Part 3 — CHINESE LITERATURE.
Reading edition
ON THE ORIGIN AND NATURE OF FILIAL DUTY.
Confucius, sitting at leisure with his pupil, Tsang Tsan, by his side, said to him: “Do you understand how the ancient kings who possessed the greatest virtue and best moral principles, rendered the whole empire so obedient that the people lived in peace and harmony, and no ill-will existed between superiors and inferiors?” Tsang Tsan replied, “Destitute as I am of discernment, how can I understand the subject?” “Filial duty,” said the sage, “is the root of virtue, and the stem from which instruction in moral principles springs forth. The first thing which filial duty requires of us is that we preserve from all injury, and in a perfect state, the bodies which we have received from our parents. And when we acquire for ourselves a station in the world, that we regulate our conduct by correct principles, so as to transmit our names to future generations, and reflect glory on our parents: this is the ultimate aim of filial duty. Thus it commences in attention to our parents; is continued through a series of services rendered to the prince; and is completed by the elevation of ourselves. It is said in the ‘Book of Odes,’
“‘Think always of your ancestors, Talk of and imitate their virtues.’” —From “Hian King;” or, “Memoir on Filial Duty.”
THE IMPROVEMENT OF ONE’S SELF.
The ancients who wished to restore reason to its due lustre throughout the empire, first regulated the provinces which they each governed. Desirous of governing well their own kingdoms, they previously established order and virtue in their own houses; for the sake of establishing domestic order they began with self-renovation; to renovate their own minds, they first gave a right direction to their own affections; wishing to direct their passions aright, they corrected their ideas and desires, and to rectify these they enlarged their knowledge to the utmost. Now, this enlargement of knowledge consists in a most thorough and minute acquaintance with the nature of things around us. A thorough acquaintance with the nature of things around us renders knowledge deep and consummate; from thence proceed just ideas and desires; erroneous ideas once corrected, the affections of the soul move in the right direction; the passions thus rectified, the mind naturally obeys reason, and the empire of reason restored in the soul, domestic order follows, of course; from thence flows order throughout the whole province; and one province rightly governed may serve as a model for a whole kingdom.—From “Ta Hioh;” or, “Superior Lessons.”
SENTENCES FROM CONFUCIUS.
Grieve not that men know you not, but grieve that you are ignorant of men.
Have no friends unlike yourself.
Learning, without reflection, will profit nothing; reflection, without learning, will leave the mind uneasy and miserable.
Knowledge produces pleasure clear as water; complete virtue brings happiness, solid as a mountain; knowledge pervades all things; virtue is tranquil and happy; knowledge is delight; virtue is long life.
The sage’s conduct is affection and benevolence in operation.
The man who possesses complete virtue wishes to fix his mind therein, and also to fix the minds of others; he wishes to be wise himself and would fain render others equally wise.
Those who, searching for virtue, refuse to stay among the virtuous, how can they obtain knowledge?
In your appearance to fall below decency would be to resemble a savage rustic, to exceed it would be to resemble a fop; let your appearance be decent and moderate, then you will resemble the honorable man.
When I first began with men, I heard words and gave credit for conduct, now I hear words and observe conduct.
The perfect man is never satisfied with himself; he that is satisfied with himself is not perfect.
He that is desirous to improve is not ashamed to ask of others.
Sin in a virtuous man is like an eclipse of the sun and moon, all men gaze at it and it passes away; the virtuous man mends and the world stands in admiration of his fall.
Patience is the most necessary thing to have in this world.
—From “Lun Yu;” or, “Conversations of Confucius.”
A BALLAD ON “PICKING TEA IN THE GARDENS IN SPRINGTIME.”
Our household dwells amid ten thousand hills, Where the tea north and south of the village abundantly grows. From chinsé to kuhyü unceasingly hurried, Each morning I must early rise to do my task of tea. By earliest dawn, I at my toilet, only half dress my hair, And seizing my basket pass the door while yet the mist is thick. The little maids and graver dames, hand in hand winding along, Ask me, “Which steep of Sunglo do you climb to-day?” The sky is thick and the dusky twilight hides the hilltops; The dewy leaves and cloudy buds can not be easily plucked. We know not for whom their thirst to quench We’re caused to labor and daily two by two to go. In social couples each to aid her fellows, we seize the tea twigs, And in low words urge one another, “Don’t delay,” Lest on the topmost bough, the bud has even now grown old, And lest with the morrow comes the drizzling, silky rain. We’ve picked enough, the topmost boughs are sparse of leaves; We lift our baskets filled brimful and talk of going home; Laughing we pass along, when just against the pool A pair of scared mallards rise and fly diverse away. This pool has limpid water, and there deep the lotus grows; Its little leaves are round as coins, and only yet half-blown; Going to the jutting verge, near a clear and shallow spot, I mark my present looks, try how of late my face appears. My curls and hair are all awry, my face is quite begrimed; In whose house lives the girls so ugly as your slave? ’Tis only because that every day the tea I’m forced to pick, The soaking rains and driving winds have spoiled my early charms. With the morning comes the wind and rain together, fierce and high, But the little hat and basket tall still must I take along; The tender leaflets fully picked, we to our homes return, When each sees her fellow’s dress all soiled with miry slime. This morn without the door, I beheld a pleasant sky; Quickly I combed my girlish tufts and firmly set my pin; With rapid steps away I speed towards the garden’s path, And forgetful of the muddy way, omit to change my shoes. When just within the garden bounds, I hear the thunder roll; My bowing shoes are soaked quite through, yet still I can’t return; I call my distant comrade to send my message home, And have my green umbrella-hat set hither to me soon. The rain is past, the outmost leaflets show their greenish veins; Pull down a branch and the fragrant scent’s diffused around; Both high and low the yellow golden threads are now quite culled, And my clothes and frock are dyed with odors through and through. The sweet and fragrant perfume’s like that from the aglaia; In goodness and appearance my tea will be the best in Wuyuen, When all are picked, the new buds, by next term, will burst forth, And this morning the last third gathering is quite done. Each picking is with toilsome labor, but yet I shun it not. My maiden curls are all askew, my pearly fingers all benumbed; But I only wish our tea to be of a superfine kind, To have it equal the “sparrow’s tongue” and “dragon’s pellet.” For a whole month when can I catch a single leisure day? For at earliest dawn I go to pick and not till dusk return; Then the deep midnight sees me still before the firing pan; Will not labor like this my pearly complexion deface? But if my face is thin my mind is firmly fixed, So to fire my golden buds that they shall excel all besides; But how know I who shall put them in the jewelled cup? Whose taper fingers will give them to the maid to draw? At a bright fire she makes the tea, her sorrows flee away; Where shall she learn our toil who so tender picked it all? How that without a sign the fierce winds and rains did rise, Drenching and soaking our persons as if plunged into a bath. But though my heaving bosom like a well-sweep rise and fall, Still patient in my poverty and care I’ll never shun my usual toil; My only thought shall be to have new tea well fired, That the flag and awl be well rolled and show their whitened down.
THE MENDER OF CRACKED CHINAWARE.
Dramatis Personæ: Niu Chau, a wandering tinker. Wang Niang, a young girl.
Scene: a Street.—[Niu Chau enters. Across his shoulder is a bamboo, to each end of which are suspended boxes containing the various tools and implements of his trade, and a small stool. He is dressed meanly; his face and head are painted and decorated in a fantastic manner.]
[Sings.] Seeking a livelihood by the work of my hands, Daily do I traverse the streets of the city. [Speaks.] Well, here I am, a mender of broken jars, An unfortunate victim of ever-changing plans. To repair old fractured jars Is my sole occupation and support. ’Tis even so, I have no other employment.
[Takes his boxes from his shoulder, places them on the ground, sits beside them, and drawing out his fan, continues speaking.]
A disconsolate old man, I am a slave to inconveniences. For several days past, I have been unable to go abroad, But observing this morning a clear sky and fine air, I was induced to recommence my street wanderings. [Sings.] At dawn I left my home, But as yet have had no job. Hither and yon, and on all sides, From the east gate to the west, From the south gate to the north, And all over within the walls Have I been, but no one has called For the mender of cracked jars. Unfortunate man! But this being my first visit to the city of Nanking, Some extra exertion is necessary. Time is lost sitting idle here, And so to roam again I go.
[Shoulders his boxes and stool, and walks about, crying: “Plates mended! bowls mended! jars and pots neatly repaired!”]
Lady Wang (heard within).—Did I not hear the cry of the mender of cracked jars? I’ll open the door and look. [She enters, looking around] Yes, there comes the repairer of jars.
Niu Chau.—Pray have you a jar to mend? I have long been seeking a job. Did you not call?
Lady W.—What is your charge for a large jar; and how much for a small one?
Niu Chau.—For large jars, one mace five.
Lady W.—And for small ones?
Niu Chau.—Fifty pair of cash.
Lady W.—To one mace five and fifty pair of cash, add nine candareens, and a new jar may be had.
Niu Chau.—What, then, will you give?
Lady W.—I will give one candareen for either size.
Niu Chau.—Well, lady, how many cash can I get for this candareen?
Lady W.—Why, if the price be high, you will get eight cash.
Niu Chau.—And if low?
Lady W.—You will get but seven cash and a half.
Niu Chau.—O, you wicked, tantalizing thing!
[Sings.] Since leaving home this morning, I have met but with a trifler, Who, in the shape of an old wife, Tortures and gives me no job; I’ll shoulder again my boxes, continue my walk, And never again will I return to the house of Wang.
[He moves off slowly.]
Lady W.—Jar-mender! return, quickly return; with a loud voice I entreat you; for I have something on which I wish to consult with you.
Niu Chau.—What is it on which you wish to consult me?
Lady W.—I will give you a hundred cash to mend a large jar.
Niu Chau.—And for mending a small one?
Lady W.—And for mending a small one, thirty pair of cash.
Niu Chau.—One hundred and thirty pair—truly, lady, this is worth consulting about. Lady Wang, where shall I mend them?
Lady W.—Follow me. [They move toward the door of the house.]
[Sings.] Before walks the Lady Wang.
Niu Chau.—And behind comes the pu-kang (or jar-mender).
Lady W.—Here, then, is the place.
Niu Chau.—Lady Wang, permit me to pay my respects. [Bows repeatedly in a ridiculous manner.] We can exchange civilities. I congratulate you; may you prosper.
Lady W.—Here is the jar; now go to work and mend it.
Niu Chau.—[Takes the jar in his hand and tosses it about, examining it.] This jar has certainly a very appalling fracture.
Lady W.—Therefore it requires the more care in mending.
Niu Chau.—That is self evident.
Lady W.—Now Lady Wang will retire again to her dressing-room, And after closing the doors, will resume her toilet. Her appearance she will beautify, On the left, her hair she will comb into a dragon’s-head tuft, On the right she will arrange it tastefully with flowers, Her lips she will color with blood-red vermilion, And a gem of chrysoprase will she place in the dragon’s-head tuft; Then, having completed her toilet, she will return to the door, And sit down to look at the jar mender.
[Exit.]
[Niu Chau sits down, straps the jar on his knee, and arranges his tools before him, and as he drills holes for the clamps, sings—]
Every hole drilled requires a pin, And every two holes drilled requires pins a pair. As I raise my head and look around—
[At this moment Lady Wang returns, beautifully dressed, and sits down by the door]
There sits, I see, a delicate young lady, Before she had the appearance of an old wife, Now she is transformed into a handsome young girl; On the left, her hair is combed into a dragon’s head tuft, On the right it is adorned tastefully with flowers. Her lips are like plums, her mouth is all smiles, Her eyes are brilliant as the phœnix’s; and She stands on golden lilies, but two inches long. I look again, another look—down drops the jar.
[The jar at this moment falls, and is broken to pieces.]
[Speaks.] Heigh-ya! Here then is a dreadful smash.
Lady W.—You have but to replace it with another, and do so quickly.
Niu Chau.—For one that was broken, a good one must be given. Had two been broken, then were a pair to be supplied; an old one being smashed, a new one must replace it.
Lady W.—You have destroyed the jar, and return me nothing but words. Give me a new one, then you may return home, not before.
Niu Chau.—Here on my knees upon the hard ground, I beg Lady Wang, while she sits above, to listen to a few words. Let me receive pardon for the accident her beauty has occasioned, and I will at once make her my wife.
Lady W.—Impudent old man! How presume to think that I ever can become your wife!
Niu Chau.—Yes, it is true, I am somewhat older than Lady Wang, yet would I make her my wife.
Lady W.—No matter, then, for the accident, but leave me now at once.
Niu Chau.—Since you have forgiven me, I again shoulder my boxes, And I will go elsewhere in search of a wife; And here, before high heaven, I swear never again to come near the house of Wang. You a great lady! You are but a vile, ragged girl, And will yet be glad to take up with a much worse companion.
[Going away, he suddenly throws off his upper dress, and appears as a handsome young man.]
Lady W.—Henceforth give up your wandering profession, And marry me. Quit the trade of a jar-mender. With the Lady Wang pass happily the remainder of your life.
[They embrace and exeunt.]
—Chi. Rep., vol. VI., p. 576.
