SCHOOL DAYS
The Chinese people think so much of learning that they say, “Better to
rear a pig than bring up a son who will not read!”
When the time comes for a boy to go to school, a lucky day is chosen
by a fortune-teller, and young Hopeful, spotless in dress, and with
head well shaved, is taken to be introduced to his teacher. In the neat
bundle which he carries as he trots along by his father’s side he has
‘the four gems of the study’ ready for use, that is to say, a pen which
has a brush for a nib, a cake of ink, a stone slab for rubbing down the
ink with water, and a set of books. As soon as the new pupil has been
taken into the school and introduced in the proper way, the teacher
asks the spirit of Confucius to help the little scholar with his work.
Then the master sits down and the boy bows his head to the ground,
beseeching his master to teach him letters. After this a ‘book-name,’
such as Flourishing Virtue, Literary Rank, Opening Brightness, is
chosen and given to the lad; for a Chinese boy gets a new name when he
goes to school. The room in which the budding scholar will sit at a
little black table for many a day to come is often dark and dingy, with
tiny windows and a low tiled roof.
A book, called _The Juvenile Instructor_, tells how children used to
be trained, in the good old days of China’s greatness. It says: “When
able to talk, lads must be instructed to answer in a quick, bold tone,
and girls in a slow and gentle one. At the age of seven they should be
taught to count and name the points of the compass, but at this age
boys and girls should not be allowed to sit on the same mat nor to eat
at the same table. At eight they must wait for their superiors and
prefer others to themselves.... Let children always be taught to speak
the simple truth, to stand erect in their proper places, and to listen
with respectful attention.”
At an old-fashioned Chinese school the pupils have no A B C; but
they have to learn by heart ‘characters,’ that is, the signs which
stand for words in their books. Boys who expect afterwards to go into
business are taught to do sums by a clerk or shopkeeper, who is hired
to teach them; but the ordinary schoolboys are taught no arithmetic,
or geography, or dates. Perhaps you think you would like to go to a
Chinese school! But wait a bit until you hear what Chinese boys have to
learn.
Beginners stand in a row before the master’s table and are taught to
read the first line of the _Three Character Classic_, until they know
it pretty well. Then they sit in their places and repeat it aloud. If
one of them forgets a word, he goes up to the table again and asks his
master how to read it, but he must not go too often.
What a din there is with some twenty boys all reading at the pitch
of their voices! The teacher does not scold them, for the busier his
pupils are at their work, the noisier they become. Whenever one of the
class knows his task, he hands in his book, and turning his face away,
so that his back is to his master, he repeats his lesson aloud. This
‘backing the book’ (as it is called), is to prevent a dishonest pupil
from using his sharp black eyes to peep over the top of the page and
help himself along.
After the _Three Character Classic_ and _The Hundred Surnames_, which
gives a list of the family names used in China, the schoolboy reads a
book called _The Thousand Character Classic_. This book, made up of
exactly a thousand characters, is said to have been written, by order
of an emperor of China, in a single night. The scholar who wrote it
worked so hard, that his hair, which was black when he began his task,
had turned white when the book was finished next morning. The _Four
Books_ and other Classics, as the standard books of Chinese literature
are called, are next begun by the pupil.
Boys do a great deal of writing at a Chinese school: when they are able
to read and to repeat quotations from their famous books, they must
go on to the higher art. First they are taught how to hold the brush
pen. Each boy is given a small book of red characters. He dips his
sharp-pointed brush in ink and holding it straight up and down begins
painting the red letters over. After a time he goes on to tracing
letters on thin paper over a copy. A square of wood, painted white,
serves him as a slate. On this he writes characters, which balance one
another, as heaven and earth, fire and water, light and darkness. By
and by he begins essay and letter-writing, which is very difficult
in Chinese. Pupils used to spend many years on this, but nowadays
schoolboys in China have to do more sums and less writing than their
fathers did.
Writing essays and verses used to be the chief lessons at a Chinese
school; for when scholars were fairly good at these, they entered for
the examinations. It was a difficult thing for a boy to go into the
great examination hall among two or three thousand men, and, after
having been searched to make sure that he had no books or cribs up his
sleeves, to go and sit at a bench and write his essay. Yet many gained
degrees when very young.
One of these was called Ta Pin. He had a wonderful memory and when he
had read the _Five Classics_ once over, he could remember them every
word! When eight years old, Ta Pin was in the house of an elderly
scholar, who was pleased by his good manners and wise ways. Seeing
that he behaved more like a grown-up man than a boy, the old gentleman
pointed to a chair and said: “With a cushion made of tiger’s skin,
to cover the student’s chair.” Then he waited to see if Ta Pin could
answer this bit of poetry as a grown-up scholar would have done, by a
second line of verse, which would match what he had just said. “With
a pencil made of rabbit’s hair, to write the graduate’s tablet,”
answered Ta Pin, every word of his line pairing with the corresponding
word in the old gentleman’s verse, ‘pencil’ with ‘cushion,’ ‘rabbit’
with ‘tiger,’ etc. The scholar struck the table with delight and gave
a present to the boy. When Ta Pin was thirteen he became a Master of
Arts, coming out higher than all the other competitors but one. He
was afterwards second in the examination for the degree of Doctor of
Letters and won the highest degree of all next year. This clever boy
lived over four hundred years ago, when the Ming emperors ruled in
China.
The story of how Mencius’ mother looked after him whilst he was at
school, is very interesting. At first they lived together near a
cemetery and little Mencius amused himself with acting the various
scenes which he saw at the graves. “This,” said his mother, “is not
the place for my boy.” So she went to live in the market street. But
the change brought no improvement. The little boy played then at being
a shopkeeper, offering things for sale and bargaining with imaginary
customers. His devoted mother then took a house beside a public school.
Now the child was interested by the things which the scholars were
taught, and tried to imitate them. The mother was pleased and said:
“This is the proper place for my son.” Near their new house was a
butcher’s shop. One day Mencius asked what they were killing pigs
for. “To feed you,” answered his mother. Then she thought to herself,
“Before this child was born I wished him to be well brought up, and
now that his mind is opening I am deceiving him; and this is to teach
him untruthfulness.” So she went and bought a piece of the pork, to
make good her words. After a time, Mencius went to school. One day
when he came home from school his mother looked up from the loom at
which she was sitting, and asked him how far he had got with his books.
He answered carelessly that “he was doing well enough.” On which she
took a knife and cut through the web she was weaving. The idle little
boy, who knew the labour required to weave the cloth, now spoilt, was
greatly surprised and asked her what she meant. Then she told him that
cutting through the web and spoiling her work was like his neglecting
his tasks. This made the lad think and determine not to spoil the web
of his life by idle ways; so the lesson did not need to be repeated.[3]
Thanks to the care of this wise and patient mother, Mencius grew up to
be a famous man.
An old-fashioned Chinese school opens about the sixteenth of the first
moon, or month, and continues for the rest of the year. The teacher
often goes home to attend feasts, weddings, birthdays or funerals; or
when the rice is cut, so that he may get his share of the harvest from
the family fields. In the third month he has to be away worshipping at
the graves of his ancestors; and in the fifth month, when the dragon
boats race each other, and on other festivals in the seventh, tenth and
eleventh months he will probably go home for a day or two. Whenever the
master is away, the boys play and idle in the streets, unless they have
to help with the harvest or run messages for their parents. So you see,
although they do not have regular Easter and summer holidays, they do
not fare badly.
But such schools as this will soon be left only in country villages.
In the larger cities pupils and teachers alike are giving up the old
slow-going ways. In the Government schools the boys wear a uniform and
look like young soldiers. The classes are distinguished by stripes,
like those worn on their arms by privates, corporals, sergeants and
so forth. You can tell the class a boy belongs to by looking at his
arm. When a visitor enters the school a bell tinkles and all the boys
stand up and touch their caps, as soldiers do when saluting an officer.
Inspectors visit the new schools to see how masters and scholars are
doing their work.
[Illustration: KINDERGARTEN PUPILS]
Kindergartens, where little boys and girls go to learn their first
lessons, though new to China, are much liked by the children and
their parents, and before long will become a great power for good in
the land. The little ones love to sing and march in time. Their tiny
fingers are clever at making hills and islands out of sand, or counting
coloured balls and marbles. Their sharp eyes are quick to see picture
lessons, which are drawn for them upon the blackboard, and their ears
attentive to the teacher who explains them. Ears, eyes, hands, feet,
all help the little heads to learn, as reading, writing, geography
and arithmetic are changed from lessons into delightful games, by the
Kindergarten fairy.
When the closing day comes, crowds gather to see the clever babies
march and wave their coloured flags. Fathers and mothers are ever so
proud when they hear their own little children sing action-songs, and
repeat their lessons without a mistake, and they gladly give money to
put up buildings and train teachers for the ‘children’s garden,’ for
that is what Kindergarten means.
Chinese boys and girls are fond of study, and so they will surely make
their country famous once more. The romance of China is not connected
with making love or fighting; it gathers round the boy who is faithful
at his tasks, who takes his degree early and rises to be a great
official. When the reward of years of hard work comes, he goes back to
the old home, bringing comfort and honour to all his friends. This is
the hope which has helped on many a little scholar and made his school
life glad.
This Chinese love of learning has opened a door by which the Gospel may
enter the minds of the people. Wherever missionaries have gone, they
have established schools, in which many children have learnt to know
God’s truth and love the Saviour.