It is an almost universally-received creed that behind the suicidal
prejudices and laughable superstitions of the Chinese there is a
mysterious fund of solid learning hidden away in the uttermost
recesses--far beyond the ken of occidentals--of that _terra
incognita_, Chinese literature. Sinologues darkly hint at elaborate
treatises on the various sciences, impartial histories and candid
biographies, laying at the same time extraordinary stress on the
extreme difficulty of the language in which they are written, and
carefully mentioning the number (sometimes fabulous) of the volumes of
which each is composed. Hence, probably, it results that few students
venture to push their reading beyond novels, and remain during the
whole of their career in a state of darkness as to that literary
wealth of China which enthusiasts delight to compare with her
unexplored mines of metal and coal. Inasmuch, however, as it is not
absolutely necessary to read a book from beginning to end to be able
to form a pretty correct judgment as to its value, so, many students
who are sufficiently advanced to read a novel with ease and without
the help of a teacher, might readily gain an insight into a large
enough number of the most celebrated scientific or historical works to
enable them to comprehend the true worth of the whole of this vast
literature. For vast it undoubtedly is, though our own humble efforts
to appraise it justly, in comparison of course with the other
literatures of the world, brought upon us in the first hours of
discovery that some years of assiduous toil had been positively thrown
away. Sir W. Hamilton, if we recollect rightly, said that by so many
more languages as a man knows, by so many more times is he a man--an
apophthegm of but a shallow kind if all he meant to convey was that an
Englishman who can speak French is also a Frenchman by virtue of his
knowledge of the colloquial. The opening up of new fields of thought
through the medium of a new literature, is a result more worthy the
effort of acquiring a foreign language than sparkling in a _salon_
with the purest imaginable accent; and herein Sir W. Hamilton counted
without Chinese. The greater portion of the "Classics," cherished
tomes to which China thinks even now she owes her intellectual
supremacy over the rest of the world, is open through Dr Legge's
translation to all Englishmen, and those who run may read, weighing it
in the balance and determining its status among the ethical systems
either of the past or present. Had we found as much that is solid in
other departments of Chinese literature, as there is mixed up with the
occasional nonsense and obscurity of the Four Books, our protest would
have taken a milder form; as it is, we think it right to condemn any
and all random assertions which tend to strengthen in the minds of
those who have no opportunity of judging, the belief that China is
possessed of a vast and valuable literature, in which, for aught any
one knows to the contrary, there may lie buried gems of purest ray
serene. Can it be supposed that, if true, nothing of all this has yet
been brought to light? There have been, and are now, foreigners
possessing a much wider knowledge of Chinese literature than many
natives of education, but, strange to say, such translations as have
hitherto been given to the world have been chiefly confined to plays
and novels! We hold that all those whom tastes or circumstances have
led to acquire a knowledge of the Chinese language have a great duty
to perform, and this is to contribute each something to the scanty
quota of translations from Chinese now existing. Let us see what the
poets, historians, and especially the scientific men of China have
produced to justify so many in speaking as they have done, and still
do speak, of her bulky literature. Many, we think, will be deterred by
the grave nonsense or childish superstitions which they dare not
submit to foreign judges as the result of their labours in this
fantastic field; but to withhold such is to leave the public where it
was before, at the mercy of unscrupulous or crazed enthusiasts.
We were led into this train of thought by an article in the _North
China Daily News_ of 10th July 1874, in which the writer speaks of
China as "a luxuriant mental oasis amidst the sterility of Eastern
Asia," and "possessing a literature in vastness and antiquarian value
surpassed by no other." He goes on to say that the translations
hitherto made "have conveyed to us a faint notion of the compass,
variety, solidity, and linguistic beauties of that literature." Such
statements as these admit, unfortunately, of rhetorical support,
sufficient to convince outsiders that at any rate there are two sides
to the question, a conviction which could only be effectually
dispelled by placing before them a few thousand volumes translated
into English, and chosen by the writer of the article himself.[*]
When, however, our enthusiast deals with more realisable facts, and
says that in China "there is no organised book trade, nor publishers'
circulars, nor Quaritch's Catalogues, nor any other catalogues whether
of old or new books for sale," we can assure him he knows nothing at
all about the matter; that there is now lying on our table a very
comprehensive list of new editions of standard works lately published
at a large book-shop in Wu-chang Fu, with the price of each work
attached; and that Mr Wylie, in his "Notes on Chinese Literature,"
devotes five entire pages to the enumeration of some thirty well-known
and voluminous catalogues of ancient and modern works.
[*] Baron Johannes von Gumpach. Died at Shanghai, 31st July 1875.