The tenth section, on philosophical writings, having a tinge of heterodoxy, is a very large one, and offers a rare opportunity of research to those curious to know what China can contribute to moral science. The writings of Roman Catholics and Moslems are included in this long catalogue.
CYCLOPÆDIAS, NOVELS, ETC.
Under the head of encyclopædias, a list of summaries, compends, and treasuries of knowledge is given, which for extent and bulkiness cannot be equalled in any language. Among them is the Tai Tien, or ‘Great Record’ of the Emperor Yungloh (A.D. 1403), in twenty-two thousand eight hundred and seventy-seven chapters, and containing the substance of all classical, historical, philosophical, and scientific writings in the language. Parts of this compilation were lost, and on the accession of the Manchus one-tenth of it was missing; but by means of the unequalled interest on the part of Yungloh in his national literature, three hundred and eighty-five ancient and rare works were rescued from destruction. The San Tsai Tu, or ‘Plates [illustrative of the] Three Powers’ (i.e., heaven, earth, and man, by which is meant the entire universe), in one hundred and thirty volumes, is one of the most valuable compilations, by reason of the great number of plates it contains, which exhibit the ideas of the compilers much better than their descriptions.
The twelfth section, containing novels and tales, called Siao Shwoh, or ‘Trifling Talk,’ gives the titles of but few of the thousands of productions of this class in the language. Works of fiction are among the most popular and exceptionable books the Chinese have, and those which are not demoralizing are, with some notable exceptions, like the Ten Talented Authors, generally slighted. The books sold in the streets are chiefly of this class of writings, consisting of tales and stories generally destitute of all intricacy of plot, fertility of illustration, or elevation of sentiment. They form the common mental aliment of the lower classes, being read by those who are able, and talked about by all; their influence is consequently immense. Many of them are written in the purest style, among which a collection called Liao Chai, or ‘Pastimes of the Study,’ in sixteen volumes, is pre-eminent for its variety and force of expression, and its perusal can be recommended to every one who wishes to study the copiousness of the Chinese language. The preface is dated in 1679; most of the tales are short, and few have any ostensible moral to them, while those which are objectionable for their immorality, or ridiculous from their magic whimsies, form a large proportion. A quotation or two will illustrate the author’s invention:
A villager was once selling plums in the market, which were rather delicious and fragrant, and high in price; and there was a Tao priest, clad in ragged garments of coarse cotton, begging before his wagon. The villager scolded him, but he would not go off; whereupon, becoming angry, he reviled and hooted at him. The priest said, “The wagon contains many hundred plums, and I have only begged one of them, which, for you, respected sir, would certainly be no great loss; why then are you so angry?” The spectators advised to give him a poor plum and send him away, but the villager would not consent. The workmen in the market disliking the noise and clamor, furnished a few coppers and bought a plum, which they gave the priest. He bowing thanked them, and turning to the crowd said, “I do not wish to be stingy, and request you, my friends, to partake with me of this delicious plum.” One of them replied, “Now you have it, why do you not eat it yourself?” “I want only the stone to plant,” said he, eating it up at a munch. When eaten, he held the stone in his hand, and taking a spade off his shoulder, dug a hole in the ground several inches deep, into which he put it and covered it with earth. Then turning to the market people, he procured some broth with which he watered and fertilized it; and others, wishing to see what would turn up, brought him boiling dregs from shops near by, which he poured upon the hole just dug. Every one’s eyes being fixed upon the spot, they saw a crooked shoot issuing forth, which gradually increased till it became a tree, having branches and leaves; flowers and then fruit succeeded, large and very fragrant, which covered the tree. The priest then approached the tree, plucked the fruit and gave the beholders; and when all were consumed, he felled the tree with a colter—chopping, chopping for a good while, until at last, having cut it off, he shouldered the foliage in an easy manner, and leisurely walked away.
When first the priest began to perform his magic arts, the villager was also among the crowd, with outstretched neck and gazing eyes, and completely forgot his own business. When the priest had gone, he began to look into his wagon, and lo! it was empty of plums; and for the first time he perceived that what had just been distributed were all his own goods. Moreover, looking narrowly about his wagon, he saw that the dashboard was gone, having just been cut off with a chisel. Much excited and incensed he ran after him, and as he turned the corner of the wall, he saw the board thrown down beneath the hedge, it being that with which the plum-tree was felled. Nobody knew where the priest had gone, and all the market folks laughed heartily.
The Rationalists are considered as the chief magicians among the Chinese, and they figure in most of the tales in this work, whose object probably was to exalt their craft, and add to their reputation. Like the foregoing against hardheartedness, the following contains a little sidewise admonition against theft:
On the west of the city in the hamlet of the White family lived a rustic who stole his neighbor’s duck and cooked it. At night he felt his skin itch, and on looking at it in the morning saw a thick growth of duck’s feathers, which, when irritated, pained him. He was much alarmed, for he had no remedy to cure it; but, in a dream of the night, a man informed him, “Your disease is a judgment from heaven; you must get the loser to reprimand you, and the feathers will fall off.” Now this gentleman, his neighbor, was always liberal and courteous, nor during his whole life, whenever he lost anything, had he even manifested any displeasure in his countenance. The thief craftily told him, “The fellow who stole your duck is exceedingly afraid of a reprimand; but reprove him, and he will no doubt then fear in future.” He, laughing, replied, “Who has the time or disposition to scold wicked men?” and altogether refused to do so; so the man, being hardly bestead, was obliged to tell the truth, upon which the gentleman gave him a scolding, and his disorder was removed.
CHARACTER OF CHINESE FICTION.
Rémusat compares the construction of Chinese novels to those of Richardson, in which the “authors render their characters interesting and natural by reiterated strokes of the pencil, which finally produce a high degree of illusion. The interest in their pages arose precisely in proportion to the stage of my progress; and in approaching to the termination, I found myself about to part with some agreeable people, just as I had duly learned to relish their society.” He briefly describes the defects in Chinese romances as principally consisting in long descriptions of trifling particulars and delineations of localities, and the characters and circumstances of the interlocutors, while the thread of the narrative is carried on mostly in a conversational way, which, from its minuteness, soon becomes tedious. The length of their poetic descriptions and prolix display of the wonders of art or the beauties of nature, thrown in at the least hint in the narrative, or moral reflections introduced in the most serious manner in the midst of diverting incidents, like a long-metre psalm in a comedy, tend to confuse the main story and dislocate the unity requisite to produce an effect.