Then, my

and he will order me to be put to death, with my son. lord, you will educate the orphan with care, so that when he shall have become large and strong, he may avenge the death of his father and mother. Is not that an excellent idea?

Kong-Sun. It must be twenty years yet, before this child can avenge his parents. With twenty years more, you will have sixtyfive years; and I, with twenty more, will have ninety. By this time, I will have been long since dead. How can I teach him to avenge the family of the Tchao? Tching-Ing, since you consent to sacrifice your son, give him to me, and go to denounce me to Touan-Kou; tell him that Kong-Sun-Tchou-Kieou has concealed the orphan in the farm of Taiping. Tou-an-Kou will come at the head of his soldiers; he will take me and put me to death, with your son. You will bring up in secret the little orphan of the house of Tchao, until he will have become large enough to avenge the death of his father and mother. Is not that an excellent idea?

Tching-Ing. I am of your opinion; but how shall I dare to cause your destruction? My lord, take my son; cover him with the garments of the little orphan of the family of the Tchao, and go to denounce me to Tou-an-Kou. I will die with my son, and you will be delivered from all misfortune.

Kong-Sun. Tching-Ing, I have pledged you my word; do not doubt my resolution. In twenty years, this orphan must avenge his father and mother. I will then die content; but I daily fear that I may be taken off, and my death would destroy all the hopes which are founded upon him.

It

Tching-Ing. My lord, you are still full of health and vigor. Kong-Sun. My strength is not what it was once. When I will save this tender child, how can I live long enough to witness his glorious exploits? You cannot become old as soon as me. is for you to put yourself forward, to show your courage and devotedness to the family of the Tchao. Tching-Ing, follow my advice. In truth, my life is so frail and uncertain, that I can scarcely prolong it to hear the evening drum, or the morning bell.

Tching-Ing. My lord, you were tranquil and happy in your house, and the imprudent Tching-Ing has come, without reason, to compromise you, and to involve you in a web of anguish and sorrows. This is what torments and overwhelms me.

Kong-Sun. What do you say, Tching-Ing? I am now sixty years of age. If I die, it will not be an unusual thing, and it matters little whether it be this morning or this evening.

What calmness in this deliberation, in which two men examine whose death will best subserve the interest of the Orphan! As to his own son, whom Tching-Ing sacrifices to the Orphan, it is a point resolved upon. Therefore we see no hesitation, and no murmurs. Tching-Ing does not

for a moment think of showing the pain which he feels in making this terrible sacrifice; Kong-Sun does not any longer think of praising him for his courage. This firmness, you will say, is repugnant to nature; it is particularly so to those family affections, so dear, as they pretend, to the Chinese. We will take the liberty of making one reflection upon this subject. In societies, where families have affection as their ruling principle, no one thinks it his duty to sacrifice himself for the safety of another family. All are on an equality, and the son of the peasant is as dear to his parents as the son of a king. This is not the case in societies where the family, without ceasing to be an affection, has become an institution, and where the laws aid in the preservation of property, and especially in the perpetuity of associations. It is then that the principle of the family has all its force, and all its power. But it is curious to observe the effects of this power; for its first effect is to introduce inequality among the different families. With us, where the laws do not consecrate the worship of ancestors, and where they prescribe the division of property among all the children, the family goes back to the grandfather, and descends to the grandson. Beyond this point is the darkness of the past and the future, which no one wishes to penetrate. This brevity of families is the principal cause of their equality. In China, on the contrary, where the laws make a religion of the respect of ancestry, families have the time to grow and increase, and the inequality has the means of developing itself. Thus families are easily made subordinate to each other, and the subordination extends even to devotedness. The son of Tching-Ing, a poor servant, is not of as much consideration as the Orphan of the Tchao, and his father condemns him, without hesitation, to die for the Orphan. It is thus that the power of the family as an institution is manifested, especially in the sacrifice of the family, as affection.

In our opinion, Tching-Ing sacrifices his son too easily. We would wish, at least, that he would hesitate; we would wish to see how much it costs his tenderness. Voltaire has not failed to exhibit the struggles of paternal tenderness. Zamti wishes to give up his son in the place of the Orphan; but what hesitations! what combats!

Zamti. Let us go; it is no longer permitted me to retreat.
Etan. I see the tears flow from your sorrowful eyes.

Alas! the cruel attacks of so many misfortunes

Still leave room for fresh tears to flow!

Zamti. The decree has gone forth! nothing can change it.
Etan. They pass on; and this child, who is a stranger to you..
Zamti. Stranger! He, my king!

Etan. Our king was his father;

I know it, and groan. Speak, what must I do?

Zamti. They watch my steps here; I have little liberty.

Avail yourself of your obscurity.

You know what is the asylum of this sacred deposit ;

You are not observed; access is easy to you.

Let us for some time conceal this precious child

In the midst of the tombs, which were built by his ancestors.
We will send back to the chief of Corea,

This tender scion of an adored family.

He can at least carry off from our cruel conquerors,

This unfortunate child, the object of their terrors;

He can save my king; I take the rest upon myself.

Etan. And what will become of you, without this fatal pledge ?

What can you reply to the enraged conqueror?

Zamti. I have wherewith to satisfy his ferocity.

Etan. You, my lord?

Zamti. O nature!

Etan. Well!

O tyrannical duty!

Zamti. Think of the king whom you must preserve.

Take my son

let his blood . . . I cannot go on.

Etan. Ah! do you. order me!

Zamti. Respect my tenderness,

Respect my misfortune, and especially my weakness;

Oppose no obstacle to this sacred order,

And fulfil your duty, after having sworn it.

Act i. scene 6.

Is Zamti, in exhibiting his paternal anguish, more dramatic than Tching-Ing, in concealing it from us? Here, every thing depends upon the aim of the author. In Voltaire, the interest turns upon the sacrifice which Zamti makes; it is with Zamti and Idamé that we become interested. Will they consent to give up their son to save the life of the Orphan? When Zamti shall have resolved upon this terrible sacrifice, will Idamé permit him to accomplish it? This is the real subject. of the tragedy of Voltaire, for we are very little interested in the Orphan of China. In the Chinese author, on the contrary, it is upon this Orphan that turns all the

interest of the drama; it is he who must be saved, at any price; and the author has well understood that if he showed how much it costs Tching-Ing to sacrifice his son, the spectators would be so much the less interested in the Orphan as they would be the more affected by the grief of Tching-Ing.

We still remark another difference. In Voltaire, the principal object is to save the last heir of the kings, and it is to his monarchical loyalty that Zamti sacrifices his son. This sentiment could be understood upon our stage. In the Chinese author, the Orphan of the Tchao is not the scion of a royal race, and the last heir of the throne; he is only the • last descendant of an old and powerful family. The safety of the state is not attached to his life; and neither patriotism nor monarchical loyalty are interested in saving his life.. The fidelity of his servant, (we had almost said his vassal, so near do the feudal customs resemble the Chinese play,) the gratitude of the old friends of the family; in a word, the idea of perpetuating the family of the Tchao, in order that the tombs of his family may always receive their accustomed honors and libations; this is what protects the Orphan, and inspires so many generous sentiments in his favor.

We have seen Tching-Ing and Kong-Sun deliberating upon the plan which they are to follow in saving the Orphan of the Tchao. This plan has been adopted: Tching-Ing goes to denounce Kong-Sun to Tou-an-Kou, who causes the child to be put to death, whom he finds in the house of Kong-Sun, and whom he believes to be the Orphan of the Tchao, when it is only the son of Tching-Ing. Kong-Sun kills himself in his turn, so that the secret of this substitution of one child for another may not be made known; and Tou-an-Kou, wishing to reward Tching-Ing for his denunciation, adopts, as his heir, this pretended son of Tching-Ing, that is to say, the Orphan of the Tchao himself, who is educated in the house of the persecutor of his family. When this son has reached the age of twenty years, Tching-Ing reveals to him the secret of his birth. Although, in this scene of recognition, there is no longer any point of comparison with the tragedy of Voltaire, we will cite some portions of it, because it is curious and touching. Tching-Ing has painted the adventures of the family of the Tchao, and of the Orphan, and has deposited them in the office of the Orphan. The Orphan finds them, and demands an explanation from Tching-Ing. Then Tching

Ing, taking each painting, relates, with solemn slowness, the history which it retraces, and terminates his recital with these words: " Twenty years have elapsed since these events have occurred. The little Orphan of the family of the Tchao is now arrived at the age of twenty years. If he cannot avenge the death of his father and mother, what is he good for? He is endowed with a lofty nature, and his countenance expresses an imposing majesty. He shines in literature, and excels in the art of war. What does he expect to do? All his family have been exterminated, without distinction of rank; his mother has been hung in her lonely palace, and his father has stabbed himself on the place of execution. Nevertheless, these mortal injuries have never been avenged. It is in vain that their son passes for a hero in the world."

Orphan. You spoke to me a long time since, and yet your son is still like a man who sleeps or who dreams. In truth, I understand nothing of all this.

Tching-Ing. What! You do not understand me yet! Hear me: The man clad in red is the infamous minister, Tou-an-Kou; Tchao is your father, and the princess is your mother. I have related to you every event of this melancholy history. If you do not understand it perfectly now, well! I am the old Tching-Ing, who sacrificed my son to save the orphan; and it is you, you, who are the orphan of the family of the Tchao!

Orphan. Heavens! What, I am the orphan of the family of the Tchao! I die with anger.

As soon as he is recognized, the Orphan of the Tchao kills Tou-an-Kou; and the emperor, who has recognized the crimes of Tou-an-Kou, approves his death, and restores to the Orphan all the property of his family.

Such is the Chinese drama, in which the author has known how to interest us without any other resource than the perils of a child in the cradle. Voltaire did not believe that he could make a tragedy out of so simple a subject, and he had recourse to other means; sometimes to the passion of Gengis-Khan, and at other times to the struggle between Zamti and Idamé, the one wishing to give up his son in order to save the Orphan, the other refusing to make a like sacrifice. This struggle between paternal love, which yields to a superior duty and maternal love, more instinctive and strong, which does not know a more sacred duty than that of saving a son, makes the interest of the two first acts of the French tragedy.