features that you are destined to be emperor, and I offer you in

anticipation the tribute of respect that a subject owes his sovereign. I

have a daughter, the fairest and wisest in the empire; take her as your

wife. So confident am I that my prediction will be realized that I

gladly offer her to you.'"



However that be, the weak descendants of Hoangti soon vanished from the

scene, Pa Wang was overcome in battle, and the successful general seized

the imperial throne. He chose, as emperor, the title of Kaotsou, and

named his dynasty, from his native province, the Han. It was destined to

continue for centuries in power.



The new emperor showed himself a worthy successor of the builder of the

Great Wall, while he made every effort to restore to the nation its

books, encouraging men of letters and seeking to recover such

literature as had survived the great burning. In this way he provided

for his future fame at the hands of the grateful literati of China.

Amnesty to all who had opposed him was proclaimed, and regret expressed

at the sufferings of the people "from the evils which follow in the

train of war."



The merit of Kaotsou lay largely in the great public works with which he

emulated the policy of his energetic predecessor. The "Lofty and August

Emperor" (Kao Hoangti), as he entitled himself, did not propose to be

thrown into the shade by any who had gone before. On taking the throne

he chose as his capital the city of Loyang (now Honan), but subsequently

selected the city of Singanfoo, in the western province of Shensi. This

city lay in a nest of mountains, which made it very difficult of

approach. It was not without advantages from its situation as the

capital of the empire, but could not be reached from the south without

long detours. Possibly this difficulty may have had something to do with

its choice by the emperor, that he might display his genius in

overcoming obstacles.



To construct roads across and to cut avenues through the mountains an

army of workmen, one hundred thousand in number, became necessary. The

deep intervening valleys were filled up to the necessary level by the

spoils rent from the lofty adjoining mountains, and where this could not

be done, great bridges, supported on strong and high pillars, were

thrown across from side to side. Elsewhere suspension bridges--"flying

bridges," as the Chinese call them--were thrown across deep and rugged

ravines, wide enough for four horsemen to travel abreast, their sides

being protected by high balustrades. One of these, one hundred and fifty

yards long, and thrown over a valley more than five hundred feet deep,

is said to be still in perfect condition. These suspension bridges were

built nearly two thousand years before a work of this character was

attempted in Europe. In truth, the period in question, including several

centuries before Christ, was the culminating age of Chinese

civilization, in which appeared its great religious reformers,

philosophers, and authors, its most daring engineers, and its monarchs

of highest public spirit and broadest powers of conception and

execution. It was the age of the Great Wall, the imperial system of

highways, the system of canals (though the Great Canal was of later

date), and other important works of public utility.



By the strenuous labors described Kaotsou rendered his new capital easy

of access from all quarters of the kingdom, while at frequent intervals

along the great high-roads of the empire there were built post-houses,

caravansaries, and other conveniences, so as to make travelling rather a

pleasure than the severe task it formerly had been.



The capital itself was made as attractive as the means of reaching it

were made easy. Siaho, at once an able war minister and a great builder,

planned for the emperor a palace so magnificent that Kaotsou hesitated

in ordering its erection. Siaho removed his doubts with the following

argument: "You should look upon all the empire as your family; and if

the grandeur of your palace does not correspond with that of your

family, what idea will it give of its power and greatness?"



This argument sufficed: the palace was built, and Kaotsou celebrated its

completion with festivities continued for several weeks. On one occasion

during this period, uplifted with a full sense of the dignity to which

he had attained, his pride found vent in the grandiloquent remark,

"To-day I feel that I am indeed emperor, and perceive all the difference

between a subject and his master."



His fondness for splendor was indicated by magnificent banquets and

receptions, and his sense of dignity by a court ceremonial which must

have proved a wearisome ordeal for his courtiers, though none dared

infringe it for fear of dire consequences. Those who had aided him in

his accession to power were abundantly rewarded, with one exception,

that of his father, who seems to have been overlooked in the

distribution of favors. The old man, not relishing thus being left at

the foot of the ladder, took prompt occasion to remind his son of his

claims. Dressing himself in his costliest garments, he presented himself

at the foot of the throne, where, in a speech of deep humility, he

designated himself as the least yet the most obedient subject of the

realm. Kaotsou, thus admonished, at once called a council of ministers

and had the old man proclaimed "the lesser emperor." Taking him by the

hand, he led him to a chair at the foot of the throne as his future

seat. This act of the emperor won him the highest commendation from his

subjects, the Chinese looking upon respect to and veneration of parents

as the duty surpassing all others and the highest evidence of virtue.



Siaho, the palace-builder and war minister, had been specially favored

in this giving of rewards, much to the discontent of the leading

generals, who claimed all the credit for the successes in war, and were

disposed to look with contempt on this mere cabinet warrior. Hearing of

their complaints, Kaotsou summoned them to his presence, and thus

plainly expressed his opinion of their claims:



"You find, I am told, reason to complain that I have rewarded Siaho

above yourselves. Tell me, who are they at the chase who pursue and

capture the prey? The dogs.--But who direct and urge on the dogs? Are

they not the hunters?--You have all worked hard for me; you have pursued

your prey with vigor, and at last captured and overthrown it. In this

you deserve the credit which one gives to the dogs in the chase. But the

merit of Siaho is that of the hunter. It is he who has conducted the

whole of the war, who regulated everything, ordered you to attack the

enemy at the opportune moment, and by his tactics made you master of the

cities and provinces you have conquered. On this account he deserves the

credit of the hunter, who is more worthy of reward than are the dogs

whom he sets loose upon the prey."



One further anecdote is told of this emperor, which is worth repeating,

as its point was aptly illustrated in a subsequent event. Though he had

won the empire by the sword, he was not looked upon as a great general,

and on one occasion asked Hansin, his ablest officer, how many men he

thought he (the emperor) could lead with credit in the field.



"Sire," said the plain-spoken general, "you can lead an army of a

hundred thousand men very well. But that is all."



"And how many can you lead?"



"The more I have the better I shall lead them," was the self-confident

answer.



The event in which the justice of this criticism was indicated arose

during a subsequent war with the Tartars, who had resumed their inroads

into the empire. The Heung-nou were at this period governed by two

leading chiefs, Mehe and Tonghou, the latter arrogant and ambitious, the

former well able to bide his time. The story goes that Tonghou sent to

Mehe a demand for a favorite horse. His kinsmen advised him to refuse,

but Mehe sent the horse, saying, "Would you quarrel with your neighbor

for a horse?" Tonghou soon after sent to demand of Mehe one of his

wives. Mehe again complied, saying to his friends, "Would you have me

undertake a war for the sake of a woman?" Tonghou, encouraged by these

results of his insolence, next invaded Mehe's dominions. The patient

chief, now fully prepared, took the field, and in a brief time had

dispersed Tonghou's army, captured and executed him, and made himself

the principal chief of the clans.



This able leader, having punished his insolent desert foe, soon led his

warlike followers into China, took possession of many fertile

districts, extended his authority to the banks of the Hoang-ho, and sent

plundering expeditions into the rich provinces beyond. In the war that

followed the emperor himself took command of his troops, and, too

readily believing the stories of the weakness of the Tartar army told by

his scouts, resolved on an immediate attack. One of his generals warned

him that "in war we should never despise an enemy," but the emperor

refused to listen, and marched confidently on, at the head of his

advance guard, to find the enemy.



He found him to his sorrow. Mehe had skilfully concealed his real

strength for the purpose of drawing the emperor into a trap, and now, by

a well-directed movement, cut off the rash leader from his main army and

forced him to take refuge in the city of Pingching. Here, vastly

outnumbered and short of provisions, the emperor found himself in a

desperate strait, from which he could not escape by force of arms.



In this dilemma one of his officers suggested a possible method of

release. This was that, as a last chance, the most beautiful virgin in

the city should be sent as a peace-offering to the desert chief. Kaotsou

accepted the plan,--nothing else presenting itself,--and the maiden was

chosen and sent. She went willingly, it is said, and used her utmost

arts to captivate the Tartar chief. She succeeded, and Mehe, after

forcing Kaotsou to sign an ignominious treaty, suffered his prize to

escape, and retired to the desert, well satisfied with the rich spoils

he had won. Kaotsou was just enough to reward the general to whose

warning he had refused to listen, but the scouts who had misled him paid

dearly for their false reports.



This event seems to have inspired Kaotsou with an unconquerable fear of

his desert foe, who was soon back again, pillaging the borders with

impunity and making such daring inroads that the capital itself was not

safe from their assaults. Instead of trusting to his army, the emperor

now bought off his enemy in a more discreditable method than before,

concluding a treaty in which he acknowledged Mehe as an independent

ruler and gave him his daughter in marriage.



This weakness led to revolts in the empire, Kaotsou being forced again

to take the field against his foes. But, worn out with anxiety and

misfortune, his end soon approached, his death-bed being disturbed by

palace intrigues concerning the succession, in which one of his favorite

wives sought to have her son selected as the heir. Kaotsou, not heeding

her petition, chose his eldest son as the heir-apparent, and soon after

died. The tragic results of these intrigues for the crown will be seen

in the following tale.