A Lute of Jade | Page 4

do we hear the
lyrical cry rising above the monotone of dreamlike content. Even the
magnificent outburst at the beginning of this book, in which the
unhappy woman compares her heart to a dying moon, is prefaced by
vague complaint:
My brothers, although they support me not,
Are angry if I speak of
my sadness.
My sadness is so great,
Nearly all are jealous of me;
Many
calumnies attack me,
And scorning spares me not.
Yet what harm

have I done?
I can show a clear conscience.
Yes, the conscience is clear and the song is clear, and so these little
streams flow on, shining in the clear dawn of a golden past to which all
poets and philosophers to come will turn with wistful eyes. These early
ballads of the Chinese differ in feeling from almost all the ballad
literature of the world. They are ballads of peace, while those of other
nations are so often war-songs and the remembrances of brave deeds.
Many of them are sung to a refrain.
More especially is this the case
with those whose lines breathe sadness, where the refrain comes like a
sigh at the end of a regret:
Cold from the spring the waters pass
Over the waving pampas grass,
All night long in dream I lie,
Ah me! ah me! to awake and sigh --

Sigh for the City of Chow.
Cold from its source the stream meanders
Darkly down through the
oleanders,
All night long in dream I lie,
Ah me! ah me! to awake and sigh --

Sigh for the City of Chow.
In another place the refrain urges and importunes; it is time for flight:
Cold and keen the north wind blows,
Silent falls the shroud of snows.

You who gave me your heart,
Let us join hands and depart!
Is this a time for delay?
Now, while we may,
Let us away.
Only the lonely fox is red,
Black but the crow-flight overhead.
You
who gave me your heart --
The chariot creaks to depart.
Is this a time for delay?
Now, while we may,
Let us away.
Perhaps these Odes may best be compared with the little craftless
figures in an early age of pottery, when the fragrance of the soil
yet

lingered about the rough clay. The maker of the song was a poet, and
knew it not. The maker of the bowl was an artist, and knew it not. You
will get no finish from either -- the lines are often blurred, the design
but half fulfilled; and yet the effect is not inartistic. It has been well
said that greatness is but another name for interpretation; and in so far
as these nameless workmen of old interpreted themselves and the times
in which they lived, they have attained enduring greatness.
Poetry before the T`angs
Following on the Odes, we have much written in the same style, more
often than not by women, or songs possibly written to be sung by them,
always in a minor key, fraught with sadness, yet full of quiet
resignation and pathos.
It is necessary to mention in passing the celebrated Ch`u Yuan (fourth
cent. B.C.), minister and kinsman of a petty kinglet under the Chou
dynasty, whose `Li Sao', literally translated `Falling into Trouble', is
partly autobiography and partly imagination. His death by drowning
gave rise to the great Dragon-boat Festival, which was originally a
solemn annual search for the body of the poet.
Soon a great national dynasty arrives whose Emperors are often patrons
of literature and occasionally poets as well. The House of Han (200
B.C.-A.D. 200) has left its mark upon the Empire of China, whose
people of to-day still call themselves "Sons of Han". There were
Emperors beloved of literary men, Emperors beloved of the people,
builders of long waterways and glittering palaces, and one great
conqueror, the Emperor Wu Ti, of almost legendary fame. This was an
age of preparation and development of new forces. Under the Hans,
Buddhism first began to flourish. The effect is seen in the poetry of the
time, especially towards the closing years of this dynasty. The minds of
poets sought refuge in the ideal world from the illusions of the senses.
The third century A.D. saw the birth of what was probably
the first
literary club ever known, the Seven Sages of the Bamboo Grove. This
little coterie of friends was composed of seven famous men, who
possessed many talents in common, being poets and musicians,

alchemists, philosophers, and mostly hard drinkers as well. Their
poetry, however, is scarcely memorable. Only one great name stands
between them and the poets of the T`ang dynasty --
the name of T`ao
Ch`ien (A.D. 365-427), whose exquisite allegory "The Peach Blossom
Fountain" is quoted by Professor Giles
in his `Chinese Literature'.
The philosophy of this ancient poet appears to have been that of Horace.
`Carpe diem!'
"Ah, how short a time it is that we are here! Why then