KUng Shang-Jen - The peach blossom fan

KUNG SHANG-JEN (16461718) was a sixty-fourth generation descendant of Confucius and was raised in his ancestors hometown of Qufu in Shandong province. A noted expert in music and Confucian rites, he was chosen in 1684 to lecture to the visiting emperor Kangxi, who later appointed him to the Imperial Academy in Beijing. The Peach Blossom Fan was completed in 1699 and was performed to great acclaim in 1700. It was not published, however, until 1708, a few years after Kung had left his post and returned home to Qufu.

JUDITH T. ZEITLIN is the William R. Kenan, Jr. Professor in East Asian Languages and Civilizations at the University of Chicago. Her most recent book is The Phantom Heroine: Ghosts and Gender in Seventeenth-Century Chinese Literature.

CHEN SHIH-HSIANG (19121971) was a professor of Chinese and comparative literature at the University of California, Berkeley. Among his books are The Genesis of Poetic Time and, with Harold Acton, Modern Chinese Poetry.

HAROLD ACTON (19041994) was a prolific Anglo-Italian writer, poet, novelist, and translator. He lived in China from 1932 to 39, teaching English literature at the University of Peking.

CYRIL BIRCH is a translator and the Agassiz Professor of Chinese and Comparative Literature emeritus at the University of California, Berkeley.

[Enter Hou Fang-y in the robes of a scholar.]

Hou [sings]:

On Grieve-Not Lake beside the Poets Tower,

The weeping willows burgeon once again.

The sun is setting: hill and river blend

In perfect beauty, and the traveller is tempted

To drink, recalling beauties long ago,

Painted and powdered in the southern courts.

Sad thoughts come with twilight, while the swallows

Frolic regardless of the fall of kings.

[Recites]:

Hushed is the courtyard, cold the kitchen stove;

And I have risen late from heavy slumber.

Though flowers bloom, fatigue invades the limbs,

And while it rains at every dawn of day,

And trees around the royal tombs decay,

The river swollen with the melted snows

Washes away the palaces foundations.

I write new poems grieving for the past;

An exiles sorrow, dreaming dreams of home.

Where will the swallows choose to nest this year,

In my village home far west of the misty waters?

[Speaks]: My name is Hou Fang-y, and I am a native of Kuei-te in the heart of the empire. I am descended from a long line of scholars and officials; my father and grandfather were Ministers of State, and both set up their standards in the Eastern Forest. Since finishing my examinations last year, I have been staying on the shore of Grieve-Not Lake. But the clouds of war continue to cover us, and news from home is scarce. It is mid-spring and the green grass stretches to the dim horizon, but where shall I find a companion for my homeward journey? The yellow dust rises from the earth, but here I sit in solitary exile. Oh! Grieve Not, Grieve Not! How can I fail to grieve? Fortunately, my literary friends Chen Chen-hui and Wu Ying-chi are staying over Tsai Yi-sos bookshop. We often meet and cheer each others solitude. Today we shall gather at the Fair City Monastery and enjoy the splendour of the plum blossoms. I must start immediately or I shall be late.

[He proceeds to sing]:

New warmth invades the breeze,

Mist whelms the river glade.

We stroll through flowery leas

With wine in jars of jade.

Thrilled by a sudden flute

The pilgrims heart is mute.

Dont pass by Swallow Lane:

New owners are repainting

The lintels of your friends

Who will not come again. [Exit.]

[Enter Chen Chen-hui and Wu Ying-chi.]

Chen [sings]:

The royal power is fading from Nanking.

The war-flags wave, the drums of battle beat.

One dreads to cross the river, though it flows

So placidly through willow groves and orchards.

[Each announces his name.]

Chen: What is the latest news of the roving bandits?

Wu: Yesterday I saw an official report. After defeating the national armies, the bandits are drawing near the capital. Tso Liang-y, the Earl of Ning-nan, has retreated to Hsiang-yang, and central China is totally unprotected. The fate of the dynasty is sealed. We might as well enjoy the spring while it lasts.

Chen and Wu together [singing]:

Spring floods the air, but wind and rain

Have scattered petals of the pear,

And so dawn seems dishevelled and in pain.

Hou [re-entering]: Greetings! So the two of you came betimes.

Wu: Of course. We could not bear to keep you waiting.

Chen: I sent my servant ahead to sweep the monastery courtyard and serve refreshments.

Servant [entering in haste]: When it is cold, the wines not warm enough; when flowers bloom, the trippers are too many.... We arrived too late, Your Honour. Let us all go home.

Chen: What do you mean, too late?

Servant: Master Hsu from the Wei Palace is giving a party in honour of the blossoms. The whole monastery is crammed with his guests.

Hou: Let us go up the river then, and visit the beauties of the Water Pavilion.

Wu: Why trouble to go so far? Do you know that brilliant minstrel Liu Ching-ting of Tai-chou? He is highly esteemed by such connoisseurs as the Ministers Fan Ching-wen and Ho Ju-chung, and I hear that he lives nearby. On this languid spring day, would it not be pleasant to listen to him?

Chen: That is also a good suggestion.

Hou [angrily]: Pock-marked Liu was a toady of Juan Ta-cheng, Bearded Juan, the eunuchs adopted son. I would rather avoid such a creature.

Wu: Apparently you do not know the facts. Since the despicable Juan persisted in patronising singers and dancers and flattering the powerful at court instead of resigning, I wrote an impeachment exposing his crimes and demanding his punishment. When at last his troupe of artists discovered that he was a member of the treacherous Tsui and Wei cliques, they all walked out on him in the middle of a performance, and pock-marked Liu was among them. In my opinion Liu deserves our respect.

Hou: I should never have expected to find such high principles in a man of that sort. Let us pay him a visit. [They proceed together.]

Hou, Wu, and Chen together [singing]:

Random pipe-notes in the Courts of the Transcendents

Where the secluded Alchemist

Watches the vast sea turn into mulberry groves.

Servant: Here we are. Ill knock at the door. [Shouts]: Is pock-marked Liu at home?

Chen: Fie, fie! He is a celebrity: you should address him as Master Liu.

Servant: Master Liu, open the door!

[Enters Liu a chou or comedian type with a white beard, a skull cap, and a blue gown.]

Liu [sings]:

Green moss and weeds grow rank and high

Beside my long-locked door.

Woodsmen and fishingfolk amble nigh

To praise the times of yore.

[Seeing the visitors, he exclaims]: Oh, Masters Chen and Wu! Forgive my ignorance of your arrival. Who is the gentleman you have brought along with you?

Chen: This is our friend Hou Fang-y of Honan, whose fame is in the ascendant. He has long admired your art and hopes to hear you.

Liu: I am overwhelmed. Pray be seated and drink some tea. [They sit, andLiucontinues]: You gentlemen are such fine scholars, so familiar with the Records of the Historian,