The centuries which elapsed between A.D. 200 and 600 were not favourable to the development and growth of a national literature. During a great part of the time the empire was torn by civil wars; there was not much leisure for book-learning, and few patrons to encourage it. Still the work was carried on, and many great names have come down to us.
The dark years between A.D. 196 and 221, which witnessed the downfall of the House of Han, were illumined by the names of seven writers, now jointly known as the Seven Scholars of the Chien-An period. They were all poets. There was Hsü Kan, who fell under the influence of Buddhism and translated into Chinese the Pranyamûla shâstra tikâ of Nâgârdjuna. The following lines are by him:—
“O floating clouds that swim in heaven above,
Bear on your wings these words to him I love...
Alas! you float along nor heed my pain,
And leave me here to love and long in vain!
I see other dear ones to their homes return,
And for his coming shall not I too yearn?
Since my lord left—ah me, unhappy day!—
My mirror’s dust has not been brushed away;
My heart, like running water, knows no peace.
But bleeds and bleeds forever without cease.”
K‘UNG JUNG—WANG TS’AN
There was K‘ung Jung, a descendant of Confucius in the twentieth degree, and a most precocious child. At ten years of age he went with his father to Lo-yang, where Li Ying, the Dragon statesman, was at the height of his political reputation. Unable from the press of visitors to gain admission, he told the doorkeeper to inform Li Ying that he was a connection, and thus succeeded in getting in. When Li Ying asked him what the connection was, he replied, “My ancestor Confucius and your ancestor Lao Tzŭ were friends engaged in the quest for truth, so that you and I may be said to be of the same family.” Li Ying was astonished, but Ch‘ên Wei said, “Cleverness in youth does not mean brilliancy in later life,” upon which K‘ung Jung remarked, “You, sir, must evidently have been very clever as a boy.” Entering official life, he rose to be Governor of Po-hai in Shantung; but he incurred the displeasure of the great Ts‘ao Ts‘ao, and was put to death with all his family. He was an open-hearted man, and fond of good company. “If my halls are full of guests,” he would say, “and my bottles full of wine, I am happy.”
The following is a specimen of his poetry:—
“The wanderer reaches home with joy
From absence of a year and more:
His eye seeks a beloved boy—
His wife lies weeping on the floor.
“They whisper he is gone. The glooms
Of evening fall; beyond the gate
A lonely grave in outline looms
To greet the sire who came too late.
“Forth to the little mound he flings,
Where wild-flowers bloom on every side....
His bones are in the Yellow Springs,
His flesh like dust is scattered wide.
“‘O child, who never knew thy sire,
For ever now to be unknown,
Ere long thy wandering ghost shall tire
Of flitting friendless and alone.