s was the celebrated "burning of the books." Hoangti was essentially
a reformer. Time-honored ceremonies were of little importance in his
eyes when they stood in the way of the direct and practical, and he
abolished hosts of ancient customs that had grown wearisome and
unmeaning. This sweeping away of the drift-wood of the past was far from
agreeable to the officials, to whom formalism and precedent were as the
breath of life. One of the ancient customs required the emperors to
ascend high mountains and offer sacrifices on their summits. The
literary class had ancient rule and precedent for every step in this
ceremony, and so sharply criticised the emperor's disregard of these
observances that they roused his anger. "You vaunt the simplicity of the
ancients," he impatiently said; "you should then be satisfied with me,
for I act in a simpler fashion than they did." Finally he closed the
controversy with the stern remark, "When I have need of you I will let
you know my orders."

The literati of China have always been notable for the strength of their
convictions and the obstinate courage with which they express their
opinions at all risks. They were silenced for the present, but their
anger, as well as that of the emperor, only slumbered. Five years
afterwards it was reawakened. Hoangti had summoned to the capital all
the governors and high officials for a Grand Council of the Empire. With
the men of affairs came the men of learning, many of them wedded to
theories and traditions, who looked upon Hoangti as a dangerous
iconoclast, and did not hesitate to express their opinion.

It was the most distinguished assembly that had ever come together in
China, and, gathered in that magnificent palace which was adorned with
the spoils of conquered kingdoms, it reflected the highest honor on the
great emperor who had called it together and who presided over its
deliberations. But the hardly concealed hostility of the literati soon
disturbed the harmony of the council. In response to the emperor, who
asked for candid expressions of opinion upon his government and
legislation, a courtier arose with words of high praise, ending with,
"Truly you have surpassed the very greatest of your predecessors even at
the most remote period."

The men of books broke into loud murmurs at this insult to the heroes of
their admiration, and one of them sprang angrily to his feet,
designating the former speaker as "a vile flatterer unworthy of the h