The long-lived and glorious House of Han was brought to a close by the
usual causes. There were palace intrigues and a temporary usurpation of
the throne, eunuchs of course being in the thick of the mischief;
added to which a very serious rebellion broke out, almost as a natural
consequence. First and last there arose three aspirants to the Imperial
yellow, which takes the place of purple in ancient Rome; the result
being that, after some years of hard fighting, China was divided into
three parts, each ruled by one of the three rivals. The period is known
in history as that of the Three Kingdoms, and lasted from A.D. 220 to
A.D. 265. This short space of time was filled, especially the early
years, with stirring deeds of heroism and marvellous strategical
operations, fortune favouring first one of the three commanders and then
another. The whole story of these civil wars is most graphically told in
a famous historical romance composed about a thousand years afterwards.
As in the case of the Waverley novels, a considerable amount of fiction
has been interwoven with truth to make the narrative more palatable
to the general reader; but its basis is history, and the work is
universally regarded among the Chinese themselves as one of the most
valuable productions in the lighter branches of their literature.
The three to four centuries which follow on the above period were a
time of political and social disorganisation, unfavourable, according
to Chinese writers, to the development of both literature and art. The
House of Chin, which at first held sway over a once more united empire,
was severely harassed by the Tartars on the north, who were in turn
overwhelmed by the House of Toba. The latter ruled for some two hundred
years over northern China, while the southern portions were governed
by several short-lived native dynasties. A few points in connexion with
these times deserve perhaps brief mention.
The old rule of twenty-seven months of mourning for parents was
re-established, and has continued in force down to the present day. The
Japanese sent occasional missions, with tribute; and the Chinese, who
had already in A.D. 240 dispatched an envoy to Japan, repeated the
compliment in 608. An attempt was made to conquer Korea, and envoys
were sent to countries as far off as Siam. Buddhism, which had been
introduced many centuries previously--no one can exactly say when--began
to spread far and wide, and appeared to be firmly established. In A.D.
399 a Buddhist priest, named Fa Hsien, started from Central China and
travelled to India across the great desert and over the Hindu Kush,
subsequently visiting Patna, Benares, Buddha-Gaya, and other well-known
spots, which he accurately described in the record of his journey
published on his return and still in existence. His object was to obtain
copies of the sacred books, relics and images, illustrative of the
faith; and these he safely conveyed to China by sea from India, via
Ceylon (where he spent three years), and Sumatra, arriving after an
absence of fifteen years.
In the year A.D. 618 the House of T'ang entered upon its glorious course
of three centuries in duration. Under a strong but dissolute ruler
immediately preceding, China had once more become a united empire,
undivided against itself; and although wars and rebellions were not
wanting to disturb the even tenor of its way, the general picture
presented to us under the new dynasty of the T'angs is one of national
peace, prosperity, and progress. The name of this House has endured,
like that of Han, to the present day in the popular language of the
people; for just as the northerners still delight to style themselves
"good sons of Han," so are the southerners still proud to speak of
themselves as "men of T'ang."
One of the chief political events of this period was the usurpation
of power by the Empress Wu--at first, as nominal regent on behalf of a
step-child, the son and heir of her late husband by his first wife, and
afterwards, when she had set aside the step-child, on her own account.
There had been one previous instance of a woman wielding the Imperial
sceptre, namely, the Empress Lu of the Han dynasty, to whom the Chinese
have accorded the title of legitimate ruler, which has not been allowed
to the Empress Wu. The latter, however, was possessed of much actual
ability, mixed with a kind of midsummer madness; and so long as her
great intellectual faculties remained unimpaired, she ruled, like her
successor of some twelve centuries afterwards, with a rod of iron. In
her old age she was deposed and dismissed to private life, the rightful
heir being replaced upon his father's throne.
Among the more extravagant acts of her reign are some which are still
familiar to the people of to-day. Always, even while her husband was
alive, she was present, behind a curtain, at councils and audiences;
after his death she was accustomed to take her place openly among the
ministers of state, wearing a false beard. In 694 she gave herself the
title of Divine Empress, and in 696 she even went so far as to style
herself God Almighty. In her later years she became hopelessly arrogant
and overbearing. No one was allowed to say that the Empress was fair
as a lily or lovely as a rose, but that the lily was fair or the rose
lovely as Her Majesty. She tried to spread the belief that she was
really the Supreme Being by forcing flowers artificially and then in the
presence of her courtiers ordering them to bloom. On one occasion she
commanded some peonies to bloom; and because they did not instantly
obey, she caused every peony in the capital to be pulled up and burnt,
and prohibited the cultivation of peonies ever afterwards. She further
decided to place her sex once and for all on an equality with man. For
that purpose women were admitted to the public examinations, official
posts being conferred upon those who were successful; and among other
things they were excused from kneeling while giving evidence in courts
of justice. This innovation, however, did not fulfil its promise;
and with the disappearance of its vigorous foundress, the system also
disappeared. It was not actually the first time in Chinese history that
the experiment had been tried. An emperor of the third century A.D. had
already opened public life to women, and it is said that many of them
rose to high office; but here too the system was of short duration, and
the old order was soon restored.
Another striking picture of the T'ang dynasty is presented by the career
of an emperor who is usually spoken of as Ming Huang, and who, after
distinguishing himself at several critical junctures, mounted the throne
in 712, in succession to his father, who had abdicated in his favour. He
began with economy, closing the silk factories and forbidding the palace
ladies to wear jewels or embroideries, considerable quantities of which
were actually burnt. He was a warm patron of literature, and schools
were established in every village. Fond of music, he founded a college
for training youth of both sexes in this art. His love of war and
his growing extravagance led to increased taxation, with the usual
consequences in China--discontent and rebellion. He surrounded himself
by a brilliant court, welcoming men of genius in literature and art;
at first for their talents alone, but finally for their readiness
to participate in scenes of revelry and dissipation provided for the
amusement of a favourite concubine, the ever-famous Yang Kuei-fei
(pronounced _Kway-fay_). Eunuchs were appointed to official posts, and
the grossest forms of religious superstition were encouraged. Women
ceased to veil themselves, as of old. At length, in 755, a serious
rebellion broke out, and a year later the emperor, now an old man of
seventy-one, fled before the storm. He had not proceeded far before his
soldiery revolted and demanded vengeance upon the whole family of the
favourite, several unworthy members of which had been raised to high
positions and loaded with honours. The wretched emperor was forced to
order the head eunuch to strangle his idolized concubine, while the
rest of her family perished at the hands of the troops. He subsequently
abdicated in favour of his son, and spent the last six years of his life
in seclusion.
This tragic story has been exquisitely told in verse by one of China's
foremost poets, who was born only a few years later. He divides his
poem into eight parts, dealing with the _ennui_ of the monarch until he
discovers _beauty_, the _revelry_ of the pair together, followed by the
horrors of _flight_, to end in the misery of _exile_ without her, the
_return_ when the emperor passes again by the fatal spot, _home_ where
everything reminds him of her, and finally _spirit-land_. This last is a
figment of the poet's imagination. He pictures the disconsolate emperor
sending a magician to discover Yang Kuei-fei's whereabouts in the next
world, and to bear to her a message of uninterrupted love. The magician,
after a long search, finds her in one of the Isles of the Blest, and
fulfils his commission accordingly.
Her features are fixed and calm, though myriad tears fall,
Wetting a spray of pear-bloom, as it were with the raindrops of
spring.
Subduing her emotions, restraining her grief, she tenders thanks
to His Majesty.
Saying how since their parting she had missed his form and voice;
And how, although their love on earth had so soon come to an end,
The days and months among the Blest were still of long duration.
And now she turns and gazes towards the above of mortals,
But cannot discern the Imperial city, lost in the dust and haze.
Then she takes out the old keepsake, tokens of undying love,
A gold hairpin, an enamel brooch, and bids the magician carry
these back.
One half of the hairpin she keeps, and one half of the enamel
brooch,
Breaking with her hands the yellow gold, and dividing the enamel
in two.
"Tell him," she said, "to be firm of heart, as this gold and
enamel,
And then in heaven or on earth below we two may meet once more."
The magnificent House of T'ang was succeeded by five insignificant
dynasties, the duration of all of which was crowded into about half
a century. Then, in A.D. 960, began the rule of the Sungs (pronounced
_Soongs_), to last for three hundred years and rival in national peace
and prosperity any other period in the history of China. The nation
had already in a great measure settled down to that state of material
civilization and mental culture in which it has remained to the present
time. To the appliances of ordinary Chinese life it is probable that but
few additions have been made since a very early date. The dress of the
people has indeed undergone several variations, but the ploughs and
hoes, the water-wheels and well-sweeps, the tools of the artisans, mud
huts, carts, junks, chairs, tables, chopsticks, etc., which we still
see in China, are probably very much those of two thousand years ago.
Mencius, of the third century B.C., observed that written characters had
the same form, and axle-trees the same breadth, all over the empire; and
to this day an unaltering uniformity is one of the chief characteristics
of the Chinese people in every department of life.
In spite, however, of the peaceful aspirations of the House of Sung,
the Kitan Tartars were for ever encroaching upon Chinese territory, and
finally overran and occupied a large part of northern China, with
their capital where Peking now stands. This resulted in an amicable
arrangement to divide the empire, the Kitans retaining their conquests
in the north, from which, after about two hundred years, they were in
turn expelled by the Golden Tartars, who had previously been subject to
them.
Many volumes, rather than pages, would be required to do justice to the
statesmen, soldiers, philosophers, poets, historians, art critics, and
other famous men of this dynasty. It has already been stated that the
interpretation of the Confucian Canon, accepted at the present day,
dates from this period; and it may now be of interest to give a brief
account of another remarkable movement connected with the dynasty,
though in quite a different line.
Wang An-shih (as _shi_ in _shirk_), popularly known as the Reformer, was
born in 1021. In his youth a keen student, his pen seemed to fly over
the paper. He rose to high office; and by the time he was forty-eight he
found himself installed as confidential adviser to the emperor. He then
entered upon a series of startling political reforms, said to be based
upon new and more correct interpretations of portions of the Confucian
Canon, which still remained, so far as explanation was concerned, just
as it had been left by the scholars of the Han dynasty. This appeal to
authority was, of course, a mere blind, cleverly introduced to satisfy
the bulk of the population, who were always unwilling to move in any
direction where no precedent is forthcoming. One of his schemes, the
express object of which was to decrease taxation and at the same time
to increase the revenue, was to secure a sure and certain market for all
products, as follows. From the produce of a given district, enough was
to be set aside (1) for the payment of taxes, and (2) to supply the
wants of the district; (3) the balance was then to be taken over by the
state at a low rate, and held for a rise or forwarded to some centre
where there happened to be a demand. There would be thus a certainty
of market for the farmer, and an equal certainty for the state to
make profits as a middleman. Another part of this scheme consisted in
obligatory advances by the state to cultivators of land, whether these
farmers required the money or not, the security for the loans being in
each case the growing crops.
There was also a system of tithing for military purposes, under which
every family having more than two males was bound to supply one to serve
as a soldier; and in order to keep up a breed of cavalry horses, every
family was compelled to take charge of one, which was provided, together
with its food, by the government. There was a system under which money
payments were substituted for the old-fashioned and vexatious method
of carrying on public works by drafts of forced labourers; and again
another under which warehouses for bartering and hypothecating goods
were established all over the empire.
Of all his innovations the most interesting was that all land was to be
remeasured and an attempt made to secure a more equitable incidence of
taxation. The plan was to divide up the land into equal squares, and to
levy taxes in proportion to the fertility of each. This scheme proved
for various reasons to be unworkable; and the bitter opposition with
which, like all his other measures of reform, it was received by
his opponents, did not conduce to success. Finally, he abolished all
restrictions upon the export of copper, the result being that even the
current copper "cash" were melted down and made into articles for sale
and exportation. A panic ensued, which Wang met by the simple expedient
of doubling the value of each cash. He attempted to reform the
examination system, requiring from the candidate not so much graces of
style as a wide acquaintance with practical subjects. "Accordingly,"
says one Chinese author, "even the pupils at the village schools
threw away their text-books of rhetoric, and began to study primers of
history, geography, and political economy"--a striking anticipation of
the movement in vogue to-day. "I have myself been," he tells us, "an
omnivorous reader of books of all kinds, even, for example, of ancient
medical and botanical works. I have, moreover, dipped into treatises on
agriculture and on needlework, all of which I have found very profitable
in aiding me to seize the great scheme of the Canon itself." But
like many other great men, he was in advance of his age. He fell into
disfavour at court, and was dismissed to a provincial post; and although
he was soon recalled, he retired into private life, shortly afterwards
to die, but not before he had seen the whole of his policy reversed.
His career stands out in marked contrast with that of the great
statesman and philosopher, Chu Hsi (pronounced _Choo Shee_), who
flourished A.D. 1130-1200. His literary output was enormous and his
official career successful; but his chief title to fame rests upon his
merits as a commentator on the Confucian Canon. As has been already
stated, he introduced interpretations either wholly or partly at
variance with those which had been put forth by the scholars of the
Han dynasty, and hitherto received as infallible, thus modifying to a
certain extent the prevailing standard of political and social morality.
His guiding principle was merely one of consistency. He refused to
interpret words in a given passage in one sense, and the same words
occurring elsewhere in another sense. The effect of this apparently
obvious method was magical; and from that date the teachings of
Confucius have been universally understood in the way in which Chu Hsi
said they ought to be understood.
To his influence also must be traced the spirit of materialism which
is so widely spread among educated Chinese. The God in whom Confucius
believed, but whom, as will be seen later on, he can scarcely be said
to have "taught," was a passive rather than an active God, and may be
compared with the God of the Psalms. He was a personal God, as we know
from the ancient character by which He was designated in the written
language of early ages, that character being a rude picture of a
man. This view was entirely set aside by Chu Hsi, who declared in the
plainest terms that the Chinese word for God meant nothing more than
"abstract right;" in other words, God was a principle. It is impossible
to admit such a proposition, which was based on sentiment and not
on sound reasoning. Chu Hsi was emphatically not a man of religious
temperament, and belief in the supernatural was distasteful to him;
he was for a short time under the spell of Buddhism, but threw that
religion over for the orthodoxy of Confucianism. He was, therefore,
anxious to exclude the supernatural altogether from the revised scheme
of moral conduct which he was deducing from the Confucian Canon, and his
interpretation of the word "God" has been blindly accepted ever since.
When Chu Hsi died, his coffin is said to have taken up a position,
suspended in the air, about three feet from the ground. Whereupon his
son-in-law, falling on his knees beside the bier, reminded the departed
spirit of the great principles of which he had been such a brilliant
exponent in life--and the coffin descended gently to the ground.