A History of Chinese Literature

by Herbert Allen Giles

TRANSLATIONS

Attempts have been made to provide the Chinese with translations of noted European works, and among those which have been produced may be mentioned “The Pilgrim’s Progress,” with illustrations, the various characters being in Chinese dress; Mr. Herbert Spencer’s “Education,” the very first sentence in which is painfully misrendered; the “Adventures of Baron Munchausen,” and others. In every case save one these efforts have been rejected by the Chinese on the ground of inferior style. The exception was a translation of Æsop’s Fables, published in 1840 by Robert Thom as rendered into Chinese by an eminent native scholar. This work attracted much attention among the people generally; so much so, that the officials took alarm and made strenuous efforts to suppress it. Recent years have witnessed the publication in Chinese of “Vathek,” in reference to which a literate of standing offered the following criticism:—“The style in which this work is written is not so bad, but the subject-matter is of no account.” The fact is, that to satisfy the taste of the educated Chinese reader the very first requisite is style. As has been seen in the case of the Liao Chai, the Chinese will read almost anything, provided it is set in a faultless frame. They will not look at anything emanating from foreign sources in which this greatest desideratum has been neglected.

The present age has seen the birth of no great original writer in any department of literature, nor the production of any great original work worthy to be smeared with cedar-oil for the delectation of posterity. It is customary after the death, sometimes during the life, of any leading statesman to publish a collection of his memorials to the throne, with possibly a few essays and some poems. Such have a brief succès d’estime, and are then used by binders for thickening the folded leaves of some masterpiece of antiquity. Successful candidates for the final degree usually print their winning essays, and sometimes their poems, chiefly for distribution among friends. Several diaries of Ministers to foreign countries and similar books have appeared in recent years, recording the astonishment of the writers at the extraordinary social customs which prevail among the barbarians. But nowadays a Chinaman who wishes to read a book does not sit down and write one. He is too much oppressed by the vast dimensions of his existing literature, and by the hopelessness of rivalling, and still more by the hopelessness of surpassing, those immortals who have gone before.

WIT AND HUMOUR

It would be obviously unfair to describe the Chinese people as wanting in humour simply because they are tickled by jests which leave us comparatively unmoved. Few of our own most amusing stories will stand conversion into Chinese terms. The following are specimens of classical humour, being such as might be introduced into any serious biographical notice of the individuals concerned.

Ch‘un-yü K‘un (4th cent. B.C.) was the wit already mentioned, who tried to entangle Mencius in his talk. On one occasion, when the Ch‘u State was about to attack the Ch‘i State, he was ordered by the Prince of Ch‘i, who was his father-in-law, to proceed to the Chao State and ask that an army might be sent to their assistance; to which end the Prince supplied him with 100 lbs. of silver and ten chariots as offerings to the ruler of Chao. At this Ch‘un-yü laughed so immoderately that he snapped the lash of his cap; and when the Prince asked him what was the joke, he said, “As I was coming along this morning, I saw a husbandman sacrificing a pig’s foot and a single cup of wine; after which he prayed, saying, ‘O God, make my upper terraces fill baskets and my lower terraces fill carts; make my fields bloom with crops and my barns burst with grain!’ And I could not help laughing at a man who offered so little and wanted so much.” The Prince took the hint, and obtained the assistance he required.

T‘ao Ku (A.D. 902-970) was an eminent official whose name is popularly known in connection with the following repartee. Having ordered a newly-purchased waiting-maid to get some snow and make tea in honour of the Feast of Lanterns, he asked her, somewhat pompously, “Was that the custom in your former home?” “Oh, no,” the girl replied; “they were a rough lot. They just put up a gold-splashed awning, and had a little music and some old wine.”

Li Chia-ming (10th cent. A.D.) was a wit at the Court of the last ruler of the T‘ang dynasty. On one occasion the latter drew attention to some gathering clouds which appeared about to bring rain. “They may come,” said Li Chia-ming, “but they will not venture to enter the city.” “Why not?” asked the Prince. “Because,” replied the wit, “the octroi is so high.” Orders were thereupon issued that the duties should be reduced by one-half. On another occasion the Prince was fishing with some of his courtiers, all of whom managed to catch something, whereas he himself, to his great chagrin, had not a single bite. Thereupon Li Chia-ming took a pen and wrote the following lines:—

“’Tis rapture in the warm spring days to drop the tempting fly
In the green pool where deep and still the darkling waters lie;
And if the fishes dare not touch the bait your Highness flings,
They know that only dragons are a fitting sport for kings.”