planed for cutting on both sides. The paper, when dried upon the board, is carefully rubbed off with the wetted finger, leaving every character and stroke plainly delineated. The cutter then, with his chisels, cuts away all the blank spots in and around the characters, to the depth of a line or more, after which the block is ready for the printer, whose machinery is very simple. Seated before a bench, he lays the block on a bed of paper so that it will not move nor chafe. The pile of paper lies on one side, the pot of ink before him, and the pressing brush on the other. Taking the ink brush, he slightly rubs it across the block twice in such a way as to lay the ink equally over the surface; he then places a sheet of paper upon it, and over that another, which serves as a tympanum. The impression is taken with the fibrous bark of the gomuti palm; one or two sweeps across the block complete the impression, for only one side of the paper is printed. Another and cheaper method in common use for publishing slips of news, court circulars, etc., consists in cutting the characters in blocks of hard wax, from which as many as two hundred impressions can often be taken before they become entirely illegible. The ink is manufactured from lampblack mixed with vegetable oil; the printers grind it for themselves.

The sheets are taken by the binder, who folds them through the middle by the line around the pages, so that the columns shall register with each other, he then collates them into volumes, placing the leaves evenly by their folded edge, when the whole are arranged, and the covers pasted on each side. Two pieces of paper stitch it through the back, the book is trimmed, and sent to the bookseller. If required, it is stitched firmly with thread, but this part, as well as writing the title on the bottom edges of the volume, and making the pasteboard wrapper, are usually deferred till the taste of a purchaser is ascertained. Books made of such materials are not as durable as European volumes, and those who can afford the expense frequently have valuable works inclosed in wooden boxes. They are printed of all sizes between small sleeve editions (as the Chinese call 24 and 32 mos) up to quartos, twelve or fourteen inches square, larger than which it is difficult to get blocks.

The price varies from one cent--for a brochure of twenty-five or thirty pages--to a dollar and a half a volume. It is seldom higher save for illustrated works. A volume rarely contains more than a hundred leaves, and in fine books their thickness is increased by inserting an extra sheet inside of each leaf. At Canton or Fuhchau, the History of the Three States, bound in twenty-one volumes 12mo, printed on white paper, is usually sold for seventy-five cents or a dollar per set. Kanghí’s Dictionary, in twenty-one volumes 8vo, on yellow paper, sells for four dollars; and all the nine classics can be purchased for less than two. Books are hawked about the streets, circulating libraries are carried from house to house upon movable stands, and booksellers’ shops are frequent in large towns. No censorship, other than a prohibition to write about the present dynasty, is exercised upon the press; nor are authors protected by a copyright law. Men of wealth sometimes show their literary taste by defraying the expense of getting the blocks of extensive works cut, and publishing them. Pwan Sz’-ching, a wealthy merchant at Canton, published, in 1846, an edition of the Pei Wăn Yun Fu, in one hundred and thirty thick octavo volumes, the blocks for which must have cost him more than ten thousand dollars. The number of good impressions which can be obtained from a set of blocks is about sixteen thousand, and by retouching the characters, ten thousand more can be struck off.

The disadvantages of this mode of printing are that other languages cannot easily be introduced into the page with the Chinese characters; the blocks occupy much room, are easily spoiled or lost; and are incapable of correction without much expense. It possesses some compensatory advantages peculiar to the Chinese and its cognate languages, Manchu, Corean, Japanese, etc., all of which are written with a brush and have few or no circular strokes. Its convenience and cheapness, coupled with the low rate of wages, will no doubt make it the common mode of printing Chinese among the people for a long time.

The honor of being the first inventor of movable types undoubtedly belongs to a Chinese blacksmith named Pí Shing, who lived about A.D. 1000, and printed books with them nearly five hundred years before Gutenberg cut his matrices at Mainz. They were made of plastic clay, hardened by fire after the characters had been cut on the soft surface of a plate of clay in which they were moulded. The porcelain types were then set up in a frame of iron partitioned off by strips, and inserted in a cement of wax, resin, and lime to fasten them down. The printing was done by rubbing, and when completed the types were loosened by melting the cement, and made clean for another impression.

This invention seems never to have been developed to any practical application in superseding block-printing. The Emperor Kanghí ordered about two hundred and fifty thousand copper types to be engraved for printing publications of the government, and these works are now highly prized for their beauty. The cupidity of his successors led to melting these types into cash, but his grandson Kienlung directed the casting of a large font of lead types for government use.

~MOVABLE CHINESE TYPES MADE BY FOREIGNERS.~

The attention of foreigners was early called to the preparation of Chinese movable types, especially for the rapid manufacture of religious books, in connection with missionary work. The first fonts were made by P. P. Thoms, for the E. I. Company’s office at Macao in 1815, for the purpose of printing Morrison’s Dictionary. The characters were cut with chisels on blocks of type metal or tin, and though it was slow work to cut a full font, they gradually grew in numbers and variety till they served to print over twenty dictionaries and other works, designed to aid in learning Chinese, before they were destroyed by fire in 1856. A small font had been cast at Serampore in 1815, and in 1838, the Royal Printing Office at Paris had obtained a set of blocks engraved in China, from which thick castings were made and the separate types obtained by sawing the plates. M. Le Grand, a type-founder in Paris, about the year 1836, prepared an extensive font of type with comparatively few matrices, by casting the radical and primitive on separate bodies; and the plan has been found, within certain limits, to save so much expense and room that it has been adopted in other fonts.

These experiments in Europe showed the feasibility of making and using Chinese type to any extent, but their results as to elegance and accuracy of form were not satisfactory, and proved that native workmen alone could meet the native taste. Rev. Samuel Dyer of the London Mission at Singapore began in 1838, under serious disadvantages, for he was not a practical printer, to cut the matrices for two complete fonts. He continued at his self-appointed task until his death in 1844, having completed only one thousand eight hundred and forty-five punches. His work was continued by R. Cole, of the American Presbyterian Missions, a skilful mechanic in his line, and in 1851 he was able to furnish fonts of two sizes with four thousand seven hundred characters each. Their form and style met every requirement of the most fastidious taste, and they are now in constant use.

While Mr. Dyer’s fonts were suspended by his death, an attempt was made by a benevolent printer, Herr Beyerhaus of Berlin, to make one of an intermediate size on the Le Grand principle of divisible types; his proposal was taken up by the Presbyterian Board of Missions in New York, and after many delays a beautiful font was completed and in use about 1859. At this time, Mr. W. Gamble of that Mission in Shanghai, carried out his plan of making matrices by the electrotype process, and completed a large font of small pica type in about as many months as Dyer and Beyerhaus had taken years. By means of these various fonts books are now printed in many parts of China, in almost any style, and type foundries cast in whatever quantities are needed. The government has opened an extensive printing office in Peking, and its example will encourage native booksellers to unite typography with xylographic printing. More than this as conducing to the diffusion of knowledge among the people is the stimulus these cheap fonts of type have given to the circulation of newspapers in all the ports; but for their convenient and economical use Chinese newspapers could not have been printed at all. It will be quite within the reach of native workmen, who are skilled in electrotyping, stereotyping, and casting type, to make types of all sizes and styles for their own books, as the growing intelligence of the people creates a demand for illustrated and scientific publications, as well as cheap ones.[298]

~PHONETIC CHARACTER OF THE LANGUAGE.~

Nothing has conduced more to a misapprehension of the nature of the Chinese language than the way in which its phonetic character has been spoken of by different authors. Some, describing the primitive symbols, and the modifications they have undergone, have conveyed the impression that the whole language consisted of hieroglyphic or ideographic signs, which depicted ideas, and conveyed their meaning entirely to the eye, irrespective of the sound. For instance, Rémusat says, “The character is not the delineation of the sound, nor the sound the expression of the character;” forgetting to ask himself how or when a character in any language ever delineated a sound. Yet every Chinese character is sounded as much as the words in alphabetic languages, and some have more than one to express their different meanings; so that, although the character could not delineate the sound of the thing it denoted, the sound is the expression of the character. Others, as Mr. Lay,[299] have dissected the characters, and endeavored to trace back some analogy in the meanings of all those in which the same primitive is found, and by a sort of analysis, to find out how much of the signification of the radical was infused into the primitive to form the present meaning. His plan, in general terms, is to take all the characters containing a certain primitive, and find out how much of the meaning of that primitive is contained in each one; then he reconstructs the series by defining the primitive, incidentally showing the intention of the framers of the characters in choosing that particular one, and apportioning so much of its aggregate meaning to each character as is needed, and adding the meaning of the radical to form its whole signification. If we understand his plan, he wishes to construct a formula for each group containing the same primitive, in which the signification of the primitive is a certain function in that of all the characters containing it; to add up the total of their meanings, and divide the amount among the characters, allotting a quotient to each one. Languages are not so formed, however, and the Chinese is no exception. Some of Mr. Lay’s statements are correct, but his theory is fanciful. It is impossible to decide what proportion was made by combining a radical and a primitive with any reference to their meanings, according to Mr. Lay’s theory, and how many of them were simply phonetic combinations; probably nine-tenths of the compound characters have been constructed on the latter principle.

The fifth class of syllabic symbols were formed by combining the symbolic and syllabic systems, so as to represent sound chiefly, but bearing in the construction of each one some reference to its general signification. The original hieroglyphics contained no sound, i.e., were not formed of phonetic constituents; the object depicted had a name, but there was no clue to it. It was impossible to do both--depict the object, and give its name in the same character. At first, the number of people using these ideographic symbols being probably small, every one called them by the same name, as soon as he knew what they represented, and began to read them. But when the ideas attempted to be written far exceeded in number the symbols, or, what is more likely, the invention of the limners, recourse was had to the combination of the symbols already understood to express the new idea. This was done in several modes, as noticed above, but the syllabic system needs further explanation, from the extent to which it has been carried. The character 蝻 nan, to denote the young of the locust, has been adduced. The same principle would be applied in reading every new character, of which the phonetic primitive merely was recognized, although its meaning might not be known. Probably all the characters in the fifth class were sounded in strict accordance with their phonetic primitives when constructed, but usage has changed some of their sounds, and many characters belonging to other classes, apparently containing the same primitive, are sounded quite differently; this tends to mislead those who infer the sound from the primitive. This mode of constructing and naming the characters also explains the reason why there are so few sounds compared with the number of characters; the phonetic primitive perpetuated its name in all its progeny.

~MODES OF INCORPORATING NEW WORDS.~

More than seven-eighths of the characters have been formed from less than two thousand symbols, and it is difficult to imagine how it could have been used so long and widely without some such method to relieve the memory of the burden of retaining thousands of arbitrary marks. But, until the names and meanings of the original symbols are learned, neither the sound nor sense of the compound characters will be more apparent to a Chinese than they are to any one else; until those are known, their combinations cannot be understood, nor even then the meaning wholly deduced; each character must be learned by itself, just as words in other languages. The sounds given the original symbols doubtless began to vary early after coming into use. Intercommunication between different parts of the country was not so frequent as to prevent local dialects from arising; but however strong the tendency of the spoken monosyllables to coalesce into polysyllables, the intractable symbols kept them apart. It is surprising, too, what a tendency the mind has to trust to the eye rather than to the ear, in getting and retaining the sense of a book; it is shown in many ways, and arises from habit more than any real difficulty in catching the idea vivâ voce. If the characters could have coalesced, their names would soon have run together, and been modified as they are in other languages. The classics, dictionaries, and unlimited uses of a written language, maintained the same meaning; but as their sounds must be learned traditionally, endless variations and patois arose. Moreover, as new circumstances and increasing knowledge give rise to new words in all countries, so in China, new scenes and expressions arise requiring to be incorporated into the written language. Originally they were unwritten though well understood sounds; and when first written must be explained, as is the case with foreign words like tabu, ukase, vizier, etc., ad infin., when introduced into English. Different writers might, however, employ different primitives to express the sound, not aware that it had already been written, and hence would arise synonyms; they might use dissimilar radicals, and this as well would increase the modes of writing the sound. But the inconvenience of thus multiplying characters would be soon perceived in the obscurity of the sentence, for if the new character was not in the dictionary, its sound and composition were not enough to explain the meaning. When the language had attained a certain copiousness, the mode of education and the style of literary works compelled scholars to employ such characters only as were sanctioned by good use, or else run the risk of not being understood.

The unwritten sounds, however, could not wait for this slow mode of adoption, but the risk of being misunderstood by using characters phonetically led to descriptive terms, conveying the idea and not the sound. Where alphabetic languages adopt a technic for a new thing, the Chinese make a new phrase. This is illustrated by the terms Hung-mao jin, or ‘Red Bristled men,’ for Englishmen; Hwa-kí, or ‘Flowery Flag,’ for Americans; Sí-yang, or ‘Western Ocean,’ for Portuguese, etc., used at Canton, instead of the proper names of those countries. Cause and effect act reciprocally upon each other in this instance; the effect of using unsanctioned characters to express unwritten sounds, is to render a composition obscure, while the restriction to a set of characters compels their meaning to be sufficiently comprehensive to include all occasions. Local, unwritten phrases, and unauthorized characters, are so common, however, owing to the partial communication between distant parts of so great a country and mass of people, that it is evident, if this bond of union were removed by the substitution of an alphabetical language, the Chinese would soon be split into many small nations. However desirable, therefore, might be the introduction of a written language less difficult of acquisition, and more flexible, there are some reasons for wishing it to be delayed until more intelligence is diffused and juster principles of government obtain. When the people themselves feel the need of it, they will contrive some better medium for the promotion of knowledge.

~“CLAM-SHELL WORDS” AND TONES.~

The monosyllabic sound of the primitive once imparted to the ideophonous compound, explains the existence of so many characters having the same sound. When these various characters were presented to the eye of the scholar, no trouble was felt in recognizing their sense and sound, but confusion was experienced in speaking. This has been obviated in two ways. One is by repeating a word, or joining two of similar meanings but of different sounds, to convey a single idea; or else by adding a classifying word to express its nature. Both these modes do in fact form a real dissyllable, and it would appear so in an alphabetical language. The first sort of these hien-hioh sz’, or ‘clam-shell words,’ as they are called, are not unfrequent in books, far more common in conversation and render the spoken more diffuse than the written language--more so, perhaps, than is the case in other tongues. Similar combinations of three, four, and more characters occur, especially where a foreign article or term is translated, but the genius of the language is against the use of polysyllables. Such combinations in English as household, house-warming, housewife, house-room, houseleeks, hot-house, wood-house, household-stuff, etc., illustrate these dissyllables in Chinese; but they are not so easily understood. Such terms as understand, courtship, withdraw, upright, etc., present better analogies to the Chinese compounds. In some the real meaning is totally unlike either of the terms, as tungkia (lit. ‘east house’), for master; tungsí (lit. ‘east west’), for thing; kungchu (lit. ‘lord ruler’), for princess, etc. The classifiers partake of the nature of adjectives, and serve not only to sort different words, but the same word when used in different senses. They correspond to such words in English as herd, fleet, troop, etc. To say a fleet of cows, a troop of ships, or a herd of soldiers, would be ridiculous only in English, but a similar misapplication would confuse the sense in Chinese.

The other way of avoiding the confusion of homophonous monosyllables, which, notwithstanding the “clam-shell words,” and the extensive use of classifiers, are still liable to misapprehension, is by accurately marking its right shing or tone, but as nothing analogous to them is found in European languages, it is rather difficult to describe them. At Canton there are eight arranged in an upper and lower series of four each; at Peking there are only four, at Nanking five, and at Swatow seven. The Chinese printers sometimes mark the shing on certain ambiguous characters, by a semicircle put on one corner; but this is rarely done, as every one who can read is supposed to know how to speak, and consequently to be familiar with the right tone. These four tones are called ping, shang, kü, and jih, meaning, respectively, the even, ascending, departing, and entering tone. They are applied to every word, and have nothing to do either with accent or emphasis; in asking or answering, entreating or refusing, railing or flattering, soothing or recriminating, they remain ever the same. The unlettered natives, even children and females, who know almost nothing of the distinctions into four, five, seven, or eight shing, observe them closely in their speech, and detect a mispronunciation as soon as the learned man. A single illustration of them will suffice. The even tone is the natural expression of the voice, and native writers consider it the most important. In the sentence,

“When I asked him, ‘Will you let me see it?’ he said, ‘No, I’ll do no such thing,’”

the different cadence of the question and reply illustrate the upper and lower even tone. The ascending tone is heard in exclamatory words as ah! indeed! It is a little like the crescendo in music, while the departing tone corresponds in the same degree to the diminuendo. The drawling tone of repressed discontent, grumbling and eking out a reply, is not unlike the departing tone. The entering tone is nearly eliminated in the northern provinces, but gives a marked feature to speech in the southern; it is an abrupt ending, in the same modulation that the even tone is, but as if broken off; a man about to say lock, and taken with a hiccup in the middle so that he leaves off the last two letters, or the final consonant, pronounces the juh shing. A few characters have two tones, which give them different meanings; the ping shing often denotes the substantive, and the kü shing, the verb, but there is no regularity in this respect.

The tones are observed by natives of all ranks, speaking all patois and dialects, and on all occasions. They present a serious difficulty to the adult foreigner of preaching or speaking acceptably to the natives, for although by a proper use of classifiers, observance of idioms, and multiplication of synonyms, he may be understood, his speech will be rude and his words distasteful, if he does not learn the tones accurately. In Amoy and Fuhchau, he will also run a risk of being misunderstood. If the reader, in perusing the following sentence, will accent the italicized syllables, he will have an imperfect illustration of the confusion a wrong intonation produces: “The pre_sent_ of that ob_ject_ occasioned such a trans_port_ as to _ab_stract my mind from all around.” In Chinese, however, it is not accent upon one of two syllables which must be learned, but the integral tone of a single sound, as much as in the musical octave.

It is unnecessary here to enter into any detailed description or enumeration of the words in the Chinese language. One remarkable feature is the frequency of the termination ng preceded by all the vowels, which imparts a peculiar singing character to Chinese speech, as Kwangtung, Yangtsz’ kiang, etc. In a list of sounds in the court dialect, about one-sixth of the syllables have this termination, but a larger proportion of characters are found under those syllables, than the mere list indicates. In Morrison’s Dictionary the number of separate words in the court dialect is 411, but if the aspirated syllables be distinguished, there are 533. In the author’s Syllabic Dictionary the number is 532; Wade reduces the Peking dialect to 397 syllables in one list, and increases it to 420 in another. In the Cantonese there are 707; in the dialect of Swatow, 674; at Amoy, about 900; at Fuhchau, 928; and 660 at Shanghai. All these lists distinguish between aspirated and unaspirated words, as ting and t’ing, pa and p’a, which to an English ear are nearly identical. The largest part of the sounds are common to the dialects, but the distinctions are such as to render it easy to detect each when spoken; the court dialect is the most mellifluous of the whole and easiest to acquire. All the consonants in English are found in one or another of the dialects, besides many not occurring in that language, as bw, chw, gw, jw, lw, mw, nw, etc. There are also several imperfect vowel sounds not known in any European language, as hm or ’m, hn or ’n, ^{ng} (a high nasal sound), sz’, ’rh, ch’, etc. The phrase ’m ’ng tăk in the Canton dialect, meaning cannot be pushed, or chain^n mai^n lang, ‘a blind man,’ in the Amoy, cannot be so accurately expressed by these or any other letters that one can learn the sound from them. If it is difficult for us to express their sounds by Roman letters, it is still stranger for the Chinese to write English words. For instance, baptize in the Canton dialect becomes pa-pí-tai-sz’; flannel becomes fat-lan-yin; stairs becomes sz’-ta-sz’; impregnable becomes ím-pí-luk-na-pu-lí; etc. Such words as Washington, midshipman, tongue, etc., can be written nearer their true sound, but the indivisible Chinese monosyllables offer a serious obstacle in the way of introducing foreign words and knowledge into the language.

The preceding observations explain how the numerous local variations from the general language found in all parts of China have arisen. Difficult as the spoken language is for a foreigner to acquire, from the brevity of the words and nicety of their tones, the variety of the local pronunciations given to the same character adds not a little to the labor, especially if he be situated where he is likely to come in contact with persons from different places. Amid such a diversity of pronunciation, and where one sound is really as correct as another, it is not easy to define what should constitute a dialect, a patois, or a corruption. A dialect in other languages is usually described as a local variation in pronunciation, or the use of peculiar words and expressions, not affecting the idiom or grammar of the tongue; but in the Chinese, where the written character unites the mass of people in one language, a dialect has been usually regarded by those who have written on the subject, as extending to variations in the idiom, and not restricted to differences in pronunciation and local expressions. According to this definition, there are only four or five dialects (which would in fact be as many languages if they were not united by the written character), but an endless variety of patois or local pronunciations. The Chinese have published books to illustrate the court, Changchau or Amoy, the Canton and Fuhchau dialects. The differences in the idioms and pronunciation are such as to render persons speaking them mutually unintelligible, but do not affect the style of writing, whose idioms are founded upon the usage of the best writers, and remain unchanged.

~THE COURT, OR MANDARIN DIALECT.~

The court language, the kwan hwa, or mandarin dialect, is rather the proper language of the country--the Chinese language--than a dialect. It is studied and spoken by all educated men, and no one can make any pretence to learning or accomplishments who cannot converse in it in whatever part of the Empire he may be born. It is the common language throughout the northeastern provinces, especially Honan, Shantung, and Nganhwui, though presenting more or less variations even in them from the standard of the court and capital. This speech is characterized by its soft and mellifluous tones, the absence of all harsh, consonantal endings, and the prevalence of liquids and labials. In parts of the provinces where it is spoken, as the eastern portions of Chehkiang and Kiangsu, gutturals are common, and the initials softened or changed.

This tongue is the most ancient speech now spoken, for stanzas of poetry written twenty-five centuries ago, in the times previous to Confucius, are now read with the same rhymes as when penned. The expressions of the kwan hwa, although resembling the written language more than the other dialects, are still unlike it, being more diffuse, and containing many synonyms and particles not required to make the sense clear when it is addressed to the eye. The difference is such in this respect that two well-educated Chinese speaking in the terse style of books would hardly understand each other, and be obliged to use more words to convey their meaning when speaking than they would consider elegant or necessary in an essay. This is, to be sure, more or less the case in all languages, but from the small variety of sounds and their monosyllabic brevity, it is unavoidable in Chinese, though it must not be inferred that the language cannot be written so as to be understood when read off; it can be written as diffusely as it is spoken, but such a style is not considered very elegant. There are books written in the colloquial, however, from which it is not difficult to learn the style of conversation, and such books are among the best to put into the hands of a foreigner when beginning the study.

~DIALECTS OF CANTON AND AMOY.~

The local patois of a place is called tu tan, or hiang tan, i.e., local or village brogue, and there is an interpreter of it attached to almost every officer’s court for the purpose of translating the peculiar phrases of witnesses and others brought before him. The term dialect cannot, strictly, in its previous definition, be applied to the tu tan, though it is usually so called; it is a patois or brogue. The Canton dialect is called by its citizens pak wa, ‘the plain speech,’ because it is more intelligible than the court dialect. It is comparatively easy of acquisition, and differs less from the kwan hwa, in its pronunciation and idioms, than that of Amoy and its vicinity; but the diversity is still enough to render it unintelligible to people from the north. A very few books have been written in it, but none which can afford assistance in learning it. A native scholar would consider his character for literary attainments almost degraded if he should write books in the provincial dialects, and forsake the style of the immortal classics. The principal feature in the pronunciation of the Canton dialect which distinguishes it from the general language, is the change of the abrupt vowel terminations, as loh, kiah, pih, into the well-defined consonants k, p, and t, as lok, kap, pít, a change that considerably facilitates the discrimination of the syllables. The idioms of the two cannot well be illustrated without the help of the written character, but the differences between the sounds of two or three sentences may be exhibited: The phrase, I do not understand what he says, is in the

Court dialect: Wo min puh tung teh ta kiang shim mo.

Canton dialect: Ngo ’m hiu kü kong măt yé.

The rice contains sand in it.

Court dialect: Na ko mí yu sha tsz’.

Canton dialect: Ko tik mai yau sha tsoi noi.

None of the provincial patois differ so much from the kwan hwa, and afford so many peculiarities, as those spoken in the province of Fuhkien and eastern portions of Kwangtung. All of them are nasal, and, compared with those spoken elsewhere, harsh and rough. They have a large number of unwritten sounds, and so supply the lack; the same character often has one sound when read and another when spoken; all of them are in common use. This curious feature obliges the foreigner to learn two parallel languages when studying this dialect, so intimate and yet so distinct are the two. The difference between them will be more apparent by quoting a sentence: “He first performed that which was difficult, and afterward imitated what was easier.” The corresponding words of the colloquial are placed underneath the reading sounds.

_Sien k’í su chí sé lan, jí ho k’í _Tai seng chó í é su é sé oh, jí tui au k’w^na í é

hau chí sé tek. hau giem é sé tit tióh.

The changes from one into the other are exceedingly various both in sound and idiom. Thus, bien chien, ‘before one’s face,’ becomes bin chan when spoken; while in the phrase cheng jit, ‘a former day,’ the same word chien becomes cheng and not chan; bòé chu, ‘pupil of the eye,’ becomes ang a; sit hwan, ‘to eat rice,’ becomes chiah pui^n. Their dialect, not less than their trafficking spirit, point out the Amoy people wherever they are met, and as they are usually found along the whole coast and in the Archipelago, and are not understood except by their provincial compatriots, they everywhere clan together and form separate communities. Dr. Medhurst published a dictionary of the Changchau dialect, in which the sounds of the characters are given as they are read. Dr. C. Douglas has gathered a great vocabulary of words and phrases used in the Amoy colloquial, in which he has attempted to reduce everything to the Romanized system of writing, and omitted all the characters.

The dialects of Fuhchau, Swatow, and Canton have been similarly investigated by Protestant missionaries. Messrs. Maclay and Baldwin have taken the former in hand, and their work leaves very little to be desired for the elucidation of that speech. Goddard’s vocabulary of the Swatow has no examples; and Williams’ Tonic Dictionary of the Canton dialect gave no characters with the examples. This deficiency was made up in Lobscheid’s rearrangement of it under the radicals.

The extent to which the dialects are used has not been ascertained, nor the degree of modification each undergoes in those parts where it is spoken; for villagers within a few miles, although able to understand each other perfectly, still give different sounds to a few characters, and have a few local phrases, enough to distinguish their several inhabitants, while towns one or two hundred miles apart are still more unlike. For instance, the citizen of Canton always says shui for water, and tsz’ for child, but the native of Macao says sui and chí for these two words; and if his life depended upon his uttering them as they are spoken in Canton, they would prove a shibboleth which he could not possibly enunciate. Strong peculiarities of speech also exist in the villages between Canton and Macao which are found in neither of those places. Yet whatever sound they give to a character it has the same tone, and a Chinese would be much less surprised to hear water called ♯chwui, than he would to hear it called ♭shui in the lower even tone, instead of its proper ascending tone. The tones really approach vowels in their nature more than mere musical inflections; and it is by their nice discrimination, that the people are able to understand each other with less difficulty than we might suppose amidst such a jargon of vocables.

~PRONUNCIATION AND GRAMMAR.~

This accurate discrimination in the vowel sounds, and comparative indifference to consonants, which characterize the Chinese spoken languages, has arisen, no doubt, from the monosyllabic nature, and the constant though slight variations the names of characters undergo from the traditionary mode in which they must be learned. There being no integral sound in any character, each and all of them are, of course, equally correct, per se; but the various general and local dictionaries have each tended somewhat to fix the pronunciation, just as books and education have fixed the spelling of English words. Nor do the Chinese more than other people learn to pronounce their mother tongue from dictionaries, and the variations are consequently but partially restrained by them. It may truly be said, that no two Chinese speak all words alike, while yet, through means of the universally understood character, the greatest mass of human beings ever collected under one government are enabled to express themselves without difficulty, and carry on all the business and concerns of life.

The grammar of the Chinese language is unique, but those writers who say it has no grammar at all must have overlooked the prime signification of the word. There are in all languages words which denote things, and others which signify qualities; words which express actions done by one or many, already done, doing or to be done; actions absolute, conditional, or ordered. The circumstances of the doer and the subject of the action, make prepositions necessary, as well as other connecting words. Thus the principles of grammar exist in all intelligible speech, though each may require different rules. These rules the Chinese language possesses, and their right application, the proper collocation of words, and use of particles, which supply the place of inflection, constitute a difficult part in its acquisition. It has no etymology, properly speaking, for neither the characters nor their names undergo any change; whether used as verbs or nouns, adjectives or particles, they remain the same. The same word may be a noun, a verb, an adverb, or any part of speech, nor can its character be certainly known till it is placed in a sentence, when its meaning becomes definite. Its grammar, therefore, is confined chiefly to its syntax and prosody. This feature of the Chinese language is paralleled in English by such words as light, used as a noun, adjective, and verb; like, used as a verb, adjective, and adverb; sheep and deer, used both in the singular and plural; read, used in the past, present, and future tenses; and in all cases without undergoing any change. But what is occasional and the exception in that tongue, becomes the rule in Chinese; nor is there any more confusion in the last than in the first.

A good summary of the principles of Chinese grammar is given by Rémusat, who says that generally,

“In every Chinese sentence, in which nothing is understood, the elements of which it is composed are arranged in the following order: the subject, the verb, the complement direct, and the complement indirect.

“Modifying expressions precede those to which they belong: thus, the adjective is placed before the substantive, subject, or complement; the substantive governed before the verb that governs it; the adverb before the verb, the proposition incidental, circumstantial, or hypothetical, before the principal proposition, to which it attaches itself by a conjunction expressed or understood.

“The relative position of words and phrases thus determined, supplies the place often of every other mark intended to denote their mutual dependence, their character whether adjective or adverbial, positive, conditional, or circumstantial.

“If the subject be understood, it is because it is a personal pronoun, or that it is expressed above, and that the same substantive that is omitted is found in the preceding sentence, and in the same quality of subject, and not in any other.

“If the verb be wanting, it is because it is the substantive verb, or some other easily supplied, or one which has already found place in the preceding sentences, with a subject or complement not the same.

“If several substantives follow each other, either they are in construction with each other, or they form an enumeration, or they are synonyms which explain and determine each other.

“If several verbs succeed each other, which are not synonyms and are not employed as auxiliaries, the first ones should be taken as adverbs or verbal nouns, the subjects of those which follow; or these latter as verbal nouns, the complements of those which precede.”

~PARTS OF SPEECH.~

Chinese grammarians divide all words into shih tsz’ and hü tsz’, i.e., essential words and particles. The former are subdivided into sz’ tsz’ and hwoh tsz’, i.e., nouns and verbs; the latter into initials or introductory words, conjunctions, exclamations, finals, transitive particles, etc. They furnish examples under each, and assist the student, with model books, in which the principles of the language and all rhetorical terms are explained. The number and variety of grammatical and philological works prove that they have not neglected the elucidation and arrangement of their mother tongue. The rules above cited are applicable to the written language, and these treatises refer entirely to that; the changes in the phraseology of the colloquial do not affect its grammar, however, which is formed upon the same rules.

Although the characters are, when isolated, somewhat indefinite, there are many ways of limiting their meaning in sentences. Nouns are often made by suffixing formative particles, as nu kí, ‘angry spirit,’ merely means anger; í kí, ‘righteous spirit,’ is rectitude; chin ’rh, ‘needle child,’ is a needle, etc.; the suffix, in these cases, simply materializing the word. Gender is formed by distinctive particles, prefixed or suffixed by appropriate words for each gender, or by denoting one gender always by a dissyllabic compound; as male-being, for the masculine; horse-sire, or horse-mother, for stallion or dam; hero, heroine, emperor, empress, etc.; and lastly as wang-hau, i.e., king-queen, for queen, while wang alone means king. Number is formed by prefixing a numeral, as Yung, Tsin, two men; by suffixing a formative, mun, tăng, and others, as jin-tăng, man-sort, or men; ta-mun, he-s or they; by repeating the word, as jin-jin, man-man or men; chu-chu, place-place, or places, i.e., everywhere; and lastly, by the scope of the passage. The nominative, accusative, and vocative cases are commonly known by their position; the genitive, dative, and ablative are formed by appropriate prepositions, expressed or understood. The vocative is common in light reading and historical studies.

Adjectives precede nouns, by which position they are usually determined. Comparisons are made in many ways. Hau is good, kăng hau is better, and chí hau is best; shih făn hau hau is very good; hau hau tih is pretty good, etc. The position of an adjective determines its comparison, as chang yih chih means longer by one cubit; yih chih chang is a cubit long. The comparison of ideas is made by placing the two sentences parallel to each other; for instance, “Entering the hills and seizing a tiger is easy, opening the mouth and getting men to lean to is difficult,” is the way of expressing the comparison, “It is easier to seize a tiger in the hills, than to obtain the good offices of men.” The proper use of antithesis and parallelism is considered one of the highest attainments in composition. The numerals are thirteen in number, with the addition of the character 零 ling to denote a cipher. All amounts are written just as they are to be read, as yih peh sz’ shih san, 一百四十三 i.e., ‘one hundred four tens three.’ They are here introduced, with their pronunciation in three dialects.

1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 100 1,000 10,000 一 二 三 四 五 六 七 八 九 十 百 千 萬

Court yih ’rh san sz’ wu luh tsih pah kiu shih peh tsien wan. Dialect. Canton yat í sam sz’ ’ng luk tsat pat kau shap pak tsín man. Dialect. Fuhkien it jí sam su ngou liok chit pat kiu sip pek chien ban. Dialect.

The Chinese, like the ancient Greeks, enumerate only up to a myriad, expressing sums higher than that by stating how many myriads there are; the notation of 362,447,180 is three myriads, six thousand, two hundred and forty-four myriads, seven thousand, one hundred, and eighty. Pronouns are few in number, and their use is avoided whenever the sense is clear without them. The personal pronouns are three, wo, ní, and ta, but other pronouns can all be readily expressed by adjectives, by collocation, and by participial phrases. The classifiers sometimes partake of the nature of adjective pronouns, but usually are mere distributive or numerical adjectives.

Verbs, or “living characters,” constitute the most important part of speech in the estimation of Chinese grammarians, and the shun tuh, or easy flow of expression, in their use, is carefully studied. The dissyllabic compounds, called clam-shell words, are usually verbs, and are made in many ways; by uniting two similar words, as kwei-kien (lit. peep-look), ‘to spy;’ by doubling the verb, as kien-kien, meaning to look earnestly; by prefixing a formative denoting action, as ta shwui (lit. strike sleep), ‘to sleep;’ by suffixing a modifying word, as grasp-halt, to grasp firmly; think-arise, to cogitate, etc. No part of the study requires more attention than the right selection of these formatives in both nouns and verbs; perfection in the shun tuh and use of antitheses is the result only of years of study.

The various accidents of voice, mood, tense, number, and person, can all be expressed by corresponding particles, but the genius of the language disfavors their frequent use. The passive voice is formed by prefixing particles indicative of agency before the active verb, as “The villain received my sword’s cutting,” for “The villain was wounded by my sword.” The imperative, potential, and subjunctive moods are formed by particles or adjuncts, but the indicative and infinitive are not designated, nor are the number and person of verbs usually distinguished. The number of auxiliaries, particles, adjuncts, and suffixes of various kinds, employed to express what in other languages is denoted by inflections, is really very moderate; and a nice discrimination exhibited in their use indicates the finished scholar.[300]

~DEFECTS IN THE CHINESE LANGUAGE.~

The greatest defect in the Chinese language is the indistinct manner in which time is expressed; not that there is any want of terms to denote its varieties, but the terseness of expression admired by Chinese writers leads them to discard every unessential word, and especially those relating to time. This defect is more noticed by the foreigner than the native, who has no knowledge of the precision of time expressed by inflection in other languages. Adverbs, prepositions, conjunctions, and interjections are not distinguished by native grammarians; the former are classed with adjectives, and the others are collectively called hü tsz’--‘empty words.’

No distinction is made between proper and common names, and as every word can be employed as a name it becomes a source of confusion to the translator; in some books a single line drawn on the side of characters denotes the names of persons, and a double line the names of places; important words are denoted by commencing a new line with them, raised one or two characters above the other columns, which answers to capitalizing them. In most books an entire absence of all marks of punctuation, and divisions into sentences and paragraphs, causes needless doubt in the mind of the reader. The great convenience experienced in European languages from the use of capital letters, marks of punctuation, separation into sentences and paragraphs, and the distinction of time, is more plainly seen when a translation is to be made from languages like the Chinese and Japanese, in which they are disregarded. A false taste prevents them from using them; they admire a page of plain characters so much that a student who should punctuate his essay would run a risk of being ridiculed.

It is not easy yet to decide on the best way to adapt the technical words in western science to the genius of this language. The vast terminology in natural history, with the still greater array of scientific names, need not be introduced into it, but can remain in their original Latin and Greek, where Chinese scientists can consult them. New compounds have already been proposed for gases, metals, earths, acids, and other elementary substances, in which the radical and primitive are chosen with reference to their meanings, the latter being more complicated than usual for this purpose. These will gradually get into use as the sciences are studied, and their number will not be troublesomely large.

There are several distinct styles of composition recognized. The ku wăn, or the terse antithetic style of the ancient classics, is considered as inimitable and unimprovable, and really possesses the qualities of energy, vivacity, and brevity in a superior degree; the wăn chang, or style of elevated composition, adopted in essays, histories, and grave works; and the siao shwoh, or colloquial style, used in stories.

If there are serious defects, this language also possesses some striking beauties. The expressive nature of the characters, after their component parts have become familiar, causes much of the meaning of a sentence to pass instantly before the eye, while the energy arising from the brevity attainable by the absence of all inflections and partial use of particles, add a vigor to the style that is hardly reached by any alphabetic language. Dr. Morrison observes that “Chinese fine writing darts upon the mind with a vivid flash, a force and a beauty, of which alphabetic language is incapable.” It is also better fitted than any other for becoming a universal medium of communication, and has actually become so to a much greater extent than any other; but the history of its diffusion, and the modifications it has undergone among the five nations who use it, though presenting a curious topic for philological inquiry, is one far too extensive to be discussed here. So general a use of one written language, however, affords some peculiar facilities for the diffusion of knowledge by means of books as introductory to the general elevation of the people using it, and their preparation for substituting an alphabetic language for so laborious and unwieldy a vehicle of thought, which it seems impossible to avoid as Christian civilization and knowledge extend.

It is often asked, is the Chinese language hard to learn? The preceding account of it shows that to become familiar with its numerous characters, to be able to speak the delicately marked tones of its short monosyllables, and to compose in it with perspicuity and elegance, is the labor of years of close application. To do so in Greek, Latin, English, or any settled tongue, is also a toilsome task, and excepting the barren labor of remembering so many different characters, it is not more so in Chinese than in others. But knowledge sufficient to talk intelligibly, to write perspicuously, and read with considerable ease, is not so herculean a task as some suppose, though this degree is not to be attained without much hard study. Moreover, dictionaries, manuals, and translations are now available which materially diminish the labor, and their number is constantly increasing.

~METHOD OF STUDYING CHINESE.~

The rules for studying it cannot be laid down so that they will answer equally well for all persons. Some readily catch the most delicate inflections of the voice, and imitate and remember the words they hear; such persons soon learn to speak, and can make themselves understood on common subjects with merely the help of a vocabulary. Others prefer to sit down with a teacher and learn to read, and for most persons this is the best way to begin. At first, the principal labor should be directed to the characters, reading them over with a teacher and learning their form. Commence with the two hundred and fourteen radicals, and commit them to memory, so that they can be repeated and written in their order; then learn the primitives, or at least become familiar with the names and meaning of all the common ones. The aid this preliminary study gives in remembering the formation of characters is worth all the time it takes. Students make a mistake if they begin with the Testament or a tract; they can learn more characters in the same period, and lay a better foundation for acquiring others, by commencing with the radicals and primitives. Meanwhile, they will also be learning sounds and becoming familiar with the tones, which should be carefully attended to as a particular study from the living voice.

When these characters are learned, short sentences or reading lessons selected from good Chinese authors, with a translation attached, should be taken up and committed to memory. Phrases may also be learned at the same time, for use in conversation; an excellent way is to memorize one or two hundred common words, and then practise putting them together in sentences. The study of reading lessons and phrases, with practice in speaking and writing them, will prepare the way for commencing the study of the classics or other native authors. By the time the student has reached this point he needs no further directions; the path he wishes thenceforth to pursue can easily be marked out by himself. It is not amiss here to remark that many persons ardently desirous of fitting themselves soon for preaching or talking to the people, weary their minds and hinder their ultimate progress by too hard study at first upon the dry characters; others come to look upon the written language as less important so long as they can talk rapidly and well, but in the end find that in this, as in every other living tongue, there is no royal road which does not lead them through the grammar and literature.[301]

~PIGEON-ENGLISH.~

This sketch of the Chinese language would be incomplete without a notice of the singular jargon which has grown up between the natives and foreigners along the coast, called pigeon-English. It has been so long in use as the medium of traffic and household talk that it now bids fair to become an unwritten patois, of which neither the Chinese nor the English will own the parentage. The term pigeon, a corruption from business, shows, in its transformation, some of the influences which our words must undergo as they pass through the Chinese characters. The foreigners who first settled at Canton had no time nor facilities for learning the dialect, and the traders with whom they bargained soon picked up more foreign words than the former did native. The shopmen ere long formed vocabularies of foreign words obtained from their customers, and wrote the sounds as nearly as possible; these were committed to memory and formed into sentences according to the idioms of their own language, and disregarding all our inflections, in which they had no instruction. Thus the two parties gradually came to understand each other enough for all practical ends; the foreigners were rather pleased to talk “broken China,” as it was not inaptly called, and habit soon made it natural to a new-comer to talk it to the natives, and it obviated all necessity for studying Chinese. The body of the jargon is English, the few Chinese, Portuguese, and Malay words therein imparting a raciness which, with the novelty of the expressions, has of late attracted much attention to this new language. Though apparently without any rules, the natives are very liable to misapprehend what is said to them by their masters or customers, because these rules are not followed, and constant difficulty arises from mutual misunderstanding of this sort. The widening study of Chinese is not likely to do away with this droll lingo at the trade ports, and several attempts have been made to render English pieces into it. On the other hand, in California and elsewhere, the Chinese generally succeed in learning the languages of their adopted countries better than in talking pigeon-English, or the similar mongrel vernacular spoken at Macao by the native-born Chinese.

A knowledge of the Chinese language is a passport to the confidence of the people, and when foreigners generally learn it the natives will begin to divest themselves of their prejudices and contempt. As an inducement to study, the scholar and the philanthropist have the prospect of benefiting and informing through it vast numbers of their fellow-men, of imparting to them what will elevate their minds, purify their hearts, instruct their understandings, and strengthen their desire for more knowledge; they have an opportunity of doing much to counteract the tremendous evils of the opium trade by teaching the Chinese the only sure grounds on which they can be restrained, and at the same time of making them acquainted with the discoveries in science, medicine, and arts among western nations.

FOOTNOTES:

[290] Professor H. A. Sayce, of Oxford, in reference to a suggested possible connection between the Chinese and primitive Accadian population of Chaldea, says in a letter to the London Times: “I would mention one fact which may certainly be considered to favor it. The cuneiform characters of Babylonia and Assyria are, as is well known, degenerated hieroglyphics, like the modern Chinese characters. The original hieroglyphics were invented by the Accadians before they descended into Babylonia from the mountains of Elam, and I have long been convinced that they were originally written in vertical columns. In no other way can I explain the fact that most of the pictures to which the cuneiform characters can be traced back stand upon their sides. There is evidence to show that the inventors of the hieroglyphics used papyrus, or some similar vegetable substance, for writing purposes before the alluvial plain of Babylonia furnished them with clay, and the use of such a writing material will easily account for the vertical direction in which the characters were made to run.”

[291] Biot has a brief note upon the methods employed by native scholars for studying pronunciation. Essai sur l’instruction en Chine, p. 597.

[292] Easy Lessons in Chinese, pp. 3-29; Chinese Repository, Vol. III., pp. 1-37.

[293] One may gain some idea of this difficulty by referring to the geographical names contained in the Russo-Chinese Treaty, quoted on page 215.

[294] The writer has an edition of the Thousand Character Classic, containing each couplet of eight words in a different form of character, making one hundred and twenty-five styles of type--too grotesque to be imitated, and probably never actually in use.

[295] See page 193. In order that the Manchu portion of this famous poem might not appear inferior to the Chinese, the Emperor ordered thirty-two varieties of Manchu characters to be invented and published in like manner with the others. Rémusat, Mélanges, Tome II., p. 59. Père Amiot, Éloge de la Ville de Moukden. Trad. en françois. Paris, 1770.

[296] Chinese Chrestomathy, Chap. I., Secs. 5 and 6, where the rules for writing Chinese are given in full with numerous examples; Easy Lessons in Chinese, p. 59; Chinese Repository, Vol. III., p. 37.

[297] Journal Asiatic Soc. Bengal, Vol. III. (Sept., 1834), p. 477. S. Julien in the Revue de l’Orient et de l’Algerie, XX., p. 74, 1856.

[298] Chinese Repository, Vol. III., pp. 246-252, 528; Vol. XIV., p. 124; Missionary Recorder, January, 1875.

[299] Chinese as They Are, Chap. XXXIV.

[300] Chinese Repository, Vol. VIII., p. 347.

[301] Many aids in learning the general language and all the leading dialects have been prepared in English, French, German, and Portuguese, but several of the early ones, as Morrison, Gonçalves, Medhurst, and Bridgman, are already out of print. The names of all of these may be found most easily in the first volume of M. Cordier’s exhaustive Dictionnaire Bibliographique des ouvrages relatifs à l’Empire chinois, pp. 725-804. Paris, 1881.

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XI. CLASSICAL LITERATURE OF THE CHINESE

The literature contained in the language now briefly described is very ample and discursive, but wanting in accuracy and unenlivened by much variety or humor. The books of the Chinese have formed and confirmed their national taste, which consequently exhibits a tedious uniformity. The unbounded admiration felt for the classics and their immaculate authors, fostered by the examinations, has further tended to this result, and caused these writings to become still more famous from the unequalled influence they have exerted. It may be very readily seen, then, with what especial interest the student of Chinese sociology turns to an investigation of their letters, the immense accumulation of forty centuries. Were its amount and prominence the only features of their literature, these would suffice to make necessary some study thereof; but in addition, continued research may reveal some further qualities of “eloquence and poetry, enriched by the beauty of a picturesque language, preserving to imagination all its colors,” which will substantiate the hearty expressions used by Rémusat when first he entered upon a critical examination of its treasures.

In taking a survey of this literature, the Sz’ Ku Tsiuen Shu Tsung-muh, or ‘Catalogue of all Books in the Four Libraries,’ will be the best guide, since it embraces the whole range of letters, and affords a complete and succinct synopsis of the contents of the best books in the language. It is comprised in one hundred and twelve octavo volumes, and is of itself a valuable work, especially to the foreigner. The books are arranged into four divisions, viz., Classical, Historical, and Professional writings, and Belles-lettres. This Catalogue contains about 3,440 separate titles, comprising upward of 78,000 books; besides these, 6,764 other works, numbering 93,242 books, have been described in other catalogues of the imperial collections. These lists comprise the bulk of Chinese literature, except novels, Buddhist translations, and recent publications.

The works in the first division are ranged under nine sections; one is devoted to each of the five Classics (with a subsidiary section upon these as a whole), one to the memoir on Filial Duty, one to the Four Books, one to musical works, and the ninth to treatises on education, dictionaries, etc.

~THE YIH KING, OR BOOK OF CHANGES.~

At the head of the ‘Five Classics’ (Wu King) is placed the Yih King, or ‘Book of Changes,’ a work which if not--as it has been repeatedly called--Antiquissimus Sinarum liber, can be traced with tolerable accuracy to an origin three thousand years ago. It ranks, according to Dr. Legge, third in antiquity among the Chinese classics, or after the Shu and portions of the Shí King; but if an unbounded veneration for enigmatical wisdom supposed to lie concealed under mystic lines be any just claim for importance, to this wondrous monument of literature may easily be conceded the first place in the estimation of Chinese scholars.

While following Dr. Legge in his recent exposition of this classic,[302] a clearer idea of its subject-matter can hardly be given than by quoting his words stating that “the text may be briefly represented as consisting of sixty-four short essays, enigmatically and symbolically expressed, on important themes, mostly of a moral, social, and political character, and based on the same number of lineal figures, each made up of six lines, some of which are whole and the others divided.” The evolution of the eight diagrams from two original principles is ascribed to Fuh-hí (B.C. 3322), who is regarded as the founder of the nation, though his history is, naturally enough, largely fabulous. From the Liang Í, or ‘Two Principles’ (⚊) (⚋), were fashioned the Sz’ Siang, or ‘Four Figures,’ by placing these over themselves and each of them over the other, thus:

⚌ ⚍ ⚎ ⚏

The same pairs placed in succession under the original lines formed eight trigrams called the

PAH KWA of FUH-HÍ.

----------+---------------+-------------+----------+--------------+ ☰ | ☱ | ☲ | ☳ | ☴ | kien | tui | lí | chin | siuen | ----------+---------------+-------------+----------+--------------+ | Water | Fire, as in | | | Heaven, | collected, | lightning; | Thunder. | The Wind; | the Sky. | as in a marsh | the Sun. | | Wood. | | or lake. | | | | ----------+---------------+-------------+----------+--------------+ S. | S.E. | E. | N.E. | S.W. | ----------+---------------+-------------+----------+--------------+ Untiring | Pleasure; | Brightness; | Moving; | Flexibility; | strength; | complacent | elegance. | exciting | penetration. | power. | satisfaction. | | power. | | ----------+---------------+-------------+----------+--------------+

+-------------------+------------+--------------- | ☵ | ☶ | ☷ | kan | kăn | kwăn +-------------------+------------+--------------- | Water, as in rain,| | | clouds, springs, | Hills or | The Earth. | streams, and | Mountains. | | defiles. The Moon.| | +-------------------+------------+--------------- | W. | N.W. | N. +-------------------+------------+--------------- | Peril; difficulty.| Resting; | Capaciousness; | | the act of | submission. | | arresting. | +-------------------+------------+---------------

~ITS PHILOSOPHICAL SYSTEM.~

The table furnishes us with the natural objects that these figures are said to represent, the attributes which should seem to be suggested by them, and which, with the application of the eight points of the compass, together form the material for a cabalistic logomancy peculiarly pleasing to Chinese habits of thought. The trigrams furnish, moreover, the state and position, at any given place or time, of the twofold division of the one primordial kí, or ‘Air,’ called Yang and Yin, and have thus become the source from whence the system of Fung-shui is derived and on whose changes it is founded. This substance kí answers sufficiently closely to the animated air of the Grecian philosopher Anaximenes; its divisions are a subtle and a coarse principle which, acting and reacting upon each other, produce four siang, or ‘forms,’ and these again combine into eight kwa, or trigrams. Fuh-hí is thus said to have arranged the first four of the Pah Kwa under the Yang (strong or hard) principle, and the last four under the Yin (weak or soft) principle; the former indicate vigor or authority, and it is their part to command, while of the latter, representing feebleness or submission, it is the part to obey.

It was probably Wăn Wang, King Wăn, chief of the principality of Chau in 1185 B.C., who when thrown into prison by his jealous suzerain Shau, the tyrant of Shang, arranged and multiplied the trigrams--long before his time used for purposes of divination--into the sixty-four hexagrams as they now occur in the Yih King. His was a wholly different disposition, both of names, attributes, and the compass points, from the original trigrams of Fuh-hí; again, he added to them certain social relations of father, mother, three sons, and three daughters, which has ever since been found a convenient addition to the conjuring apparatus of the work. “I like to think,” says Dr. Legge, “of the lord of Chau, when incarcerated in Yu-lí, with the sixty-four figures arranged before him. Each hexagram assumed a mystic meaning and glowed with a deep significance. He made it to tell him of the qualities of various objects of nature, or of the principles of human society, or of the condition, actual and possible, of the kingdom. He named the figures each by a term descriptive of the idea with which he had connected it in his mind, and then he proceeded to set that idea forth, now with a note of exhortation, now with a note of warning. It was an attempt to restrict the follies of divination within the bounds of reason.... But all the work of King Wăn in the Yih thus amounts to no more than sixty-four short paragraphs. We do not know what led his son Tan to enter into his work and complete it as he did. Tan was a patriot, a hero, a legislator, and a philosopher. Perhaps he took the lineal figures in hand as a tribute of filial duty. What had been done for the whole hexagram he would do for each line, and make it clear that all the six lines ‘bent one way their precious influence,’ and blended their rays in the globe of light which his father had made each figure give forth. But his method strikes us as singular. Each line seemed to become living, and suggested some phenomenon in nature, or some case of human experience, from which the wisdom or folly, the luckiness or unluckiness, indicated by it could be inferred. It cannot be said that the duke carried out his plan in a way likely to interest any one but a hien shăng who is a votary of divination and admires the style of its oracles. According to our notions, a framer of emblems should be a good deal of a poet; but those of the Yih only make us think of a dryasdust. Out of more than three hundred and fifty, the greater number are only grotesque. We do not recover from the feeling of disappointment till we remember that both father and son had to write ‘according to the trick,’ after the manner of diviners, as if this lineal augury had been their profession.”

Such is the text of the Yih. The words of King Wăn and his son are followed by commentaries called the Shih Yih, or ‘Ten Wings.’ These are of a much later period than the text, and are commonly ascribed to Confucius, though it is extremely doubtful if the sage was author of more than the sentences introduced by the oft-repeated formula, “The Master said,” occurring in or concluding many chapters of the ‘Wings.’ Without lingering over the varied contents of these appendices, more than to point out that the fifth and sixth Wings (‘Appended Sentences’), known as the ‘Great Treatise,’ contains for the first time the character Yih, or ‘Change,’ it will be necessary, before leaving this classic, to illustrate its curious nature by means of a single quotation.

~EXTRACTS FROM THE YIH KING.~

XXXI.--THE HIEN HEXAGRAM.

䷞

Hien indicates that [on the fulfilment of the conditions implied in it] there will be free course and success. Its advantageousness will depend on the being firm and correct, [as] in marrying a young lady. There will be good fortune.

1. The first line, divided, shows one moving his great toes.

2. The second line, divided, shows one moving the calves of his leg. There will be evil. If he abide [quiet in his place] there will be good fortune.

3. The third line, undivided, shows one moving his thighs, and keeping close hold of those whom he follows. Going forward [in this way] will cause regret.

4. The fourth line, undivided, shows that firm correctness which will lead to good fortune and prevent all occasion for repentance. If its subject be unsettled in his movements, [only] his friends will follow his purpose.

5. The fifth line, undivided, shows one moving the flesh along the spine above the heart. There will be no occasion for repentance.

6. The sixth line, divided, shows one moving his jaws and tongue.

~ITS CHARACTER AND INFLUENCE.~

An idea of the several commentaries, or ‘Wings,’ upon such a passage may be gained from the following excerpts. First comes the ‘Treatise on the Twan,’ or King Wăn’s paragraphs; then the ‘Treatise on the Symbols,’ consisting of observations on Duke Chau’s exposition.

From the Second Wing.--1. Hien is here used in the sense of Kan, meaning [mutually] influencing.

2. The weak [trigram] above, and the strong one below; their two influences moving and responding to each other, and thereby forming a union; the repression [of the one] and the satisfaction [of the other]; [with their relative position] where the male is placed below the female--all these things convey the notion of ‘a free and successful course [on the fulfilment of the conditions], while the advantage will depend on being firm and correct, as in marrying a young lady, and there will be good fortune.’ ... etc., etc.

Fourth Wing.--[The trigram representing] a mountain and above it that for [the waters of] a marsh form Hien. The superior man, in accordance with this, keeps his mind free from preoccupation, and open to receive [the influences of] others.

1. ‘He moves his great toe’--his mind is set on what is beyond [himself].

2. Though ‘there would be evil, yet if he abide [quiet] in his place there will be good fortune’--through compliance [with the circumstances of his condition and place] there will be no injury.

3. ‘He moves his thighs’--he still does not [want to] rest in his place. His will is set on ‘following others;’ what he holds in his grasp is low.

4. ‘Firm correctness will lead to good fortune, and prevent all occasion for repentance’--there has not yet been any harm from [a selfish wish to] influence. ‘He is unsettled in his movements’--[his power to influence] is not yet either brilliant or great.

5. ‘He [tries to] move the flesh along the spine above the heart’--his aim is trivial.

6. ‘He moves his jaws and tongue’--he [only] talks with loquacious mouth.

Sixth Wing (‘Appended Sentences’).--Chapter I.--1. The eight trigrams having been completed in their proper order, there were in each the [three] emblematic lines. They were then multiplied by a process of addition till the [six] component lines appeared.

2. The strong line and the weak push themselves each into the place of the other, and hence the changes [of the diagrams] take place. The appended explanations attach to every form of them its character [of good or ill], and hence the movements [suggested by divination] are determined accordingly.

3. Good fortune and ill, occasion for repentance or regret, all arise from these movements ... etc., etc.

The hundreds of fortune-tellers seen in the streets of Chinese towns, whose answers to their perplexed customers are more or less founded on these cabala, indicate their influence among the illiterate; while among scholars, who have long since conceded all divination to be vain, it is surprising to remark the profound estimation in which these inane lines are held as the consummation of all wisdom--the germ, even, of all the truths which western science has brought to light! Each hexagram is supposed to represent, at any given time, six different phases of the primordial kí. “As all the good and evil in the world,” observes McClatchie, “is attributed by the Chinese philosophers to the purity or impurity of the animated air from which the two-fold soul in man is formed, a certain moral value attaches to each stroke, and the diviner prognosticates accordingly that good or evil luck, as the case may be, will result to the consulter of the oracle with regard to the matter on which he seeks it. Nine is the number of Heaven, or the undivided stroke, and six is the number of Earth, or the divided stroke, and hence each stroke has a double designation. The first stroke, if undivided, is designated ‘First-Nine,’ but if divided it is designated ‘First-Six,’ and so on. The second and fifth strokes in each diagram are important, being the centre or medium strokes of their respective lesser diagrams. The fifth stroke, however, is the most important in divination, as it represents that portion of the air which is the especial throne of the imperial power, and is the ‘undeflected due medium.’ Nothing but good luck can follow if the person divining with the straws obtains this stroke. Tao, or the Divine Reason, which is the supreme soul of the whole Kosmos, animates the air, pervading its six phases, and thus giving power to the diagrams to make known future events to mankind.”

Of course anything and everything could be deduced from such a fanciful groundwork, but the Chinese have taken up the discussion in the most serious manner, and endeavored to find the hidden meaning and evolutions of the universe from this curious system. The diagrams have, moreover, supplied the basis for many species of divination by shells, letters, etc., by which means the mass of the people are deluded into the belief of penetrating futurity, and still more wedded to their superstitions. The continued influence of such a work as the Yih illustrates the national penchant for laws and method, while equally indicating the general indifference to empirical research and the facts deduced from study of natural history. If, from a philosophical standpoint, we consider the barrenness of its results, there is little, indeed, to say for the Yih King, save concurrence in Dr. Gustave Schlegel’s epithet, “a mechanical play of idle abstractions;” nevertheless, this classic contains in its whimsical dress of inscrutable strokes much of practical wisdom, giving heed to which it is not hard to agree with Dr. Legge in concluding that “the inculcation of such lessons cannot have been without good effect in China during the long course of its history.”[303]

~THE SHU KING, OR BOOK OF RECORDS.~

The second section of the Imperial Catalogue contains treatises upon the Shu King, or ‘Book of Records.’ This classic, first in importance as it is in age among the five King, consists of a series of documents relating to the history of China from the times of Yao down to King Hiang, of the Chau dynasty (B.C. 2357-627). Its earlier chapters were composed at periods following the events of which they relate, but after the twenty-second century B.C. the Shu comes to us, though in a mutilated condition, as the contemporary chronicle of proclamations, addresses, and principles of the early sovereigns. Internal evidence leads to the conclusion that Confucius acted chiefly as editor of documents existing in his day; he probably wrote the preface, but what alterations it received at his hand cannot now be ascertained. When it left his care it contained eighty-one documents in one hundred books, arranged under the five dynasties of Yao, Shun, Hia, Shang, and Chau, the last one coming down to within two hundred and twenty-one years of his own birth. Most of these are lost, and others are doubted by Chinese critics, so that now only forty-eight documents remain, thirty of them belonging to the Chau, with the preface ascribed to Confucius. He showed his estimate of their value by calling the whole Shang Shu, or the ‘Highest Book,’ and we may class their loss with that of other ancient works in Hebrew or Greek literature. The Shu King now contains six different kinds of state papers, viz., imperial ordinances, plans drawn up by statesmen as guides for their sovereign, instructions prepared for the guidance of the prince, imperial proclamations and charges to the people, vows taken before Shangtí by the monarch when going out to battle, and, lastly, mandates, announcements, speeches, and canons issued to the ministers of state.[304]

The morality of the Shu King, for a pagan work, is extremely good; the principles of administration laid down in it, founded on a regard to the welfare of the people, would, if carried out, insure universal prosperity. The answer of Kaoyao to the monarch Yu is expressive of a mild spirit: “Your virtue, O Emperor, is faultless. You condescend to your ministers with a liberal ease; you rule the multitude with a generous forbearance. Your punishments do not extend to the criminal’s heirs, but your rewards reach to after-generations. You pardon inadvertent faults, however great, and punish deliberate crime, however small. In cases of doubtful crimes you deal with them lightly; of doubtful merit, you prefer the highest estimate. Rather than put to death the guiltless, you will run the risk of irregularity and laxity. This life-loving virtue has penetrated the minds of the people, and this is why they do not render themselves liable to be punished by your officers.”[305]

In the counsels of Yu to Shun are many of the best maxims of good government, both for rulers and ruled, which antiquity has handed down in any country. The following are among them: “Yih said, Alas! Be cautious. Admonish yourself to caution when there seems to be no reason for anxiety. Do not fail in due attention to laws and ordinances. Do not find enjoyment in indulgent ease. Do not go to excess in pleasure. Employ men of worth without intermediaries. Put away evil advisers, nor try to carry out doubtful plans. Study that all your purposes may be according to reason. Do not seek the people’s praises by going against reason, nor oppose the people to follow your own desires. Be neither idle nor wayward, and even foreign tribes will come under your sway.”

The Shu King contains the seeds of all things that are valuable in the estimation of the Chinese; it is at once the foundation of their political system, their history, and their religious rites, the basis of their tactics, music, and astronomy. Some have thought that the knowledge of the true God under the appellation of Shangtí is not obscurely intimated in it, and the precepts for governing a country, scattered through its dialogues and proclamations, do their writers credit, however little they may have been followed in practice. Its astronomy has attracted much investigation, but whether the remarks of the commentators are to be ascribed to the times in which they themselves flourished, or to the knowledge they had of the ancient state of the science, is doubtful. The careful and candid discussions by Legge in the introduction to his translation furnish most satisfactory conclusions as to the origin, value, and condition of this venerable relic of ancient China. For his scholarly edition of the Classics he has already earned the hearty thanks of every student of Chinese literature.[306]

~THE SHÍ KING, OR BOOK OF ODES.~

The third of the classics, the Shí King, or ‘Book of Odes,’ is ranked together with the two preceding, while its influence upon the national mind has been equally great; a list of commentators upon this work fills the third section of the Catalogue. These poetical relics are arranged into four parts: The Kwoh Fung, or ‘National Airs,’ numbering one hundred and fifty-nine, from fifteen feudal States; the Siao Ya, or ‘Lesser Eulogiums,’ numbering eighty, and arranged under eight decades; the Ta Ya, or ‘Greater Eulogiums,’ numbering thirty-one, under three decades (both of these were designed to be sung on solemn occasions at the royal court); and the Sung, or ‘Sacrificial Odes,’ numbering forty-one chants connected with the ancestral worship of the rulers of Chau, Lu, and Shang. Out of a total number of three hundred and eleven now extant, six have only their titles preserved, while to a major part of the others native scholars give many various readings.

In the preface to his careful translation Dr. Legge has collected all the important information concerning the age, origin, and purpose of these odes, as furnished by native commentators, whose theory is that “it was the duty of the kings to make themselves acquainted with all the odes and songs current in the different States, and to judge from them of the character of the rule exercised by their several princes, so that they might minister praise or blame, reward or punishment accordingly.” These odes and songs seem to have been gathered by Wăn Wang and Duke Chau at the beginning of the Chau dynasty (B.C. 1120), some of them at the capital, others from the feudal rulers in the course of royal progresses through the land, the royal music-master getting copies from the music-masters of the princes. The whole were then arranged, set to music, too, it may be, and deposited for use and reference in the national archives, as well as distributed among the feudatories. Their ages are uncertain, but probably do not antedate B.C. 1719 nor come after 585, or about thirty years before Confucius. Their number was not improbably at first fully up to the three thousand mentioned by the biographers of Confucius, but long before the sage appeared disasters of one kind and another had reduced them to nearly their present condition. What we have is, therefore, but a fragment of various collections made in the early reigns of the Chau sovereigns, which received, perhaps, larger subsequent additions than were preserved to the time of Confucius. He probably took them as they existed in his day, and feeling, possibly, like George Herbert, that

“A verse may finde him, who a sermon flies, And turn delight into a sacrifice,”

did everything he could to extend their adoption among his countrymen. It is difficult to estimate the power they have exerted over the subsequent generations of Chinese scholars--nor has their influence ever tended to debase their morals, if it has not exalted their imagination. They have escaped the looseness of Moschus, Ovid, or Juvenal, if they have not attained the grandeur of Homer or the sweetness of Virgil and Pindar. There is nothing of an epic character in them--nor even a lengthened narrative--and little of human passions in their strong development. The metaphors and illustrations are often quaint, sometimes puerile, and occasionally ridiculous. Their acknowledged antiquity, their religious character, and their illustration of early Chinese customs and feelings form their principal claims to our notice and appreciative study. M. Ed. Biot, of Paris, was the first European scholar who studied them carefully in this aspect, and his articles in the Journal Asiatique for 1843 are models of analytic criticism and synthetic compilation, enabling one, as he says, “to contemplate at his ease the spectacle of the primitive manners of society in the early age of China, so different from what was then found in Europe and Western Asia.”

~EXAMPLES OF ITS LYRIC POETRY.~

An ode referred to the time of Wăn Wang (a contemporary of Saul) contains a sentiment reminding us of Morris’ lines beginning “Woodman, spare that tree.” It is in Part I., Book II., and is called Kan-tang, or the ‘Sweet pear-tree.’

1. O fell not that sweet pear-tree! See how its branches spread. Spoil not its shade, For Shao’s chief laid Beneath it his weary head.

2. O clip not that sweet pear-tree! Each twig and leaflet spare-- ’Tis sacred now, Since the lord of Shao, When weary, rested him there.

3. O touch not that sweet pear-tree! Bend not a twig of it now; There long ago, As the stories show, Oft halted the chief of Shao.[307]

The eighth ode in Book III., called Hiung Chí, or ‘Cock Pheasant,’ contains a wife’s lament on her husband’s absence.

1. Away the startled pheasant flies, With lazy movement of his wings; Borne was my heart’s lord from my eyes-- What pain the separation brings!

2. The pheasant, though no more in view, His cry below, above, forth sends. Alas! my princely lord, ’tis you,-- Your absence, that my bosom rends.

3. At sun and moon I sit and gaze, In converse with my troubled heart. Far, far from me my husband stays! When will he come to heal its smart?

4. Ye princely men, who with him mate, Say, mark ye not his virtuous way? His rule is, covet nought, none hate: How can his steps from goodness stray?[308]

From the same book we translate somewhat freely an example (No. 17) of love-song, or serenade, not uncommon among these odes.

Maiden fair, so sweet, retiring, At the tryst I wait for thee; Still I pause in doubt, inquiring Why thou triflest thus with me.

Ah! the maid so coy, so handsome, Pledged she with a rosy reed; Than the reed is she more winsome. Love with beauty hard must plead!

In the meadows sought we flowers, These she gave me--beauteous, rare: Far above the gift there towers The dear giver--lovelier, fair!

Among the ‘Lesser Eulogiums’ (Book IV., Ode 5) is one more ambitious in its scope, relating to the completion of a palace of King Siuen, about B.C. 800.

1. On yonder banks a palace, lo! upshoots, The tender blue of southern hill behind, Time-founded, like the bamboo’s clasping roots; Its roof, made pine-like, to a point defined. Fraternal love here bears its precious fruits, And unfraternal schemes be ne’er designed!

2. Ancestral sway is his. The walls they rear Five thousand cubits long, and south and west The doors are placed. Here will the king appear, Here laugh, here talk, here sit him down and rest.

3. To mould the walls, the frames they firmly tie; The toiling builders beat the earth and lime; The walls shall vermin, storm, and bird defy-- Fit dwelling is it for his lordly prime.

4. Grand is the hall the noble lord ascends; In height, like human form, most reverent, grand; And straight, as flies the shaft when bow unbends; Its tints like hues when pheasant’s wings expand.

5. High pillars rise the level court around; The pleasant light the open chamber steeps, And deep recesses, wide alcoves are found, Where our good king in perfect quiet sleeps.

6. Laid is the bamboo mat on rush mat square; Here shall he sleep; and waking say, “Divine What dreams are good? For bear and piebald bear, And snakes and cobras haunt this couch of mine.”

7. Then shall the chief diviner glad reply, “The bears foreshow their signs of promised sons. The snakes and cobras daughters prophesy: These auguries are all auspicious ones.”

8. Sons shall be his--on couches lulled to rest; The little ones enrobed, with sceptres play; Their infant cries are loud as stern behest, Their knees the vermeil covers shall display. As king hereafter one shall be addressed; The rest, our princes, all the States shall sway.

9. And daughters also to him shall be born. They shall be placed upon the ground to sleep; Their playthings tiles, their dress the simplest worn; Their part alike from good and ill to keep, And ne’er their parents’ hearts to cause to mourn; To cook the food, and spirit-malt to steep.[309]

The last two stanzas indicate the comparative estimate, in ancient days, of boys and girls born into a family; and this estimate, still maintained, has been in a great degree upheld by this authority. Another ode in the ‘Greater Eulogies’ (Book III., Ode 10) deplores the misery that prevailed about B.C. 780, owing to the interference of women and eunuchs in the government. Two stanzas only are quoted, which are supposed to have been specially directed against Pao Sz’, a mischief-maker in the court of King Yu, like Agrippina and Pulcheria in Roman and Byzantine annals.

3. A wise man builds the city wall, But a wise woman throws it down. Wise is she? Good you may her call; She is an owl we should disown! To woman’s tongue let scope be given And step by step to harm it leads. Disorder does not come from Heaven; ’Tis woman’s tongue disorder breeds. Women and eunuchs! Never came Lesson or warning words from them!

4. Hurtful and false, their spite they wreak; And when exposed their falsehood lies-- The wrong they do not own, but sneak And say, “No harm did we devise.” “Thrice cent. per cent.!” Why, that is trade! Yet ’twould the princely man disgrace. So public things to wife and maid Must not silkworms and looms displace.[310]

There are, however, numerous stanzas among the odes in the ‘National Airs’ which show their fairer side and go far to neutralize these, giving the same contrasts in female character which were portrayed by King Solomon during the same age.

~VERSIFICATION OF THE SHÍ KING.~

The versification in a monosyllabic language appears very tame to those who are only familiar with the lively and varied rhythms of western tongues; but the Chinese express more vivacity and cadence in their ballads and ditties when sung than one would infer from these ancient relics when transliterated in our letters. As the young lad has usually committed all the three hundred and five odes to memory before he enters the Examination Hall, their influence on the matter and manner of his own future poetical attempts can hardly be exaggerated. It is shown throughout the thousands of volumes enumerated in the fourth division of the Imperial Catalogue. Most of the Shí King is written in tetrametres, and nothing can be more simple. They have been most unfortunately likened to the Hebrew Psalms by some of the early missionaries, but neither in manner nor matter is the comparison a happy one. One point of verbal resemblance is noticed by Dr. Legge between the first ode in Part III. and the one hundred and twenty-first psalm, where the last line of a stanza is generally repeated in the first line of the next, a feature something like the repetitions in Hiawatha. The rhymes and tones both form an essential part of Chinese poetry, one which can only be imperfectly represented in our language. The following furnishes an example of the general style, to which a literal rendering is subjoined:

1. Nan yin kiao muh, South has stately trees, Puh k’o hiu sih; Not can shelter indeed; Han yin yin nü, Han has rambling women, Puh k’o kiu sz’. Not can solicit indeed. Han chí kwang í, Han’s breadth be sure, Puh k’o yung sz’; Not can be dived indeed; Kiang chí yung í Kiang’s length be sure, Puh k’o fang sz’. Not can be rafted indeed.

2. Kiao kiao tso sin, Many many mixed faggots, Yen í kí chu; Willingly I cut the brambles; Chí tsz’ yü kwei Those girls going home, Yen moh kí ma; Willingly I would feed their horses; Han chí kwang í, etc. Han’s breadth be sure, etc.

3. Kiao kiao tso sin, Many many mixed faggots, Yen í kí lao; Willingly I cut the artemisia; Chí tsz’ yü kwei Those girls going home, Yen moh kí kü. Willingly I would feed their colts; Han chí kwang í, etc. Han’s breadth be sure, etc.

The highest range of thought in the odes is contained in Part IV., but the whole collection is worthy of perusal, and through the labors of Dr. Legge has been made more accessible than it was ever before. The amount of native literature extant, illustrative, critical, and philological, referring to the Book of Odes[311] is not so large as that on the Yih King; but the fifty-five works quoted in his preface[312] contain enough to indicate their industry and acumen. These works will elevate the character of Chinese scholarship in the opinion of those foreigners who remember the disadvantages of its isolation from the literature of other lands, and the difficulties of a language which rendered that literature inaccessible.[313]

~THE THREE RITUALS.~

The fourth section in the Catalogue contains the Rituals and a list of their editions and commentators, but only one of the three is numbered among the King and used as a text-book at the public examinations. This is the Lí Kí, or ‘Book of Rites,’ the Mémorial des Rites, as M. Callery calls it in his translation,[314] and one of the works which has done so much to mold and maintain Chinese character and institutions. It is not superior in any respect to the Chau Lí and the Í Lí, but owes its influence to its position. They were all the particular objects of Tsin Chí Hwangtí’s ire in his efforts to destroy every ancient literary production in his kingdom; the present texts were recovered from their hiding-places about B.C. 135. The Chau Lí, or ‘Ritual of Chau,’ is regarded as the work of Duke Chau (B.C. 1130), who gives the detail of the various offices established under the new dynasty, in which he bore so prominent a part. The sections containing the divisions of the administrative part of the Chinese government of that day have furnished the types for the six boards of the present day and their subdivisions. So far as we now know, no nation then existing could show so methodical and effective a system of national polity.

The Í Lí is a smaller work, treating of family affairs, and as its name, ‘Decorum Ritual,’ indicates, contains directions for domestic life, as the other does for state matters. That is in forty-four sections and this is in seven, and both are now accepted as among the most ancient works extant. The former was translated by Ed. Biot,[315] and remains a monument of his scholarship and research.

~THE LÍ KÍ, OR BOOK OF RITES.~

The Lí Kí owes its position among the classics to the belief that Confucius here gives his views on government and manners, although these chapters are not regarded as the same in their integrity as those said to have been found in the walls of his house, and brought to light in the second century B.C. by Kao Tang of Lu, under the name of Sz’ Lí, or the ‘Scholar’s Ritual.’ In the next century Tai Teh collected all the existing documents relating to the ancient rituals in two hundred and fourteen sections, only a portion of which were then held to have emanated from the sage and recorded by his pupils. His work, in eighty-five sections, is called Ta Tai Lí, or the ‘Senior Tai’s Ritual,’ to distinguish it from the Siao Tai Lí, or the ‘Junior Tai’s Ritual,’ a work in forty-nine sections, by his nephew, Tai Shing. This is the work now known as the Lí Kí, M. Callery’s translation of which contains the authorized text of Kanghí according to Fan Tsz’-tăng, in thirty-six sections, with many notes. His translation is wearisome reading from the multitude of parentheses interjected into the text, distracting the attention and weakening its continuity.

Those who have read Abbé Huc’s entertaining remarks on the Rites in China will find in these three works the reason and application of their details. In explanation of their importance, M. Callery shows in a few words what a wide field they cover: “Ceremony epitomizes the entire Chinese mind; and, in my opinion, the Lí Kí is per se the most exact and complete monograph that China has been able to give of itself to other nations. Its affections, if it has any, are satisfied by ceremony; its duties are fulfilled by ceremony; its virtues and vices are referred to ceremony; the natural relations of created beings essentially link themselves in ceremonial--in a word, to that people ceremonial is man as a moral, political, and religious being in his multiplied relations with family, country, society, morality, and religion.” This explanation shows, too, how meagre a rendering ceremony is for the Chinese idea of lí, for it includes not only the external conduct, but involves the right principles from which all true etiquette and politeness spring. The state religion, the government of a family, and the rules of society are all founded on the true lí, or relations of things. Reference has already been made to this profoundly esteemed work (p. 520), and one or two more extracts will suffice to exhibit its spirit and style, singular in its object and scope among all the bequests of antiquity.

Affection between father and son.

In the Domestic Rules it is said, “Men in serving their parents, at the first cock-crowing, must all wash their hands; rinse their mouth; comb their hair; bind it together with a net; fasten it with a bodkin, forming it into a tuft; brush off the dust; put on the hat, tying the strings, ornamented with tassels; also the waistcoat, frock, and girdle, with the note-sticks placed in it, and the indispensables attached on the right and left; bind on the greaves; and put on the shoes, tying up the strings. Wives must serve their husband’s father and mother as their own; at the first cock-crowing, they must wash their hands; rinse their mouth; comb their hair; bind it together with a net; fasten it with a bodkin, forming it into a tuft; put on their frocks and girdles, with the indispensables attached on the right and left; fasten on their bags of perfumery; put on and tie up their shoes. Then go to the chamber of their father and mother, and father-in-law and mother-in-law, and having entered, in a low and placid tone they must inquire whether their dress is too warm or too cool; if the parents have pain or itching, themselves must respectfully press or rub [the part affected]; and if they enter or leave the room, themselves either going before or following, must respectfully support them. In bringing the apparatus for washing, the younger must present the bowl; the elder the water, begging them to pour it and wash; and after they have washed, hand them the towel. In asking and respectfully presenting what they wish to eat, they must cheer them by their mild manner; and must wait till their father and mother, and father-in-law and mother-in-law have eaten, and then retire. Boys and girls, who have not arrived at the age of manhood and womanhood, at the first cock-crowing must wash their hands; rinse their mouth; comb their hair; bind it together with a net; and form it into a tuft; brush off the dust; tie on their bags, having them well supplied with perfumery; then hasten at early dawn to see their parents, and inquire if they have eaten and drunk; if they have, they must immediately retire; but if not, they must assist their superiors in seeing that everything is duly made ready.”

Of reproving parents.

“When his parents are in error, the son with a humble spirit, pleasing countenance, and gentle tone, must point it out to them. If they do not receive his reproof, he must strive more and more to be dutiful and respectful toward them till they are pleased, and then he must again point out their error. But if he does not succeed in pleasing them, it is better that he should continue to reiterate reproof, than permit them to do injury to the whole department, district, village, or neighborhood. And if the parents, irritated and displeased, chastise their son till the blood flows from him, even then he must not dare to harbor the least resentment; but, on the contrary, should treat them with increased respect and dutifulness.”

Respect to be paid parents in one’s conduct.

“Although your father and mother are dead, if you propose to yourself any good work, only reflect how it will make their names illustrious, and your purpose will be fixed. So if you propose to do what is not good, only consider how it will disgrace the names of your father and mother, and you will desist from your purpose.”[316]

These extracts show something of the molding principles which operate on Chinese youth from earliest years, and the scope given in his education to filial piety. From conning such precepts the lad is imbued with a respect for his parents that finally becomes intensified into a religious sentiment, and forms, as he increases in age, his only creed--the worship of ancestors. His seniors, on the other hand, have but to point to the text-books before him as authority for all things they exact, and as being the only possible source of those virtues that conduct to happiness. The position of females, too, has remained, under these dogmas, much the same for hundreds of years. Nor is it difficult to account for the influence which they have had. Those who were most aware of their excellence, and had had some experience in the tortuous dealings of the human heart, as husbands, fathers, mothers, officers, and seniors, were those who had the power to enforce obedience upon wives, children, daughters, subjects, and juniors, as well as teach it to them. These must wait till increasing years brought about their turn to fill the upper rank in the social system, by which time habit would lead them to exercise their sway over the rising generation in the same manner. Thus it would be perpetuated, for the man could not depart from the way his childhood was trained; had the results been more disastrous, it would have been easy for us to explain why, amid the ignorance, craft, ambition, and discontent found in a populous, uneducated, pagan country, such formal rules had failed of benefiting society to any lasting extent. We must look higher for this result, and acknowledge the degree of wholesome restraint upon the passions of the Chinese which the Author of whatever is good in these tenets has seen fit to confer upon them in order to the preservation of society.

~THE CHUN TSIU, OR SPRING AND AUTUMN RECORD.~

The fifth section contains the Chun Tsiu, or ‘Spring and Autumn Record,’ and its literature. This is the only one of the King attributed to Confucius, though whether we have in the Record, as it now exists, a genuine compilation of the sage, does not appear to be beyond doubt. His object being to construct a narrative of events in continuation of the Shu King, he, with assistance from his pupils, drew up a history of his own country, extending from the reign of Ping Wang to about the period of his birth (B.C. 722 to 480). Inasmuch as the author of this chronicle confined himself to the relation of such facts as he deemed worthy to be recorded, and was not above altering or concealing such details as in his private judgment appeared unworthy of the princes of his dynasty, this history cannot be regarded as exactly in conformity with modern notions of what is desirable in works of this class. That Confucius wished to leave behind him a lasting monument to his own name, as well as a narration of events, we gather from more than one of his utterances: “The superior man is distressed lest his name should not be honorably mentioned after death. My principles do not make way in the world; how shall I make myself known to future ages?” In order, therefore, to insure the preservation of his chef d’œuvre to all time, he combines with the annals certain censures and righteous decisions which should render it at once a history and a text-book of moral lessons; and in giving the book to his disciples, “It is by the Chun Tsiu,” he said, “that after-ages will know me, and also by it that they will condemn me.”

The title, “Spring and Autumn,” is understood by many Chinese scholars to be a term for chronological annals; in this case the name being explained “because their commendations are life-giving like spring, and their censures life-withering like autumn,” or, as we find in the Trimetrical Classic, “which by praise and blame separates the good and bad.”[317] A closer inspection of the Chun Tsiu is sure to prove disappointing; spite of the glowing accounts of Mencius and its great reputation, this history is simply a bald record of incidents whose entire contents afford barely an hour’s reading. “Instead of a history of events,” writes Dr. Legge, “woven artistically together, we find a congeries of the briefest possible intimations of matters in which the court and State of Lu were more or less concerned, extending over two hundred and forty-two years, without the slightest tincture of literary ability in the composition, or the slightest indication of judicial opinion on the part of the writer. The paragraphs are always brief. Each one is designed to commemorate a fact; but whether that fact be a display of virtue calculated to command our admiration, or a deed of atrocity fitted to awaken our disgust, it can hardly be said that there is anything in the language to convey to us the shadow of an idea of the author’s feelings about it. The notices--for we cannot call them narratives--are absolutely unimpassioned. A base murder and a shining act of heroism are chronicled just as the eclipses of the sun are chronicled. So and so took place; that is all. No details are given; no judgment is expressed.”

~ITS COMMENTARIES.~

So imperturbable a recital could hardly have been saved from extinction even by the great reputation of the sage, had it not been for the amplification of Tso, a younger contemporary or follower of Confucius, who filled up the meagre sentences and added both flesh and life to the skeleton. It is possible that the enthusiastic praises of Mencius are due to the fact that he associated the text and commentary as one work. The Chuen of Tso has indeed always been regarded as foremost among the secondary classics; nor is it too much, considering his terse yet vivid and pictorial style, to call its author, as does Dr. Legge, “the Froissart of China.”[318] In addition to his purpose of explaining the text of the Chun Tsiu, Tso’s secondary object was to give a general view of the history of China during the period embraced by that record; unless he had put his living tableaux into the framework of his master, there is grave reason to fear that many most important details relating to the sixth and seventh centuries B.C. would have been forever lost. Two other early commentaries, those of Kung Yang and Kuh Liang, dating from about the second century B.C., occupy a high position in the estimation of Chinese scholars as illustrative of the original chronicle. They do not compare with the Tso Chuen either in interest or in authority, though it may be said that a study of the Chun Tsiu can hardly be made unless attended with a careful perusal of their contents. It will not be without interest to give an example of the Record, followed with elucidations of the text by these three annotators. The second year of Duke Hí of Lu (B.C. 657) runs as follows:

~EXTRACTS FROM THE CHUN TSIU.~

1. In the [duke’s] second year, in spring, in the king’s first month, we [aided in the] walling of Tsu-kin.

2. In summer, in the fifth month, on Sin-sz’, we buried our duchess, Gai Kiang.

3. An army of Yu and an army of Tsin extinguished Hia-yang.

4. In autumn, in the ninth month, the Marquis of Tsz’, the Duke of Sung, an officer of Kiang, and an officer of Hwang, made a covenant in Kwan.

5. In winter, in the tenth month, there was no rain.

6. A body of men from Tsu made an incursion into Ching.

Upon the third entry for this year the Tso Chuen enlarges:

Seun Seih, of Tsin, requested leave from the marquis to take his team of Kiuh horses and his peih of Chui-keih jade, and with them borrow a way from Yu to march through it and attack Kwoh. “They are the things I hold most precious,” said the marquis. Seih replied, “But if you get a way through Yu, it is but like placing them in a treasury outside the State for a time.” “There is Kung Che-kí in Yu,” objected the duke. “Kung Che-kí,” returned the other, “is a weak man, and incapable of remonstrating vigorously. And, moreover, from his youth up he has always been with the Duke of Yu, who is so familiar with him that though he should remonstrate the duke will not listen to him.” The marquis accordingly sent Seun Seih to borrow a way through Yu with this message: “Formerly Kí, against right and reason, entered your State from Tien-ling, and attacked the three gates of Ming. It suffered for so doing, all through your grace. Now Kwoh, against right and reason, has been keeping guards about the travellers’ lodges, to make incursions from them into my southern borders, and I venture to beg a right of way from you to ask an account of its offence.” The Duke of Yu granted the request, and even asked to take the lead in invading Kwoh. Kung Che-kí remonstrated with him, but in vain; and he raised his army for the enterprise. In summer, Lí Kih and Seun Seih brought on the army of Tsin, made a junction with that of Yu, and invaded Kwoh, when they extinguished Hia-yang. The army of Yu is mentioned first, because of the bribes which the duke accepted.

The commentary of Kung Yang says on the same paragraph:

Yu was a small State; why is it that it is here made to take precedence of a great one? To make Yu take the lead in the wickedness.

Why is Yu made to take the lead in the wickedness? Yu received the bribes with which those [who were going to] extinguish the State [of Kwoh] borrowed a way through it, and thus brought on its own ruin.

How did it receive [those] bribes? Duke Hien [of Tsin] gave audience to his great officers, and asked them why it was that he had lain all night without sleeping. One of them advanced and said, “Was it because you did not feel at ease [in your mind]? or was it because your [proper] bedfellow was not by your side?” The duke gave no answer, and then Seun Seih came forward and said, “Was it because Yu and Kwoh were appearing to you?” The duke motioned to him to come [more] forward, and then went with him into an inner apartment to take counsel. “I wish,” said he, “to attack Kwoh, but Yu will go to its relief, and if I attack Yu Kwoh will succor it; what is to be done? I wish to consider the case with you.” Seun Seih replied, “If you will use my counsel, you shall take Kwoh to-day and Yu to-morrow; why should your lordship be troubled?” “How is this to be accomplished?” asked the duke. “Please let [me go to] Yu,” said the other, “with your team of Kiuh horses and your white peih of Chui-keih, and you are sure to get [what you want]. It will only be taking your valuable [peih] from your inner treasury and depositing it in an outer one; your lordship will lose nothing by it.” The duke said, “Yes; but Kung Che-kí is there. What are we to do with him?” Seun Seih replied, “Kung Che-kí is indeed knowing; but the Duke of Yu is covetous, and fond of valuable curios; he is sure not to follow his minister’s advice. I beg you, considering everything, to let me go.” ... etc., etc.

The following, as a brief sample of the Kuh Liang commentary, takes up the narrative where we have broken off. There is so much that is similar in these two latter exegeses as to lead to the belief that they were composed with reference to each other.

On this Duke Hien sought [in the way proposed] for a passage [through Yu] to invade Kwoh. Kung Che-kí remonstrated, saying, “The words of the envoy of Tsin are humble, but his offerings are great; the matter is sure not to be advantageous to Yu.” The Duke of Yu, however, would not listen to him, but received the offerings and granted the passage through the State. Kung Che-kí remonstrated [again], suggesting that the case was like that in the saying about the lips being gone and the teeth becoming cold; after which he fled with his wife and children to Tsao.

Duke Hien then destroyed Kwoh, and in the fifth year [of our Duke Hí] he dealt in the same way with Yu. Seun Seih then had the horses led forward, while he carried the peih in his hand, and said: “The peih is just as it was, but the horses’ teeth are grown longer!”[319]

Meagre as are the items of the text, they show, together with its copious commentaries, the methodical care of the early Chinese in preserving their ancient records. The hints which these and other books give of their intellectual activity during the eight centuries before Christ, naturally compel a higher estimate of their culture than we have hitherto allowed them.[320]

* * * * *

The sixth section of the Catalogue has already been noticed as comprising the literature of the Hiao King.

The seventh section contains a list of works written to elucidate the Five Classics as a whole, and if their character for originality of thought, variety of research, extent of illustration, and explanation of obscurities was comparable to their size and numbers, no books in any language could boast of the aids possessed by the Wu King for their right comprehension. Of these commentators, Chu Hí of Kiangsí, who lived during the Sung dynasty, has so greatly exceeded all others in illustrating and expounding them, that his explanations are now considered of almost equal authority with the text, and are always given to the beginner to assist him in ascertaining its true meaning.

The eighth section of the Catalogue comprises memoirs and comments upon the Sz’ Shu, or ‘Four Books,’ which have been nearly as influential in forming Chinese mind as the Wu King. They are by different authors, and since their publication have perhaps undergone a few alterations and interpolations, but the changes either in these or the Five Classics cannot be very numerous or great, since the large body of disciples who followed Confucius, and had copies of his writings, would carefully preserve uncorrupt those which he edited, and hand down unimpaired those which contained his sayings. None of the Four Books were actually written by Confucius himself, but three of them are considered to be a digest of his sentiments; they were arranged in their present form by the brothers Ching, who flourished about eight centuries ago.

~THE GREAT LEARNING AND JUST MEDIUM.~

The first of the Four Books is the Ta Hioh, i.e., ‘Superior’ or ‘Great Learning,’ which originally formed one chapter of the Book of Rites. It is now divided into eleven chapters, only the first of which is ascribed to the sage, the remainder forming the comment upon them; the whole does not contain two thousand words. The argument of the Ta Hioh is briefly summed up in four heads, “the improvement of one’s self, the regulation of a family, the government of a state, and the rule of an empire.” In the first chapter this idea is thus developed in a circle peculiarly Chinese:

The ancients, who wished to illustrate renovating virtue throughout the Empire, first ordered well their own states. Wishing to order well their states, they first regulated their families. Wishing to regulate their families, they first cultivated their persons. Wishing to cultivate their persons, they first rectified their hearts. Wishing to rectify their hearts, they first sought to be sincere in their thoughts. Wishing to be sincere in their thoughts, they first extended their knowledge to the utmost. Such extension of knowledge lay in the investigation of things. Things being investigated, knowledge became complete: knowledge being complete, their thoughts were sincere: their thoughts being sincere, their hearts were then rectified: their hearts being rectified, their persons were cultivated: their persons being cultivated, their families were regulated: families being regulated, states were rightly governed; and states being rightly governed, the Empire was made tranquil.

From the Son of Heaven to the man of the people, all must consider the cultivation of the person to be the foundation.

The subsequent chapters mainly consist of the terse sayings of ancient kings and authors gathered and arranged by Tsăng and afterward by Chu Hí, designed to illustrate and enforce the teachings of Confucius contained in the first. One quotation only can be given from Chapter X.

In the Declaration of [the Duke of] Tsin, it is said: “Let me have but one minister plain and sincere, not pretending to other abilities, but with a simple upright mind; and possessed of generosity, regarding the talents of others as though he possessed them himself, and where he finds accomplished and perspicacious men, loving them in his heart more than his mouth expresses, and really showing himself able to avail himself of them; such a minister will be able to preserve my descendants and the Black-haired people, and benefits to the kingdom might well be looked for. But if it be, when he finds men of ability, he is jealous and hateful to them; and when he meets accomplished and perspicacious men, he opposes them and will not allow their advancement, showing that he is really not able to avail himself of them; such a minister will not be able to protect my descendants and the Black-haired people. May he not even be pronounced dangerous?”

It will be willingly allowed, when reading these extracts, that, destitute as they were of the high sanctions and animating hopes and promises of the Word of God, these Chinese moralists began at the right place in their endeavors to reform and benefit their countrymen, and that they did not fully succeed was owing to causes beyond their reforming power.

The second of the Four Books is called Chung Yung, or the ‘Just Medium,’ and is, in some respects, the most elaborate treatise in the series. It was composed by Kung Kih, the grandson of Confucius (better known by his style TSZ’-SZ’), about ninety years after the sage’s death. It once also formed part of the Lí Kí, from which it, as well as the Ta Hioh, were taken out by Chu Hí to make two of the Sz’ Shu. It has thirty-three chapters, and has been the subject of numerous comments. The great purpose of the author is to illustrate the nature of human virtue, and to exhibit its conduct in the actions of an ideal kiun tsz’, or ‘princely man’ of immaculate propriety, who always demeans himself correctly, without going to extremes. He carries out the advice of Hesiod:

“Let every action prove a mean confess’d; A moderation is, in all, the best.”

True virtue consists in never going to extremes, though it does not appear that by this the sage meant to repress active benevolence on the one hand, or encourage selfish stolidity on the other. Ching, or uprightness, is said to be the basis of all things; and ho, harmony, the all-pervading principle of the universe; “extend uprightness and harmony to the utmost, and heaven and earth will be at rest, and all things be produced and nourished according to their nature.” The general character of the work is monotonous, but relieved with some animated passages, among which the description of the kiun tsz’, or princely man, is one. “The princely man, in dealing with others, does not descend to anything low or improper. How unbending his valor! He stands in the middle, and leans not to either side. The princely man enters into no situation where he is not himself. If he holds a high situation, he does not treat with contempt those below him; if he occupies an inferior station, he uses no mean arts to gain the favor of his superiors. He corrects himself and blames not others; he feels no dissatisfaction. On the one hand, he murmurs not at Heaven; nor, on the other, does he feel resentment toward man. Hence, the superior man dwells at ease, entirely waiting the will of Heaven.”[321]

~THE SAGE, OR PRINCELY MAN.~

Chinese moralists divide mankind into three classes, on these principles: “Men of the highest order, as sages, worthies, philanthropists, and heroes, are good without instruction; men of the middling classes are so after instruction, such as husbandmen, physicians, astrologers, soldiers, etc., while those of the lowest are bad in spite of instruction, as play-actors, pettifoggers, slaves, swindlers, etc.” The first are shing, or sages; the second are hien, or worthies; the last are yu, or worthless. Sir John Davis notices the similarity of this triplicate classification with that of Hesiod. The Just Medium thus describes the first character:

It is only the sage who is possessed of that clear discrimination and profound intelligence which fit him for filling a high station; who possesses that enlarged liberality and mild benignity which fit him for bearing with others; who manifests that firmness and magnanimity that enable him to hold fast good principles; who is actuated by that benevolence, justice, propriety, and knowledge which command reverence; and who is so deeply learned in polite learning and good principles as to qualify him rightly to discriminate. Vast and extensive are the effects of his virtue; it is like the deep and living stream which flows unceasingly; it is substantial and extensive as Heaven, and profound as the great abyss. Wherever ships sail or chariots run; wherever the heavens overshadow and the earth sustains; wherever the sun and moon shine, or frosts and dews fall, among all who have blood and breath, there is not one who does not honor and love him.[322]

Sincerity or conscientiousness holds a high place among the attributes of the superior or princely man; but in translating the Chinese terms into English, it is sometimes puzzling enough to find those which will exhibit the exact idea of the original. For instance, sincerity is described as “the origin or consummation of all things; without it, there would be nothing. It is benevolence by which a man’s self is perfected, and knowledge by which he perfects others.” In another place we read that “one sincere wish would move heaven and earth.” The kiun tsz’ is supposed to possess these qualities. The standard of excellence is placed so high as to be absolutely unattainable by unaided human nature; and though Kih probably intended to elevate the character of his grandfather to this height, and thus hand him down to future ages as a shing jin, or ‘perfect and holy man,’ he has, in the providence of God, done his countrymen great service in setting before them such a character as is here given in the Chung Yung. By being made a text-book in the schools it has been constantly studied and memorized by generations of students, to their great benefit.

~THE ANALECTS OF CONFUCIUS.~

The third of the Four Books, called the Lun Yu, or ‘Analects of Confucius,’ is divided into twenty chapters, in which the collective body of his disciples recorded his words and actions, much in the same way that Boswell did those of Johnson. It has not, however, the merit of chronological arrangement, and parts of it are so sententious as to be obscure, if not almost unintelligible. This work discloses the sage’s shrewd insight into the character of his countrymen, and knowledge of the manner in which they could best be approached and influenced. Upon the commencement of his career as reformer and teacher, he contented himself with reviving the doctrines of the “Ancients;” but finding his influence increasing as he continued these instructions, he then--yet always as under their authority--engrafted original ideas and tenets upon the minds of his generation. Had even his loftiest sentiments been propounded as his own, they would hardly have been received in his day, and, perhaps, through the contempt felt for him by his contemporaries, have been lost entirely.

Among the most remarkable passages of the Four Books are the following: Replying to the question of Tsz’-kung, “Is there one word which may serve as a rule of practice for all of one’s life?” Confucius said: “Is not shu (‘reciprocity’) such a word? What you do not want done to yourself, do not do to others.” In a previous place Tsz’-kung had said: “What I do not wish men to do to me, I also wish not to do to men.” Confucius replied: “Tsz’, you have not attained to that.” The same principle is repeated in the Chung Yung, where it is said that the man who does so is not far from the path. Another is quoted in the Imperial Dictionary, under the word Fuh: “The people of the west have sages,” or “There is a sage (or holy man) among the people of the west,” where the object is to show that he did not mean Buddha. As Confucius was contemporary with Ezra, it is not impossible that he had heard something of the history of the Israelites scattered throughout the one hundred and twenty-seven provinces of the Persian monarchy, or of the writings of their prophets, though there is not the least historical evidence that he knew anything of the countries in Western Asia, or of the books extant in their languages.

Some idea of the character of the Lun Yu may be gathered from a few detached sentences, selected from Marshman’s translation.[323]

Grieve not that men know you not, but be grieved that you are ignorant of men.

Governing with equity resembles the north star, which is fixed, and all the stars surround it.

Have no friends unlike yourself.

Learning without reflection will profit nothing; reflection without learning will leave the mind uneasy and miserable.

Knowledge produces pleasure clear as water; complete virtue brings happiness solid as a mountain; knowledge pervades all things; virtue is tranquil and happy; knowledge is delight; virtue is long life.

Without virtue, both riches and honor seem to me like the passing cloud.

The sage’s conduct is affection and benevolence in operation.

The man who possesses complete virtue wishes to fix his own mind therein, and also to fix the minds of others; he wishes to be wise himself, and would fain render others equally wise.

Those who, searching for virtue, refuse to stay among the virtuous, how can they obtain knowledge?

The rich and honorable are those with whom men desire to associate; not obtaining their company in the paths of virtue, however, do not remain in it.

In your appearance, to fall below decency would be to resemble a savage rustic, to exceed it would be to resemble a fop; let your appearance be decent and moderate, then you will resemble the honorable man.

When I first began with men, I heard words and gave credit for conduct; now I hear words and observe conduct.

I have found no man who esteems virtue as men esteem pleasure.

The perfect man loves all men; he is not governed by private affection or interest, but only regards the public good or right reason. The wicked man, on the contrary, loves if you give, and likes if you commend him.

The perfect man is never satisfied with himself. He that is satisfied with himself is not perfect.

He that is sedulous and desires to improve in his studies is not ashamed to stoop to ask of others.

Sin in a virtuous man is like an eclipse of the sun and moon; all men gaze at it, and it passes away; the virtuous man mends, and the world stands in admiration of his fall.

Patience is the most necessary thing to have in this world.

~LIFE OF CONFUCIUS.~

A few facts respecting the life, and observations on the character, of the great sage of Chinese letters, may here be added, though the extracts already made from his writings are sufficient to show his style. Confucius was born B.C. 551, in the twentieth year of the Emperor Ling (about the date at which Cyrus became king of Persia), in the kingdom of Lu, now included in Yenchau, in the south of Shantung. His father was a district magistrate, and dying when he was only three years old, left his care and education to his mother, who, although not so celebrated as the mother of Mencius, seems to have nurtured in him a respect for morality, and directed his studies. During his youth he was remarkable for a grave demeanor and knowledge of ancient learning, which gained him the respect and admiration of his townsmen, so that at the age of twenty, the year after his marriage, he was entrusted with the duties of a subordinate office in the revenue department, and afterward appointed a supervisor of fields and herds. In his twenty-fourth year his mother deceased, and in conformity with the ancient usage, which had then fallen into disuse, he immediately resigned all his employments to mourn for her three years, during which time he devoted himself to study. This practice has continued to the present day.

His examination of the ancient writings led him to resolve upon instructing his countrymen in them, and to revive the usages of former kings, especially in whatever related to the rites. His position gave him an entry to court in Lu, where he met educated and influential men, and by the time he was thirty he was already in repute among them as a teacher. His own king, Siang, gave him the means of visiting the imperial court at Lohyang. Here, together with his disciples, he examined everything, past and present, with close scrutiny, and returned home with renewed regard for the ancient founders of the House of Chau. His scholars and admirers increased in numbers, and a corresponding extension of fame followed, so that ere long he had an invitation to the court of the prince of Tsí, but on arrival there was mortified to learn that curiosity had been the prevailing cause of the invitation, and not a desire to adopt his principles. He accordingly left him and went home, where the struggles between three rival families carried disorder and misery throughout the kingdom; it was with the greatest difficulty that he remained neutral between these factions. His disciples were from all parts of the land, and public opinion began to be influenced by his example. At length an opportunity offered to put his tenets into practice. The civil strife had resulted in the flight of the rebels, and Lu was settling down into better government, when in B.C. 500 Confucius was made the magistrate of the town of Chung-tu by his sovereign, Duke Ting. He was now fifty years old, and began to carry out the best rule he could in his position as minister of crime. For three years he administered the affairs of State with such a mixture of zeal, prudence, severity, and regard for the rights and wants of all classes, that Lu soon became the envy and dread of all other States. He even succeeded in destroying two or three baronial castles whose chiefs had set all lawful authority at defiance. His precepts had been fairly put in practice, and, like Solomon, his influence in after-ages was increased by the fact of acknowledged success.

It was but little more than an experiment, however; for Duke King of Tsí, becoming envious of the growing power of his neighbor, sent Ting a tempting present, consisting of thirty horses beautifully caparisoned, and a number of curious rarities, with a score of the most accomplished courtesans he could procure in his territories. This scheme of gaining the favor of the youthful monarch, and driving the obnoxious cynic from his councils, succeeded, and Confucius soon after retired by compulsion into private life. He moved into the dominions of the prince of Wei, accompanied by such of his disciples as chose to follow him, where he employed himself in extending his doctrines and travelling into the adjoining States.

He was at times applauded and patronized, but quite as often the object of persecution and contumely; more than once his life was endangered. He compared himself to a dog driven from his home: “I have the fidelity of that animal, and I am treated like it. But what matters the ingratitude of men? They cannot hinder me from doing all the good that has been appointed me. If my precepts are disregarded, I have the consolation of knowing in my own breast that I have faithfully performed my duty.” He sometimes spoke in a manner that showed his own impression to be that heaven had conferred on him a special commission to instruct the world. On one or two occasions, when he was in jeopardy, he said: “If Heaven means not to obliterate this doctrine from the earth, the men of Kwang can do nothing to me.” And “as Heaven has produced whatever virtue is in me, what can Hwan Tui do to me?”

In his instructions he improved passing events to afford useful lessons, and some of those recorded are at least ingenious. Observing a fowler one day sorting his birds into different cages, he said, “I do not see any old birds here; where have you put them?” “The old birds,” replied the fowler, “are too wary to be caught; they are on the lookout, and if they see a net or cage, far from falling into the snare they escape and never return. Those young ones which are in company with them likewise escape, but only such as separate into a flock by themselves and rashly approach are the birds I take. If perchance I catch an old bird it is because he follows the young ones.” “You have heard him,” observed the sage, turning to his disciples; “the words of this fowler afford us matter for instruction. The young birds escape the snare only when they keep with the old ones, the old ones are taken when they follow the young; it is thus with mankind. Presumption, hardihood, want of forethought, and inattention are the principal reasons why young people are led astray. Inflated with their small attainments they have scarcely made a commencement in learning before they think they know everything; they have scarcely performed a few common virtuous acts, and straight they fancy themselves at the height of wisdom. Under this false impression they doubt nothing, hesitate at nothing, pay attention to nothing; they rashly undertake acts without consulting the aged and experienced, and thus securely following their own notions, they are misled and fall into the first snare laid for them. If you see an old man of sober years so badly advised as to be taken with the sprightliness of a youth, attached to him, and thinking and acting with him, he is led astray by him and soon taken in the same snare. Do not forget the answer of the fowler.”

Once, when looking at a stream, he compared its ceaseless current to the transmission of good doctrine through succeeding generations, and as one race had received it they should hand it down to others. “Do not imitate those isolated men [the Rationalists] who are wise only for themselves; to communicate the modicum of knowledge and virtue we possess to others will never impoverish ourselves.” He seems to have entertained only faint hopes of the general reception of his doctrine, though toward the latter end of his life he had as much encouragement in the respect paid him personally and the increase of his scholars as he could reasonably have wished.

Confucius returned to his native country at the age of sixty-eight, and devoted his time to completing his edition of the classics and in teaching his now large band of disciples. He was consulted by his sovereign, who had invited him to return, and one of his last acts was to go to court to urge an attack on Tsí and punish the murder of its duke. Many legends have gathered around him, so that he now stands before his countrymen as a sage and a demigod; yet there is a remarkable absence of the prophetic and the miraculous in every event connected with these later writings. One story is that when he had finished his writings he collected his friends around him and made a solemn dedication of his literary labors to heaven as the concluding act of his life. “He assembled all his disciples and led them out of the town to one of the hills where sacrifices had usually been offered for many years. Here he erected a table or altar, upon which he placed the books; and then turning his face to the north, adored Heaven, and returned thanks upon his knees in a humble manner for having had life and strength granted him to enable him to accomplish this laborious undertaking; he implored Heaven to grant that the benefit to his countrymen from so arduous a labor might not be small. He had prepared himself for this ceremony by privacy, fasting, and prayer. Chinese pictures represent the sage in the attitude of supplication, and a beam of light or a rainbow descending from the sky upon the books, while his scholars stand around in admiring wonder.”[324]

A few days before his death he tottered about the house, sighing,

Tai shan, kí tui hu!--Liang muh, kí hwai hu!--Chí jin, kí wei hu!

The great mountain is broken! The strong beam is thrown down! The wise man withers like a plant!

He died soon after, B.C. 478, aged seventy-three, leaving a single descendant, his grandson Tsz’-sz, through whom the succession has been transmitted to the present day. During his life the return of the Jews from Babylon, the invasion of Greece by Xerxes, and conquest of Egypt by the Persians took place. Posthumous honors in great variety, amounting to idolatrous worship, have been conferred upon him. His title is the ‘Most Holy Ancient Teacher’ Kung tsz’, and the ‘Holy Duke.’ In the reign of Kanghí, two thousand one hundred and fifty years after his death, there were eleven thousand males alive bearing his name, and most of them of the seventy-fourth generation, being undoubtedly one of the oldest families in the world. In the Sacrificial Ritual a short account of his life is given, which closes with the following pæan:

Confucius! Confucius! How great is Confucius! Before Confucius there never was a Confucius! Since Confucius there never has been a Confucius! Confucius! Confucius! How great is Confucius!

~CHARACTER OF THE CONFUCIAN SYSTEM.~

The leading features of the philosophy of Confucius are subordination to superiors and kind, upright dealing with our fellow-men; destitute of all reference to an unseen Power to whom all men are accountable, they look only to this world for their sanctions, and make the monarch himself only partially amenable to a higher tribunal. It would indeed be hard to over-estimate the influence of Confucius in his ideal princely scholar, and the power for good over his race this conception ever since has exerted. It might be compared to the glorious work of the sculptor on the Acropolis of Athens--that matchless statue more than seventy feet in height, whose casque and spear of burnished brass glittered above all the temples and high places of the city, and engaged the constant gaze of the mariner on the near Ægean; guiding his onward course, it was still ever beyond his reach. Like the Athena Promachos to the ancient Attic voyager, so stands the kiun-tsz’ of Confucius among the ideal men of pagan moralists. The immeasurable influence in after-ages of the character thus portrayed proves how lofty was his own standard, and the national conscience has ever since assented to the justice of the portrait.

From the duty, honor, and obedience owed by a child to his parents, he proceeds to inculcate the obligations of wives to their husbands, subjects to their prince, and ministers to their king, together with all the obligations arising from the various social relations. Political morality must be founded on private rectitude, and the beginning of all real advance was, in his opinion, comprised in nosce teipsum. It cannot be denied that among much that is commendable there are a few exceptionable dogmas among his tenets, and Dr. Legge, as has already been seen, reflects severely on his disregard of truth in the Chun Tsiu and in his lifetime. Yet compared with the precepts of Grecian and Roman sages, the general tendency of his writings is good, while in adaptation to the society in which he lived, and their eminently practical character, they exceed those of western philosophers. He did not deal much in sublime and unattainable descriptions of virtue, but rather taught how the common intercourse of life was to be maintained--how children should conduct themselves toward their parents, when a man should enter on office, when to marry, etc., etc., which, although they may seem somewhat trifling to us, were probably well calculated for the times and people among whom he lived.[325]

Had Confucius transmitted to posterity such works as the Iliad, the De Officiis, or the Dialogues of Plato, he would no doubt have taken a higher rank among the commanding intellects of the world, but it may be well doubted whether his influence among his own countrymen would have been as good or as lasting. The variety and minuteness of his instructions for the nurture and education of children, the stress he lays upon filial duty, the detail of etiquette and conduct he gives for the intercourse of all classes and ranks in society, characterize his writings from those of all philosophers in other countries, who, comparatively speaking, gave small thought to the education of the young. The Four Books and the Five Classics would not, so far as regards their intrinsic character in comparison with other productions, be considered as anything more than curiosities in literature for their antiquity and language, were it not for the incomparable influence they have exerted over so many millions of minds; in this view they are invested with an interest which no book, besides the Bible, can claim. The source and explanation of this influence is to be found in their use as text-books in the schools and competitive examinations, and well would it be for Christian lands if their youth had the same knowledge of the writings of Solomon and the Evangelists. Their freedom from descriptions of impurity and licentiousness, and allusions to whatever debases and vitiates the heart, is a redeeming quality of the Chinese classics which should not be overlooked. Chinese literature contains enough, indeed, to pollute even the mind of a heathen, but its scum has become the sediment; and little or nothing can be found in the writings that are most highly prized which will not bear perusal by any person in any country. Every one acquainted with the writings of Hindu, Greek, and Roman poets knows the glowing descriptions of the amours of gods and goddesses which fill their pages, and the purity of the Chinese canonical books in this respect must be considered as remarkable.

~WORSHIP OF CONFUCIUS.~

For the most part the Chinese, in worshipping Confucius, content themselves with erecting a simple tablet in his honor; to carve images for the cult of the sage is uncommon. The incident represented in the adjoining wood-cut illustrates, however, an exception to the prevailing severity of this worship. A certain Wei Kí, a scholar living in the Tang dynasty (A.D. 657), not content, it is said, with giving instruction in the classics, set up the life-size statues of Confucius and his seventy-two disciples in order to incite the enthusiasm of his own pupils. Into this sanctuary of the divinities of learning were wont to come the savant Wei and his scholars--among whom were numbered both his grandfather and several of his grandchildren--to prostrate themselves before the ancient worthies. “But of his descendants,” concludes the chronicler, “there were many who arose to positions of eminence in the State.”

The last of the Four Books is nearly as large as the other three united, and consists entirely of the writings of Mencius, Măng tsz’, or Măng fu-tsz’, as he is called by the Chinese.[326] This sage flourished upward of a century after the death of his master, and although, in estimating his character, it must not be forgotten that he had the advantages of his example and stimulus of his fame and teachings, in most respects he displayed an originality of thought, inflexibility of purpose, and extensive views superior to Confucius, and must be regarded as one of the greatest men Asiatic nations have ever produced.

~LIFE OF MENCIUS.~

Mencius was born B.C. 371,[327] in the city of Tsau, now in the province of Shantung, not far from his master’s native district. He was twenty-three years old when Plato died, and many other great men of Greece were his contemporaries. His father died early, and left the guardianship of the boy to his widow, Changshí. “The care of this prudent and attentive mother,” to quote from Rémusat, “has been cited as a model for all virtuous parents. The house she occupied was near that of a butcher; she observed that at the first cry of the animals that were being slaughtered the little Măng ran to be present at the sight, and that on his return he sought to imitate what he had seen. Fearful that his heart might become hardened, and be accustomed to the sight of blood, she removed to another house which was in the neighborhood of a cemetery. The relations of those who were buried there came often to weep upon their graves and make the customary libations; the lad soon took pleasure in their ceremonies, and amused himself in imitating them. This was a new subject of uneasiness to Changshí; she feared her son might come to consider as a jest what is of all things the most serious, and that he would acquire a habit of performing with levity, and as a matter of routine merely, ceremonies which demand the most exact attention and respect. Again, therefore, she anxiously changed her dwelling, and went to live in the city, opposite to a school, where her son found examples the most worthy of imitation, and soon began to profit by them. I should not have spoken of this trifling anecdote but for the allusion which the Chinese constantly make to it in the common proverb, ‘Formerly the mother of Mencius chose out a neighborhood.’” On another occasion her son, seeing persons slaughtering pigs, asked her why they did it. “To feed you,” she replied; but reflecting that this was teaching her son to lightly regard the truth, went and bought some pork and gave him.

Mencius devoted himself early to the classics, and probably attended the instructions of noted teachers of the school of Confucius and his grandson Kih. After his studies were completed, at the age of forty, he came forth as a public teacher, and offered his services to the feudal princes of the country. Among others, he was received by Hwui, king of Wei, but, though much respected by this ruler, his instructions were not regarded; and he soon perceived that among the numerous petty rulers and intriguing statesmen of the day there was no prospect of restoring tranquillity to the Empire, and that discourses upon the mild government and peaceful virtues of Yao and Shun, King Wăn and Chingtang, offered little to interest persons whose minds were engrossed with schemes of conquest or pleasure. He thereupon accepted an invitation to go to Tsí, the adjoining State, and spent most of his public life there; the records show that he was often called on for his advice by statesmen of many governments. As he went from one State to another his influence extended as his experience showed him the difficulties of good government amidst the general disregard of justice, mercy, and frugality. His own unyielding character and stern regard for etiquette and probity chilled the loose, unscrupulous men of those lawless times. At length he retired to his home to spend the last twenty years of his life in the society of his disciples, there completing the work which bears his name and has made him such a power among his countrymen. He has always been an incentive and guide to popular efforts to assert the rights of the subject against the injustice of rulers, and an encourager to rulers who have governed with justice. His assertion of the proper duties and prerogatives belonging to both parties in the State was prior to that of any western writer; some of his principles of liberal government were taught before their enunciation in Holy Writ. He died when eighty-four years old (B.C. 288), shortly before the death of Ptolemy Soter at the same age.

~PERSONAL CHARACTER OF HIS TEACHINGS.~

After his demise Mencius was honored, by public act, with the title of ‘Holy Prince of the country of Tsau,’ and in the temple of the sages he receives the same honors as Confucius; his descendants bear the title of ‘Masters of the Traditions concerning the Classics,’ and he himself is called A-shing, or the ‘Secondary Sage,’ Confucius being regarded as the first. His writings are in the form of dialogues held with the great personages of his time, and abound with irony and ridicule directed against vice and oppression, which only make his praises of virtue and integrity more weighty. After the manner of Socrates, he contests nothing with his adversaries, but, while granting their premises, he seeks to draw from them consequences the most absurd, which cover his opponents with confusion.

The king of Wei, one of the turbulent princes of the time, was complaining to Mencius how ill he succeeded in his endeavors to make his people happy and his kingdom flourishing. “Prince,” said the philosopher, “you love war; permit me to draw a comparison from thence: two armies are in presence; the charge is sounded, the battle begins, one of the parties is conquered; half its soldiers have fled a hundred paces, the other half has stopped at fifty. Will the last have any right to mock at those who have fled further than themselves?”

“No,” said the king; “they have equally taken flight, and the same disgrace must attend them both.”

“Prince,” says Mencius quickly, “cease then to boast of your efforts as greater than your neighbors’. You have all deserved the same reproach, and not one has a right to take credit to himself over another.” Pursuing then his bitter interrogations, he asked, “Is there a difference, O king! between killing a man with a club or with a sword?” “No,” said the prince. “Between him who kills with the sword, or destroys by an inhuman tyranny?” “No,” again replied the prince.

“Well,” said Mencius, “your kitchens are encumbered with food, your sheds are full of horses, while your subjects, with emaciated countenances, are worn down with misery, or found dead of hunger in the middle of the fields or the deserts. What is this but to breed animals to prey on men? And what is the difference between destroying them by the sword or by unfeeling conduct? If we detest those savage animals which mutually tear and devour each other, how much more should we abhor a prince who, instead of being a father to his people, does not hesitate to rear animals to destroy them. What kind of father to his people is he who treats his children so unfeelingly, and has less care of them than of the wild beasts he provides for?”

On one occasion, addressing the prince of Tsí, Mencius remarked: “It is not the ancient forests of a country which do it honor, but its families devoted for many generations to the duties of the magistracy. Oh, king! in all your service there are none such; those whom you yesterday raised to honor, what are they to-day?”

“In what way,” replied the king, “can I know beforehand that they are without virtue, and remove them?”

“In raising a sage to the highest dignities of the State,” replied the philosopher, “a king acts only as he is of necessity bound to do. But to put a man of obscure condition over the nobles of his kingdom, or one of his remote kindred over princes more nearly connected with him, demands most careful deliberation. Do his courtiers unite in speaking of a man as wise, let him distrust them. If all the magistrates of his kingdom concur in the same assurance, let him not rest satisfied with their testimony, but if his subjects confirm the story, then let him convince himself; and if he finds that the individual is indeed a sage, let him raise him to office and honor. So, also, if all his courtiers would oppose his placing confidence in a minister, let him not give heed to them; and if all the magistrates are of this opinion, let him be deaf to their solicitations; but if the people unite in the same request, then let him examine the object of their ill-will, and, if guilty, remove him. In short, if all the courtiers think that a minister should suffer death, the prince must not content himself with their opinion merely. If all the high officers entertain the same sentiment, still he must not yield to their convictions; but if the people declare that such a man is unfit to live, then the prince, inquiring himself and being satisfied that the charge is true, must condemn the guilty to death; in such a case, we may say that the people are his judges. In acting thus a prince becomes the parent of his subjects.”

The will of the people is always referred to as the supreme power in the State, and Mencius warns princes that they must both please and benefit their people, observing that “if the country is not subdued in heart there will be no such thing as governing it;” and also, “He who gains the hearts of the people secures the throne, and he who loses the people’s hearts loses the throne.” A prince should “give and take what is pleasing to them, and not do that which they hate.” “Good laws,” he further remarks, “are not equal to winning the people by good instruction.” Being consulted by a sovereign, whether he ought to attempt the conquest of a neighboring territory, he answered: “If the people of Yen are delighted, then take it; but if otherwise, not.” He also countenances the dethroning of a king who does not rule his people with a regard to their happiness, and adduces the example of the founders of the Shang and Chau dynasties in proof of its propriety. “When the prince is guilty of great errors,” is his doctrine, “the minister should reprove him; if, after doing so again and again, he does not listen, he ought to dethrone him and put another in his place.”

~HIS ESTIMATE OF HUMAN NATURE.~

His estimate of human nature, like many of the Chinese sages, is high, believing it to be originally good, and that “all men are naturally virtuous, as all water flows downward. All men have compassionate hearts, all feel ashamed of vice.” But he says also, “Shame is of great moment to men; it is only the designing and artful that find no use for shame.” Yet human nature must be tried by suffering, and to form an energetic and virtuous character a man must endure much; “when Heaven was about to place Shun and others in important trusts, it first generally tried their minds, inured them to abstinence, exposed them to poverty and adversity; thus it moved their hearts and taught them patience.” His own character presents traits widely differing from the servility and baseness usually ascribed to Asiatics, and especially to the Chinese; and he seems to have been ready to sacrifice everything to his principles. “I love life, and I love justice,” he observes, “but if I cannot preserve both, I would give up life and hold fast justice. Although I love life, there is that which I love more than life; although I hate death, there is that which I hate more than death.” And as if referring to his own integrity, he elsewhere says: “The nature of the superior man is such that, although in a high and prosperous situation, it adds nothing to his virtue; and although in low and distressed circumstances, it impairs it in nothing.” In many points, especially in the importance he gives to filial duty, his reverence for the ancient books and princes, and his adherence to old usages, Mencius imitated and upheld Confucius; in native vigor and carelessness of the reproaches of his compatriots he exceeded him. Many translations of his work have appeared in European languages, but Legge’s[328] is in most respects the best for its comments, and the notices of Mencius’ life and times, and a fair estimate of his character and influence.

Returning to the Imperial Catalogue, its ninth section contains a list of musical works, and a few on dancing or posture-making; they hold this distinguished place in the list from the importance attached to music as employed in the State worship and domestic ceremonies.

The tenth section gives the names of philological treatises and lexicons, most of them confined to the Chinese language, though a few are in Manchu. The Chinese government has excelled in the attention it has given to the compilation of lexicons and encyclopædias. The number of works of this sort here catalogued is two hundred and eighteen, the major part issued during this dynasty, and including only works on the general language, none on the dialects. For their extent of quotation, the variety of separate disquisitions upon the form, origin, and composition of characters, and treatises upon subjects connected with the language, they indicate the careful labor native scholars have bestowed upon the elucidation of their own tongue.

~KANGHÍ’S DICTIONARY.~

One of them, the Pei Wăn Yun Fu, or ‘Treasury of compared Characters and Sounds,’ is so extensive and profound as to deserve a short notice, which cannot be better made than by an extract from the preface of M. Callery to his prospectus to its translation, of which he only issued one livraison. He says the Emperor Kanghí, who planned its preparation, “assembled in his palace the most distinguished literati of the Empire, and laying before them all the works that could be got, whether ancient or modern, commanded them carefully to collect all the words, allusions, forms and figures of speech of every style, of which examples might be found in the Chinese language; to class the principal articles according to the pronunciation of the words; to devote a distinct paragraph to each expression; and to give in support of every paragraph several quotations from the original works. Stimulated by the munificence, as well as the example, of the Emperor, who reviewed the performances of every day, seventy-six literati assembled at Peking, labored with such assiduity, and kept up such an active correspondence with the learned in all parts of the Empire, that at the end of eight years the work was completed (1711), and printed at the public expense, in one hundred and thirty thick volumes.” The peculiar nature of the Chinese language, in the formation of many dissyllabic compounds of two or more characters to express a third and new idea, renders such a work as this thesaurus more necessary and useful, perhaps, than it would be in any other language. Under some of the common characters as many as three hundred, four hundred, and even six hundred combinations are noticed, all of which modify its sense more or less, and form a complete monograph of the character, of the highest utility to the scholar in composing idiomatic Chinese. This magnificent monument of literary labor reflects great credit on the monarch who took so much interest in its compilation (as he remarks in his preface), as to devote the leisure hours of every day, notwithstanding his manifold occupations, for eight years, to overlooking the labors of the scholars engaged upon it.

FOOTNOTES:

[302] The Sacred Books of China. The Texts of Confucianism. Translated by James Legge. Part II. The Yî King. Oxford, 1882.

[303] Some fourteen hundred and fifty treatises on the Yih--consisting of memoirs, digests, expositions, etc.--are enumerated in the Catalogue. The foreign literature upon it has heretofore been scant. The only other translations of the classic in extenso, besides Dr. Legge’s, already quoted, are the Y-King; Antiquissimus Sinarum liber quem ex latina interpretatione; P. Regis, aliorumque ex Soc. Jesu P. P., edidit Julius Mohl, 2 vols., Stuttgart, 1834-39; and A Translation of the Confucian Yih King, or the Classic of Change, by the Rev. Canon McClatchie, Shanghai, 1876 (with Chinese text). Compare further Notice du livre chinois nommé Y-king, avec des notes, par M. Claude Visdelou, contained in Père Gaubil’s Chou king, Paris, 1843; Die verbogenen Alterthümer der Chineser aus dem uralten Buche Yeking untersuchet, von M. Joh. Heinrich Schuhmacher, Wolfenbüttel, 1763; Joseph Haas, in Notes and Queries on China and Japan, Vol. III., 1869; China Review, Vols. I., p. 151; IV., p. 257; and V., p. 132.

[304] Several translations have been made by missionaries. One by P. Gaubil was edited by De Guignes in 1770; a second by Rev. W. H. Medhurst, in 1846; but the most complete by J. Legge, D.D., in 1865, with its notes and text, has brought this Record better than ever before to the knowledge of western scholars.

[305] Legge, The Chinese Classics, Vol. III. Shoo King, p. 59.

[306] Chinese Repository, Vol. VIII., p. 385; Vol. IX., p. 573. Le Chou-king, un des Livres Sacrés des Chinois, qui renferme les Fondements de leur ancienne Histoire, etc. Traduit par Feu le P. Gaubil. Paris, 1770, in-4. La Morale du Chou-king ou le Livre Sacré de la Chine. (The same), Paris, 1851. Ancient China. The Shoo King, or the Historical Classic: being the most ancient authentic Record of the Annals of the Chinese Empire, translated by W. H. Medhurst, Sen., Shanghae, 1846. Nouveau Journal Asiatique, Tomes V. (1830), p. 401; VI., p. 401, and XIV. (1842), p. 152. China Review, Vol. IV., p. 13. Dr. Legge’s translation has recently (1879) appeared, without the Chinese text, in Max Müller’s series of Sacred Books of the East, Vol. III. Richthofen, China, Bd. I., pp. 277-365, an exhaustive treatise on the early geography of China, with valuable historical maps.

[307] Dr. Legge, The She King, translated into English verse, p. 70. London, 1876.

[308] Ib., p. 83.

[309] Id., The She King, p. 222.

[310] Id., The She King, p. 347.

[311] A recent German translation of these odes has combined, with much accuracy and a smooth versification, the peculiar adaptability of that tongue to the reproduction (in some degree) of sounds so foreign to the language as Chinese. Shí King. Das kanonische Liederbuch der Chinesen. Uebersetzt von Victor von Strauss. Heidelberg, 1880.

[312] The Chinese Classics, Vol. IV., pp. 172-180. Hongkong, 1871.

[313] Compare Confucii Chi-king sive Liber Carminum, ex latina P. Lacharme interpretatione edidit J. Mohl, Stuttgart, 1830; Essai sur le Chi-king, et sur l’ancienne poésie chinoise, par M. Brosset jeune, Paris, 1828; Bibliothèque orientale, Vol. II., p. 247 (1872). Chi-king, ou Livre des Vers, Traduction de M. G. Pauthier; China Review, Vol. VI., pp. 1 ff. and 166 ff. Journal N. C. Br. R. As. Soc., Vol. XII., pp. 97 ff.

[314] Li-ki ou Mémorial des Rites, traduit pour la première fois du chinois, et accompagné de notes, de commentaires et du texte original, par J. M. Callery. Turin et Paris, 1853.

[315] Le Tcheou-Li ou Rites des Tcheou, traduit pour la première fois du chinois, par Feu Édouard Biot. 2 Tomes. Paris, 1851.

[316] Chinese Repository, Vol. V., pp. 306-312.

[317] This somewhat fanciful explanation of the title is from the Han commentators. Dr. Legge (Classics, Vol. V., Prolegomena, p. 7) observes that “not even in the work do we find such ‘censures’ and ‘commendations;’ and much less are they trumpeted in the title of it.” His interpretation that Spring and Autumn are put by synechdoche for all four seasons, i.e., the entire record of the year, appears to be a more natural account. The same writer declares that “the whole book is a collection of riddles, to which there are as many answers as there are guessers.” The interesting chapters of his prolegomena to this translation, and his judicious criticisms on these early records, should tempt all sinologues to read them throughout.

[318] The same writer adds, in summing up the merits of the Tso Chuen: “It is, in my opinion, the most precious literary treasure which has come down to posterity from the Chow dynasty.”--Classics, Vol. V., Proleg., p. 35.

[319] To this the Kung Yang commentator adds: “This he said in joke.”

[320] Compare Tchun Tsieou, Le Printemps & l’Automne, ou Annales de la Principauté de Lou, depuis 722 jusqu’ en 481, etc. Traduites en françois, par Le Roux Deshauterayes. 1750. Dr. E. Bretschneider, in the Chinese Recorder, Vol. IV., pp. 51-52, 1871.

[321] Collie’s Four Books, pp. 6-10.

[322] Ib., p. 28.

[323] The Works of Confucius; containing the original text, with a Translation, by J. Marshman. Vol. I. Serampore, 1807.

[324] Chinese Repository, Vol. XI., p. 421. Pauthier, La Chine, Paris, 1839, pp. 121-184.

[325] Compare Dr. Legge’s Religions of China; Prof. R. K. Douglas, Confucianism and Taouism, London, 1879; S. Johnson, Oriental Religions: China, Boston, 1877; A Systematical Digest of the Doctrines of Confucius, according to the Analects, Great Learning, and Doctrine of the Mean, etc., by Ernst Faber. Translated from the German by Möllendorff, Hongkong, 1875; Histoire de Confucius, par J. Sénamaud, Bordeaux et Paris, 1878.

[326] It may here be remarked that the terms tsz’ or fu-tsz’ do not properly form a part of the name, but are titles, meaning rabbi or eminent teacher, and are added to the surnames of some of the most distinguished writers, by way of peculiar distinction; and in the words Mencius and Confucius have been Latinized with Măng and Kung, names of the persons themselves, into one word. The names of other distinguished scholars, as Chu fu-tsz’, Ching fu-tsz’, etc., have not undergone this change into Chufucius, Chingfucius; but usage has now brought the compellation for these two men into universal use as a distinctive title, somewhat like the term venerable applied to Bede.

[327] Rémusat, Nouveaux Mélanges, Tome II., pp. 115-129.

[328] Chinese Classics, Vol II. Hongkong, 1862.

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