Matteo Ricci (18 page)

The origin of the mistaken belief in the existence of two different countries called China and Cathay is easy to reconstruct on the basis of the historical and geographic knowledge now available in a brief outline of the course of events from the time of Marco Polo to the Jesuits’ China mission.

Marco Polo left Venice with his father Niccolò and his uncle Matteo in 1271 and arrived in Cathay by way of the Silk Road in 1275. Having spent sixteen years at the imperial court of Kublai Khan
32
in the capital Khanbalik, he returned by sea to Italy, where he was imprisoned by the Genoese three years later during the war between Genoa and Venice, and he dictated the account of his travels to his cell mate Rustichello da Pisa.

In Marco Polo’s day, Cathay was part of the immense Mongol or Tartar (from
Tatar
, the Turkish name for a Mongol tribe) empire, created from 1209 on by Genghis Khan and his successors, one of the most extensive empires in history, stretching west as far as Poland and Hungary and east through Russia and Central Asia to Korea. It was precisely the
pax mongolica
, the only form of control possible over such a vast territory, that made possible the interminable journeys along the silk roads traveled by the Polo family all the way into Asia. The Mongol empire had been divided up among Genghis Khan’s heirs, and it was Kublai who finally completed the annexation of China begun in his grandfather’s day. Kublai adopted the name Yuan—meaning “origin”—for the new imperial dynasty established in the Middle Kingdom and destined to reign there from 1271 to 1368. He also transferred the capital from Karakorum, the ancient heart of the Mongol empire, to Khanbalik, located on the plain where Beijing stood in the Ming era. After the Mongol conquest, the country was called Cathay, a name first introduced into the West by Marco Polo and deriving from the Kitan, a nomadic people of stockbreeders from southern Manchuria who founded the Liao dynasty in northern China.

While the Mongols had undergone partial sinization through contact with the conquered civilization and their haste to adopt the occupied country’s form of government, their rule had also changed the character of the Chinese empire, at least on the surface. They had transformed China into a multinational country that allowed people of different races from the countries under their rule to become state officials and had indeed appointed Marco Polo to perform imperial assignments. The court of the Mongol sovereign was a melting pot of ideas, civilizations, and religions in which the millennial Chinese culture enjoyed no primacy, as shown by the fact that no government official used Mandarin Chinese, nor was its use required of imperial guests like Marco Polo, who never even mentioned the typical characters of Chinese writing in his
Travels
.

Christian missionaries also presented themselves at the Mongol court in the shape of Franciscan friars or Minorites on papal missions to seek an alliance against the Muslims. Pope Innocent IV sent Giovanni da Pian del Carpine, the author of the
Historia Mongolorum
, to Karakorum in 1245; Willem van Ruysbroeck from Flanders arrived in Mongolia a few years later; and Giovanni da Montecorvino reached Khanbalik in 1294. Made a bishop in 1307, he remained in the capital until his death. Another Franciscan missionary was Odorico da Pordenone, who returned in 1330. Temur, the last Mongol emperor, received the papal legate Giovanni dei Marignolli, an emissary of Benedict XII, in 1342.

As the papal legates learned only the Mongol language and were in contact primarily with non-Chinese figures, their missionary work had no impact on the native population.
33
Like Marco Polo, the Franciscan missionaries described Cathay on their return to Europe as a multiethnic Mongol country, which seemed to have little in common with China. While the Franciscans’ manuscript reports had very limited circulation, and Ricci himself was almost certainly unacquainted with them, Marco Polo’s book was very well known indeed, but the information it contained proved insufficient to clarify the precise identity and geographic location of the country where he had lived. Moreover, Polo failed to mention not only the Chinese writing and many typical customs such as drinking tea, but also and quite inexplicably some of the most important technological developments like printing, which was already widespread in thirteenth-century China. Legend has it that he exclaimed on his deathbed, “I have told you only half of what I have seen.” Even so, the gaps in his account were so evident as to make some later historians doubt whether he had actually been to China at all.

The missing elements in the
Travels
were not, however, the primary cause of the persistent confusion about the identity of Cathay and China. The mystery had lasted through the ages because relations between China and the West came to an end when the Chinese Ming dynasty drove the Mongols out in 1368, after a rule of under a century, and regained control of the empire. The Franciscan mission was swept away after nearly a hundred years, and no trace of Christianity remained in the Middle Kingdom. Having reasserted its strength and national identity, and sure of its self-sufficiency and cultural and material superiority, the Chinese empire erased all traces of the recent past, withdrew into isolation, and forgot the outside cultural influences to which it had been exposed in the Yuan era. The Muslim world seized control of Central Asia and established a monopoly over trade between the East and the West. The silk roads became impracticable and China inaccessible and impenetrable. The cessation of direct communications and the lack of interest in the world outside shown by nearly all of the Ming emperors—with the exception of Yongle and Xuande, who sent out the expeditionary fleets led by the eunuch Zheng He in the first half of the fifteenth century—had prevented exploration and the transmission of knowledge. The only way left to arrive in China, the country of silk and porcelain, was by sea, a route that was not opened up until early in the sixteenth century, when the Portuguese sailed around Africa and across the Indian Ocean. Ideas in the West were further confused by the fact that the name Cathay, now forgotten in some countries of South Asia, was instead still used in Central Asia and by the Muslim peoples.
34

Wholly unaware of events in the Middle Kingdom subsequent to Marco Polo’s visit, Ricci traveled through the heart of China with the spirit of an explorer, believing himself the first Christian missionary to penetrate so far and certain that his observations would prove invaluable for Westerners. Reflections on the similarities between China and Cathay did not, however, distract him from planning his journey back along the river, which was at the center of his thoughts as the junk approached Nanchang. The Jesuit was determined to stay in the town for only as long as it took to obtain the indispensable backing for residence in Nanjing, after which he would again seek to reach Beijing, the heart of the empire. On disembarking in Nanchang at the end of June, he discovered that the
shidafu
he had met during the trip had kept his word. Some of the dignitary’s servants were waiting to deal with his baggage and take him in a litter to a house prepared for his accommodation.

Notes

1. Letter to Claudio Acquaviva, December 10, 1593; OS II, p. 116.

2. Letter to Girolamo Costa, October 12, 1594; OS II, p. 120.

3. Letter to Fabio de Fabii, November 12, 1592; OS II, p. 95.

4. FR, book III, ch. II, pp. 289–90, no. 3.

5. Three letters written to Ricci’s father Giovanni Battista have survived, and four of those sent to his brothers, two to Orazio and two to Antonio Maria.

6. Letter dated December 10, 1593; OS II, p. 113.

7. Letter dated November 12, 1592; ibid., p. 96.

8. The missionaries were to present themselves as
shenfu
, “spiritual fathers,” after 1605 (FR, book III, ch. IX, p. 335, no. 2).

9. FR, book III, ch. VII, p. 327.

10. For the idea of reforming the Chinese calendar, see the letter to João Alvares (or Giovanni Alvarez) dated May 12, 1605; OS II, p. 285.

11. See chapter 8 (“Astronomy and the Emperor”) and chapter 18.

12. His name in Chinese is Meng Ke (c. 372–289
bc
). “Mencius” is derived from Mengzi, meaning “Master Meng.”

13. Confucius is traditionally accredited with the authorship of the
Annals of the State of Lu
(
Chunqiu
) and the editing and publication of the
Book of Documents
(
Shujing
), the
Book of Songs
(
Shijing
), the
Book of Rites
(
Liji
), and the
Book of Music
(
Yuejing
). He is also thought to have written the appendices to the
Book of Changes
(
Yijing
or
I Ching
). The
Book of Music
was lost during the Han era, and the others subsequently became known as the Five Classics. It was during the Song era that the Neo-Confucian school selected the Four Classics regarded as the primary sources of Confucian doctrine, namely the
Analects
(
Lunyu
) of Confucius and the
Mencius
(
Mengzi
) together with the
Doctrine of the Mean
(
Zhongyong
) and the
Great Learning
(
Daxue
), both drawn from the
Book of Rites
.

14. FR, book II, ch. XI, p. 250, no. 1. Cf. also P. Rule, op. cit., p. 7.

15. OS II, p. 118.

16. Lionel M. Jensen,
Manufacturing Confucianism
(Durham and London: Duke University Press, 1977, pp. 114, 121).

17. Letter to Claudio Acquaviva, December 10, 1593; OS II, p. 117.

18. FR, book I, ch. V, p. 39.

19. Confucius,
Analects
, 7, 1

20. Confucius,
Analects
, 6, 27.

21. Confucius,
Analects
, 15, 24.

22. Cf. the letter to Girolamo Costa of October 12, 1594; OS II, p. 122.

23. Letter dated November 15, 1592; OS II, p. 105.

24. There is some dispute over the identification of this figure. See FR, book III, ch. IX, p. 339, no. 1.

25. For dreams regarding the imperial examinations, see A. B. Elman, op. cit., pp. 326–45.

26. For an account of the journey, see the letter to Duarte de Sande of August 29, 1595, OS II, p. 126.

27. Letter to Claudio Acquaviva, November 4, 1595; OS II, p. 191.

28. In a letter dated October 7, 1595; OS II, p. 163.

29. Roughly 1,500 meters across at the point where Ricci entered it but narrowing to about 60 meters in the gorges.

30. Letter to Duarte de Sande, August 29, 1595; OS II, p. 141.

31. Now largely restored, these are the longest city walls surviving from ancient times.

32. For the original terminology used by Polo, see the editions of
Il Milione
, the Italian title of the
Travels
, published by Einaudi (1954) and Mondadori (1990).

33. Cf. FR, introduction.

34. Still used for China today in the Slav languages and many others.

v

Nanchang, 1595–1596

Robbing life of friendship is like robbing the world of the sun.

—Cicero
,
Laelius de amicitia
(Laelius on Friendship) (45–47)

The Master said, “Governing with excellence can be compared to being the North Star: the North Star dwells in its place, and the multitude of stars pay it tribute.”

—Confucius,
Analects
(2, 1)

A Courteous Welcome to Nanchang

Ricci spent his first few days in Nanchang at home thinking over his unsuccessful attempt to settle in the second capital. He was bitterly disappointed, as he would never have expected such an abrupt volte-face from Xu Daren, a dignitary he had considered his friend. As he wrote in a letter the following August to his superior Duarte de Sande, “This, Father, was how our great friendship with this mandarin came to an end.”
1

The Jesuit reconsidered his relationships with the Chinese literati. With the exception of Qu Taisu, whose support and affection he believed to be sincere, the dignitaries that Ricci called friends were in reality superficial acquaintances eager to meet him because they were attracted by his gifts and curious about his learning, but they were ready to ditch the “foreign devil” rather than stand by him in adversity. None of them could take the place of his companions at the Roman College, who were constantly in his thoughts and to whom most of his melancholy letters were addressed. These were the sentiments expressed during that period to Girolamo Benci: “How far apart we are now, brother, and how little hope there is of meeting again in this life. But the love within me increases with the distance between countries and I trust in God, so that the less hope I have of seeing my beloved friends again in this world, the greater my certainty of seeing them in glory in the next.”
2

On recovering from his initial dejection, Ricci decided to explore the town and look for people capable of helping him obtain a residence permit. Once again, it was essential to establish good relations with the local dignitaries, and he had to do this on his own, as his young traveling companion Domingos Fernandes was somewhat lacking in the social graces. Ricci did not fail to point this out to De Sande: “But since Domingos Fernandes, who I brought here with me, did not possess the talent required . . . .”
3
Facilitated as he was in personal relations by his sociable character and mastery of Chinese, Ricci certainly had no lack of this aptitude.

He judged Nanchang to be twice the size of Florence and found it much more beautiful than Canton, the other provincial capital he knew so well. It was orderly and elegant with wide streets and a large number of brightly colored celebratory arches carved in wood. Its wealthier inhabitants were not predominantly merchants, as in Canton, but were mostly literati and officials. Ricci divided these into four main groups.

The first comprised the large number of
guan
and army officers of high rank serving in the provincial capital. Then there were the young
xiucai
, or “budding talents,” particularly numerous in Nanchang due to the presence of three schools offering courses of preparation for the imperial examinations. Proof that these institutes deserved their excellent reputation was provided by the fact that no fewer than eight of the successful candidates graduating as
jinshi
, or metropolitan graduates, at the most recent imperial examinations held in Beijing were from Nanchang, as against only five from the populous province of Guangdong. The city took great pride in this distinction, of which Ricci was soon informed, and in being the birthplace of one of the grand secretaries, the
guan
of the highest rank in the state bureaucracy. Between two and six of these secretaries were appointed at any one time to take responsibility for supervising government activities. The third group comprised the feared and respected relatives and friends of the grand secretaries, together with the relatives of other important officials and temporarily unemployed mandarins awaiting positions. The fourth social class of great
prestige was the numerous and exclusive group of princes of the imperial family. With the sole exception of the designated heir, all of the emperor’s sons were obliged to leave the capital on reaching puberty and take up resi
dence in provinces
far away from Beijing. They all received large allowances from the state that enabled them to live in luxury as long as they complied with the laws forbidding them to hold positions in the state bureaucracy and the army or to travel inside the country without special permission from the emperor.

The law exiling the relatives of the Son of Heaven from the capital was introduced by Yongle, the third Ming emperor, who usurped the throne from his nephew in 1402. The new ruler deemed it prudent to exile his own heirs by decree and prohibit them from holding any position so as to prevent any future threat to his authority. Adopted by all of the following eleven emperors, including Wanli, over a span of nearly two centuries, this practice served to eliminate infighting, but it had serious repercussions on the empire’s finances. As the princely title and associated income were inherited by the firstborn son and all the other descendants were entitled to allowances and privileges, the number of relatives of the emperor living at the government’s expense increased over the years to become an intolerable burden. In Nanchang alone, by Ricci’s perhaps excessive estimate, they accounted for a fifth of the local population.

Needless to say, Ricci felt very much at home in the select milieu of a town apparently devoid of the xenophobic tensions that existed in the two capitals and the coastal provinces, just as the vice minister Shi Xing had foreseen when he advised him to stay there. It was indeed in Nanchang that Ricci came to change his mind about the readiness of the Chinese to become his true friends. He soon met with “courteous and friendly” people, including his landlord, who advised him to begin his series of formal visits with the wealthy physician Wang Jilou, an influential figure and close friend of Shi Xing.

Ricci dressed as a scholar, requiring his servants to wear long robes too, and hired a litter, determined to act “with as much authority as possible” and follow the dictates of etiquette to the letter. No one in his new home had ever seen him dressed as a Buddhist monk, and they would all know him only as Li Madou, Xitai, the learned preacher well versed in the local “courtesies.” The meeting with the physician went very smoothly indeed, not least because Shi Xing had kept the promise he made before leaving for Beijing and had written to inform his friends of the Jesuit’s impending arrival. A member of the city’s most exclusive circles and on very good terms with the governor general of the Jiangxi province, whose son was one of his patients, the physician was more than willing to act as host and held a banquet in Ricci’s honor to which he invited the city’s dignitaries, including their imperial highnesses Kang Yi, prince of Jian’an, and Duo Geng, prince of Le’an.

I Cannot Tell a Lie

Ricci had already attended numerous banquets and was familiar with the etiquette. The homes of the wealthy mandarins in which they were held were richly decorated with valuable objects and antiques. The Chinese appreciated vases of bronze, objects of terracotta and jade, seals carved in semiprecious stones, tiny bottles of scent, and works of calligraphy on paper or canvas. They collected plates, vases of all shapes and sizes, bowls, boxes, and small water jugs of porcelain. While this material had been used in China since the first centuries of the Christian era, the secret of its manufacture was still unknown in Europe, where it was not introduced until the eighteenth century. Ricci was particularly enamored of its gleaming perfection and called it “the most beautiful and crystalline thing in the world.”
4
Even though excellent china was produced in the Ming era, above all in the factories of Jingdezhen, which worked nonstop for the imperial court and the homes of the richest Chinese, ancient porcelain was greatly prized, especially pieces from the Song dynasty. The great interest in antique objects fostered the commerce of fakes produced with the utmost skill and sold either as copies to those unable to afford originals or as authentic works at very high prices to unwary collectors. Another product that Ricci greatly admired, used in Chinese furnishing since ancient times but wholly unknown in Europe, was lacquer. The Chinese used this varnish derived from plants to give wooden furniture and boxes a smooth and shiny finish that was easy to clean. The coat of lacquer on banqueting tables made the use of tablecloths quite superfluous, as the Jesuit noted in his precise description of Chinese ways.

The banquet took place in accordance with customary practice. The guests were received in an atrium, where they were served tea and engaged in conversation before being invited into the dining room. The host went out into the courtyard with a goblet of wine, poured its contents onto the ground, and bowed toward the south in honor of heaven. He then took his seat together with all the guests at a long rectangular table, placing the guest of honor in the center and taking his place alongside him. Each place was laid with a bowl of warm wine and the customary chopsticks—made of ebony or ivory, and with gilded or silver-plated tips for the most important occasions—with which the food, served in small pieces, was lifted to the mouth. Since the use of chopsticks and china spoons for soups avoided direct contact with the food, no one washed their hands either before or after dining, as Ricci did not fail to note in pointing out the differences with respect to practice at Western tables. In response to a gesture of invitation from the host, the guests took their bowls in both hands and sipped the wine while awaiting the first dish. It was only when the host had lifted the first piece of food to his mouth that the others followed suit and the banquet began in an atmosphere of general merriment.

Such occasions sometimes included discussions on philosophical subjects, or forms of entertainment that ended up in repeated libations of not particularly strong wine made from rice and other cereals, which Ricci found vaguely similar to beer. There were at least twenty dishes, which always included meat, fish, vegetables of every type, and soup; and the alternation of foods and tastes—savory, sweet and sour, spicy, and bitter—was based on the effect of the various substances on the organism in accordance with the precepts of Chinese medicine. The appearance of enormous trays of fruit on the table marked the definitive end of the succession of courses. Even though he preferred the simple rice and vegetables of the everyday diet to the elaborate dishes of the banquets, which were served in excessive amounts, Ricci loved the local cuisine and was now accustomed to sampling each delicacy in moderation, well aware that guests in China were under no obligation to finish everything on their plates.

After Ricci’s participation at a banquet together with two imperial princes, word of Xitai, the sage from a distant land, began to spread, and he soon came to the attention of the governor, Lu Wan’gai, who gave orders to discover the foreigner’s real intentions. Under threat of eviction from his terrified landlord, Ricci was summoned to an audience. The
guan
proved well disposed, however, expressing his appreciation for the Jesuit’s gift of a prism, which he then returned for the sake of propriety, and readily granting him permission to take up residence in the city. He also commissioned the construction of an astrolabe and a sundial, which the Jesuit delivered some days later with the addition of a celestial globe. The prefect Wang Zuo proved less obliging and showed some reluctance to sanction the foreigner’s stay in the city but finally bowed to the wishes of his superior.

Having received authorization, Ricci began his search for a house and made the requisite round of calls on the local authorities and the most important literati and men of culture. One of these was the elderly philosopher Zhang Doujin, considered one of the four most authoritative figures in the province and head of the White Deer Grotto Academy, whose members—formerly including the Neo-Confucian philosopher Zhu Xi—gathered regularly to discuss moral and philosophical subjects. The scholar was already familiar with Ricci’s map of the world and intended to publish a reproduction in the astronomical and geographic encyclopedia entitled
Tushupian
, on which he was then working. He asked Ricci for clarification on aspects of European science and in turn provided advice enabling Ricci to understand Chinese society more deeply. He also invited Ricci to take part in the academy’s discussions. The debates held in public and in the
shuyuan
, or academies, ensured lively intellectual contact between scholars and fostered the circulation of new ideas. It is therefore hardly surprising that a learned foreigner should be invited and his opinions listened to with great interest.

Ricci took part in these amicable disputes, speaking in Chinese and astonishing those present with his ability to quote Confucius like a scholar. He felt fully at ease in his role as a
daoren
while illustrating the principles of Christian doctrine to that select audience. This was an invaluable opportunity to gauge the reactions of Chinese literati to the idea of an immortal god, the supreme legislator who rewards or punishes, and to descriptions of the heaven or hell awaiting men in the next life. Ricci became aware during these discussions just how alien his beliefs were to the Chinese mentality, which had no place for or understanding of the concept of sin. For Chinese ethics, it made no sense to speak of waiting for happiness to be received after death. Importance was attached instead to practicing the moral virtues and improving oneself so as to obtain well-being and serenity during this life, observing the rites, respecting the hierarchies, and fostering fulfillment of the cosmic order on earth. Buddhist doctrine did possess an elaborate concept of hell, corresponding rather to the Christian purgatory, where the deceased remained only until complete atonement had been attained, avoiding the eternal and irrevocable damnation described by Ricci. During one of the discussions, not knowing how to respond to the missionary’s talk of divine judgment in the afterlife, Zhang Doujin quoted the observation by a scholar of the Song era intended to demonstrate the uselessness of the Buddhist belief in a heaven and a hell similar to those of Christianity: “If there is a heaven, it is right that the good should ascend to it . . . if there is a hell, the evil will go there. Let us try to be good and not evil.”
5
The exchange of views came to an end without one opinion prevailing over the others.