ANALYSIS OF WORKS.

ART. XXVI.-1. Tchao-chi-kou-eul, ou l'Orphelin de la Chine, Drame en Prose et en Vers, suivi de Mélanges de Littérature Chinoise, traduits par S. JULIEN, Membre de l'Institut. Paris, 1834.

8vo.

2. Pe-shi-tsing-ki: Blanche et Bleue, ou les deux Couleuvres Fées; Roman Chinois, traduit par S. JULIEN. Paris, 1834. 8vo.

M. STANISLAS JULIEN, the worthy successor of the lamented ABEL REMUSÁT, has commenced his career as professor of Chinese literature by publishing translations of some of the popular tales that best illustrate the habits of thought and action which prevail in the celestial empire. As ours is not exactly a critical journal, we shall not offer any opinion on the merits of these works; but in pursuance of our plan of diffusing information on oriental subjects, we shall offer to our readers such abstracts and specimens of the several tales as may serve to illustrate the character of the Chinese school of fiction, and, consequently, the state of the Chinese mind-for popular tales may justly be regarded as the personification of popular principles. Want of space rather than inclination prevents us from examining, at the same time, the professor's specimens of the Chinese drama; but as he proposes soon to translate some additional plays, we shall have another opportunity of directing attention to the subject. We shall at present confine ourselves to the romances, and we shall preserve the French orthography of proper names, as we are about to give only the outlines, not the translations of the tales.

THE DEATH OF TONG-TCHO.

Towards the close of the second century of the Christian era, a little before the termination of the Han dynasty, a wicked minister, named TONG-TCHо, had usurped supreme authority in China, which he maintained by the most atrocious cruelties. His adopted son LIU-POU rivalled him in wickedness, and the following account is given as a specimen of their crimes.

One day the minister was informed that some hundreds of soldiers who had revolted, but were now returned to their duty, approached the capital. TONG-TCHO went to meet them at the gate of the city,

and all the magistrates followed in his train. TONG-TCHO invited his followers to dinner; scarcely had they been seated, when he ordered all the captive soldiers to be horribly tortured in their presence. Some were deprived of their hands and feet, others had their eyes torn out; they cut away the tongues of some, and threw others into caldrons of boiling water. Bleeding and mutilated, the wretches asked for pardon, and vainly struggled against death.

The magistrates shook with fear and horror; they let fall their chopsticks, and disregarded the sumptuous banquet before them. TONG-TCHO Continued to eat and drink, bursting forth at times into roars of laughter. The magistrates wished to leave the hall.

"I have killed the rebels," said TONG-TCHO, "why should you be afraid?"

"I saw a black cloud ascending to heaven," said the keeper of the records; "that is an evil omen for the great officers of state."

On the next day TONG-TCHO had assembled all the magistrates in his palace, and had ranged them in two rows. When the wine had frequently gone the round of the assembly, LIU-POU approached TONG-TCHO and whispered in his ear.

"What! is that true?" said TONG-TCHO, smiling. Immediately he ordered LIU-Pou to seize TCHANG-WEN, the minister of public works, by the hair, and drag him out of the room. All the magistrates changed countenance.

"Yesterday," said TONG-TCHO, "the keeper of the records announced misfortune to the great officers of state, and it was to this fellow his prediction referred."

After the lapse of some minutes, a domestic presented, on a red plate, the head of TCHANG-WEN.

TONG-TCHO Ordered LIU-POU to pour out wine to the guests, and at the same time exhibit the bleeding head to each. The magistrates were filled with terror; they dared not look at each other, for fear of betraying the horror that froze their blood!

WANG-YUN, a virtuous minister, had witnessed these sanguinary scenes, and on his return home anxiously pondered on the means of rescuing his country from such atrocious tyranny. A female servant that he had educated with the most tender care, witnessed his anxieties, and could not suppress her grief when she saw the restless motions that told of his mental struggles. The sight of the lovely maiden suggested a project to WANG-YUN, which he instantly prepared to execute. He proposed to offer her in marriage both to TONG-TCHO and LIU-POU, hoping that their mutual jealousy might prepare the way for their mutual destruction. TIAO-TCHAN, such was the damsel's

name, entered readily into the scheme, and promised to second it with her utmost efforts.

WANG-YUN invited LIU-POU to dinner, and presented the maiden as his daughter; LIU-POU was so enchanted with her appearance, that he instantly made proposals of marriage, and a day was fixed for the nuptials. TONG-TCHO was in the meantime invited, and TIAOTCHAN appeared before him as a music girl. The minister ordered her to be immediately conveyed to his palace. Nothing could exceed the rage of LIU-POU when he received this intelligence; and his wrath was craftily aggravated by WANG-YUN, who averred that he had told the minister of the contract between the maiden and his son. At the same time, TIAO-TCHAN added fresh fuel to the flame, by pretending the most extravagant grief for the loss of her proposed husband.

In the mean time a secret order for the death of TONG-TCHO had been obtained from the emperor, and the execution of it was intrusted by WANG-YUN to LIU-POU, at a moment when rage and jealousy had driven him almost to madness, and the wicked minister was slain. All the males and females belonging to his family were exterminated, and the instruments of his cruelty were sacrificed to popular vengeance.

This tale is an episode from a great historical romance, extending to twenty volumes, said to be one of the works most valued by the Chinese literati.

We come next to a tale of domestic life, entitled,

THE MYSTERIOUS PAINTING.

Under the Ming dynasty, in the early part of the fifteenth century, there lived an old governor named N1, who, at the advanced age of eighty, being struck with the beauty of MEI-CHI, one of his farmers' daughters, took her to wife. This extraordinary proceeding gave great offence to his son CHEN-KI, a sordid miser, who feared that the young spouse might inherit a large portion of the old man's property. His fears were greatly increased when a son was born to N1, and CHEN-KI loudly declared that he would never acknowledge the child as his brother. CHEN-CHU was the name given by the fond governor to the child of his old age: he had scarcely attained the age of five years when Ni was attacked by a fever, the symptoms of which were declared mortal. CHEN-KI presented himself to his father, and received from him a will in which, contrary to his expectations, he found himself named sole heir to the entire property. MEI-CHI protested against an arrangement which left both herself and her little boy at the mercy of an avaricious enemy; but the governor told her that otherwise their lives would not be safe, and gave her a painting

which she was to keep until her son attained the age of manhood, and then send for explanation to some very intelligent magistrate.

On the death of NI, CHEN-KI drove MEI-CHI and her boy from the palace, but permitted them to reside in a ruined summer-house at the bottom of the garden. Here they struggled with poverty until CHENCHU had attained his fourteenth year.

Arrived at this age, the poor boy began to reflect on his condition; and with the usual imprudence of youth, ventured to remonstrate with the elder brother in very angry terms. CHEN-KI drove him from his presence with stripes; and to avoid any future remonstrance, sent him and his mother to a distant farm, too barren to cause any reluctance in his miserly bosom for parting with it. CHEN-CHU remonstrated with his mother for tamely going into hopeless exile; and she, overcome by his importunities, revealed the secret of the mysterious painting. The boy asked to see it; his mother produced it, and when opened it proved to be a portrait of NI. CHEN-CHU prostrated himself before the representation of his father, and then proceeded to examine the picture more attentively.

He beholds a person of importance seated, clothed in a dress of rich silk, with hair white as snow, the traits of whose countenance had such truth of expression that it was impossible almost to avoid believing that a living man, and not a picture, was before him. One hand held a young child pressed closely to the bosom; the other, turned downwards, seemed to point at the ground.

The picture afforded ample scope for conjecture, both to the mother and son; but they felt that guessing was but an idle waste of time, and CHEN-CHU resolved to search out an intelligent magistrate, as his father had directed. The very next day, when on his road to a neighbouring village, he heard of a case of the detection of two murderers by circumstantial evidence, which shewed wondrous skill in the magistrate that conducted the investigation. To him he went, accompanied by his mother, related all the circumstances, and placed the portrait in his hands.

For several days the magistrate spent hours in examining the painting without being able to penetrate the mystery; accident at length proved his friend.

One evening the magistrate went on his terrace again to examine the painting, and, whilst contemplating it, ordered tea to be brought. Whilst turning to take the cup from his servant, his foot tripped, and he spilled a portion of the tea over the picture. Laying down the cup, he took the picture in both hands, and went to hang it from the balustrade, that it might be dried by the heat of the sun.

Suddenly

a ray of light lluminated the picture, and shewed him, between two leaves of paper, several perpendicular lines which resembled writing. The magistrate was struck, he at once unrolled the paper and found that the governor had concealed under his picture an important communication.

The paper in effect renewed the former bequest to CHEN-KI, but reserved to CHEN-CHU a little cottage to the left of his father's palace. It stated, however, that under the floor of this cottage a sum of money was concealed equivalent to the estates possessed by CHEN-KI; and it directed, that from this sum one thousand pieces of gold should be paid to the ingenious magistrate who might penetrate the mystery of the picture.

The magistrate issued an order for a trial of the question respecting the inheritance of the late governor NI in CHEN-KI's palace, and commanded MEI-CHI and her son to attend. They came alone, while CHEN-KI was supported by a crowd of friends and relations. When the judge entered, instead of taking the seat prepared for him, he made a profound salutation as if it had been already occupied, affecting to see in it the ghost of governor NI.

All the company, observing his gestures and movements, which seemed to announce that he conversed with an invisible being, dared not stir a step. They remained ranged in two lines, and regarded him with an air of stupefaction.

Suddenly the judge, crossing his arms on his breast, made a low bow; "your wife," said he (addressing the supposed spirit of the governor)" has placed in my hands a complaint respecting the disposal of your inheritance. Are the assertions she makes true ?"

Having spoken, he assumed the air of a person listening with profound and respectful attention; then, shaking his head and looking surprised, he said, "What! is it possible that your eldest son can have displayed such perversity?" He appeared to listen for a moment. "Where do you wish that your second son should find the means of existence ?"

After a pause of some moments, "What resources can the wretched house of which you speak afford;"—a pause;—" I obey, I obey;"—a pause. "I shall take every means of securing your second son his inheritance; be assured I shall pay every attention to your wishes."

He then made several salutations, and assumed the look of a man declining a favour. "It is impossible for me to accept so rich a gift;" -a pause. "Well, since you insist upon it I must comply." Pretending that the spirit now beckoned him away, he called on the rest of the company to follow, and convinced them of the reality