No More Learning

They are slight in
content and deal with only one topic. They may, in fact, be called
"Love-epigrams. " They find a close parallel in the _coplas_ of Spain,
_cf. _:

_El candil se esta apagando,
La alcuza no tiene aceite--
No te digo que te vayas, . . .
No te digo que te quedes. _

The brazier is going out,
The lamp has no more oil--
I do not tell you to go, . . .
I do not tell you to stay.

A Han song, which I will translate quite literally, seems to be the
forerunner of the Wu songs.

On two sides of river, wedding made:
Time comes; no boat.
Lusting heart loses hope
Not seeing what-it-desires.

(2) _The Taoists. _--Confucius inculcated the duty of public service.
Those to whom this duty was repulsive found support in Taoism, a system
which denied this obligation. The third and fourth centuries A. D.
witnessed a great reaction against state service. It occurred to the
intellectuals of China that they would be happier growing vegetables in
their gardens than place-hunting at Nanking. They embraced the theory
that "by bringing himself into harmony with Nature" man can escape every
evil. Thus Tao (Nature's Way) corresponds to the Nirvana of Buddhism,
and the God of Christian mysticism.

They reduced to the simplest standard their houses, apparel, and food;
and discarded the load of book-learning which Confucianism imposed on
its adherents.

The greatest of these recluses was T'ao Ch'ien (A. D. 365-427), twelve of
whose poems will be found on p. 71, _seq. _ Something of his philosophy
may be gathered from the poem "Substance, Shadow, and Spirit" (p. 73),
his own views being voiced by the last speaker. He was not an original
thinker, but a great poet who reflects in an interesting way the outlook
of his time.

_Liang and Minor Dynasties. _--This period is known as that of the
"Northern and Southern Courts. " The north of China was in the hands of
the Tungusie Tartars, who founded the Northern Wei dynasty--a name
particularly familiar, since it is the habit of European collectors to
attribute to this dynasty any sculpture which they believe to be earlier
than T'ang. Little poetry was produced in the conquered provinces; the
Tartar emperors, though they patronized Buddhist art, were incapable of
promoting literature. But at Nanking a series of emperors ruled, most of
whom distinguished themselves either in painting or poetry. The Chinese
have always (and rightly) despised the literature of this period, which
is "all flowers and moonlight. " A few individual writers, such as Pao
Chao, stand out as exceptions. The Emperor Yuan-ti--who hacked his way
to the throne by murdering all other claimants, including his own
brother--is typical of the period both as a man and as a poet. A
specimen of his sentimental poetry will be found on p. 90. When at last
forced to abdicate, he heaped together 200,000 books and pictures; and,
setting fire to them, exclaimed: "The culture of the Liang dynasty
perishes with me. "

_T'ang. _--I have already described the technical developments of poetry
during this dynasty. Form was at this time valued far above content.
"Poetry," says a critic, "should draw its materials from the Han and Wei
dynasties. " With the exception of a few reformers, writers contented
themselves with clothing old themes in new forms. The extent to which
this is true can of course only be realized by one thoroughly familiar
with the earlier poetry.

In the main, T'ang confines itself to a narrow range of stock subjects.
The _mise-en-scene_ is borrowed from earlier times. If a battle-poem be
written, it deals with the campaigns of the Han dynasty, not with
contemporary events. The "deserted concubines" of conventional
love-poetry are those of the Han Court. Innumerable poems record
"Reflections on Visiting a Ruin," or on "The Site of an Old City," etc.
The details are ingeniously varied, but the sentiments are in each case
identical. Another feature is the excessive use of historical allusions.
This is usually not apparent in rhymed translations, which evade such
references by the substitution of generalities. Poetry became the medium
not for the expression of a poet's emotions, but for the display of his
classical attainments. The great Li Po is no exception to this rule.
Often where his translators would make us suppose he is expressing a
fancy of his own, he is in reality skilfully utilizing some poem by T'ao
Ch'ien or Hsieh Ti'ao. It is for his versification that he is admired,
and with justice. He represents a reaction against the formal prosody of
his immediate predecessors. It was in the irregular song-metres of his
_ku-shih_ that he excelled. In such poems as the "Ssech'uan Road," with
its wild profusion of long and short lines, its cataract of exotic
verbiage, he aimed at something nearer akin to music than to poetry. Tu
Fu, his contemporary, occasionally abandoned the cult of "abstract
form. " Both poets lived through the most tragic period of Chinese
history. In 755 the Emperor's Turkic favourite, An Lu-shan, revolted
against his master. A civil war followed, in which China lost thirty
million men. The dynasty was permanently enfeebled and the Empire
greatly curtailed by foreign incursions. So ended the "Golden Age" of
Ming Huang. Tu Fu, stirred by the horror of massacres and conscriptions,
wrote a series of poems in the old style, which Po Chu-i singles out for
praise. One of them, "The Press-gang," is familiar in Giles's
translation. Li Po, meanwhile, was writing complimentary poems on the
Emperor's "Tour in the West"--a journey which was in reality a
precipitate flight from his enemies.

_Sung. _--In regard to content the Sung poets show even less originality
than their predecessors. Their whole energy was devoted towards
inventing formal restrictions. The "tz'? " developed, a species of song
in lines of irregular length, written in strophes, each of which must
conform to a strict pattern of tones and rhymes. The content of the
"tz'? " is generally wholly conventional. Very few have been translated;
and it is obvious that they are unsuitable for translation, since their
whole merit lies in metrical dexterity. Examples by the poetess Li I-an
will be found in the second edition of Judith Gautier's "Livre de Jade. "
The poetry of Su Tung-p'o, the foremost writer of the period, is in its
matter almost wholly a patchwork of earlier poems. It is for the musical
qualities of his verse that he is valued by his countrymen. He hardly
wrote a poem which does not contain a phrase (sometimes a whole line)
borrowed from Po Chu-i, for whom in his critical writings he expresses
boundless admiration.

A word must be said of the Fu (descriptive prose-poems) of this time.
They resemble the _vers libres_ of modern France, using rhyme
occasionally (like Georges Duhamel) as a means of "sonner, rouler, quand
il faut faire donner les cuivres et la batterie. " Of this nature is the
magnificent "Autumn Dirge" (Giles, "Chinese Lit. ," p. 215) by Ou-yang
Hsiu, whose lyric poetry is of small interest. The subsequent periods
need not much concern us. In the eighteenth century the garrulous Yuan
Mei wrote his "Anecdotes of Poetry-making"--a book which, while one of
the most charming in the language, probably contains more bad poetry
(chiefly that of his friends) than any in the world. His own poems are
modelled on Po Chu-i and Su Tung-p'o.

* * * * *

This introduction is intended for the general reader. I have therefore
stated my views simply and categorically, and without entering into
controversies which are of interest only to a few specialists.

As an account of the development of Chinese poetry these notes are
necessarily incomplete, but it is hoped that they answer some of those
questions which a reader would be most likely to ask.




THE METHOD OF TRANSLATION


It is commonly asserted that poetry, when literally translated, ceases
to be poetry. This is often true, and I have for that reason not
attempted to translate many poems which in the original have pleased me
quite as much as those I have selected. But I present the ones I have
chosen in the belief that they still retain the essential
characteristics of poetry.

I have aimed at literal translation, not paraphrase. It may be perfectly
legitimate for a poet to borrow foreign themes or material, but this
should not be called translation.

Above all, considering imagery to be the soul of poetry, I have avoided
either adding images of my own or suppressing those of the original.

Any literal translation of Chinese poetry is bound to be to some extent
rhythmical, for the rhythm of the original obtrudes itself. Translating
literally, without thinking about the metre of the version, one finds
that about two lines out of three have a very definite swing similar to
that of the Chinese lines. The remaining lines are just too short or too
long, a circumstance very irritating to the reader, whose ear expects
the rhythm to continue. I have therefore tried to produce regular
rhythmic effects similar to those of the original. Each character in the
Chinese is represented by a stress in the English; but between the
stresses unstressed syllables are of course interposed. In a few
instances where the English insisted on being shorter than the Chinese,
I have preferred to vary the metre of my version, rather than pad out
the line with unnecessary verbiage.

I have not used rhyme because it is impossible to produce in English
rhyme-effects at all similar to those of the original, where the same
rhyme sometimes runs through a whole poem. Also, because the
restrictions of rhyme necessarily injure either the vigour of one's
language or the literalness of one's version. I do not, at any rate,
know of any example to the contrary. What is generally known as "blank
verse" is the worst medium for translating Chinese poetry, because the
essence of blank verse is that it varies the position of its pauses,
whereas in Chinese the stop always comes at the end of the couplet.




BIBLIOGRAPHICAL NOTES


1. H. A. Giles, "Chinese Poetry in English Verse. " 1896. 212 pp.
Combines rhyme and literalness with wonderful dexterity.

2. Hervey St. Denys, "Poesies des Thang. " 1862. 301 pp. The choice of
poems would have been very different if the author had selected from the
whole range of T'ang poetry, instead of contenting himself, except in
the case of Li Po and Tu Fu, with making extracts from two late
anthologies. This book, the work of a great scholar, is reliable--except
in its information about Chinese prosody.

3. Judith Gautier, "Le Livre de Jade. " 1867 and 1908. It has been
difficult to compare these renderings with the original, for proper
names are throughout distorted or interchanged. For example, part of a
poem by Po Chu-i _about_ Yang T'ai-ch? n is here given as a complete poem
and ascribed to "Yan-Ta-Tchen" as author. The poet Han Yu figures as
Heu-Yu; T'ao Han as Sao Nan, etc. Such mistakes are evidently due to
faulty decipherment of someone else's writing. Nevertheless, the book is
far more readable than that of St. Denys, and shows a wider acquaintance
with Chinese poetry on the part of whoever chose the poems. Most of the
credit for this selection must certainly be given to Ting Tun-ling, the
_literatus_ whom Theophile Gautier befriended. But the credit for the
beauty of these often erroneous renderings must go to Mademoiselle
Gautier herself.

4. Anna von Bernhardi, in "Mitteil d. Seminar f. Orient. Sprachen,"
1912, 1915, and 1916. Two articles on T'ao Ch'ien and one on Li Po. All
valuable, though not free from mistakes.

5. Zottoli, "Cursus Litteraturae Sinicae. " 1886. Chinese text with Latin
translation. Vol. V deals with poetry. None of the poems is earlier than
T'ang. The Latin is seldom intelligible without reference to the
Chinese. Translators have obviously used Zottoli as a text. Out of
eighteen Sung poems in Giles's book, sixteen will be found in Zottoli.

6. A. Pfizmaier, two articles (1886 and 1887) on Po Chu-i in "Denkschr.
d. Kais. Ak. in Wien. " So full of mistakes as to be of very little
value, except in so far as they served to call the attention of the
European reader to this poet.

7. L. Woitsch, "Aus den Gedichten Po Chu-i's. " 1908. 76 pp. A prose
rendering with Chinese text of about forty poems, not very well
selected. The translations, though inaccurate, are a great advance on
Pfizmaier.

8. E. von Zachs, "Lexicographische Beitrage. " Vols. ii and iv.
Re-translation of two poems previously mistranslated by Pfizmaier.

9. S. Imbault-Huart, "La Poesie Chinoise du 14 au 19 siecle. " 1886. 93
pp.

10. S. Imbault-Huart, "Un Poete Chinois du 18 Siecle. " (Yuan Mei. )
Journ. of China Branch, Royal As. Soc. , N. S. , vol. xix, part 2, 42 pp.

11. S. Imbault-Huart, "Poesies Modernes. " 1892. 46 pp.

12. A. Forke, "Bluthen Chinesischer Dichtung. " 1899.
Rhymed versions of
Li Po and pre-T'ang poems.

A fuller bibliography will be found in Cordier's "Bibliotheca Sinica. "




CHAPTER I


BATTLE

By Ch'u Yuan (332-295 B. C. ), author of the famous poem "Li Sao," or
"Falling into Trouble. " Finding that he could not influence the
conduct of his prince, he drowned himself in the river Mi-lo. The
modern Dragon Boat Festival is supposed to be in his honour.

"We grasp our battle-spears: we don our breast-plates of hide.
The axles of our chariots touch: our short swords meet.
Standards obscure the sun: the foe roll up like clouds.
Arrows fall thick: the warriors press forward.
They menace our ranks: they break our line.
The left-hand trace-horse is dead: the one on the right is smitten.
The fallen horses block our wheels: they impede the yoke-horses! "

They grasp their jade drum-sticks: they beat the sounding drums.
Heaven decrees their fall: the dread Powers are angry.

The warriors are all dead: they lie on the moor-field.
They issued but shall not enter: they went but shall not return.
The plains are flat and wide: the way home is long.

Their swords lie beside them: their black bows, in their hand.
Though their limbs were torn, their hearts could not be repressed.
They were more than brave: they were inspired with the spirit of
"Wu. "[2]
Steadfast to the end, they could not be daunted.
Their bodies were stricken, but their souls have taken Immortality--
Captains among the ghosts, heroes among the dead.

[2] _I. e. _, military genius.


THE MAN-WIND AND THE WOMAN-WIND

A "fu," or prose-poem, by Sung Yu (fourth century B. C. ), nephew of Ch'u
Yuan.

Hsiang, king of Ch'u, was feasting in the Orchid-tower Palace, with Sung
Yu and Ching Ch'ai to wait upon him. A gust of wind blew in and the king
bared his breast to meet it, saying: "How pleasant a thing is this wind
which I share with the common people. " Sung Yu answered: "This is the
Great King's wind. The common people cannot share it. " The king said:
"Wind is a spirit of Heaven and Earth. It comes wide spread and does not
choose between noble and base or between high and low. How can you say
'This is the king's wind'? " Sung answered: "I have heard it taught that
in the crooked lemon-tree birds make their nests and to empty spaces
winds fly. But the wind-spirit that comes to different things is not the
same. " The king said: "Where is the wind born? " and Sung answered: "The
wind is born in the ground. It rises in the extremities of the green
p'ing-flower. It pours into the river-valleys and rages at the mouth of
the pass. It follows the rolling flanks of Mount T'ai and dances beneath
the pine-trees and cypresses. In gusty bouts it whirls. It rushes in
fiery anger. It rumbles low with a noise like thunder, tearing down
rocks and trees, smiting forests and grasses.

"But at last abating, it spreads abroad, seeks empty places and crosses
the threshold of rooms. And so growing gentler and clearer, it changes
and is dispersed and dies.

"It is this cool clear Man-Wind that, freeing itself, falls and rises
till it climbs the high walls of the Castle and enters the gardens of
the Inner Palace. It bends the flowers and leaves with its breath. It
wanders among the osmanthus and pepper-trees. It lingers over the
fretted face of the pond, to steal the soul of the hibiscus. It touches
the willow leaves and scatters the fragrant herbs. Then it pauses in the
courtyard and turning to the North goes up to the Jade Hall, shakes the
hanging curtains and lightly passes into the inner room.

"And so it becomes the Great King's wind.

"Now such a wind is fresh and sweet to breathe and its gentle murmuring
cures the diseases of men, blows away the stupor of wine, sharpens sight
and hearing and refreshes the body. This is what is called the Great
King's wind. "

The king said: "You have well described it. Now tell me of the common
people's wind. " Sung said: "The common people's wind rises from narrow
lanes and streets, carrying clouds of dust. Rushing to empty spaces it
attacks the gateway, scatters the dust-heap, sends the cinders flying,
pokes among foul and rotting things, till at last it enters the tiled
windows and reaches the rooms of the cottage. Now this wind is heavy and
turgid, oppressing man's heart. It brings fever to his body, ulcers to
his lips and dimness to his eyes. It shakes him with coughing; it kills
him before his time.

"Such is the Woman-wind of the common people. "


The following is a sample of Sung Yu's prose:

MASTER T? NG-T'U

By Sung Yu (third century B. C. )

One day when the Chamberlain, master T? ng-t'u, was in attendance at the
Palace he warned the King against Sung Yu, saying: "Yu is a man of
handsome features and calm bearing and his tongue is prompt with subtle
sentences. Moreover, his character is licentious. I would submit that
your Majesty is ill-advised in allowing him to follow you into the
Queen's apartments. " The King repeated T? ng-t'u's words to Sung Yu. Yu
replied: "My beauty of face and calmness of bearing were given me by
Heaven. Subtlety of speech I learnt from my teachers. As for my
character, I deny that it is licentious. " The King said: "Can you
substantiate your statement that you are not licentious? If you cannot,
you must leave the Court. " Sung Yu said: "Of all the women in the world,
the most beautiful are the women of the land of Ch'u. And in all the
land of Ch'u there are none like the women of my own village. And in my
village there are none that can be compared with the girl next door.

"The girl next door would be too tall if an inch were added to her
height, and too short if an inch were taken away. Another grain of
powder would make her too pale; another touch of rouge would make her
too red. Her eyebrows are like the plumage of the kingfisher, her flesh
is like snow. Her waist is like a roll of new silk, her teeth are like
little shells. A single one of her smiles would perturb the whole city
of Yang and derange the suburb of Hsia-ts'ai. [3] For three years this
lady has been climbing the garden wall and peeping at me, yet I have
never succumbed.

[3] Fashionable quarters in the capital of Ch'u state.

"How different is the behaviour of master T? ng-t'u! His wife has a wooly
head and misshapen ears; projecting teeth irregularly set; a crook in
her back and a halt in her gait. Moreover, she has running sores in
front and behind.

"Yet T? ng-t'u fell in love with her and caused her to bear him five
children.

"I would have your Majesty consider which of us is the debauchee. "

Sung Yu was not dismissed from court.


THE ORPHAN

Anon. (first century B. C. )

To be an orphan,
To be fated to be an orphan.
How bitter is this lot!
When my father and mother were alive
I used to ride in a carriage
With four fine horses.

But when they both died,
My brother and sister-in-law
Sent me out to be a merchant.
In the south I travelled to the "Nine Rivers"
And in the east as far as Ch'i and Lu.
At the end of the year when I came home
I dared not tell them what I had suffered--
Of the lice and vermin in my head,
Of the dust in my face and eyes.
My brother told me to get ready the dinner.
My sister-in-law told me to see after the horses.
I was always going up into the hall
And running down again to the parlour.
My tears fell like rain.

In the morning they sent me to draw water,
I didn't get back till night-fall.
My hands were all sore
And I had no shoes.
I walked the cold earth
Treading on thorns and brambles.
As I stopped to pull out the thorns,
How bitter my heart was!
My tears fell and fell
And I went on sobbing and sobbing.
In winter I have no great-coat;
Nor in summer, thin clothes.
It is no pleasure to be alive.
I had rather quickly leave the earth
And go beneath the Yellow Springs. [4]
The April winds blow
And the grass is growing green.
In the third month--silkworms and mulberries,
In the sixth month--the melon-harvest.
I went out with the melon-cart
And just as I was coming home
The melon-cart turned over.
The people who came to help me were few,
But the people who ate the melons were many,
All they left me was the stalks--
To take home as fast as I could.
My brother and sister-in-law were harsh,
They asked me all sorts of awful questions.
Why does everyone in the village hate me?
I want to write a letter and send it
To my mother and father under the earth,
And tell them I can't go on any longer
Living with my brother and sister-in-law.

[4] Hades.


THE SICK WIFE

She had been ill for years and years;
She sent for me to say something.
She couldn't say what she wanted
Because of the tears that kept coming of themselves.
"I have burdened you with orphan children,
With orphan children two or three.
Don't let our children go hungry or cold;
If they do wrong, don't slap or beat them.
When you take out the baby, rock it in your arms.
Don't forget to do that. "
Last she said,
"When I carried them in my arms they had no clothes
And now their jackets have no linings. " [_She dies. _

I shut the doors and barred the windows
And left the motherless children.
When I got to the market and met my friends, I wept.
I sat down and could not go with them.
I asked them to buy some cakes for my children.
In the presence of my friends I sobbed and cried.
I tried not to grieve, but sorrow would not cease.
I felt in my pocket and gave my friends some money.
When I got home I found my children
Calling to be taken into their mother's arms.
I walked up and down in the empty room
This way and that a long while.
Then I went away from it and said to myself
"I will forget and never speak of her again. "


COCK-CROW SONG

Anon. (first century B. C. )

In the eastern quarter dawn breaks, the stars flicker pale.
The morning cock at Ju-nan mounts the wall and crows.
The songs are over, the clock[5] run down, but still the feast
is set.
The moon grows dim and the stars are few; morning has come to
the world.
At a thousand gates and ten thousand doors the fish-shaped keys
turn;
Round the Palace and up by the Castle, the crows and magpies are
flying.

[5] A water-clock.


THE GOLDEN PALACE

Anon. (first century B. C. )

We go to the Golden Palace:
We set out the jade cups.
We summon the honoured guests
To enter at the Golden Gate.
They enter at the Golden Gate
And go to the Golden Hall.
In the Eastern Kitchen the meat is sliced and ready--
Roast beef and boiled pork and mutton.
The Master of the Feast hands round the wine.
The harp-players sound their clear chords.

The cups are pushed aside and we face each other at chess:
The rival pawns are marshalled rank against rank.
The fire glows and the smoke puffs and curls;
From the incense-burner rises a delicate fragrance.
The clear wine has made our cheeks red;
Round the table joy and peace prevail.
May those who shared in this day's delight
Through countless autumns enjoy like felicity.


"OLD POEM"

At fifteen I went with the army,
At fourscore I came home.
On the way I met a man from the village,
I asked him who there was at home.
"That over there is your house,
All covered over with trees and bushes. "
Rabbits had run in at the dog-hole,
Pheasants flew down from the beams of the roof.
In the courtyard was growing some wild grain;
And by the well, some wild mallows.
I'll boil the grain and make porridge,
I'll pluck the mallows and make soup.
Soup and porridge are both cooked,
But there is no one to eat them with.
I went out and looked towards the east,
While tears fell and wetted my clothes.


MEETING IN THE ROAD

In a narrow road where there was not room to pass
My carriage met the carriage of a young man.
And while his axle was touching my axle
In the narrow road I asked him where he lived.
"The place where I live is easy enough to find,
Easy to find and difficult to forget.
The gates of my house are built of yellow gold,
The hall of my house is paved with white jade,
On the hall table flagons of wine are set,
I have summoned to serve me dancers of Han-tan. [6]
In the midst of the courtyard grows a cassia-tree,--
And candles on its branches flaring away in the night. "

[6] Capital of the kingdom of Chao, where the people were famous for
their beauty.


FIGHTING SOUTH OF THE CASTLE

Anon. (_circa_ 124 B. C. )

They fought south of the Castle,
They died north of the wall.
They died in the moors and were not buried.
Their flesh was the food of crows.
"Tell the crows we are not afraid;
We have died in the moors and cannot be buried.
Crows, how can our bodies escape you? "
The waters flowed deep
And the rushes in the pool were dark.
The riders fought and were slain:
Their horses wander neighing.
By the bridge there was a house. [7]
Was it south, was it north?
The harvest was never gathered.
How can we give you your offerings?
You served your Prince faithfully,
Though all in vain.
I think of you, faithful soldiers;
Your service shall not be forgotten.
For in the morning you went out to battle
And at night you did not return.

[7] There is no trace of it left. This passage describes the havoc of
war. The harvest has not been gathered: therefore corn-offerings cannot
be made to the spirits of the dead.