The Peach Blossom Fan

by K'ung Shang-jen

  [2] The Tung-lin or Eastern Forest Party was a school of intellectuals who organized opposition to the corrupt dictatorship of the eunuch Wei Chung-hsien and his secret police. The Fu-she Society for the revival of ancient learning was an offshoot of the Eastern Forest Party whose aim was to “make friends by means of literature” and help its members prepare for the civil service examinations. Wu Ying-chi, who appears in this play, in historical fact recorded over two thousand members of this influential society, here translated as the “Revival Club.”

  [3] Pan Ku, died A.D. 92, eminent historian; Sung Yü, third century B.C. statesman and poet whose works form part of the Elegies of Ch’u [Ch’u-tz’u]; Han Yü, 768–824, poet and essayist, leader of the influential “plain style movement” of the T’ang dynasty; Su Tung-p’o or Su Shih, 1036–1101, leading poet and essayist of the Sung dynasty.

  [4] Hou Fang-yü uses these allusions to compare himself with the poet Tsou Yang (c. 206–129 B.C.), guest in the Yueh-hua Palace built by Prince Hsiao of Liang, and with the poet Shih Ch’ung (died A.D. 300), owner of a famous garden outside Loyang.

  [5] The sea’s giving place to mulberry groves is a common Taoist (i.e., “Alchemist”) metaphor for the mutability of all phenomena.

  [6] The Records of the Historian [Shih-chi] is by Ssu-ma Ch’ien, 145 to c. 90 B.C., who after his reformation of the calendar took up and completed the monumental work begun by his father, the history of China from the earliest ages to his own time. The Comprehensive Mirror [Tzu-chih t’ung-chien] was the history of China by Ssu-ma Kuang, 1019–1086.

  [7] The Six Dynasties were those which from the third through the sixth centuries maintained their capital at Chien-k’ang, modern Nanking.

  [8] A poem by the great T’ang master Li Po, 699–762.

  [9] Chiang T’ai-kung, twelfth century B.C., legendary octogenarian who consolidated the Chou dynasty. He was said to exercise authority over the spirits of the unseen universe, and hence was often depicted over doors to frighten away evil spirits.

  [10] Under the Tsin dynasty, 265–420, the poet T’ao Ch’ien wrote of a fisherman of Wu-ling who, following a stream without noticing its length, suddenly came to a grove of flowering peach trees. Fascinated by the beauty of the trees and the abundance of scented plants, he wandered on until he reached a spring below a hill. He left his boat and entered a narrow passage which widened as he advanced towards a country of well-tilled fields, ponds of clear water, bamboos and mulberries, and pleasant cottages. The inhabitants were highly civilised and law-abiding. He asked where they had come from, and was told that their ancestors had fled from the tyranny of the Ch’in dynasty in the third century B.C. and had found refuge in this country cut off from the rest of the world. After leaving them, the fisherman reported his adventure to the governor of his district, who sent out men to investigate this unknown region; but they lost their way. Hence the expression t’ao-yuan, Peach Blossom Spring, became a metaphor for a place of retirement where the sage could live happily, far from the noise and turmoil of the world. The allusion is of course anachronistic here, from the lips of a contemporary of Confucius (sixth century B.C.).

  [11] The oldest enumeration of Chinese classics gave only five ching or canons: I ching [Book of Changes]; Shu ching [Book of Historical Documents]; Shih ching [Book of Songs]; Li chi [Record of Rites]; Ch’un ch’iu [Spring and Autumn Annals]. The Yueh chi [Record of Music] was later added as the sixth canon, but it is usually classed as one of the books of the Li chi.

  [12] The “triple beat of Yü-yang drum” alludes to the drumming to whose accompaniment Mi Heng cursed the tyrant Ts’ao Ts’ao in the time of the Three Kingdoms (third century A.D.).

  SCENE 2

  THE SINGING-MASTER

  1643, SECOND MONTH

  [Li Chen-li, the heroine’s foster mother, enters. She is the hostess of an elegant house of pleasure.]

  Li [sings]:

  With delicate firm strokes I paint my eyebrows.

  The doors of these red chambers are seldom closed;

  The drooping willows by the wooden bridge

  Cause riders to dismount.

  I shall embroider the bag of my reed-organ and tighten the strings of my lute.

  [Recites a quatrain]:

  The pear blossoms are like snow, the grass like mist;

  Spring settles on the banks of the Ch’in-huai River.

  A row of pleasure-chambers fronts on the water,

  Reflecting from each window a lovely face.

  [Speaks]: My name is Li Chen-li. I have won fame in the world of “mists and flowers,” and high rank in the circles of “wind and moon.”[1] I was educated in the old tradition of my calling. Though I have escorted countless guests along the bridge to the pleasure-quarters, the rose of my complexion has not faded and my charms are as fresh as ever. I have adopted a daughter of exquisite grace, who has recently begun to appear at social functions. She is very shy and utterly enchanting; so far she has had no experience behind the hibiscus-embroidered bed-curtains. I happen to know a former magistrate named Yang Wen-ts’ung who is the brother-in-law of Ma Shih-ying, Governor of Feng-yang, and a sworn brother of Juan Ta-ch’eng. Whenever he visits us, he lavishes praise on my adopted daughter and promises to introduce an influential patron to “comb her hair.”[2] On such a fine spring day, I expect he will pay me a visit. [Calls]: Draw the curtains, maid, and sweep the floor. See that everything is ready for our guests.

  Voice from backstage: Aye, aye, ma’am.

  [Yang Wen-ts’ung enters.]

  Yang: This magnificent view of the three mounts is like a masterpiece of painting. The romance of the Six Dynasties is a perennial theme of poetry. I am Yang Wen-ts’ung, a retired magistrate. Since I am on the best of terms with Mistress Li, the famous hostess of the Ch’in-huai River, I’ll take advantage of the fine weather to call on her. Here is her house. [He enters it.] Where is Mistress Li? [On seeing her]: The plum petals have fallen and the willow floss turned yellow. The courtyard is filled with soft harmonies of spring. How can we extract the utmost enjoyment from it?

  Li: Let us climb to the upper chamber. Up there we can burn sweet incense, sip tea, and enjoy some poetry.

  Yang: That sounds delightful. [Both climb the stairs. He recites]:

  The bamboo screen suggests bars of a cage

  For the bird on his perch;

  Flower shadows seem like a cover

  For the fish in the bowl.

  [Looking round, he says]: This must be the sitting-room of your charming daughter. Where is she now?

  Li: She has not finished dressing.

  Yang: Please ask her to join us.

  Li [calls]: Come out, my dear. His Honour Yang has arrived.

  Yang [examining the poems hanging on the walls]: These are all gifts from famous masters of calligraphy. What a choice collection! [He reads them out loud to himself.]

  [The heroine, a Girl of about 16, enters in an exquisite dress.]

  Girl [sings]:

  Returning from the scented land of dreams,

  I leave the red quilt embroidered with mandarin ducks,[3]

  To redden my lips and dress my hair.

  I shall con some recent poems

  To dispel the languor of spring.

  [Says to Yang]: Your Honour, a thousand blessings!

  Yang: I have not seen you for several days, and you have grown much lovelier in the meantime. What profound truth the poems on this wall express! I see that some were written by my dearest friends. Since they have paid you such a compliment, I must join them. [Mistress Li promptly brings him a brush and ink-slab. Yang holds the brush in silence before saying]: I doubt if I could ever compete with these masters. To conceal my failings, I shall contribute a sketch of orchids.

  Li: I can assure you it will be appreciated.

  Yang: Here is a fist-shaped rock by Lan T’ien-shu.[4] I’ll paint some orchids beside it. [Sings]:

  The white wall gleams like silk for me to paint on:

 
Fresh leaves, sweet buds, an aura of mist and rain.

  Here a fist-rock bursts with ink-splashed energy,

  There specks of moss are elegantly scattered.

  [Standing back to survey his finished painting, he says]: I believe it will do. [Sings]:

  No match for the splendid vigor of the Yuan masters,

  But at least our ladies will have orchids to set them off.

  Li: This is a genuine work of art. It vastly improves the room.

  Yang: Don’t mock me! [To the Girl]: Please tell me your name so that I can inscribe it here.

  Girl: I am too young to have a name.[5]

  Li: We should be obliged if Your Honour would choose one for her.

  Yang: According to the Tso chuan,[6] “the fragrance of the orchid pervades a whole nation, it captivates all mankind.” Why not call her Fragrant Princess?

  Li: That is perfect. Fragrant Princess, come and thank His Honour.

  Fragrant Princess [curtseying]: I thank Your Honour kindly.

  Yang [laughing]: It provides us with a name for the house also. [As he writes the inscription, he reads it aloud]: In the springtime of the Year of the Horse during the reign of Ch’ung-chen,[7] I painted these orchids in the Abode of Entrancing Perfumes, in order to win a smile from Fragrant Princess. Signed, Yang Wen-ts’ung of Kweiyang.

  Li: Both the calligraphy and brushwork are supreme. I can never thank you enough. [All sit down.]

  Yang: Surely Fragrant Princess is the greatest beauty in the land. What training in the arts has she received?

  Li: I brought her up so tenderly that she has only just begun to study in earnest. The day before yesterday I found a teacher to instruct her in the art of lyric.

  Yang: Who is he?

  Li: A certain Su K’un-sheng.

  Yang: I know him well. He used to go by the name of Chou Ju-sung, and lived in Wusi. He deserves the highest praise. What tunes has he taught her so far?

  Li: “The Four Dreams of the Jade Tea-House.”[8]

  Yang: How much has she learned?

  Li: Only half “The Peony Pavilion.” Dear daughter, as His Honour Yang is an old friend of ours, do bring your music book and sing a few tunes for him.

  Fragrant Princess: I dare not.

  Li: Don’t be silly. In our profession, sleeves and skirts are in constant motion. Why not sing when you have the chance? [Sings]:

  Born amid powdered faces and painted eyebrows,

  Nurtured as one of the orioles and flowers,

  A tuneful voice is your only source of wealth.

  Be not too prodigal with your emotions, but learn to sing

  Songs of the morning breeze and broken moon.

  Beat gentle time with your ivory castanets,

  Bear off the singer’s prize,

  And princes will tether horses at your gate.

  [Su K’un-sheng enters, in everyday garb.]

  Su: On my way to the songbird in the emerald chamber, I stop to gaze at the peonies by the porch. Since leaving the house of Juan, I have been teaching music to the loveliest courtesans. Isn’t this better than waiting on the whims of an eunuch’s foster son? [He steps in.] Ah! Your Honour Yang, it is an age since we have met!

  Yang: I congratulate you on your entrancing pupil.

  Li: Master Su has arrived. Run and welcome him, dear daughter.

  [Fragrant Princess curtseys.]

  Su: Let us avoid formalities. Have you memorized the song we practised yesterday?

  Fragrant Princess: I have, sir.

  Su: Since His Honour Yang is present, let us hear it. We should take advantage of his criticism.

  Yang: I shall be content merely to listen.

  Su and Fragrant Princess [sitting opposite each other, sing]:

  Clusters of purple, witching hues of red,

  Now blossom from below and overhead,

  Even from dried-up wells and broken walls.

  How shall we spend so glorious a day?

  Su [stopping]: Your rhythm is weak. The accent should fall on “spend” and “glorious”; don’t run them together. Again! [The last line is repeated. Then they continue]:

  Su and Fragrant Princess [singing]:

  Where at this hour can perfect bliss be found?

  Now twilight gathers, and the day has fled.

  The many-coloured clouds are drifting round

  The green-tiled roofs, and gusty showers fall. . . .

  Su [interrupting]: The word “showers” should be stressed, and sung from deep in the throat. [The last line is repeated. Then they continue]:

  Su and Fragrant Princess [singing]:

  Over the misty waves doth float

  A fragile painted boat.

  Yet by the cloistered maid these things are seen

  Only as visions on a painted screen.

  Su: Well done, well done! You have sung it without a mistake. Let us continue.

  Su and Fragrant Princess [singing]:

  The cuckoo’s tears have stained the verdant hills,

  The willow branches droop as drunk with wine;

  New peonies reign; but when the spring is gone,

  What will survive of their bright sovereignty?

  Su [interrupting]: This line is new to you, try it again. [They repeat the last line and then continue]:

  Su and Fragrant Princess [singing]:

  Now feast your gaze in sheer serenity:

  Behold the twittering swallows, how they fare,

  Flashing their tails like scissors through the air,

  While orioles drop their notes like rounded pearls.

  Su: Better and better! Now we have mastered another melody.

  Yang [to Li]: I’m delighted to discover that your daughter has such talent. She is certain to reach the peak of her profession. [To Su]: Yesterday I met Hou Fang-yü, the son of Minister Hou. He has brilliant prospects as well as literary genius, and he is looking for a beautiful mate. Have you heard of him, old friend?

  Su: He is a fellow countryman of mine, a youth of exceptional promise.

  Yang: A match between such a couple should be very successful. [Sings]:

  The sixteen-year-old maid, as fair as emerald jade,

  Is ripe for nuptial bliss — how ravishing her song!

  Her suitor rides with silken gifts and trinkets for her hair.

  Hand in hand they will drain the cups of wine,

  While friends chant verses in congratulation;

  The halls are freshly garnished for the wedding.

  A couple perfectly matched,

  Year after year they will abide together,

  In a peach tree grove beside the sweet spring waters.

  Li: I hope you will persuade this young gentleman to pay us a visit. It would be wonderful if such a match could be arranged.

  Yang: I promise to keep it in mind.

  Li [sings]:

  My daughter is more precious to me than rarest pearls,

  Her voice is purer than the new-born oriole’s;

  But her virgin youth is barred by many doors,

  Unnoticed by the passing wanderer.

  [Speaks to all]: This day should be celebrated. Let us drink some wine below.

  Yang: With the greatest pleasure.

  [Exeunt, each one singing]:

  Yang:

  Outside the curtain, flowers fill the courtyard.

  Li:

  The oriole feels drunk, the swallow drowsy.

  Fragrant Princess:

  My crimson kerchief holds a heap of cherries.

  Su:

  Waiting to fling them at P’an’s chariot![9]

  Illustration: Su K’un-sheng (to Fragrant Princess, who has just sung for Yang Wen-ts’ung and Madam Li Chen-li): “Well done, well done! You have sung it without a mistake.”

  [1] Metaphors for romantic love.

  [2] I.e., to deflower her. In the case of a young courtesan-to-be of exceptional beauty and talent — like Fragrant Princess — this was an honour for which young gallants would eagerly vie
. If the process led to a more enduring attachment, there was always the possibility that the young man might purchase the girl’s freedom from her “adoptive mother — i.e., the madam of the house — and install her as his wife, or at least secondary wife. This is what indeed happens, in the play, between Hou Fang-yü and Fragrant Princess: the vows of fidelity and plans to marry are not to be taken as mere lovers’ rhetoric but as perfectly serious intentions. Their union, however, was not regarded by others as totally binding: see Scene 6, n. 4.

  [3] The mandarin duck and drake were emblems of conjugal fidelity.

  [4] Lan T’ien-shu or Lan Ying (1578 to after 1660), who appears later in the play. He was one of the most accomplished painters of his time, a last representative of the Che school.

  [5] The Chinese had a number of personal names. At birth a male received a “milk name” which was used by relatives and neighbours. On entering school he was given a “book name” to be used by schoolmasters, schoolfellows, officials, and in literary connections. At marriage he was given a “great name,” tzu, or style, hao, for use by acquaintances. Every writer or scholar took one or more “studio names,” pieh-hao. If he won a literary degree, entered official life, or had official rank, he took an official name, kuan-ming. After death he might be given a posthumous name. Names usually had some appropriate significance. A girl received a milk name, a marriage name, and perhaps a nickname. “Fragrant Princess” corresponds to the last.

  [6] Tso chuan, the important commentary on the Spring and Autumn Annals, was attributed to Tso Ch’iu-ming, a supposed disciple of Confucius. The work was actually written later than the time of Confucius; it dates from about the first century of our era.

  [7] On Ch’ung-chen, see Prologue, n. 1. The “Year of the Horse” was 1643.

  [8] I.e., the plays of T’ang Hsien-tsu, 1550–1617, the outstanding dramatist of the Ming period. “Jade Tea-house” was his “studio name.”

  [9] P’an Yueh was a third-century poet renowned for his exceptional handsomeness. Women would pelt his carriage with flowers and fruits when he rode in the capital.

  SCENE 3

  THE DISRUPTED CEREMONIES

  1643, THIRD MONTH