|
“‘Boy,’ said I, ‘what noise is that? Go forth and see.’ ‘Sir,’
replied
the boy on his return, ‘the moon and stars are brightly shining:
the
Silver River spans the sky. No sound of man is heard without: ’tis
but
the whispering of the trees.’
“‘Alas!’ I cried, ‘autumn is upon
us. And is it thus, O boy, that
autumn comes?--autumn, the cruel and the
cold; autumn, the season of
rack and mist; autumn, the season of cloudless
skies; autumn, the
season of piercing blasts; autumn, the season of
desolation and blight!
Chill is the sound that heralds its approach, and then
it leaps upon
us with a shout. All the rich luxuriance of green is changed,
all the
proud foliage of the forest swept down to earth, withered beneath
the
icy breath of the destroyer. For autumn is nature’s chief
executioner,
and its symbol is darkness. It has the temper of steel, and its
symbol
is a sharp sword. It is the avenging angel, riding upon an
atmosphere
of death. As spring is the epoch of growth, so autumn is the epoch
of
maturity. And sad is the hour when maturity is passed, for that
which
passes its prime must die.
“‘Still, what is this to plants and
trees, which fade away in their due
season?... But stay; there is man, man
the divinest of all things. A
hundred cares wreck his heart, countless
anxieties trace their wrinkles
on his brow, until his inmost self is bowed
beneath the burden of life.
And swifter still he hurries to decay when vainly
striving to attain
the unattainable, or grieving over his ignorance of that
which can
never be known. Then comes the whitening hair--and why not? Has man
an
adamantine frame, that he should outlast the trees of the field?
Yet,
after all, who is it, save himself, that steals his strength away?
Tell
me, O boy, what right has man to accuse his autumn blast?’
“My
boy made no answer. He was fast asleep. No sound reached me save
that of the
cricket chirping its response to my dirge.”
* *
* * *
The other leading historian of this period was SUNG
CH’I
(998-1061), who began his career by beating his elder brother at
the
graduates’ examination. He was, however, placed tenth, instead
of
first, by Imperial command, and in accordance with the precedence
of
brothers. He rose to high office, and was also a voluminous writer.
A
great favourite at Court, it is related that he was once at some
Imperial
festivity when he began to feel cold. The Emperor bade one of
the ladies of
the seraglio lend him a tippet, whereupon about a dozen
of the girls each
offered hers. But Sung Ch’i did not like to seem
to favour any one, and
rather than offend the rest, continued to sit
and shiver. The so-called New
History of the T’ang Dynasty, which he
produced in co-operation with Ou-yang
Hsiu, is generally regarded as
a distinct improvement upon the work of Liu
Hsu. It has not, however,
actually superseded the latter work, which is still
included among the
recognised dynastic histories, and stands side by side
with its rival.
* * * *
*
[Sidenote: SSŬ-MA KUANG]
Meanwhile another star had risen, in
magnitude to be compared only
with the effulgent genius of Ssŭ-ma Ch’ien.
SSŬ-MA KUANG (1019-1086)
entered upon an official career and rose to be
Minister of State. But
he opposed the great reformer, Wang An-shih, and in
1070 was compelled
to resign. He devoted the rest of his life to the
completion of his
famous work known as the _T’ung Chien_ or Mirror of
History, a title
bestowed upon it in 1084 by the Emperor, because “to view
antiquity as
it were in a mirror is an aid in the administration of
government.” The
Mirror of History covers a period from the fifth century
B.C. down to
the beginning of the Sung dynasty, A.D. 960, and was
supplemented by
several important works from the author’s own hand, all
bearing upon
the subject. In his youth the latter had been a devoted student,
and
used to rest his arm upon a kind of round wooden pillow, which
roused
him to wakefulness by its movement every time he began to doze
over
his work. On one occasion, in childhood, a small companion fell into
a
water-kong, and would have been drowned but for the presence of mind
of
Ssŭ-ma Kuang. He seized a huge stone, and with it cracked the jar
so
that the water poured out. As a scholar he had a large library, and
was
so particular in the handling of his books that even after many
years’
use they were still as good as new. He would not allow his disciples
to
turn over leaves by scratching them up with the nails, but made
them
use the forefinger and second finger of the right hand. In 1085
he
determined to return to public life, but he had not been many months
in
the capital, labouring as usual for his country’s good, before he
succumbed
to an illness and died, universally honoured and regretted
by his countrymen,
to whom he was affectionately known as the Living
Buddha.
The
following extract from his writings refers to a new and dangerous
development
in the Censorate, an institution which still plays a
singular part in the
administration of China:--
“Of old there was no such office as that of
Censor. From the highest
statesman down to the artisan and trader, every man
was free to
admonish the Throne. From the time of the Han dynasty onwards,
this
prerogative was vested in an office, with the weighty
responsibility
of discussing the government of the empire, the people within
the Four
Seas, successes, failures, advantages, and disadvantages, in order
of
importance and of urgency. The sole object in this arrangement was
the
benefit of the State, not that of the Censor, from whom all ideas
of fame or
gain were indeed far removed. In 1017 an edict was issued
appointing six
officers to undertake these Censorial duties, and in
1045 their names were
for the first time written out on boards; and
then, in 1062, apparently for
better preservation, the names were cut
on stone. Thus posterity can point to
such an one and say, ‘There was a
loyal man;’ to another, ‘There was a
traitor;’ to a third, ‘There was
an upright man;’ to a fourth, ‘There was a
scoundrel.’ Does not this
give cause for fear?”
* *
* * *
[Sidenote: CHOU TUN-I]
Contemporaneously with
Ssŭ-ma Kuang lived CHOU TUN-I (1017-1073), who
combined the duties of a small
military command with prolonged and
arduous study. He made himself ill by
overwork and strict attention
to the interests of the people at all hazards
to himself. His chief
works were written to elucidate the mysteries of the
Book of Changes,
and were published after his death by his disciples, with
commentaries
by Chu Hsi. The following short satire, veiled under the
symbolism of
flowers, being in a style which the educated Chinaman most
appreciates,
is very widely known:--
“Lovers of flowering plants and
shrubs we have had by scores, but T’ao
Ch’ien alone devoted himself to the
chrysanthemum. Since the opening
days of the T’ang dynasty, it has been
fashionable to admire the peony;
but my favourite is the water-lily. How
stainless it rises from its
slimy bed! How modestly it reposes on the clear
pool--an emblem of
purity and truth! Symmetrically perfect, its subtle
perfume is wafted
far and wide, while there it rests in spotless state,
something to be
regarded reverently from a distance, and not to be profaned
by familiar
approach.
“In my opinion the chrysanthemum is the flower
of retirement and
culture; the peony the flower of rank and wealth; the
water-lily, the
Lady Virtue _sans pareille_.
“Alas! few have loved the
chrysanthemum since T’ao Ch’ien, and none
now love the water-lily like
myself, whereas the peony is a general
favourite with all
mankind.”
CH’ENG HAO (1032-1085) and CH’ENG I (1033-1107) were two
brothers famed
for their scholarship, especially the younger of the two, who
published
a valuable commentary upon the Book of Changes. The elder
attracted
some attention by boldly suppressing a stone image in a Buddhist
temple
which was said to emit rays from its head, and had been the cause
of
disorderly gatherings of men and women. A specimen of his verse will
be
given in the next chapter. Ch’eng I wrote some interesting chapters
on the
art of poetry. In one of these he says, “Asked if a man can
make himself a
poet by taking pains, I reply that only by taking pains
can any one hope to
be ranked as such, though on the other hand the
very fact of taking pains is
likely to be inimical to success. The old
couplet reminds
us--
_‘E’er one pentameter be spoken
How many a human heart is
broken!’_
There is also another old couplet--
_‘’Twere sad to
take this heart of mine
And break it o’er a five-foot line.’_
Both
of these are very much to the point. Confucius himself did not
make verses,
but he did not advise others to abstain from doing so.”
*
* * * *
[Sidenote: WANG AN-SHIH]
The great
reformer and political economist WANG AN-SHIH
(1021-1086), who lived to see
all his policy reversed, was a hard
worker as a youth, and in composition his
pen was said to “fly over
the paper.” As a man he was distinguished by his
frugality and his
obstinacy. He wore dirty clothes and did not even wash his
face, for
which Su Hsun denounced him as a beast. He was so cocksure of
all
his own views that he would never admit the possibility of
being
wrong, which gained for him the sobriquet of the Obstinate
Minister.
He attempted to reform the examination system, requiring from
the
candidate not so much graces of style as a wide acquaintance
with
practical subjects. “Accordingly,” says one Chinese writer, “even
the
pupils at village schools threw away their text-books of rhetoric,
and
began to study primers of history, geography, and political
economy.”
He was the author of a work on the written characters, with
special
reference to those which are formed by the combination of two or
more,
the meanings of which, taken together, determine the meaning of
the
compound character. The following is a letter which he wrote to
a
friend on the study of false doctrines:--
“I have been debarred by
illness from writing to you now for some time,
though my thoughts have been
with you all the while.
“In reply to my last letter, wherein I expressed
a fear that you were
not progressing with your study of the Canon, I have
received several
from you, in all of which you seem to think I meant the
Canon of
Buddha, and you are astonished at my recommendation of such
pernicious
works. But how could I possibly have intended any other than the
Canon
of the sages of China? And for you to have thus missed the point of
my
letter is a good illustration of what I meant when I said I feared
you
were not progressing with your study of the Canon.
“Now a thorough
knowledge of our Canon has not been attained by any one
for a very long
period. Study of the Canon alone does not suffice for
a thorough knowledge of
the Canon. Consequently, I have been myself an
omnivorous reader of books of
all kinds, even, for example, of ancient
medical and botanical works. I have,
moreover, dipped into treatises
on agriculture and on needlework, all of
which I have found very
profitable in aiding me to seize the great scheme of
the Canon itself.
For learning in these days is a totally different pursuit
from what it
was in the olden times; and it is now impossible otherwise to
get at
the real meaning of our ancient sages.
“There was Yang Hsiung.
He hated all books that were not orthodox. Yet
he made a wide study of
heterodox writers. By force of education he
was enabled to take what of good
and to reject what of bad he found
in each. Their pernicious influence was
altogether lost on him; while
on the other hand he was prepared the more
effectively to elucidate
what we know to be the truth. Now, do you consider
that I have been
corrupted by these pernicious influences? If so, you know me
not.
“No! the pernicious influences of the age are not to be sought for
in
the Canon of Buddha. They are to be found in the corruption and vice
of
those in high places; in the false and shameless conduct which is
now
rife among us. Do you not agree with me?”
* *
* * *
[Sidenote: SU SHIH]
SU SHIH (1036-1101), better
known by his fancy name as Su
Tung-p’o, whose early education was
superintended by his mother,
produced such excellent compositions at the
examination for his final
degree that the examiner, Ou-yang Hsiu, suspected
them to be the work
of a qualified substitute. Ultimately he came out first
on the list.
He rose to be a statesman, who made more enemies than friends,
and
was perpetually struggling against the machinations of
unscrupulous
opponents, which on one occasion resulted in his banishment to
the
island of Hainan, then a barbarous and almost unknown region. He
was
also a brilliant essayist and poet, and his writings are still
the
delight of the Chinese. The following is an account of a
midnight
picnic to a spot on the banks of a river at which a great battle
had
taken place nearly nine hundred years before, and where one of
the
opposing fleets was burnt to the water’s edge, reddening a
wall,
probably the cliff alongside:--
“In the year 1081, the seventh
moon just on the wane, I went with a
friend on a boat excursion to the Red
Wall. A clear breeze was gently
blowing, scarce enough to ruffle the river,
as I filled my friend’s cup
and bade him troll a lay to the bright moon,
singing the song of the
‘Modest Maid.’
“By and by up rose the moon
over the eastern hills, wandering between
the Wain and the Goat, shedding
forth her silver beams, and linking the
water with the sky. On a skiff we
took our seats, and shot over the
liquid plain, lightly as though travelling
through space, riding on
the wind without knowing whither we were bound. We
seemed to be moving
in another sphere, sailing through air like the gods. So
I poured out
a bumper for joy, and, beating time on the skiff’s side, sang
the
following verse:--
‘_With laughing oars, our joyous
prow
Shoots swiftly through the glittering wave--
My heart within
grows sadly grave--
Great heroes dead, where are ye now?_’
“My
friend accompanied these words upon his flageolet, delicately
adjusting its
notes to express the varied emotions of pity and regret,
without the
slightest break in the thread of sound which seemed to wind
around us like a
silken skein. The very monsters of the deep yielded
to the influence of his
strains, while the boatwoman, who had lost her
husband, burst into a flood of
tears. Overpowered by my own feelings,
I settled myself into a serious mood,
and asked my friend for some
explanation of his art. To this he replied, ‘Did
not Ts’ao Ts’ao say--
‘_The stars are few, the moon is bright,
The
raven southward wings his flight?_’
“‘Westwards to Hsia-k’ou, eastwards
to Wu-ch’ang, where hill and
stream in wild luxuriance blend,--was it not
there that Ts’ao Ts’ao
was routed by Chou Yu? Ching-chou was at his feet: he
was pushing down
stream towards the east. His war-vessels stretched stem to
stern for a
thousand _li_: his banners darkened the sky. He poured out a
libation
as he neared Chiang-ling; and, sitting in the saddle armed
_cap-a-pie_,
he uttered those words, did that hero of his age. Yet where is
he
to-day?
“‘Now you and I have fished and gathered fuel together on
the river
eyots. We have fraternised with the crayfish; we have made
friends
with the deer. We have embarked together in our frail canoe; we
have
drawn inspiration together from the wine-flask--a couple of
ephemerides
launched on the ocean in a rice-husk! Alas! life is but an
instant of
Time. I long to be like the Great River which rolls on its way
without
end. Ah, that I might cling to some angel’s wing and roam with him
for
ever! Ah, that I might clasp the bright moon in my arms and dwell
with
her for aye! Alas! it only remains to me to enwrap these regrets in
the
tender melody of sound.’
“‘But do you forsooth comprehend,’ I
inquired, ‘the mystery of this
river and of this moon? The water passes by
but is never gone: the moon
wanes only to wax once more. Relatively speaking,
Time itself is but
an instant of time; absolutely speaking, you and I, in
common with all
matter, shall exist to all eternity. Wherefore, then, the
longing of
which you speak?
“‘The objects we see around us are one and
all the property of
individuals. If a thing does not belong to me, not a
particle of it may
be enjoyed by me. But the clear breeze blowing across this
stream, the
bright moon streaming over yon hills,--these are sounds and
sights to
be enjoyed without let or hindrance by all. They are the eternal
gifts
of God to all mankind, and their enjoyment is inexhaustible. Hence
it
is that you and I are enjoying them now.’
“My friend smiled as he
threw away the dregs from his wine-cup and
filled it once more to the brim.
And then, when our feast was over,
amid the litter of cups and plates, we lay
down to rest in the boat:
for streaks of light from the east had stolen upon
us unawares.”
The completion of a pavilion which Su Shih had been
building, “as a
refuge from the business of life,” coinciding with a fall of
rain which
put an end to a severe drought, elicited a grateful record of
this
divine manifestation towards a suffering people. “The pavilion
was
named after rain, to commemorate joy.” His record concludes with
these
lines:--
“_Should Heaven rain pearls, the cold cannot wear
them as clothes;
Should Heaven rain jade, the hungry cannot use it as
food.
It has rained without cease for three days--
Whose was
the influence at work?
Should you say it was that of your
Governor,
The Governor himself refers it to the Son of Heaven.
But the
Son of Heaven says ‘No! it was God.
And God says ‘No! it was
Nature.’
And as Nature lies beyond the ken of man,
I christen
this arbour instead._”
Another piece refers to a recluse
who--
“Kept a couple of cranes, which he had carefully trained; and
every
morning he would release them westwards through the gap, to fly
away
and alight in the marsh below or soar aloft among the clouds as
the
birds’ own fancy might direct. At nightfall they would return with
the
utmost regularity.”
This piece is also finished off with a few
poetical lines:--
“_Away! away! my birds, fly westwards now,
To
wheel on high and gaze on all below;
To swoop together, pinions closed, to
earth;
To soar aloft once more among the clouds;
To wander all day
long in sedgy vale;
To gather duckweed in the stony marsh.
Come back!
come back! beneath the lengthening shades,
Your serge-clad master stands,
guitar in hand.
’Tis he that feeds you from his slender store:
Come
back! come back! nor linger in the west._”
His account of Sleep-Land is
based upon the Drunk-Land of Wang Chi:--
“A pure administration and
admirable morals prevail there, the whole
being one vast level tract, with no
north, south, east, or west. The
inhabitants are quiet and affable; they
suffer from no diseases of
any kind, neither are they subject to the
influences of the seven
passions. They have no concern with the ordinary
affairs of life; they
do not distinguish heaven, earth, the sun, and the
moon; they toil not,
neither do they spin; but simply lie down and enjoy
themselves. They
have no ships and no carriages; their wanderings, however,
are the
boundless flights of the imagination.”
* *
* * *
His younger brother, SU CHE (1039-1112), poet and
official, is
chiefly known for his devotion to Taoism. He published an
edition, with
commentary, of the _Tao-Te-Ching_.
[Sidenote: HUANG
T’ING-CHIEN]
One of the Four Scholars of his century is HUANG
T’ING-CHIEN
(1050-1110), who was distinguished as a poet and a calligraphist.
He
has also been placed among the twenty-four examples of filial
piety,
for when his mother was ill he watched by her bedside for a whole
year
without ever taking off his clothes. The following is a specimen of
his
epistolary style:--
“Hsi K’ang’s verses are at once vigorous and
purely beautiful, without
a vestige of commonplace about them. Every student
of the poetic art
should know them thoroughly, and thus bring the author into
his mind’s
eye.
“Those who are sunk in the cares and anxieties of this
world’s strife,
even by a passing glance would gain therefrom enough to clear
away some
pecks of the cobwebs of mortality. How much more they who
penetrate
further and seize each hidden meaning and enjoy its flavour to
the
full? Therefore, my nephew, I send you these poems for family
reading,
that you may cleanse your heart and solace a weary hour by
their
perusal.
“As I recently observed to my own young people, the
true hero should be
many-sided, but he must not be commonplace. It is
impossible to cure
that. Upon which one of them asked by what characteristics
this absence
of the commonplace was distinguished. ‘It is hard to say,’ I
replied.
‘A man who is not commonplace is, under ordinary circumstances,
much
like other people. But he who at moments of great trial does
not
flinch, he is not commonplace.’”
* * *
* *
CHENG CH’IAO (1108-1166) began his literary career in
studious
seclusion, cut off from all human intercourse. Then he spent
some
time in visiting various places of interest, devoting himself
to
searching out marvels, investigating antiquities, and reading
(and
remembering) every book that came in his way. In 1149 he was
summoned
to an audience, and received an honorary post. He was then sent
home
to copy out his History of China, which covered a period from
about
B.C. 2800 to A.D. 600. A fine edition of this work, in forty-six
large
volumes, was published in 1749 by Imperial command, with a preface
by
the Emperor Ch’ien Lung. He also wrote essays and poetry, besides
a
treatise in which he showed that the inscriptions on the Stone
Drums,
now in Peking, belong rather to the latter half of the third
century
B.C. than to the tenth or eleventh century B.C., as usually
accepted.
* * * * *
[Sidenote: CHU
HSI]
The name of CHU HSI (1130-1200) is a household word
throughout
the length and breadth of literary China. He graduated at
nineteen, and
entered upon a highly successful official career. He apparently
had a
strong leaning towards Buddhism--some say that he actually became
a
Buddhist priest; at any rate, he soon saw the error of his ways,
and
gave himself up completely to a study of the orthodox doctrine. He
was
a most voluminous writer. In addition to his revision of the
history
of Ssŭ-ma Kuang, which, under the title of _T’ung Chien Kang Mu_,
is
still regarded as the standard history of China, he placed
himself
first in the first rank of all commentators on the Confucian Canon.
He
introduced interpretations either wholly or partly at variance
with
those which had been put forth by the scholars of the Han dynasty
and
hitherto received as infallible, thus modifying to a certain extent
the
prevailing standard of political and social morality. His
principle
was simply one of consistency. He refused to interpret words in
a
given passage in one sense, and the same words occurring elsewhere
in
another sense. The result, as a whole, was undoubtedly to quicken
with
intelligibility many paragraphs the meaning of which had been
obscured
rather than elucidated by the earlier scholars of the Han
dynasty.
Occasionally, however, the great commentator o’erleapt himself.
Here
are two versions of one passage in the Analects, as interpreted
by
the rival schools, of which the older seems unquestionably to
be
preferred:--
_Han._
Meng Wu asked Confucius
concerning filial piety. The Master said,
“It consists in giving your
parents no cause for anxiety save from
your natural
ailments.”
_Chu Hsi._
Meng Wu asked Confucius concerning
filial piety. The Master
said, “Parents have the sorrow of thinking
anxiously about their
children’s ailments.”
The latter of these
interpretations being obviously incomplete, Chu Hsi
adds a gloss to the
effect that children are therefore in duty bound to
take great care of
themselves.
In the preface to his work on the Four Books as explained by
Chu
Hsi, published in 1745, Wang Pu-ch’ing (born 1671) has the
following
passage:--“Shao Yung tried to explain the Canon of Changes by
numbers,
and Ch’eng I by the eternal fitness of things; but Chu Hsi
alone
was able to pierce through the meaning, and appropriate the
thought
of the prophets who composed it.” The other best known works of
Chu
Hsi are a metaphysical treatise containing the essence of his
later
speculations, and the Little Learning, a handbook for the young. It
has
been contended by some that the word “little” in the last title
refers
not to youthful learners, but to the lower plane on which the book
is
written, as compared with the Great Learning. The following
extract,
however, seems to point more towards Learning for the Young as
the
correct rendering of the title:--
“When mounting the wall of a
city, do not point with the finger; when
on the top, do not call
out.
“When at a friend’s house, do not persist in asking for anything
you
may wish to have. When going upstairs, utter a loud ‘Ahem!’ If you
see
two pairs of shoes outside and hear voices, you may go in; but
if you hear
nothing, remain outside. Do not trample on the shoes of
other guests, nor
step on the mat spread for food; but pick up your
skirts and pass quickly to
your allotted place. Do not be in a hurry to
arrive, nor in haste to get
away.
“Do not bother the gods with too many prayers. Do not make
allowances
for your own shortcomings. Do not seek to know what has not yet
come to
pass.”
Chu Hsi was lucky enough to fall in with a clever
portrait painter,
a _rara avis_ in China at the present day according to Mr.
J. B.
Coughtrie, late of Hongkong, who declares that “the style and
taste
peculiar to the Chinese combine to render a lifelike
resemblance
impossible, and the completed picture unattractive. The artist
lays
upon his paper a flat wash of colour to match the complexion of
his
sitter, and upon this draws a mere map of the features, making
no
attempt to obtain roundness or relief by depicting light and
shadows,
and never by any chance conveying the slightest suggestion of
animation
or expression.” Chu Hsi gave the artist a glowing testimonial,
in
which he states that the latter not merely portrays the features,
but
“catches the very expression, and reproduces, as it were, the
inmost
mind of his model.” He then adds the following personal
tit-bit:--
“I myself sat for two portraits, one large and the other
small; and it
was quite a joke to see how accurately he reproduced my coarse
ugly
face and my vulgar rustic turn of mind, so that even those who had
only
heard of, but had never seen me, knew at once for whom the
portraits
were intended.” It would be interesting to know if either of
these
pictures still survives among the Chu family heirlooms.
At the
death of Chu Hsi, his coffin is said to have taken up a
position, suspended
in the air, about three feet from the ground.
Whereupon his son-in-law,
falling on his knees beside the bier,
reminded the departed spirit of the
great principles of which he had
been such a brilliant exponent in life,--and
the coffin descended
gently to the ground.
CHAPTER
III
POETRY
The poetry of the Sungs has not attracted so much
attention as that
of the T’angs. This is chiefly due to the fact that
although all
the literary men of the Sung dynasty may roughly be said to
have
contributed their quota of verse, still there were few, if any,
who
could be ranked as professional poets, that is, as writers of
verse
and of nothing else, like Li Po, Tu Fu, and many others under
the
T’ang dynasty. Poetry now began to be, what it has remained in
a
marked degree until the present day, a department of polite
education,
irrespective of the particle of the divine gale. More regard was
paid
to form, and the license which had been accorded to earlier masters
was
sacrificed to conventionality. The Odes collected by Confucius are,
as
we have seen, rude ballads of love, and war, and tilth, borne by
their
very simplicity direct to the human heart. The poetry of the
T’ang
dynasty shows a masterly combination, in which art, unseen, is
employed
to enhance, not to fetter and degrade, thoughts drawn from a
veritable
communion with nature. With the fall of the T’ang dynasty the
poetic
art suffered a lapse from which it has never recovered; and now,
in
modern times, although every student “can turn a verse” because he
has
been “duly taught,” the poems produced disclose a naked
artificiality
which leaves the reader disappointed and
cold.
[Sidenote: CH’EN T’UAN]
The poet CH’EN T’UAN (_d._ A.D. 989)
began life under favourable
auspices. He was suckled by a mysterious lady in
a green robe, who
found him playing as a tiny child on the bank of a river.
He became, in
consequence of this supernatural nourishment, exceedingly
clever and
possessed of a prodigious memory, with a happy knack for verse.
Yet he
failed to get a degree, and gave himself up “to the joys of hill
and
stream.” While on the mountains some spiritual beings are said to
have
taught him the art of hibernating like an animal, so that he would
go
off to sleep for a hundred days at a time. He wrote a treatise on
the
elixir of life, and was generally inclined to Taoist notions. At
death
his body remained warm for seven days, and for a whole month a
“glory”
played around his tomb. He was summoned several times to Court, but
to
judge by the following poem, officialdom seems to have had few
charms
for him:--
“_For ten long years I plodded
through
the vale of lust and strife,
Then through my dreams
there flashed a ray
of the old sweet peaceful life....
No
scarlet-tasselled hat of state
can vie with soft
repose;
Grand mansions do not taste the joys
that the poor
man’s cabin knows.
I hate the threatening clash of arms
when
fierce retainers throng,
I loathe the drunkard’s revels
and
the sound of fife and song;
But I love to seek a quiet
nook, and
some old volume bring
Where I can see the wild
flowers bloom
and hear the birds in spring._”
Another
poet, YANG I (974-1030), was unable to speak as a child, until
one day, being
taken to the top of a pagoda, he suddenly burst out with
the following
lines:--
“_Upon this tall pagoda’s peak
My hand can nigh the
stars enclose;
I dare not raise my voice to speak,
For fear of
startling God’s repose._”
Mention has already been made of SHAO YUNG
(1011-1077) in
connection with Chu Hsi and classical scholarship. He was a
great
traveller, and an enthusiast in the cause of learning. He
denied
himself a stove in winter and a fan in summer. For thirty years he
did
not use a pillow, nor had he even a mat to sleep on. The
following
specimen of his verse seems, however, to belie his character as
an
ascetic:--
“_Fair flowers from above in my goblet are
shining,
And add by reflection an infinite zest;
Through two
generations I’ve lived unrepining,
While four mighty rulers have sunk to
their rest._
“_My body in health has done nothing to spite me,
And
sweet are the moments which pass o’er my head;
But now, with this wine and
these flowers to delight me,
How shall I keep sober and get home to
bed?_”
Shao Yung was a great authority on natural phenomena, the
explanation
of which he deduced from principles found in the Book of Changes.
On
one occasion he was strolling about with some friends when he heard
the
goatsucker’s cry. He immediately became depressed, and said, “When
good
government is about to prevail, the magnetic current flows from
north to
south; when bad government is about to prevail, it flows from
south to north,
and birds feel its influence first of all things. Now
hitherto this bird has
not been seen at Lo-yang; from which I infer
that the magnetic current is
flowing from south to north, and that some
southerner is coming into power,
with manifold consequences to the
State.” The subsequent appearance of Wang
An-shih was regarded as a
verification of his skill.
[Sidenote: WANG
AN-SHIH]
The great reformer here mentioned found time, amid the cares of
his
economic revolution, to indulge in poetical composition. Here is
his
account of a _nuit blanche_, an excellent example of the
difficult
“stop-short:”--
“_The incense-stick is burnt to
ash,
the water-clock is stilled.
The midnight breeze blows
sharply by,
and all around is chilled._
“_Yet I am kept
from slumber
by the beauty of the spring...
Sweet shapes of
flowers across the blind
the quivering moonbeams
fling!_”
Here, too, is a short poem by the classical scholar, Huang
T’ing-chien,
written on the annual visit for worship at the tombs of
ancestors, in
full view of the hillside cemetery:--
“_The peach and
plum trees smile with flowers
this famous day of spring,
And
country graveyards round about
with lamentations ring.
Thunder
has startled insect life
and roused the gnats and bees,
A
gentle rain has urged the crops
and soothed the flowers and
trees....
Perhaps on this side lie the bones
of a wretch whom
no one knows;
On that, the sacred ashes
of a patriot
repose.
But who across the centuries
can hope to mark each
spot
Where fool and hero, joined in death,
beneath the
brambles rot?_”
The grave student Ch’eng Hao wrote verses like the rest.
Sometimes he
even condescended to jest:--
“_I wander north, I wander
south,
I rest me where I please....
See how the river-banks
are nipped
beneath the autumn breeze!
Yet what care I if
autumn blasts
the river-banks lay bare?
The loss of hue to
river-banks
is the river-banks’ affair._”
In the eleventh
and twelfth centuries HUNG CHUEH-FAN made a
name for himself as a poet and
calligraphist, but he finally yielded
to the fascination of Buddhism and took
orders as a priest. This is
no trifling ordeal. From three to nine pastilles
are placed upon the
shaven scalp of the candidate, and are allowed to burn
down into the
flesh, leaving an indelible scar. Here is a poem by him,
written
probably before monasticism had damped his natural
ardour:--
“_Two green silk ropes, with painted stand,
from
heights aerial swing,
And there outside the house a
maid
disports herself in spring.
Along the ground her
blood-red skirts
all swiftly swishing fly,
As though to bear
her off to be
an angel in the sky.
Strewed thick with
fluttering almond-blooms
the painted stand is seen;
The
embroidered ropes flit to and fro
amid the willow green.
Then
when she stops and out she springs
to stand with downcast
eyes,
You think she is some angel
just now banished from the
skies._”
[Sidenote: YEH SHIH--KAO CHU-NIEN]
Better known as a
statesman than as a poet is YEH SHIH
(1150-1223). The following “stop-short,”
however, referring to the
entrance-gate to a beautiful park, is ranked among
the best of its
kind:--
“_’Tis closed!--lest trampling footsteps
mar
the glory of the green.
Time after time we knock and
knock;
no janitor is seen.
Yet bolts and bars can’t quite shut
in
the spring-time’s beauteous pall:
A pink-flowered
almond-spray peeps out
athwart the envious wall!_”
Of KAO
CHU-NIEN nothing seems to be known. His poem on the
annual spring worship at
the tombs of ancestors is to be found in all
collections:--
“_The
northern and the southern hills
are one large
burying-ground,
And all is life and bustle there
when the
sacred day comes round.
Burnt paper ~cash~, like
butterflies,
fly fluttering far and wide,
While mourners’
robes with tears of blood
a crimson hue are dyed.
The sun
sets, and the red fox crouches
down beside the tomb;
Night
comes, and youths and maidens laugh
where lamps light up the
gloom.
Let him whose fortune brings him wine,
get tipsy while
he may,
For no man, when the long night comes,
can take one
drop away!_”
CHAPTER
IV
DICTIONARIES--ENCYCLOPÆDIAS--MEDICAL JURISPRUDENCE
Several
dictionaries of importance were issued by various scholars
during the Sung
dynasty, not to mention many philological works of
more or less value. The
Chinese have always been students of their
own language, partly, no doubt,
because they have so far never
condescended to look at any other. They
delight in going back to days
when correspondence was carried on by pictures
pure and simple; and the
fact that there is little evidence forthcoming that
such a system ever
prevailed has only resulted in stimulating invention and
forgery.
A clever courtier, popularly known as “the nine-tailed fox,” was
CH’EN
P’ENG-NIEN (A.D. 961--1017), who rose to be a Minister of State.
He
was employed to revise the _Kuang Yun_, a phonetic dictionary by
some
unknown author, which contained over 26,000 separate characters.
This
work was to a great extent superseded by the _Chi Yun_, on a
similar
plan, but containing over 53,000 characters. The latter was produced
by
Sung Ch’i, mentioned in chap. iii., in conjunction with several eminent
scholars. |
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