How The Empire Of China Arose And Grew

From the history of Japan we now turn to that of China, a far older and

more extensive kingdom, so old, indeed, that it has now grown decrepit,

while Japan seems still in the glow of vigorous youth. But, as our tales

will show, there was a long period in the past during which China was

full of youthful energy and activity, and there may be a time in the

future when a new youth will come to that hoary kingdom, the most

enerable of any existing upon the face of the earth.



Who the Chinese originally were, whence they came, how long they have

dwelt in their present realm, are questions easier to ask than to

answer. Their history does not reach back to their origin, except in

vague and doubtful outlines. The time was when that great territory

known as China was the home of aboriginal tribes, and the first

historical sketch given us of the Chinese represents them as a little

horde of wanderers, destitute of houses, clothing, and fire, living on

the spoils of the chase, and on roots and insects in times of scarcity.



These people were not sons of the soil. They came from some far-off

region. Some think that their original home lay in the country to the

southeast of the Caspian, while later theorists seek to trace their

origin in Babylonia, as an offshoot of the Mongolian people to whom that

land owed its early language and culture. From some such place the

primitive Chinese made their way by slow stages to the east, probably

crossing the head-waters of the Oxus and journeying along the southern

slopes of the Tian-Shan Mountains.



All this is conjecture, but we touch firmer soil when we trace them to

the upper course of the Hoang-ho, or Yellow River, whose stream they

followed eastward until they reached the fertile plains of the district

now known as Shan-se. Here the immigrants settled in small colonies, and

put in practice those habits of settled labor which they seem to have

brought with them from afar. Yet there is reason to believe that they

had at one time been nomads, belonging to the herding rather than to the

agricultural races of the earth. Many of the common words in their

language are partly made up of the characters for sheep and cattle, and

the Chinese house so resembles the Tartar tent in outline that it is

said that the soldiers of Genghis Khan, on taking a city, at once pulled

down the walls of the houses and left the roof supported by its wooden

columns as an excellent substitute for a tent.



However that be, the new-comers seem to have quickly become farmers,

growing grain for food and flax for their garments. The culture of the

silk-worm was early known, trade was developed, and fairs were held.

There was intellectual culture also. They knew something of astronomy,

and probably possessed the art of hieroglyphic writing,--which, if they

came from Babylonia, they may well have brought with them.



This took place five thousand years or more ago, and for a long time the

history of the Chinese was that of the conquest of the native tribes.

They name themselves the "black-haired race," but their foes are classed

as "fiery dogs" in the north, "great bowmen" in the east, "mounted

warriors" in the west, and "ungovernable vermin" in the south. Against

these savages war was probably long continued, the invaders gradually

widening their area, founding new states, driving back the natives into

the mountains and deserts, and finally so nearly annihilating them that

only a small remnant remained. The descendants of these, the Meaou-tsze,

mountain-dwellers, still remain hostile to China, and hold their own in

the mountain strongholds against its armies.



Such was the China with which history opens. Ancient Chinese writers

amuse themselves with a period of millions of years in which venerable

dynasties reigned, serving to fill up the vast gap made by their

imagination in the period before written history began. And when history

does appear it is not easy to tell how much of it is fact and how much

fiction. The first ruler named, Yew-chaou She (the Nest-having), was the

chief who induced the wanderers to settle within the bend of the Yellow

River and make huts of boughs. After him came Suy-jin She (the

Fire-maker), who discovered the art of producing fire by the friction of

two pieces of dry wood, also how to count and register time by means of

knots tied in cords. Fuh-he discovered iron by accident, and reigned one

hundred and fifteen years. Chin-nung invented the plough, and in one day

discovered seventy poisonous plants and as many antidotes. Under

Hoang-ti the calendar was regulated, roads were constructed, vessels

were built, and the title of Ti, or Emperor, was first assumed.

Hoang-ti means "Yellow Emperor," and became a favorite name with the

founders of later dynasties. His wife, Se-ling-she, was the first to

unravel silk from cocoons and weave it into cloth. Several others

followed, all partly or wholly fabulous, until Yao ascended the throne

in 2356 B.C. With this emperor history begins to throw off some little

of the mist of legend and mythology.



With the reign of Yao the historical work of Confucius begins. His

narrative is not trustworthy history, but it is not pure fable. Yao and

Shun, his successor, are two of the notable characters in the ancient

annals of China. Under them virtue reigned supreme, crime was unknown,

and the empire grew in extent and prosperity. The greatest difficulty

with which they had to contend was the overflow of the Hoang-ho, an

unruly stream, which from that day to this has from time to time swept

away its banks and drowned its millions. Yu, the next emperor, drained

off the waters of the mighty flood,--which some have thought the same as

the deluge of Noah. This work occupied him for nine years. His last

notable act was to denounce the inventor of an intoxicating drink made

from rice, from which he predicted untold misery to the people.



All this comes to us from the Confucian "Book of History," which goes on

with questionable stories of many later emperors. They were not all good

and wise, like most of those named. Some of the descendants of Yu became

tyrants and pleasure-seekers, their palaces the seats of scenes of

cruelty and debauchery surpassing the deeds of Nero. Two emperors in

particular, Kee and Chow, are held up as monsters of wickedness and

examples of dissoluteness beyond comparison. The last, under the

influence of a woman named Ta-Ke, became a frightful example of

sensuality and cruelty. Among the inventions of Ta-Ke was a cylinder of

polished brass, along which her victims were forced to walk over a bed

of fire below, she laughing in great glee if they slipped and fell into

the flames. In fact, Chinese invention exhausts itself in describing the

crimes and immoral doings of this abominable pair, which, fortunately,

we are not obliged to believe.



Of the later emperors, Mou Wang, who came to the throne about 1000 B.C.,

was famed as a builder of palaces and public works, and was the first of

the emperors to come into conflict with the Tartars of the Mongolian

plains, who afterwards gave China such endless trouble. He travelled

into regions before unknown, and brought a new breed of horses into

China, which, fed on "dragon grass," were able to travel one thousand

li in a day. As this distance is nearly four hundred miles, it would

be well for modern horsemen if some of that dragon grass could yet be

found.



It is not worth while going on with the story of these early monarchs,

of whom all we know is so brief and unimportant as not to be worth the

telling, while little of it is safe to believe. In the "burning of the

books," which took place later, most of the ancient history disappeared,

while the "Book of History" of Confucius, which professes to have taken

from the earlier books all that was worth the telling, is too meagre and

unimportant in its story to be of much value.



Yet, if we can believe all we are told, the historians of China were at

any time ready to become martyrs in the cause of truth, and gave the

story of the different reigns with singular fidelity and intrepidity.

Mailla relates the following incident: "In the reign of the emperor Ling

Wang of the Chow dynasty, 548 B.C., Chang Kong, Prince of Tsi, became

enamoured of the wife of Tsouichow, a general, who resented the affront

and killed the prince. The historians attached to the household of the

prince recorded the facts, and named Tsouichow as the murderer. On

learning this the general caused the principal historian to be arrested

and slain, and appointed another in his place. But as soon as the new

historian entered upon his office he recorded the exact facts of the

whole occurrence, including the death of his predecessor and the cause

of his death. Tsouichow was so much enraged at this that he ordered all

the members of the Tribunal of History to be executed. But at once the

whole literary class in the principality of Tsi set to work exposing and

denouncing the conduct of Tsouichow, who soon perceived that his wiser

plan would be to reconstitute the Tribunal and to allow it to follow

its own devices."



Other stories to the same effect are told. They are very likely

exaggerated, but there is good reason to believe that the literary class

of China were obstinate to the verge of martyrdom in maintaining the

facts and traditions of the past, and that death signified to them less

than dishonor. We shall see a striking instance of this in the story of

Hoang-ti, the burner of the books.



In the period to which we have now come, China was far from being the

great empire it is to-day. On the south it did not extend beyond the

great river Yang-tse-Kiang, all the region to the south being still held

by the native tribes. On the north the Tartar tribes occupied the

steppes. At the fall of the Chow dynasty, in 255 B.C., the empire

extended through five degrees of latitude and thirteen of longitude,

covering but a small fraction of its present area.



And of this region only a minor portion could fairly be claimed as

imperial soil. The bulk of it was held by feudal princes, whose

ancestors had probably conquered their domains ages before, and some of

whom held themselves equal to the emperor in power and pride. They

acknowledged but slight allegiance to the imperial government, and for

centuries the country was distracted by internal warfare, until the

great Hoang-ti, whose story we have yet to tell, overthrew feudalism,

and for the first time united all China into a single empire.



The period that we have so rapidly run over embraces no less than two

thousand years of partly authentic history, and a thousand or more years

of fabulous annals, during which China steadily grew, though of what we

know concerning it there is little in which any absolute trust can be

placed. Yet it was in this period that China made its greatest progress

in literature and religious reform, and that its great lawgivers

appeared. With this phase of its history we shall deal in the succeeding

tale.