From China.org/China Daily:

A hand-written document believed to be of a missing part of a Chinese literary work which showed the Diaoyu Islands as being part of China, was auctioned for 13.25 million yuan (2 million U.S.dollars) Monday in Beijing.

The item was hand-written by Qian Meixi, a calligrapher in the Qing Dynasty (1644-1911). It is believed to be a copy of the fifth chapter of “the Six Chapters of a Floating Life” of Shen Fu, a writer and painter also from the Qing Dynasty.

This island chain, once a tributary of ]]> Students in my Late Imperial China class are familiar with Shen Fu, the writer and artist who wrote “Six Records” about a life of financial hardship, troublesome family, his loving relationship with his talented and dutiful wife Yun, and some of the indignities of trying to cling to elite status in the increasingly complex society of late 18th/early 19th-century China.  The problem though is that of the six records, only four are extant…until now, and will wonders never cease, it just so happens that Shen Fu turns out to be an expert witness in the ongoing debate between China and Japan over the status of the Senkaku/Diaoyu islands.

From China.org/China Daily:

A hand-written document believed to be of a missing part of a Chinese literary work which showed the Diaoyu Islands as being part of China, was auctioned for 13.25 million yuan (2 million U.S.dollars) Monday in Beijing.

The item was hand-written by Qian Meixi, a calligrapher in the Qing Dynasty (1644-1911). It is believed to be a copy of the fifth chapter of “the Six Chapters of a Floating Life” of Shen Fu, a writer and painter also from the Qing Dynasty.

This island chain, once a tributary of the Qing later claimed by Japan and whose status was never as clear in the historical record as partisans from both sides would like to believe, made the world stage when Chinese ‘fishing boats’ decided to play a round of maritime demolition derby with a Japanese Coast Guard vessel.  (A “game” which was repeated this past weekend against a ship from South Korea, with tragic results.)

Peng Ling, a book collector from the tourist-trap town of Pingyao in Shanxi, purchased the recently re-discovered “Fifth Record” of Shen Fu’s memoir at an antique market in Nanjing and then patriotically refused requests by foreign buyers for the — if authentic — valuable literary treasure.

“Peng said he rejected an offer made by a Japanese citizen to buy the scripts for 10 million yuan in December 2009.

“I’m a descendant of the Chinese nation. The Japanese can’t take it away, even with 100 million yuan,” he said. “The scripts must stay in China.”

The eventual buyer, a mysterious Mr. Wu, echoed Peng’s patriotic sentiments:

“It was a very quick decision,” he told Xinhua by telephone. “I believed this is a very valuable document and I just don’t want it to fall into the hands of others, particularly foreigners.”

It seems to me, that this kind of ‘reasoning’ is used quite a bit by the Chinese press in trying to bolster various historical claims.  Once-upon-a-time So-and-So says Such-and-Such is a part of China. It’s a pretty specious argument, but that does not appear to diminish its appeal among China’s chattering classes.

(King George III once upon a time felt that Connecticut was part of Britain, and I’m guessing a few of his countrymen at the time agreed in print…how’d that work out?)

Oddly, it was left to The Global Times, not known for their levelheaded appreciation of historical nuance, to apply a bit of cold fizzy water to the news:

Tao Duanfang, a Chinese commentator who lives in Canada, said on his blog Monday that novel could hardly be used as “solid evidence,” and he believed it was a promotional ploy.

Gao Hong, a professor with the Japanese Research Institute at the Chinese Academy of Social Sciences, said he was not sure if it was legitimate to use a novel as “solid evidence.”

“Sovereignty is a serious topic and should be seriously treated and discussed. It would be humiliating for China if the so-called solid evidence turned out to be flawed,” Gao said.

Nevertheless, defender of the Motherland or not, if anybody is looking for an accessible not overly long book that gives a lot of fascinating insight into life at the very boundary between elite and non-elite in Qing society, I recommend checking out 《浮生六記》 Six Records of a Floating Life.  For those who prefer English, Penguin has a decent translation and yes…it will be on my reading list for next fall’s Late Imperial China class — at least the first four chapters.

h/t to fellow historian G.T.

The cat sitting on my desk, staring out at the garden in summer.

Xu Zhimo was a poet of the ]]> It’s November here in Beijing.  Three weeks ago, before the snow really started to fall, we took the plants in from our garden.  A week later, as we were looking out at our small patch of bamboo bending under the weight of the snow and ice, we decided that it was unfair that it should suffer too.  So we made a place for it in our living room.  It actually looks kind of nice and seems to be adapting well to the artificial warmth of being indoors.  But now when I look out from my desk and into the yard, it all seems so gray.  We have pumpkins on the windowsills and corn husks hanging so there is a bit of (autumnal) color, but I do miss the greenery and warmth of the garden in bloom, plants and flowers filling the corners and nooks of our small outdoor space.

The cat sitting on my desk, staring out at the garden in summer.

Xu Zhimo was a poet of the early 20th century.  Originally from Zhejiang, he took his education overseas, first in the United States, and finally in England where he fell in under the spell of Romantic poets like Shelley and Keats.  Xu returned to China where he became one of the better known and more influential poets of the 1920s.  Sadly, on this date in 1931, his life and career was cut short when Xu died in a plane crash while flying between Nanjing and Beijing.

This is a poem by Xu Zhimo entitled《为谁》(“For Whom”):

为谁

这几天秋风来得格外的尖利：
我怕看我们的庭院，
树叶伤鸟似的猛旋，
中著了无形的利箭－－－
没了,，全没了：生命，颜色，魅力：

就剩下西墙上的几道爬山虎：
他那豹班似的秋色，
忍熬著风拳的打击，
低低的喘一声鸟邑－－－
［我为你耐著！］他仿佛对我声訴。

他为我耐着！那艳色的秋萝，
但秋风不容情的追，
追，（摧残是他的恩惠！）
追尽了生命的余辉　－－－
这回墙上不见了勇敢的秋萝！

今夜那青光的三星在天上
倾听著秋后的空院，
悄悄的，更不闻鸣咽：
落叶在泥土里安眠　－－－ 只我在这深夜，啊，为谁凄惘？

For Whom

These days, the autumn winds blow harshly:
I lack the courage to look at our backyard,
The leaves rustle swiftly in the wind,
Just like invisible arrows —
It’s gone, all gone: life, colour, beauty:

What’s left on the west wall is the climber:
With his spotted autumn skin,
He bared the strikes of the wind,
Softly spouting out words —
“I’ll do anything for you!” he seemed to say.

He’ll do anything for me! The autumn blooms,
But the autumn winds chase with no mercy,
Chase, (to destroy is a blessing in disguise)
Hunting down life’s gentle radiance —
The courageous blooms have lost their place on the walls.

Tonight, the aurora of the stars shine in the skies
Listen, the empty backyard after autumn,
Softly, the leaves lay asleep in the soil —
All alone in this night, sigh
For whom do I feel sorrow?

————–

Chinese version and English translation courtesy of Reminiscences of Xu Zhimo

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Shortsighted governments using the power of the state to silence criticism is nothing new, in China or anywhere else. Sima Qian, the founding father of Chinese Historiography, dealt with similar sorts of narrow-minded rulers in his day (and paid a steep price for it), and gave China’s future officials and princelings this timeless advice, in the form of an anecdote about King Li of Zhou:

[King Li of Zhou] acted cruelly and extravagantly.  The people in the capital spoke of the king’s faults.  The Duke of Shao remonstrated, saying: “Your people can no longer bear your orders.”  The king was angered.  He found a shaman from Wei and had him watch for criticism.  Whomever he reported was killed.  The criticism subsided, [but] the feudal lords stopped coming to court.  In the thirty-fourth year [of his reign], the king became even more stern.  No one in the capital dared to say a word, but ]]> Ed Note: This post is the first by Sean, a graduate school colleague of mine currently in Taiwan doing research for his dissertation.  He’s one of the smartest guys I know and I’m really happy to have him contributing here to the Granite Studio.  Enjoy.  

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Shortsighted governments using the power of the state to silence criticism is nothing new, in China or anywhere else. Sima Qian, the founding father of Chinese Historiography, dealt with similar sorts of narrow-minded rulers in his day (and paid a steep price for it), and gave China’s future officials and princelings this timeless advice, in the form of an anecdote about King Li of Zhou:

[King Li of Zhou] acted cruelly and extravagantly.  The people in the capital spoke of the king’s faults.  The Duke of Shao remonstrated, saying: “Your people can no longer bear your orders.”  The king was angered.  He found a shaman from Wei and had him watch for criticism.  Whomever he reported was killed.  The criticism subsided, [but] the feudal lords stopped coming to court.  In the thirty-fourth year [of his reign], the king became even more stern.  No one in the capital dared to say a word, but only glanced at each other on the roads.  King Li was pleased.  He told the Duke of Shao: “I was able to stop the criticism.  Now they dare not speak.”  The Duke of Shao said: ] “This is [merely] stopping up criticism.  To block peoples’ mouths is worse than blocking a river.  When an obstructed river bursts its banks, it will surely hurt a great number of people.  People are like this, too.  For this reason, those who regulate rivers dredge them and let them flow; those who regulate people broaden [channels] and let them talk.

Sima Qian then goes on to point out something that supporters of democracy have long maintained, that the criticism and opinion of the governed is not just an irritation to put up with, but a great resource for the wise ruler:

People having mouths is similar to the land having mountains and rivers, from which the daily needs are drawn; and [it is also] similar in that there are highlands, lowlands, swampy lands, and irrigated lands, from which clothes and food are produced.  When mouths are made to express words, [both] good and degenerative [ideas] will arise.  To put the good ones into practice and to guard against the degenerative ones are the ways to make daily necessities, food, and clothing abound.  As people have thoughts in their minds and express them through their mouths, if [the ideas] are constructive, you should finish them and put them into practice.  If you gag their mouths, how many of them would support [you]?”

Then, as now, the duke’s advice was ignored, and criticism of King Li continued to be censored. The result?

 The king would not listen.  Then no one in the capital dared to say a word.  Three years [later], they joined each other in rebellion, and attacked the king.  King Li fled to Chih.

Those who do not learn from history…well, you know the rest.

Translation taken from Ssu-ma Ch’ien, The Grand Scribe’s Records, Volume I: The Basic Annals of Pre-Han China (ed. Nienhauser), Shiji 4 (142).