With other poets this new phase of belief encouraged a contempt for life, and an uncertainty of all beyond it; and these during the first two centuries gave vent to their indifference in odes advocating the Epicurean philosophy, “Let us eat and drink, for to-morrow we die.” Eight short dynasties, times of confusion and disorder, followed after the Han dynasties (206 B.C. to 221 A.D.) and then came the Tang dynasty (620–907), a period which is looked back upon as being the golden age of literature, as, indeed, it was in every field which marks a nation's greatness. It was during this epoch that imperial armies occupied Bokhara and Samarcand, that the Buddhist traveller Heuen-tsang made his way to India, and to every spot rendered sacred by the presence of Buddha, and that the softening influences of Christianity were introduced by the Nestorians into the very heart of the empire. It was a time of prosperity and peace. Literature flourished, and skill and art were employed to soften and add harmony to the national poetry. The four syllables, of which nearly all the lines in the Book of Odes were composed, were exchanged for five and seven. The subjects also partook of the change. Le Tai-pih, the greatest poet of his time, tuned his lyre to notes on the pleasures of wine and of beauty, which would have done honour to Anacreon. Evening feasts amid the parterres of gardens rich with the bloom of a thousand flowers furnished themes upon which he and his imitators were never tired of dilating. Such sonnets are sometimes pretty, and occasionally the ideas they contain are striking; but the disadvantages of the language and of education weigh heavily upon their authors, and they seldom rise beyond the level of the merest mediocrity. The following is taken from the writings of the poet just mentioned, and is translated lineatim et verbatim:—
A Solitary Carouse on a Day in Spring
| “ | The east wind fans a gentle breeze, |
| The streams and trees glory in the brightness of the Spring, | |
| The bright sun illuminates the green shrubs, | |
| And the falling flowers are scattered and fly away. | |
| The solitary cloud retreats to the hollow hill, | |
| The birds return to their leafy haunts. | |
| Every being has a refuge whither he may turn, | |
| I alone have nothing to which to cling. | |
| So, seated opposite the moon shining o'er the cliff, | |
| I drink and sing to the fragrant blossoms.” |
Of epic poetry the Chinese know nothing, and this need not surprise us when we remember how entirely that style of writing was an importation from Greece into Western Europe; and Voltaire tells us that, when he was thinking of publishing the Henriade, he consulted a friend on the subject, who recommended him to give up the undertaking, “for,” said he, “the French have not epic heads.” Neither have the Chinese. A sustained effort of imagination is difficult to them, and the strict laws of rhyme and metre which hamper the poet would make a lengthened poem in Chinese the work of a lifetime. It is probably due to this cause that the literature shows no instance of real dramatic poetry. Their dramas abound with short lyrical pieces, which are introduced to break the monotony of the dialogue; but dramas in verse are unknown, except in the case of low plays written in vulgar rhythm. As, however, love for the drama is one of the most noticeable features of the Chinese character, every encouragement has been given to playwrights, and this branch of literature is therefore well supplied both as regards matter and bulk. The most celebrated plays are contained in a collection entitled The Hundred Plays of the Yuen Dynasty, many of which have been translated into European languages, and one of which, the Orphan of Chaou, served as the groundwork of Voltaire's tragedy, L'Orphelin de la Chine. Their dramas are divided in the playbooks into acts, generally four or five, but as there is an absence of all scenery, and as the dresses are never changed during the piece, the acting is as a rule continuous throughout without break or interval. The stage directions are given in their books as in ours, but not with the same minuteness. “Enter” and “exit&rdquot; are expressed by “ascend ” and “descend,” and “aside,” by “turn the back and say.” By the rules of the Chinese, as was the case also in the Greek drama, only two players are allowed to have possession of the stage at any one time. This, and the absence of all scenery, obliges the dramatists to put in the mouths of the actors long pieces of spoken narrative, much after the manner of the prologues in the plays of Euripides, which appear tame and heavy to a European spectator accustomed to have the plot and locality explained by dialogue and scenery. The plots are for the most part simple and well sustained. The unities, though sometimes observed, are more often disregarded, especially that of place, the characters being frequently sent to different parts of the country in the same act, and made to inform the audience of their whereabouts by the simple expedient of walking up and down the stage, and exclaiming, “Now I am at such and such a place,” or “at such and such a house.” The acting, generally speaking, is good. The Chinese are actors by nature, and are no doubt a good deal improved by their inherent cunning and want of sincerity, which make them quick of observation and fertile in resource, and in every-day life enable them easily to catch the tone of those with whom they associate, and on the stage to assume the characters they wish to represent.
