The Overland Monthly/Volume 1/A Leaf from a Chinese Novel

A LEAF FROM A CHINESE NOVEL.

BOOKMAKING is an old and honorable craft in China. Historians flourished there eight centuries before our era, whose remains still live in the pages of Confucius, who collected them three hundred years after they were written. These chronicles contain all that will ever be known of the sixty-six Emperors that had sat on the "Dragon Throne" before Romulus was born.

Of course, aristocracy is an idea quite consonant with that of an empire, but the Chinese hit upon a singular method of creating one. Passing over military prowess, birth and wealth, they began by declaring Confucius a grandee of the empire, and his descendants enabled by hereditary titles, forbidden to any other members of the nation. Then they decreed the narrow portal to office, fame and dignity alone open to the scholar and man of science.

This system seems perfectly satisfactory to this strange people, who are exceedingly puzzled at mention of our system of party politics and public honors. It must however be admitted, that, while the emoluments of office and the highest consideration of all classes is the just reward of the Chiriese litterateur, there the matter ends. The "classics "are firmly believed to contain absolutely every thing worth knowing; hence, the writer who should presume to wander from that beaten track has nothing to hope for in the way of pecuniary reward.

Copyright is an unheard of notion in China, the supposition being that the author would employ printers and publish his works himself should he deem such an enterprise profitable. In fact, wealthy men of letters sometimes do this, not for gain, but to secure accuracy, and the lowest possible cost to the reader.

It would be considered exceedingly bad taste for an author to put his name on the title page of his book. It would be, say the Chinese, "like the gardener setting up his name in the midst of his flower-beds; people stroll into gardens to be amused, not to busy themselves with the cultivator's name." Besides this, they like books with a flavor of age upon them. "What impertinence," say they, "for a writer to flourish his name about before the public has tested his merits!" It was among such a people that the romance entitled "The Dream of the Red Chamber" appeared, nearly two centuries ago.

As the style of the work is so exceedingly prolix and minute as to be unendurable to the desultory reader, only a few scenes from an introductory chapter will be given, and those, too, the most translatable into an English dress; for it must be confessed that Chinese literature still cuts an awkward figure in the language of Shakspeare and Milton; something like Chinese paintings, admirable in detail, but alas, shocking to the taste formed on science and the rules of perspective.

After whole chapters of what Sterne would call preliminary "digressions on purpose," the author gives a voluminous account of a certain wealthy and titled family resident in Pekin, the capital of China. He says that a subject of this kind is of such an intricate nature, that it brings to his mind the vexation of searching for the clue of a tangled mass of hemp. "Indeed," he continues, "it was fortunate for this story that certain poor relations of the high and mighty Young family were planning an attack upon their purses and good nature." The thing happened in this fashion: A certain Mr. Kaou was the son of a gentleman who had held office under a former sovereign many years before.

This official had so attracted the regards of the famous and powerful Mr. Young, that by a solemn act, called by the Chinese "adoption of ancestry," they had formed a relationship, strictly so regarded in China. Time passed, and with it arose the fortunes of the Young family, while the Kaous seemed never deserted by evil fortune. The present head of the latter family, retiring from the capital, took up his abode in a humble hamlet, where he contrived to exist in a wretched and hopeless poverty. He had married a Miss Lew, who had brought him a son and daughter, not to mention a mother-in-law, an old lady of shrewdness and simplicity, both sides of whose character are perfectly delineated in the various adventures which befal her, as related in this veracious history.

Matters of late had been unprosperous, touching the fortunes of Mr. Kaou. Farming had not paid, and winter was approaching before the least provision had been made to meet its inclemency, or support the family at a season when necessities double and resources dwindle. The anxious farmer, discouraged and dejected, took to drink, and family affairs seemed on the brink of some dreadful crisis, when Madame Lew resolved to put up no longer quietly with her son-in-law's unhappy course of conduct, and she addressed him in the following style:

"My honored son! don't fly in a passion if I should address you in an outspoken fashion, after the manner of honest country folk. As our dish is, so is the amount of rice we eat. When a youth, you had the old man's bin to dip out of, and an easy art then was eating and drinking! Matters forsooth have changed since then; now you get into a fury because you know nothing of gaining money, or keeping it, if even you could obtain it. What a fine fellow—what a noble hero. you will turn out at this rate! Listen! Though living outside of Pekin, we are not as far from Court after all; that

CHINESE NOVEL. [Juty, very city has the ground covered with money, if we only knew how to bring some of it away. Folding yourarms will never solve the question, take my word for it!"

"You old harridan! what do you mean? Would you have me betake myself to the road as a cut-throat?"

"Now who told you to take to the highway? Listen! Do you think that money will know of itself to come running into our house? If we could put our heads together, we might light on some plan that would do our business, just as it ought to be done."

" Do you think now if I had a plan on foot, that I should have waited for your sagacity before putting it into execution? I can but think of powerful friends who have long ago forgotten me; and why, too, should they bother their heads about such as we?"

"Man forms the plan,' and Heaven gives the issue; there is a good deal in a happy chance—let me try my hand in sketching out a project for you.

The rich and powerful family of the Youngs, however distant, are indisputably your relations; the aged and venerable Lady Fung presides with great dignity over the ancestral mansion, and people say that as she advances in years she more than ever compassionates the poor, and pities the aged and needy. If she has forgotten you, there is no one to blame but yourself; striving as you are with a foolish false pride, you don't fancy bending, bowing and scraping to these big people, who know so well how to be cool and distant to the proud and egotistic poor. Heaven has blessed this Lady Fung, who may still remember old friends; take a turn in that direction, and you may find that a hair of her head

is thicker than our waist. The farmer's wife overhearing this

scheme of her mother, now interposed her view of the question.

"Dear old mother! What you say is truth itself, but let me ask you how such countryfied folk as we_are should dare to so much as knock at the doors of the great? No servant would show us in, and a nice thing it would be to have our faces slapped in the presence of the whole world! My decision is—better not go!"

This high-spirited retort might have finally settled the family council, had not the good husband divined a way to save his pride, and yet make use of both the old lady and her advice. He had been gradually relaxing all the time, and at length smiling, suddenly changed his tactics.

"Good, old mother! you know these people better than I do; why should you not like to ramble in the direction of this great family yourself?"

"Nonsense! a nobleman's door is as wide as the sea, and who am I to venture into it? The footmen would turn me out, and I should have my labor for my pains!"

"Now, old lady, don't give up at this rate; if in the city you can meet with a certain Mr. Chow, a dependent of Lady Fung's, you may open every door of her mansion, though they were fastened with ten bolts!"

"Oh, yes, I knew all about the Chows, but, dear me, how, are people to know what sort of persons they are now after so many years of non-intercourse! This is the real difficulty of coming at the Chows for help. Well! well! I think I'll go myself with the little boy, for my daughter must not be seen selling her head to buy feet for such a stroll."

The next day old Madame Lew departs at dawn, and while the day was still young, reaches the Young mansion. After whole pages of diplomacy and intrigue, enough to have settled the affairs of a kingdom, the "genteel upper servants" of the establishment are induced to admit the visitors into the great drawing-room.

The hand-maiden, Miss Ping, lifts the embroidered red screen, and ushers in the old peasant woman and her charge into a vast hall, magnificently furnished with gilded lanterns and carved seats, a la Chinoise, all very costly, very grand and very uncomfortable.

Madam Lew, however, was quite fascinated by an extraordinary ticking sound, quite resembling the winnowing of flour in a machine; nor could she help gazing around for the cause of this unusual phenomenon. All of a sudden she spied in the centre of the hall a sort of box suspended on a pillar. At the bottom of this was hanging down a something like the balance weight of a steel-yard, which kept constantly wagging to and fro. "What in the name of goodness," thought the old lady, "is this? What can be the use of it?" Just then rung out a sound "dingdong," as if proceeding from a golden bell or brazen cymbal; she started to her feet with alarm, but the same sounds continued to strike ever so many times.

This extraordinary article of furniture was nothing more startling than an European clock, announcing the very hour when the great lady made her appearance in the reception room. She enters and her visitors fall upon their knees; an explanation follows, and the whole company are soon engaged in easy conversation. It soon takes the following turn. Lady Fung desirous of ascertaining the real motive of her humble visitor, says:

"Want of intercourse makes relatives but cold and distant; some will look down upon others, whom they will accuse of considering no one as good as themselves."

"Our circumstances, dear madam, have at home been very straightened, so we have been quite unable to visit you. Surely you would not have us slap your ladyship on the mouth, by our uncouth poverty!"

"Nay, such words wound the heart; even the Emperor has three families to provide for: his sisters, his mother's and his wife's relations."

"That's true, which reminds me of

what I wanted to say. I ought not indeed to mention it, considering that today I meet your ladyship for the first time for so long a period, but indeed, I have come a long distance, running to you, as it were, to a kind friend!"

The poor relation is proud, (that last luxury of the hun bled!) and proceeds to hide what the confession is costing her, by addressing the child:

"Here, Pan-rh!" go to this lady, (leads the child before her) and tell her what your father sent as a message! Why did he send us to this noble lady? Wasit for nothing? Ah, you know they are ill at ease at home, while the larder is empty and winter at hand!" The great lady had long ere this divined the meaning of this little scene, and to hide her feelings, exclaimed,

"Don't say another word! all about it!"

A repast is then set out wherewith to treat the visitors, after which Madam Lew and the boy return thanks and the great lady continues.

"Be good enough to be seated and listen to what I am going to say. I thoroughly understand the object of your visit, which I am sure was kindly meant. Indeed, we on our side should not have waitetl for you to first cross our threshold, before looking after you; but the fact is, the care of a large establishment leave us but little leisure to hunt up old friends."

Of course the Chinese novelist is now in the pure region of romance. The lady continues:

"Your kind visit, however, shows a proper spirit; you have come a long distance, and I am glad that a lucky chance enables me to offer to your acceptance a few ounces of silver, just for present use."

Madam Lew's eyes fairly laughed, as another proverb slipped out of her mouth. "To be sure," exclaimed she, "you have very many calls for money; but you know that though the camel die

I know

CHINESE NOVEL. [Juty, of leanness, he is always bigger than a horse."

A servant is then ordered to hand twenty ounces of silver to the poor relation, who is shown out of the mansion, with an invitation to "come again," and here the curtain falls.

Such is the picture drawn by the popular Chinese novelist of the artful simplicity of peasant life in China, and the kindly, well-bred life of the upper class of his countrymen. For literary readers of our day and country the entire work, as large as a three-volume romance, would be found far too tedious and minute to please the present taste for stimulant, that nothing less than stirring effects on every other page, at least, can satisfy. The lymphatic Chinese abhor excitement. Their national taste craves the dreamy repose of the opium-pipe, not the maddening wine-cup. Their antiquated literature has but little attraction for us, enriched as we are by the spoils of Greece and Rome, transfused into a discipline of thought and mental activity which Asia never knew. But it would be a mistake to despise any literature that can influence millions of minds, or solace millions of readers in a reading country. _ There may be conscientious delvers in the mines of thought, even in China. CONFUCIUS has already taken his place on our bookshelves, not very far from English philosophers; and who knows but ere long lesser lights from the land of Sinim may demand recognition in the broad arena of world-thought? Who does not recognize in the almost delirious activity of the nineteenth century, the supreme desire of the nations for "more light?" While we have put every land, every nation, under contribution for material good, we shall not fail to share their stores of wisdom and beauty, locked up in strange tongues though they be. It is our boast to be the teachers of the world; we are young yet, and can still afford to learn of our elders.