A Lute of Jade : Selections From the Classical Poets of China

Part 1

A Lute of Jade: Being Selections from the Classical Poets of China by L. Cranmer-Byng

Names of People --------------- " " ^ ^ " Ch`u Yuan Meng Hao-jan Ts`en-Ts`an Po Chu-i

" ^ * * Ssu-K`ung T`u T`ai Chen Lao Tzu Chuang Tzu

Names of Places --------------- * " Ssuch`uan Ch`u

The accent marked by an asterisk resembles the lower half of a circle.

It is noted in the appendix that Mr. Lionel Giles is responsible for these transliterations.]

A LUTE OF JADE

To Professor Herbert Giles

A Lute of Jade

Being Selections from the Classical Poets of China

Rendered with an Introduction by L. Cranmer-Byng Author of "The Odes of Confucius"

With lutes of gold and lutes of Jade Li Po

Contents

Introduction The Ancient Ballads Poetry before the T`angs The Poets of the T`ang Dynasty A Poet's Emperor Chinese Verse Form The Influence of Religion on Chinese Poetry

The Odes of Confucius Sadness Trysting Time The Soldier

Ch`u Yuan The Land of Exile

Wang Seng-ju Tears

Ch`en Tzu Ang The Last Revel

Sung Chih-Wen The Court of Dreams

Kao-Shih Impressions of a Traveller Desolation

Meng Hao-jan The Lost One A Friend Expected

Ch`ang Ch`ien A Night on the Mountain

Ts`en-Ts`an A Dream of Spring

Tu Fu The Little Rain A Night of Song The Recruiting Sergeant Chants of Autumn

Li Po To the City of Nan-king Memories with the Dusk Return An Emperor's Love On the Banks of Jo-yeh Thoughts in a Tranquil Night The Guild of Good-fellowship Under the Moon Drifting

Wang Ch`ang-ling The Song of the Nenuphars Tears in the Spring

Chang Chih-ho A World Apart

Chang Jo-hu

Part 2

T`ung Han-ching The Celestial Weaver

Po Chu-i The Lute Girl The Never-ending Wrong The River and the Leaf Lake Shang The Ruined Home A Palace Story Peaceful Old Age Sleeplessness The Grass Autumn across the Frontier The Flower Fair The Penalties of Rank The Island of Pines Springtide The Ancient Wind

Li Hua An Old Battle-field

Ssu-K`ung T`u Return of Spring The Colour of Life Set Free Fascination Tranquil Repose The Poet's Vision Despondent Embroideries Concentration Motion

Ou-Yang Hsiu of Lu-ling Autumn At the Graveside

Appendix

Editorial Note

The object of the Editors of this series is a very definite one. They desire above all things that, in their humble way, these books shall be the ambassadors of good-will and understanding between East and West -- the old world of Thought and the new of Action. In this endeavour, and in their own sphere, they are but followers of the highest example in the land. They are confident that a deeper knowledge of the great ideals and lofty philosophy of Oriental thought may help to a revival of that true spirit of Charity which neither despises nor fears the nations of another creed and colour. Finally, in thanking press and public for the very cordial reception given to this Series, they wish to state that no pains have been spared to secure the best specialists for the treatment of the various subjects at hand. L. Cranmer-Byng. S. A. Kapadia. Northbrook Society, 185 Piccadilly, W.

A Lute of Jade

Introduction

The Ancient Ballads

A little under three hundred years, from A.D. 618 to 906, the period of the T`ang dynasty, and the great age of Chinese poetry had come and gone. Far back in the twilight of history, at least 1,700 years before Christ, the Chinese people sang their songs of kings and feudal princes good or bad, of husbandry, or now and then songs with the more personal note of simple joys and sorrows. All things in these Odes collected by Confucius belong to the surface of life; they are the work of those who easily plough light furrows, knowing nothing of hidden gold. Only at rare moments of exaltation or despair 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 not set our hearts at rest, ceasing to trouble whether we remain or go? What boots it to wear out the soul with anxious thoughts? I want not wealth; I want not power: heaven is beyond my hopes. Then let me stroll through the bright hours as they pass, in my garden among my flowers, or I will mount the hill and sing my song, or weave my verse beside the limpid brook. Thus will I work out my allotted span, content with the appointments of Fate, my spirit free from care."* For him enjoyment and scarcely happiness is the thing. And although many of his word-pictures are not lacking in charm or colour, they have but little significance beyond them. They are essentially the art works of an older school than that of the Seven Sages. But we must have due regard for them, for they only miss greatness by a little, and remind us of the faint threnodies that stir in the throats of bird musicians upon the dawn.

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