The literature of China is remarkable (1) for its antiquity, coupled
with an unbroken continuity down to the present day; (2) for the variety
of subjects presented, and for the exhaustive treatment which, not only
each subject, but also each subdivision, each separate item, has
received, as well as for the colossal scale on which so many literary
monuments have been conceived and carried out; (3) for the accuracy of
its historical statements, so far as it has been possible to test them;
and further (4) for its ennobling standards and lofty ideals, as well as
for its wholesome purity and an almost total absence of coarseness and
obscenity.
No history of Chinese literature in the Chinese language has yet been
produced; native scholars, however, have adopted, for bibliographical
purposes, a rough division into four great classes. Under the first of
these, we find the Confucian Canon, together with lexicographical,
philological, and other works dealing with the elucidation of words.
Under the second, histories of various kinds, officially compiled,
privately written, constitutional, &c.; also biography, geography and
bibliography. Under the third, philosophy, religion, e.g. Buddhism; the
arts and sciences, e.g. war, law, agriculture, medicine, astronomy,
painting, music and archery; also a host of general works, monographs,
and treatises on a number of topics, as well as encyclopaedias. The
fourth class is confined to poetry of all descriptions, poetical
critiques, and works dealing with the all-important rhymes.
_Poetry._--Proceeding chronologically, without reference to Chinese
classification, we have to begin, as would naturally be expected, with
the last of the above four classes. Man's first literary utterances in
China, as elsewhere, took the form of verse; and the earliest Chinese
records in our possession are the national lyrics, the songs and
ballads, chiefly of the feudal age, which reaches back to over a
thousand years before Christ. Some pieces are indeed attributed to the
18th century B.C.; the latest bring us down to the 6th century B.C. Such
is the collection entitled _Shih Ching_ (or _She King_), popularly known
as the Odes, which was brought together and edited by Confucius, 551-479
B.C., and is now included among the Sacred Books, forming as it does an
important portion of the Confucian Canon. These Odes, once over three
thousand in number, were reduced by Confucius to three hundred and
eleven; hence they are frequently spoken of as "the Three Hundred." They
treat of war and love, of eating and drinking and dancing, of the
virtues and vices of rulers, and of the misery and happiness of the
people. They are in rhyme. Rhyme is essential to Chinese poetry; there
is no such thing as blank verse. Further, the rhymes of the Odes have
always been, and are still, the only recognized rhymes which can be used
by a Chinese poet, anything else being regarded as mere jingle. Poetical
licence, however, is tolerated; and great masters have availed
themselves freely of its aid. One curious result of this is that whereas
in many instances two given words may have rhymed, as no doubt they did,
in the speech of three thousand years ago, they no longer rhyme to the
ear in the colloquial of to-day, although still accepted as true and
proper rhymes in the composition of verse.
It is noticeable at once that the Odes are mostly written in lines of
four words, examples of lines consisting of any length from a single
word to eight, though such do exist, being comparatively rare. These
lines of four words, generally recognized as the oldest measure in
Chinese poetry, are frequently grouped as quatrains, in which the
first, second and fourth lines rhyme; but very often only the second
and fourth lines rhyme, and sometimes there are groups of a larger
number of lines in which occasional lines are found without any rhyme
at all. A few stray pieces, as old as many of those found among the
Odes, have been handed down and preserved, in which the metre consists
of two lines of three words followed by one line of seven words. These
three lines all rhyme, but the rhyme changes with each succeeding
triplet. It would be difficult to persuade the English reader that
this is a very effective measure, and one in which many a gloomy or
pathetic tale has been told. In order to realise how a few Chinese
monosyllables in juxtaposition can stir the human heart to its lowest
depths, it is necessary to devote some years to the study of the
language.
At the close of the 4th century B.C., a dithyrambic measure, irregular
and wild, was introduced and enjoyed considerable vogue. It has indeed
been freely adopted by numerous poets from that early date down to the
present day; but since the 2nd century B.C. it has been displaced from
pre-eminence by the seven-word and five-word measures which are now,
after much refinement, the accepted standards for Chinese poetry. The
origin of the seven-word metre is lost in remote antiquity; the
five-word metre was elaborated under the master-hand of Mei Sheng, who
died 140 B.C. Passing over seven centuries of growth, we reach the
T'ang dynasty, A.D. 618-905, the most brilliant epoch in the history
of Chinese poetry. These three hundred years produced an
extraordinarily large number of great poets, and an output of verse of
almost incredible extent. In 1707 an anthology of the T'ang poets was
published by Imperial order; it ran to nine hundred books or sections,
and contained over forty-eight thousand nine hundred separate poems. A
copy of this work is in the Chinese department of the University
Library at Cambridge.
It was under the T'ang dynasty that a certain finality was reached in
regard to the strict application of the tones to Chinese verse. For
the purposes of poetry, all words in the language were ranged under
one or the other of two tones, the _even_ and the _oblique_, the
former now including the two even tones, of which prior to the 11th
century there was only one, and the latter including the rising,
sinking and entering tones of ordinary speech. The incidence of these
tones, which may be roughly described as sharps and flats, finally
became fixed, just as the incidence of certain feet in Latin metres
came to be governed by fixed rules. Thus, reading downward from right
to left, as in Chinese, a five-word stanza may run:
Sharp Flat Flat Sharp
sharp flat flat sharp
flat sharp flat sharp
o o o o
flat sharp sharp flat
sharp flat sharp flat
A seven-word stanza may run:
Flat Sharp Sharp
flat sharp sharp flat
sharp flat flat sharp
sharp flat flat sharp
o o o o
flat sharp flat flat
flat sharp sharp flat
sharp flat sharp sharp
The above are only two metres out of many, but enough perhaps to give
to any one who will read them with a pause or quasi-caesura, as marked
by o in each specimen, a fair idea of the rhythmic lilt of Chinese
poetry. To the trained ear, the effect is most pleasing; and when this
scansion, so to speak, is united with rhyme and choice diction, the
result is a vehicle for verse, artificial no doubt, and elaborate, but
admirably adapted to the genius of the Chinese language. Moreover, in
the hands of the great poets this artificiality disappears altogether.
Each word seems to slip naturally into its place; and so far from
having been introduced by violence for the ends of prosody, it appears
to be the very best word that could have been chosen, even had there
been no trammels of any kind, so effectually is the art of the poet
concealed by art. From the long string of names which have shed lustre
upon this glorious age of Chinese poetry, it may suffice for the
present purpose to mention the following, all of the very first rank.
Meng Hao-jan, A.D. 689-740, failed to succeed at the public
competitive examinations, and retired to the mountains where he led
the life of a recluse. Later on, he obtained an official post; but he
was of a timid disposition, and once when the emperor, attracted by
his fame, came to visit him, he hid himself under the bed. His
hiding-place was revealed by Wang Wei, a brother poet who was present.
The latter, A.D. 699-759, in addition to being a first-rank poet, was
also a landscape-painter of great distinction. He was further a firm
believer in Buddhism; and after losing his wife and mother, he turned
his mountain home into a Buddhist monastery. Of all poets, not one has
made his name more widely known than Li Po, or Li T'ai-po, A.D.
705-762, popularly known as the Banished Angel, so heavenly were the
poems he dashed off, always under the influence of wine. He is said to
have met his death, after a tipsy frolic, by leaning out of a boat to
embrace the reflection of the moon. Tu Fu, A.D. 712-770, is generally
ranked with Li Po, the two being jointly spoken of as the chief poets
of their age. The former had indeed such a high opinion of his own
poetry that he prescribed it for malarial fever. He led a chequered
and wandering life, and died from the effects of eating roast beef and
drinking white wine to excess, immediately after a long fast. Po
Chue-i, A.D. 772-846, was a very prolific poet. He held several high
official posts, but found time for a considerable output of some of
the finest poetry in the language. His poems were collected by
Imperial command, and engraved upon tablets of stone. In one of them
he anticipates by eight centuries the famous ode by Malherbe, _A Du
Perrier, sur la mort de sa fille_.
The T'ang dynasty with all its glories had not long passed away before
another imperial house arose, under which poetry flourished again in
full vigour. The poets of the Sung dynasty, A.D. 960-1260, were many
and varied in style; but their work, much of it of the very highest
order, was becoming perhaps a trifle more formal and precise. Life
seemed to be taken more seriously than under the gay and
pleasure-loving T'angs. The long list of Sung poets includes such
names as Ss[)u]-ma Kuang, Ou-yang Hsiu and Wang An-shih, to be
mentioned by and by, the first two as historians and the last as
political reformer. A still more familiar name in popular estimation
is that of Su Tung-p'o, A.D. 103-1101, partly known for his romantic
career, now in court favour, now banished to the wilds, but still more
renowned as a brilliant poet and writer of fascinating essays.
The Mongols, A.D. 1260-1368, who succeeded the Sungs, and the Mings
who followed the Sungs and bring us down to the year 1644, helped
indeed, especially the Mings, to swell the volume of Chinese verse,
but without reaching the high level of the two great poetical periods
above-mentioned. Then came the present dynasty of Manchu Tatars, of
whom the same tale must be told, in spite of two highly-cultured
emperors, K'ang Hsi and Ch'ien Lung, both of them poets and one of
them author of a collection containing no fewer than 33,950 pieces,
most of which, it must be said, are but four-line stanzas, of no
literary value whatever. It may be stated in this connexion that
whereas China has never produced an epic in verse, it is not true that
all Chinese poems are quite short, running only to ten or a dozen
lines at the most. Many pieces run to several hundred lines, though
the Chinese poet does not usually affect length, one of his highest
efforts being the four-line stanza, known as the "stop-short," in
which "the words stop while the sense goes on," expanding in the mind
of the reader by the suggestive art of the poet. The "stop-short" is
the converse of the epigram, which ends in a satisfying turn of
thought to which the rest of the composition is intended to lead up;
it aims at producing an impression which, so far from being final, is
merely the prelude to a long series of visions and of feelings. The
last of the four lines is called the "surprise line"; but the
revelation it gives is never a complete one: the words stop, but the
sense goes on. Just as in the pictorial art of China, so in her
poetic art is suggestiveness the great end and aim of the artist.
Beginners are taught that the three canons of verse composition are
lucidity, simplicity and correctness of diction. Yet some critics have
boldly declared for obscurity of expression, alleging that the
piquancy of a thought is enhanced by its skilful concealment. For the
foreign student, it is not necessary to accentuate the obscurity and
difficulty even of poems in which the motive is simple enough. The
constant introduction of classical allusions, often in the vaguest
terms, and the almost unlimited licence as to the order of words,
offer quite sufficient obstacles to easy and rapid comprehension.
Poetry has been defined by one Chinese writer as "clothing with words
the emotions which surge through the heart." The chief moods of the
Chinese poet are a pure delight in the varying phenomena of nature,
and a boundless sympathy with the woes and sufferings of humanity.
Erotic poetry is not absent, but it is not a feature proportionate in
extent to the great body of Chinese verse; it is always restrained,
and never lapses from a high level of purity and decorum. In his love
for hill and stream which he peoples with genii, and for tree and
flower which he endows with sentient souls, the Chinese poet is
perhaps seen at his very best; his views of life are somewhat too
deeply tinged with melancholy, and often loaded with an overwhelming
sadness "at the doubtful doom of human kind." In his lighter moods he
draws inspiration, and in his darker moods consolation from the
wine-cup. Hard-drinking, not to say drunkenness, seems to have been
universal among Chinese poets, and a considerable amount of talent has
been expended upon the glorification of wine. From Taoist, and
especially from Buddhist sources, many poets have obtained glimpses to
make them less forlorn; but it cannot be said that there is any
definitely religious poetry in the Chinese language.
_History._--One of the labours undertaken by Confucius was connected
with a series of ancient documents--that is, ancient in his day--now
passing under a collective title as _Shu Ching_ (or _Shoo King_), and
popularly known as the Canon, or Book, of History. Mere fragments as
some of these documents are, it is from their pages of unknown date that
we can supplement the pictures drawn for us in the Odes, of the early
civilization of China. The work opens with an account of the legendary
emperor Yao, who reigned 2357-2255 B.C., and was able by virtue of an
elevated personality to give peace and happiness to his "black-haired"
subjects. With the aid of capable astronomers, he determined the summer
and winter solstices, and calculated approximately the length of the
year, availing himself, as required, of the aid of an intercalary month.
Finally, after a glorious reign, he ceded the throne to a man of the
people, whose only claim to distinction was his unwavering practice of
filial piety. Chapter ii. deals with the reign, 2255-2205 B.C., of this
said man, known in history as the emperor Shun. In accordance with the
monotheism of the day, he worshipped God in heaven with prayer and burnt
offerings; he travelled on tours of inspection all over his then
comparatively narrow empire; he established punishments, to be tempered
with mercy; he appointed officials to superintend forestry, care of
animals, religious observances, and music; and he organized a system of
periodical examinations for public servants. Chapter iii. is devoted to
details about the Great Yue, who reigned 2205-2197 B.C., having been
called to the throne for his engineering success in draining the empire
of a mighty inundation which early western writers sought to identify
with Noah's Flood. Another interesting chapter gives various
geographical details, and enumerates the articles, gold, silver, copper,
iron, steel, silken fabrics, feathers, ivory, hides, &c., &c., brought
in under the reign of the Great Yue, as tribute from neighbouring
countries. Other chapters include royal proclamations, speeches to
troops, announcements of campaigns victoriously concluded, and similar
subjects. One peculiarly interesting document is the Announcement
against Drunkenness, which seems to have been for so many centuries a
national vice, and then to have practically disappeared as such. For the
past two or three hundred years, drunkenness has always been the
exception rather than the rule. The Announcement, delivered in the 12th
century B.C., points out that King Wen, the founder of the Chou dynasty,
had wished for wine to be used only in connexion with sacrifices, and
that divine favours had always been liberally showered upon the people
when such a restriction had been observed. On the other hand, indulgence
in strong drink had invariably attracted divine vengeance, and the fall
and disruption of states had often been traceable to that cause. Even
on sacrificial occasions, drunkenness is to be condemned. "When,
however, you high officials and others have done your duty in
ministering to the aged and to your sovereign, you may then eat to
satiety and drink to elevation." The Announcement winds up with an
ancient maxim, "Do not seek to see yourself reflected in water, but in
others,"--whose base actions should warn you not to commit the same;
adding that those who after a due interval should be unable to give up
intemperate habits would be put to death. It is worth noting, in
concluding this brief notice of China's earliest records, that from
first to last there is no mention whatever of any distant country from
which the "black-haired people" may have originally come; no vestige of
any allusion to any other form of civilization, such as that of
Babylonia, with its cuneiform script and baked-clay tablets, from which
an attempt has been made to derive the native-born civilization of
China. A few odd coincidences sum up the chief argument in favour of
this now discredited theory.
Annals of the Lu state.
The next step lands us on the confines, though scarcely in the domain,
of history properly so called. Among his other literary labours,
Confucius undertook to produce the annals of Lu, his native state; and
beginning with the year 722 B.C., he carried the record down to his
death in 479, after which it was continued for a few years, presumably
by Tso-ch'iu Ming, the shadowy author of the famous Commentary, to
which the text is so deeply indebted for vitality and illumination.
The work of Confucius is known as the _Ch'un Ch'iu_, the Springs and
Autumns, q.d. Annals. It consists of a varying number of brief entries
under each year of the reign of each successive ruler of Lu. The
feudal system, initiated more than four centuries previously, and
consisting of a number of vassal states owning allegiance to a central
suzerain state, had already broken hopelessly down, so far as
allegiance was concerned. For some time, the object of each vassal
ruler had been the aggrandizement of his own state, with a view either
to independence or to the hegemony, and the result was a state of
almost constant warfare. Accordingly, the entries in the _Ch'un Ch'iu_
refer largely to covenants entered into between contracting rulers,
official visits from one to another of these rulers, their births and
deaths, marriages, invasions of territory, battles, religious
ceremonies, &c., interspersed with notices of striking natural
phenomena such as eclipses, comets and earthquakes, and of important
national calamities, such as floods, drought and famine. For instance,
Duke Wen became ruler of Lu in 625 B.C., and under his 14th year, 612
B.C., we find twelve entries, of which the following are specimens:--
2. In spring, in the first month, the men of the Chu State invaded our
southern border.
3. In summer, on the I-hai day of the fifth month, P'an, Marquis of
the Ch'i State, died.
5. In autumn, in the seventh month, there was a comet, which entered
Pei-ton ([Greek: abgd] in Ursa Major).