No More Learning

The mountain air is fresh at the dusk of day:
The flying birds two by two return.
In these things there lies a deep meaning;
Yet when we would express it, words suddenly fail us.


(8)

MOVING HOUSE

My old desire to live in the Southern Village
Was not because I had taken a fancy to the house.
But I heard it was a place of simple-minded men
With whom it were a joy to spend the mornings and evenings.
Many years I had longed to settle here:
Now at last I have managed to move house.
I do not mind if my cottage is rather small
So long as there's room enough for bed and mat.
Often and often the neighbours come to see me
And with brave words discuss the things of old.
Rare writings we read together and praise:
Doubtful meanings we examine together and settle.


(9)

RETURNING TO THE FIELDS

When I was young, I was out of tune with the herd:
My only love was for the hills and mountains.
Unwitting I fell into the Web of the World's dust
And was not free until my thirtieth year.
The migrant bird longs for the old wood:
The fish in the tank thinks of its native pool.
I had rescued from wildness a patch of the Southern Moor
And, still rustic, I returned to field and garden.
My ground covers no more than ten acres:
My thatched cottage has eight or nine rooms.
Elms and willows cluster by the eaves:
Peach trees and plum trees grow before the Hall.
Hazy, hazy the distant hamlets of men.
Steady the smoke of the half-deserted village,
A dog barks somewhere in the deep lanes,
A cock crows at the top of the mulberry tree.
At gate and courtyard--no murmur of the World's dust:
In the empty rooms--leisure and deep stillness.
Long I lived checked by the bars of a cage:
Now I have turned again to Nature and Freedom.


(10)

READING THE BOOK OF HILLS AND SEAS

In the month of June the grass grows high
And round my cottage thick-leaved branches sway.
There is not a bird but delights in the place where it rests:
And I too--love my thatched cottage.
I have done my ploughing:
I have sown my seed.
Again I have time to sit and read my books.
In the narrow lane there are no deep ruts:
Often my friends' carriages turn back.
In high spirits I pour out my spring wine
And pluck the lettuce growing in my garden.
A gentle rain comes stealing up from the east
And a sweet wind bears it company.
My thoughts float idly over the story of King Chou
My eyes wander over the pictures of Hills and Seas.
At a single glance I survey the whole Universe.
He will never be happy, whom such pleasures fail to please!


(11)

FLOOD

The lingering clouds, rolling, rolling,
And the settled rain, dripping, dripping,
In the Eight Directions--the same dusk.
The level lands--one great river.
Wine I have, wine I have:
Idly I drink at the eastern window.
Longingly--I think of my friends,
But neither boat nor carriage comes.


(12)

NEW CORN

Swiftly the years, beyond recall.
Solemn the stillness of this fair morning.
I will clothe myself in spring-clothing
And visit the slopes of the Eastern Hill.
By the mountain-stream a mist hovers,
Hovers a moment, then scatters.
There comes a wind blowing from the south
That brushes the fields of new corn.




CHAPTER IV


INVITING GUESTS

By Ch'? ng-kung Sui (died A. D. 273)

I sent out invitations
To summon guests.
I collected together
All my friends.
Loud talk
And simple feasting:
Discussion of philosophy,
Investigation of subtleties.
Tongues loosened
And minds at one.
Hearts refreshed
By discharge of emotion!


CLIMBING A MOUNTAIN

By Tao-yun (_circa_ A. D. 400), wife of General Wang Ning-chih. The
general was so stupid that she finally deserted him.

High rises the Eastern Peak
Soaring up to the blue sky.
Among the rocks--an empty hollow,
Secret, still, mysterious!
Uncarved and unhewn,
Screened by nature with a roof of clouds.
Times and Seasons, what things are you
Bringing to my life ceaseless change?
I will lodge for ever in this hollow
Where Springs and Autumns unheeded pass.


SAILING HOMEWARD

By Chan Fang-sh? ng (fourth century A. D. )

Cliffs that rise a thousand feet
Without a break,
Lake that stretches a hundred miles
Without a wave,
Sands that are white through all the year,
Without a stain,
Pine-tree woods, winter and summer
Ever-green,
Streams that for ever flow and flow
Without a pause,
Trees that for twenty thousand years
Your vows have kept,
You have suddenly healed the pain of a traveller's heart,
And moved his brush to write a new song.


FIVE "TZ? -YEH" SONGS

At the time when blossoms
Fall from the cherry-tree:
On a day when yellow birds
Hovered in the branches--
You said you must stop,
Because your horse was tired:
I said I must go,
Because my silkworms were hungry.

All night I could not sleep
Because of the moonlight on my bed.
I kept on hearing a voice calling:
Out of Nowhere, Nothing answered "yes. "

I will carry my coat and not put on my belt;
With unpainted eyebrows I will stand at the front window.
My tiresome petticoat keeps on flapping about;
If it opens a little, I shall blame the spring wind.

I heard my love was going to Yang-chou
And went with him as far as Ch'u-shan.
For a moment when you held me fast in your outstretched arms
I thought the river stood still and did not flow.

I have brought my pillow and am lying at the northern window,
So come to me and play with me awhile.
With so much quarrelling and so few kisses
How long do you think our love can last?


THE LITTLE LADY OF CH'ING-HSI

(A CHILDREN'S SONG)

Her door opened on the white water
Close by the side of the timber bridge:
That's where the little lady lived
All alone without a lover.


PLUCKING THE RUSHES

(A BOY AND GIRL ARE SENT TO GATHER RUSHES FOR THATCHING)

Anon. (fourth century)

Green rushes with red shoots,
Long leaves bending to the wind--
You and I in the same boat
Plucking rushes at the Five Lakes.
We started at dawn from the orchid-island:
We rested under the elms till noon.
You and I plucking rushes
Had not plucked a handful when night came!


BALLAD OF THE WESTERN ISLAND IN THE NORTH COUNTRY

"Seeing the plum-tree I thought of the Western Island
And I plucked a branch to send to the North Country.
I put on my dress of apricot-yellow silk
And bound up my hair black as the crow's wing.
But which is the road that leads to the Western Island?
I'll ask the man at the ferry by the Bridge of Boats.
But the sun is sinking and the orioles flying home:
And the wind is blowing and sighing in the walnut-tree.
I'll stand under the tree just beside the gate:
I'll stand by the door and show off my enamelled hair-pins. "
She's opened the gate, but her lover has not come:
She's gone out at the gate to pluck red lotus.
As she plucks the lotus on the southern dyke in autumn,
The lotus flowers stand higher than a man's head.
She bends down--and plays with the lotus seeds,
The lotus seeds are green like the lake-water.
She gathers the flowers and puts them into her gown--
The lotus-bud that is red all through.
She thinks of her lover, her lover that does not come:
She looks up and sees the wild geese flying--
The Western Island is full of wild geese.
To look for her lover she climbs the Blue Tower.
The tower is high: she looks, but cannot see:
All day she leans on the balcony rails.
The rail is twisted into a twelve-fold pattern.
She lets fall her hand white like the colour of jade.
She rolls up the awning, she sees the wide sky,
And the sea-water waving its vacant blue.
"The sea shall carry my dreams far away,
So that you shall be sorry at last for my sorrow.
If the South wind--only knew my thoughts
It would blow my dreams till they got to the Western Island. "


SONG

By Tsang Chih (sixth century)

I was brought up under the Stone Castle:
My window opened on to the castle tower.
In the castle were beautiful young men
Who waved to me as they went in and out.


SONG OF THE MEN OF CHIN-LING

(MARCHING BACK INTO THE CAPITAL)

By Hsieh T'iao (fifth century A. D. )

Chiang-nan is a glorious and beautiful land,
And Chin-ling an exalted and kingly province!
The green canals of the city stretch on and on
And its high towers stretch up and up.
Flying gables lean over the bridle-road:
Drooping willows cover the Royal Aqueduct.
Shrill flutes sing by the coach's awning,
And reiterated drums bang near its painted wheels.
The names of the deserving shall be carved on the Cloud Terrace. [34]
And for those who have done valiantly rich reward awaits.

[34] The Record Office.


THE SCHOLAR RECRUIT

By Pao Chao (died A. D. 466)

Now late
I follow Time's Necessity:[35]
Mounting a barricade I pacify remote tribes.
Discarding my sash I don a coat of rhinoceros-skin:
Rolling up my skirts I shoulder a black bow.
Even at the very start my strength fails:
What will become of me before it's all over?

[35] _I. e. _, "enlist. "


THE RED HILLS

By Pao Chao

Red hills lie athwart us as a menace in the west,
And fiery mountains glare terrible in the south.
The body burns, the head aches and throbs:
If a bird light here, its soul forthwith departs.
Warm springs
Pour from cloudy pools
And hot smoke issues between the rocks.
The sun and moon are perpetually obscured:
The rain and dew never stay dry.
There are red serpents a hundred feet long,
And black snakes ten girths round.
The sand-spitters shoot their poison at the sunbeams:
The flying insects are ill with the shifting glare.
The hungry monkeys dare not come down to eat:
The morning birds dare not set out to fly.
At the Ching river many die of poison:
Crossing the Lu one is lucky if one is only ill.
Our living feet walk on dead ground:
Our high wills surmount the snares of Fate.
The Spear-boat General[36] got but little honour:
The Wave-subduer[37] met with scant reward.
If our Prince still grudges the things that are easy to give,[38]
Can he hope that his soldiers will give what is hardest to give? [39]

[36] Hou Yen (first century B. C. ).

[37] Ma Yuan (first century A. D. ).

[38] Rewards and titles.

[39] Life.


DREAMING OF A DEAD LADY

"I heard at night your long sighs
And knew that you were thinking of me. "
As she spoke, the doors of Heaven opened
And our souls conversed and I saw her face.
She set me a pillow to rest on
And she brought me meat and drink.

* * * * *

I stood beside her where she lay,
But suddenly woke and she was not there:
And none knew how my soul was torn,
How the tears fell surging over my breast.


THE LIBERATOR

A POLITICAL ALLEGORY

By Wu-ti, emperor of the Liang dynasty (A. D. 464-549)

In the high trees--many doleful winds:
The ocean waters--lashed into waves.
If the sharp sword be not in your hand,
How can you hope your friends will remain many?
Do you not see that sparrow on the fence?
Seeing the hawk it casts itself into the snare.
The fowler to catch the sparrow is delighted:
The Young Man to see the sparrow is grieved.
He takes his sword and cuts through the netting:
The yellow sparrow flies away, away.
Away, away, up to the blue sky
And down again to thank the Young Man.


LO-YANG

By the Emperor Ch'ien W? n-ti (sixth century)

A beautiful place is the town of Lo-yang:
The big streets are full of spring light.
The lads go driving out with harps in their hands:
The mulberry girls go out to the fields with their baskets.
Golden whips glint at the horses' flanks.
Gauze sleeves brush the green boughs.
Racing dawn, the carriages come home,--
And the girls with their high baskets full of fruit.


WINTER NIGHT

My bed is so empty that I keep on waking up:
As the cold increases, the night-wind begins to blow.
It rustles the curtains, making a noise like the sea:
Oh that those were waves which could carry me back to you!


THE REJECTED WIFE

By Yuan-ti (508-554). See page 15.

Entering the Hall, she meets the new wife:
Leaving the gate, she runs into her former husband.
Words stick: she does not manage to say anything:
She presses her hands together and hesitates.
Agitates moon-like fan--sheds pearl-like tears--
Realizes she loves him just as much as ever:
That her present pain will never come to an end.


PEOPLE HIDE THEIR LOVE

By Wu-ti

Who says
That it's by my desire,
This separation, this living so far from you?
My dress still smells of the lavender you gave:
My hand still holds the letter that you sent.
Round my waist I wear a double sash:
I dream that it binds us both with a same-heart knot.
Did not you know that people hide their love,
Like a flower that seems too precious to be picked?


THE FERRY

By the Emperor Ch'ien W? n-ti, of the Liang dynasty, who reigned
during the year A. D. 500.

Of marsh-mallows my boat is made,
The ropes are lily-roots.
The pole-star is athwart the sky:
The moon sinks low.
It's at the ferry I'm plucking lilies.
But it might be the Yellow River--
So afraid you seem of the wind and waves,
So long you tarry at the crossing. [40]

[40] A lady is waiting for her lover at the ferry which crosses a small
stream. When he does not come, she bitterly suggests that he is as
afraid of the little stream as though it were the Yellow River, the
largest river in China.


THE WATERS OF LUNG-T'OU

(THE NORTH-WEST FRONTIER)

By Hsu Ling (A. D. 507-583)

The road that I came by mounts eight thousand feet:
The river that I crossed hangs a hundred fathoms.
The brambles so thick that in summer one cannot pass!
The snow so high that in winter one cannot climb!
With branches that interlace Lung Valley is dark:
Against cliffs that tower one's voice beats and echoes.
I turn my head, and it seems only a dream
That I ever lived in the streets of Hsien-yang.


FLOWERS AND MOONLIGHT ON THE SPRING RIVER

By Yang-ti (605-617), emperor of the Sui dynasty

The evening river is level and motionless--
The spring colours just open to their full.
Suddenly a wave carries the moon[41] away
And the tidal water comes with its freight of stars. [41]

[41] _I. e. _, the reflection in the water.


TCHIREK SONG

Altun (486-566 A. D. ) was a Tartar employed by the Chinese in
drilling their troops "after the manner of the Huns. " He could not
read or write. The "Yo Fu Kuang T'i" says: Kao Huan attacked Pi,
king of Chou, but lost nearly half his men. Kao Huan fell ill of
sadness and Pi, to taunt him, sent out a proclamation, which said:

Kao Huan, that son of a mouse
Dared to attack King Pi.
But at the first stroke of sword and bow,
The aggressor's plot recoiled on himself.

When this reached Kao Huan's ears, he sat up in bed and tried to
comfort his officers. All the nobles were summoned to his room, and
Altun was asked to sing them a song about Tchirek, his native land.
He sang:

Tchirek River
Lies under the Dark Mountains:
Where the sky is like the sides of a tent
Stretched down over the Great Steppe.
The sky is gray, gray:
And the steppe wide, wide:
Over grass that the wind has battered low
Sheep and oxen roam.

"Altun" means "gold" in Tartar. No one could teach him to write the
Chinese character for _gold_, till at last some one said: "Draw the
roof of your house and then put a few strokes underneath. " He thus
learnt, in a rough fashion, to write his own name.




CHAPTER V


BUSINESS MEN

By Ch'? n Tz? -ang (A. D. 656-698)

Business men boast of their skill and cunning
But in philosophy they are like little children.
Bragging to each other of successful depredations
They neglect to consider the ultimate fate of the body.
What should they know of the Master of Dark Truth
Who saw the wide world in a jade cup,
By illumined conception got clear of Heaven and Earth:
On the chariot of Mutation entered the Gate of Immutability?


TELL ME NOW

By Wang Chi (_circa_ A. D. 700)

"Tell me now, what should a man want
But to sit alone, sipping his cup of wine? "
I should like to have visitors come and discuss philosophy
And not to have the tax-collector coming to collect taxes:
My three sons married into good families
And my five daughters wedded to steady husbands.
Then I could jog through a happy five-score years
And, at the end, need no Paradise.


ON GOING TO A TAVERN

By Wang Chi

These days, continually fuddled with drink,
I fail to satisfy the appetites of the soul.
But seeing men all behaving like drunkards,[42]
How can I alone remain sober?

[42] Written during the war which preceded the T'ang dynasty.


STONE FISH LAKE

By Yuan Chieh (flourished _circa_ A. D. 740-770).

Yuan Chieh, a contemporary of Li Po, has not hitherto been mentioned
in any European book. "His subjects were always original, but his
poems are seldom worth quoting," is a Chinese opinion of him.

I loved you dearly, Stone Fish Lake,
With your rock-island shaped like a swimming fish!
On the fish's back is the Wine-cup Hollow
And round the fish,--the flowing waters of the Lake.
The boys on the shore sent little wooden ships,
Each made to carry a single cup of wine.
The island-drinkers emptied the liquor-boats
And set their sails and sent them back for more.
On the shores of the Lake were jutting slabs of rock
And under the rocks there flowed an icy stream.
Heated with wine, to rinse our mouths and hands
In those cold waters was a joy beyond compare!

* * * * *

Of gold and jewels I have not any need;
For Caps and Coaches I do not care at all.
But I wish I could sit on the rocky banks of the Lake
For ever and ever staring at the Stone Fish.


CIVILIZATION

By Yuan Chieh

To the south-east--three thousand leagues--
The Yuan and Hsiang form into a mighty lake.
Above the lake are deep mountain valleys,
And men dwelling whose hearts are without guile.
Gay like children, they swarm to the tops of the trees;
And run to the water to catch bream and trout.
Their pleasures are the same as those of beasts and birds;
They put no restraint either on body or mind.
Far I have wandered throughout the Nine Lands;
Wherever I went such manners had disappeared.
I find myself standing and wondering, perplexed,
Whether Saints and Sages have really done us good.


A PROTEST IN THE SIXTH YEAR OF CH'IEN FU (A. D. 879)

By Ts'ao Sung (flourished _circa_ A. D. 870-920)

The hills and rivers of the lowland country
You have made your battle-ground.
How do you suppose the people who live there
Will procure "firewood and hay"? [43]
Do not let me hear you talking together
About titles and promotions;
For a single general's reputation
Is made out of ten thousand corpses.

[43] The necessaries of life.


ON THE BIRTH OF HIS SON

By Su Tung-p'o (A. D. 1036-1101)

Families, when a child is born
Want it to be intelligent.
I, through intelligence,
Having wrecked my whole life,
Only hope the baby will prove
Ignorant and stupid.
Then he will crown a tranquil life
By becoming a Cabinet Minister.


THE PEDLAR OF SPELLS

By Lu Yu (A. D. 1125-1209)

An old man selling charms in a cranny of the town wall.
He writes out spells to bless the silkworms and spells to protect
the corn.
With the money he gets each day he only buys wine.
But he does not worry when his legs get wobbly,
For he has a boy to lean on.


BOATING IN AUTUMN

By Lu Yu

Away and away I sail in my light boat;
My heart leaps with a great gust of joy.
Through the leafless branches I see the temple in the wood;
Over the dwindling stream the stone bridge towers.
Down the grassy lanes sheep and oxen pass;
In the misty village cranes and magpies cry.

* * * * *

Back in my home I drink a cup of wine
And need not fear the greed[44] of the evening wind.

[44] Which "eats" men.


THE HERD-BOY

By Lu Yu

In the southern village the boy who minds the ox
With his naked feet stands on the ox's back.
Through the hole in his coat the river wind blows;
Through his broken hat the mountain rain pours.
On the long dyke he seemed to be far away;
In the narrow lane suddenly we were face to face.

* * * * *

The boy is home and the ox is back in its stall;
And a dark smoke oozes through the thatched roof.


HOW I SAILED ON THE LAKE TILL I CAME TO THE EASTERN STREAM

By Lu Yu

Of Spring water,--thirty or forty miles:
In the evening sunlight,--three or four houses.
Youths and boys minding geese and ducks:
Women and girls tending mulberries and hemp.
The place,--remote: their coats and scarves old:
The year,--fruitful: their talk and laughter gay.
The old wanderer moors his flat boat
And staggers up the bank to pluck wistaria flowers.


A SEVENTEENTH-CENTURY CHINESE POEM

Ch'? n Tz? -lung was born in 1607. He became a soldier, and in 1637
defeated the rebel, Hsu Tu. After the suicide of the last Ming
emperor, he offered his services to the Ming princes who were still
opposing the Manchus. In 1647 he headed a conspiracy to place the
Ming prince Lu on the throne. His plans were discovered and he was
arrested by Manchu troops. Escaping their vigilance for a moment, he
leapt into a river and was drowned.

The following song describes the flight of a husband and wife from a
town menaced by the advancing Manchus. They find the whole
country-side deserted.


THE LITTLE CART

The little cart jolting and banging through the yellow haze of dusk.
The man pushing behind: the woman pulling in front.
They have left the city and do not know where to go.
"Green, green, those elm-tree leaves: _they_ will cure my hunger,
If only we could find some quiet place and sup on them together. "

The wind has flattened the yellow mother-wort:
Above it in the distance they see the walls of a house.
"_There_ surely must be people living who'll give you something
to eat. "
They tap at the door, but no one comes: they look in, but the
kitchen is empty.
They stand hesitating in the lonely road and their tears fall
like rain.




PART II

PO CHU-I

(A. D. 772-846)




INTRODUCTION


Po Chu-i was born at T'ai-yuan in Shansi. Most of his childhood was
spent at Jung-yang in Honan. His father was a second-class Assistant
Department Magistrate. He tells us that his family was poor and often in
difficulties.

He seems to have settled permanently at Ch'ang-an in 801. This town,
lying near the north-west frontier, was the political capital of the
Empire. In its situation it somewhat resembled Madrid. Lo-yang, the
Eastern city, owing to its milder climate and more accessible position,
became, like Seville in Spain, a kind of _social_ capital.

Soon afterwards he met Yuan Ch? n, then aged twenty-two, who was destined
to play so important a part in his life. Five years later, during a
temporary absence from the city, he addressed to Yuan the following
poem:

Since I left my home to seek official state
Seven years I have lived in Ch'ang-an.
What have I gained? Only you, Yuan;
So hard it is to bind friendships fast.
We have roamed on horseback under the flowering trees;
We have walked in the snow and warmed our hearts with wine.
We have met and parted at the Western Gate
And neither of us bothered to put on Cap or Belt.
We did not go up together for Examination;
We were not serving in the same Department of State.
The bond that joined us lay deeper than outward things;
The rivers of our souls spring from the same well!

Of Yuan's appearance at this time we may guess something from a picture
which still survives in copy; it shows him, a youthful and elegant
figure, visiting his cousin Ts'ui Ying-ying, who was a lady-in-waiting
at Court. [45] At this period of his life Po made friends with
difficulty, not being, as he tells us, "a master of such accomplishments
as caligraphy, painting, chess or gambling, which tend to bring men
together in pleasurable intercourse. " Two older men, T'ang Ch'u and T? ng
Fang, liked his poetry and showed him much kindness; another, the
politician K'ung T'an, won his admiration on public grounds. But all
three died soon after he got to know them. Later he made three friends
with whom he maintained a lifelong intimacy: the poet Liu Y? -hsi (called
M? ng-t? ), and the two officials Li Chien and Ts'ui Hsuan-liang. In 805
Yuan Ch? n was banished for provocative behaviour towards a high
official. The T'ang History relates the episode as follows: "Yuan was
staying the night at the Fu-shui Inn; just as he was preparing to go to
sleep in the Main Hall, the court-official Li Shih-yuan also arrived.
Yuan Ch? n should have offered to withdraw from the Hall. He did not do
so and a scuffle ensued. Yuan, locked out of the building, took off his
shoes and stole round to the back, hoping to find another way in. Liu
followed with a whip and struck him across the face. "

[45] Yuan has told the story of this intrigue in an autobiographical
fragment, of which I hope to publish a translation. Upon this fragment
is founded the famous fourteenth-century drama, "The Western Pavilion. "

The separation was a heavy blow to Po Chu-i. In a poem called "Climbing
Alone to the Lo-yu Gardens" he says:

I look down on the Twelve City Streets:--
Red dust flanked by green trees!
Coaches and horsemen alone fill my eyes;
I do not see whom my heart longs to see.
K'ung T'an has died at Lo-yang;
Yuan Ch? n is banished to Ching-m? n.
Of all that walk on the North-South Road
There is not one that I care for more than the rest!

In 804 on the death of his father, and again in 811 on the death of his
mother, he spent periods of retirement on the Wei river near Ch'ang-an.
It was during the second of these periods that he wrote the long poem
(260 lines) called "Visiting the Wu-ch? n Temple. " Soon after his return
to Ch'ang-an, which took place in the winter of 814, he fell into
official disfavour. In two long memorials entitled "On Stopping the
War," he had criticized the handling of a campaign against an
unimportant tribe of Tartars, which he considered had been unduly
prolonged. In a series of poems he had satirized the rapacity of minor
officials and called attention to the intolerable sufferings of the
masses.

His enemies soon found an opportunity of silencing him. In 814 the Prime
Minister, Wu Yuan-h? ng, was assassinated in broad daylight by an agent
of the revolutionary leader Wu Yuan-chi. Po, in a memorial to the
Throne, pointed out the urgency of remedying the prevailing discontent.
He held at this time the post of assistant secretary to the Princes'
tutor. He should not have criticized the Prime Minister (for being
murdered! ) until the official Censors had spoken, for he held a Palace
appointment which did not carry with it the right of censorship.

His opponents also raked up another charge. His mother had met her death
by falling into a well while looking at flowers. Chu-i had written two
poems entitled "In Praise of Flowers" and "The New Well. " It was
claimed that by choosing such subjects he had infringed the laws of
Filial Piety.

He was banished to Kiukiang (then called Hsun-yang) with the rank of
Sub-Prefect. After three years he was given the Governorship of
Chung-chou, a remote place in Ssech'uan. On the way up the Yangtze he
met Yuan Ch? n after three years of separation. They spent a few days
together at I-ch'ang, exploring the rock-caves of the neighbourhood.

Chung-chou is noted for its "many flowers and exotic trees," which were
a constant delight to its new Governor. In the winter of 819 he was
recalled to the capital and became a second-class Assistant Secretary.
About this time Yuan Ch? n also returned to the city.

In 821 the Emperor Mou Tsung came to the throne. His arbitrary
mis-government soon caused a fresh rising in the north-west. Chu-i
remonstrated in a series of memorials and was again removed from the
capital--this time to be Governor of the important town of Hangchow.
Yuan now held a judicial post at Ningpo and the two were occasionally
able to meet.

In 824 his Governorship expired and he lived (with the nominal rank of
Imperial Tutor) at the village of Li-tao-li, near Lo-yang. It was here
that he took into his household two girls, Fan-su and Man-tz? , whose
singing and dancing enlivened his retreat. He also brought with him from
Hangchow a famous "Indian rock," and two cranes of the celebrated
"Hua-t'ing" breed. Other amenities of his life at this time were a
recipe for making sweet wine, the gift of Ch'? n Hao-hsien; a harp-melody
taught him by Ts'ui Hsuan-liang; and a song called "Autumn Thoughts,"
brought by the concubine of a visitor from Ssech'uan.

In 825 he became Governor of Soochow. Here at the age of fifty-three he
enjoyed a kind of second youth, much more sociable than that of thirty
years before; we find him endlessly picnicking and feasting. But after
two years illness obliged him to retire.

He next held various posts at the capital, but again fell ill, and in
829 settled at Lo-yang as Governor of the Province of Honan. Here his
first son, A-ts'ui, was born, but died in the following year.

In 831 Yuan Ch? n also died.

Henceforth, though for thirteen years he continued to hold nominal
posts, he lived a life of retirement. In 832 he repaired an unoccupied
part of the Hsiang-shan monastery at Lung-m? n,[46] a few miles south of
Lo-yang, and lived there, calling himself the Hermit of Hsiang-shan.
Once he invited to dinner eight other elderly and retired officials; the
occasion was recorded in a picture entitled "The Nine Old Men at
Hsiang-shan. " There is no evidence that his association with them was
otherwise than transient, though legend (see "Memoires Concernant les
Chinois" and Giles, Biographical Dictionary) has invested the incident
with an undue importance. He amused himself at this time by writing a
description of his daily life which would be more interesting if it were
not so closely modelled on a famous memoir by T'ao Ch'ien. In the winter
of 839 he was attacked by paralysis and lost the use of his left leg.
After many months in bed he was again able to visit his garden, carried
by Ju-man, a favourite monk.

[46] Famous for its rock-sculptures, carved in the sixth and seventh
centuries.

In 842 Liu Yu-hsi, the last survivor of the four friends, and a constant
visitor at the monastery, "went to wander with Yuan Ch? n in Hades. " The
monk Ju-man also died.

The remaining years of Po's life were spent in collecting and arranging
his Complete Works. Copies were presented to the principal monasteries
(the "Public Libraries" of the period) in the towns with which he had
been connected. He died in 846, leaving instructions that his funeral
should be without pomp and that he should be buried not in the family
tomb at Hsia-kuei, but by Ju-man's side in the Hsiang-shan Monastery. He
desired that a posthumous title should not be awarded.

The most striking characteristic of Po Chu-i's poetry is its verbal
simplicity. There is a story that he was in the habit of reading his
poems to an old peasant woman and altering any expression which she
could not understand. The poems of his contemporaries were mere elegant
diversions which enabled the scholar to display his erudition, or the
literary juggler his dexterity. Po expounded his theory of poetry in a
letter to Yuan Ch? n. Like Confucius, he regarded art solely as a method
of conveying instruction. He is not the only great artist who has
advanced this untenable theory. He accordingly valued his didactic poems
far above his other work; but it is obvious that much of his best poetry
conveys no moral whatever. He admits, indeed, that among his
"miscellaneous stanzas" many were inspired by some momentary sensation
or passing event. "A single laugh or a single sigh were rapidly
translated into verse. "

The didactic poems or "satires" belong to the period before his first
banishment. "When the tyrants and favourites heard my Songs of Ch'in,
they looked at one another and changed countenance," he boasts. Satire,
in the European sense, implies _wit_; but Po's satires are as lacking in
true wit as they are unquestionably full of true poetry. We must regard
them simply as moral tales in verse.

In the conventional lyric poetry of his predecessors he finds little to
admire. Among the earlier poems of the T'ang dynasty he selects for
praise the series by Ch'? n Tz? -ang, which includes "Business Men.