The trial by which the virtues of Ta-yü were proved was an extraordinary feat of engineering—nothing less than the subduing of the waters of a deluge. "The waters," said the King, "embosom the high hills and insolently menace heaven itself. Who will find us a man to take them in hand and keep them in place?" His ministers recommended one Kun. Kun failed to accomplish the task, and Shun, who in this case hardly serves for the model of a just ruler, put him to death. Then the task was imposed on Ta-yü, the son of the man who had been executed. After nine years of incredible hardships he brought the work to a successful termination. During this time he extended his care to the rivers of more than one province, dredging, ditching, and diking. Three times he passed his own door and, though he heard the cries of his infant son, he did not once enter his house. The son of a criminal who had suffered death, a throne was the meed of his diligence and ability.
A temple in Hanyang, at the confluence of two rivers, commemorates Ta-yü's exploit, which certainly throws the labours of Hercules completely into the shade. On the opposite side of the river stands a pillar, inscribed in antique hieroglyphics, which professes to record this great achievement. It is a copy of one which stands on Mount Hang; and the characters, in the tadpole style, are so ancient that doubts as to their actual meaning exist among scholars of the present day. Each letter is accordingly accompanied by its equivalent in modern Chinese. The stone purports to have been erected by Ta-yü himself—good ground for suspicion—but it has been proved to be a fabrication of a later age, though still very ancient.[*]
[Footnote *: Dr. Hänisch of Berlin has taken great pains to expose the imposture.]
In the two preceding reigns the sovereign had always consulted the public good rather than family interest—a form of monarchy which the Chinese call elective, but which has never been followed, save that the Emperor exercises the right of choice among his sons irrespective of primogeniture. The man who bears the odium of having departed from the unselfish policy of Yao and Shun is this same Ta-yü. He left the throne to his son and, as the Chinese say, "made of the empire a family estate."
This narrative comes from the Shu-King or "Book of History," the most venerated of the Five Classics edited by Confucius; but the reader will readily perceive that it is no more historical than the stories of Codrus or Numa Pompilius.
In the reign of Yao we have an account of astronomical observations made with a view to fixing the length of the year. The King tells one man to go to the east and another to the west, to observe the culmination and transit of certain stars. As a result he says they will find that the year consists of 366 days, a close approximation for that epoch. The absurdity of this style, which attributes omniscience to the prince and leaves to his agents nothing but the task of verification, should not be allowed to detract from the credit due to their observations. The result arrived at was about the same as that reached by the Babylonians at the same date (2356 B. c.)
Other rulers who are credited with great inventions probably made them in the same way. Whether under Fuhi or Hwang-ti, Ts'ang-kié is recognised as the Cadmus of China, the author of its written characters; and Tanao, a minister of Hwang-ti, is admitted to be the author of the cycle of sixty. Both of those emperors may be imagined as calling up their ministers and saying to one, "Go and invent the art of writing," and to the other, "Work out a system of chronology."
In the same way, the inception of the culture of the silkworm and the discovery of the magnetic needle are attributed to the predecessors of Yao, probably on the principle that treasure-trove was the property of the King and that if no claimant for the honour could be found it must be attributed to some ancient monarch. The production of silk, as woman's work, they profess to assign to the consort of one of those worthies—a thing improbable if not impossible, her place of residence being in the north of China. Their picture-writing tells a different tale. Their word for a southern barbarian, compounded of "silk" and "worm," points to the south as the source of that useful industry, much as our word "silk," derived from sericum, points to China as its origin.
CHAPTER XV
THE THREE DYNASTIES