A question discussed in the school of Mencius, many centuries later, may be cited here for the light it throws on the use made by Chinese schoolmen of the examples of this period.  “Suppose,” said one of his students, “that Shun’s father had killed a man, would Shun, being king, have allowed him to be condemned?” “No,” replied the master; “he would have renounced the throne and, taking his father on his shoulders, he would have fled away to the seaside, rejoicing in the consciousness of having performed the duty of a filial son.”  Shun continues to be cited as the paragon of domestic virtues, occupying the first place in a list of twenty-four who are noted for filial piety.

The trial by which the virtues of Ta-yue were proved [Page 75] was an extraordinary feat of engineering—­nothing less than the subduing of the waters of a deluge.  “The waters,” said the King, “embosom the high hills and insolently menace heaven itself.  Who will find us a man to take them in hand and keep them in place?” His ministers recommended one Kun.  Kun failed to accomplish the task, and Shun, who in this case hardly serves for the model of a just ruler, put him to death.  Then the task was imposed on Ta-yue, the son of the man who had been executed.  After nine years of incredible hardships he brought the work to a successful termination.  During this time he extended his care to the rivers of more than one province, dredging, ditching, and diking.  Three times he passed his own door and, though he heard the cries of his infant son, he did not once enter his house.  The son of a criminal who had suffered death, a throne was the meed of his diligence and ability.

A temple in Hanyang, at the confluence of two rivers, commemorates Ta-yue’s exploit, which certainly throws the labours of Hercules completely into the shade.  On the opposite side of the river stands a pillar, inscribed in antique hieroglyphics, which professes to record this great achievement.  It is a copy of one which stands on Mount Hang; and the characters, in the tadpole style, are so ancient that doubts as to their actual meaning exist among scholars of the present day.  Each letter is accordingly accompanied by its equivalent in modern Chinese.  The stone purports to have been erected by Ta-yue himself—­good ground for suspicion—­but it has been [Page 76] proved to be a fabrication of a later age, though still very ancient.[*]

[Footnote *:  Dr. Haenisch of Berlin has taken great pains to expose the imposture.]

In the two preceding reigns the sovereign had always consulted the public good rather than family interest—­a form of monarchy which the Chinese call elective, but which has never been followed, save that the Emperor exercises the right of choice among his sons irrespective of primogeniture.  The man who bears the odium of having departed from the unselfish policy of Yao and Shun is this same Ta-yue.  He left the throne to his son and, as the Chinese say, “made of the empire a family estate.”