Reading Fu Poetry: From the Han to Song Dynasties (East Meets West: East Asia and Its Periphery from 200 BCE to 1600 CE) [New ed.] 9781641894364, 9781641894913, 1641894369

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READING FU POETRY FROM THE HAN TO SONG DYNASTIES

edited by Nicholas Morrow Williams

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CONTENTS

Acknowledgements . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . ix Preface NICHOLAS MORROW WILLIAMS. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . xi

Chapter 1. Inventing the Fu: Simulated Spontaneity in Sima Xiangru’s “Great Man” NICHOLAS MORROW WILLIAMS. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1

Chapter 2. Problematic Fu of the Western Han: The “Shu du fu” Attributed to Yang Xiong DAVID R. KNECHTGES. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 39 Chapter 3. A Recluse’s Frustration? Reconsidering Yu Xin’s (513–581) “Fu on a Small Garden” YIYI LUO. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 87

Chapter 4. Yuefu and Fu: Wang Bo’s New Prosody for “Spring Longings” TIMOTHY WAI KEUNG CHAN. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 109 Chapter 5. Li Qingzhao’s Rhapsody on Capture the Horse RONALD EGAN. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 139

Bibliography. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 157

ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS This volume has been prepared and published with aid from the Hsu Long-sing Research Fund of the School of Chinese, University of Hong Kong, as well as support from the Jao Tsung-I Academy of Sinology at Hong Kong Baptist University. We would also like to express gratitude to both the original editors of the East Meets West series, Stephen H. West and Robert Joe Cutter, under whose auspices this project began.

PREFACE NICHOLAS MORROW WILLIAMS

The fu 賦 genre was one of the main genres of imperial Chinese literature from the

Han dynasty to the fall of the Qing in 1911 and even beyond.1 The genre encompasses some of the most ambitious and finely wrought works in the tradition, while also reflect�ing key developments in politics, society, gender relations, material culture, economics, and much else.2 Because one of the distinctive features of the fu is its length, it can be difficult to examine the genre seriously within the space of a conventional academic arti� cle. This volume presents detailed studies of five fu poems intended to elucidate their formal features and also broader historical significance. While the limited scope of the volume represents only a tiny soupçon of the genre as a whole, each study compensates for this selectivity by showing the interconnections of each text with a much broader world beyond the fu genre itself. The complex etymology of its name has sometimes distracted from the content of the fu genre itself.3 The term fu can be traced back to several sources in early China, firstly its use as one of the basic six principles of the Shijing 詩經 (Book of songs), the poetry classic. In comparison to the more elusive modes of bi 比 “comparison” and xing 興 “stimulus,” it is said to be a more direct kind of description of a given situation. But as the name of a genre, “fu” probably derives more directly from this word’s sense of “recitation,” since fu poems were originally recited in court, rather than being sung with music like the poems of the Shijing.4 The fu was generally a long composition employing rhyme and elaborate verbal devices. One of its most distinctive features is the heavy use of descriptive compounds (known in Chinese as lianmian ci 連綿詞), either rhyming or alliterative compounds of two Chinese characters, which pose a special challenge to the reader. 1  The term “fu,” when used as the name of a literary genre, will not be italicized.

2  Major studies of the fu genre include Suzuki Torao, Fushi taiyō; Nakajima Chiaki, Fu no seiritsu to tenkai; Ma Jigao, Fu shi; Cao Minggang, Fuxue gailun, Xu Jie, Futi wenxue de wenhua chanshi; Guo Jianxun, Cifu wenti yanjiu. For a survey in English, see Knechtges, The Han Rhapsody, and the introduction to the edited volume, The Fu Genre of Imperial China: Studies in the Rhapsodic Imagination, 1–15, as well as the essays contained therein. 3  A concise overview may be found in Knechtges, “Lun futi de yuanliu.”

4  See Su Jui-lung, “The Origins of the Term ‘Fu’ as a Literary Genre of Recitation.” Su challenges, rightly, the theory that fu as a genre name derives directly from its application to the Shijing. This error may be responsible for the common misperception of the fu as a purely descriptive genre, which is extremely difficult to reconcile with examples like the fu presented in the first chapter of this book. Nicholas Morrow Williams is associate professor of Chinese literature at Arizona State University. His books include Imitations of the Self: Jiang Yan and Chinese Poetics (Brill, 2015) and The Residue of Dreams: Selected Poems of Jao Tsung-i (Cornell East Asia Series, 2016).

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The abundance of ornate rhetoric in the early fu, especially, seems intended precisely to compensate for the absence of accompanying music, which would have been typical for the earlier Shijing tradition. This style has been called “epideictic” because of its grand display of imagery and onomatopoeia in relation to its topic.5 But epideictic rhetoric was not necessarily an end in itself, since medieval fu were often expected to contain some kind of oblique political criticism or implicit admonition.6 A fu poem was expected to attain a holistic balance of sound and sense, only a small sense of its meaning being conveyed directly, and a much larger part implicitly through formal and rhetorical means. Because the fu was so strictly and essentially a verbal artifact, it could be cogently argued that the fu is the single genre of Chinese literature whose domain is closest to that of English “poem.” The more obvious candidates, shi 詩 and ci 詞, both originated as lyrics intended for musical accompaniment, while the fu has stood on its own verbal ground from the very beginning. From the broader perspective of Chinese or world literature, in fact, the simplest definition of the fu might be simply as a “long poem.” Twentieth-century scholars sometimes misrepresented the fu as a prose genre, as in the unfortunate formulation “rhymeprose.” This error arose naturally out of the abrupt confrontation of Western modernity into the gradual historical development of Chinese genre theory. On one hand, modern Western languages possessed a stable division between “poetry” and “prose,” even if these categories were challenged by the appearance of works like Rimbaud’s prose. This binary opposition appeared to correspond neatly to Qing scholars’ division between shi 詩 and wen 文. But in fact wen is a category quite different from English prose, and even diametrically opposed to it in the medieval Chinese context, where it means belles lettres, the written instantiations of the patterning forces that shape both nature and culture. So the fact that fu has consistently been classified as wen—sometimes even as its paramount form—tells us little per se about its relation to Western genres. That one of the main genres of Chinese poetry is a long, baroque, descriptive form has been inconvenient for some of the theorizations of comparative literature.7 But it is easy enough to discard the husks and shells of twentieth-century literary criticism and return to the Chinese texts themselves. The fu is indispensable to any serious account of Chinese literature or culture, as can be seen immediately from its deep embedding in the political scene. In the Han dynasty (202 BCE–220 CE), the fu was employed at court as a form of entertainment for the emperor or princes. It was also employed as a means of indirect political persuasion by Yang Xiong 揚雄 (53 BC–18 CE) and some other poets.8 In the Six Dynasties it was 5  See chapter two, below, for more on this issue.

6  As in so many other cases with Chinese poetry and other arts, this political dimension may only be hinted at so indirectly that it is arguable whether it actually exists. For a telling example where such a critique is present but requires careful examination and consultation of astronomical charts to be appreciated in full, see Lien, “The Hidden Message of Zhang Heng’s ‘Contemplating the Mystery.’” 7  E.g. the misguided view of the otherwise very learned Earl Miner that Asian literature is founded on the lyric and is essentially “affective-expressive,” as argued in his Comparative Poetics. 8  See Knechtges, The Han Rhapsody.



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used more frequently for personal lyrics as well,9 but then in the Tang the fu took on a political role as fu composition was even tested in the jinshi examinations.10 After the Han dynasty, the fu was not the most widely used genre of literary composition, but it remained the genre of choice for some of the most ambitious work of the greatest writers: it is hard to imagine Chinese literature without Yu Xin’s 庾信 (513–581) monumental “Lament for the Southland” (Ai Jiangnan fu 哀江南賦). As the last two chapters of this volume show, moreover, it remained a potent means of expression even for authors associated primarily with other genres. Though numerous fu have been translated into English before, there are still relatively few English publications that offer complete translations of fu poems accompanied by interpretive essays.11 This volume thus aims to make distinctive fu poems accessible to English readers in a new way. Each chapter focuses on a single fu, and each piece chosen is a lesser-known work that complements and complicates received notions about the genre. Interpretations also relate the pieces to contemporary trends in intellectual history, society, other literary genres, and gender. The first chapter presents a fu from the Han dynasty, golden age of the fu, but one that is closely tied to Warring States literature as well. This is Sima Xiangru’s 司馬相 如 (179–117 BCE) “Great Man” (Daren fu 大人賦). Traditionally this fu has been read in tandem with “Far Roaming” (Yuanyou 遠遊) from the Chuci 楚辭 (Elegies of Chu) anthology. “Far Roaming” was originally attributed to the great poet Qu Yuan 屈原 (ca. 300 BCE), so Sima Xiangru’s poem has unjustly been treated as a second-rate work of plagiarism. In fact, it is impossible to be certain of the dating of either poem. From the perspective of literary criticism, the two poems can be seen as a kind of minimal pair illustrating essential differences between the fu genre and the closely related sao 騷 (i.e., the poetic genre to which the Chuci anthology belongs). Both “Great Man” and “Far Roaming” adapt the model of the “Li sao” to more Daoist subject matter, a celestial journey to join the immortals who live somewhere beyond the mundane world of politics. But “Great Man” is distinguished by its improvisational style and verbal extravagance, which foreground the creative role of the poet and the circumstances of composition. Though it is unlikely the poem was composed in a single burst of inspiration in front of the emperor, it is carefully crafted so as to seem so. Moreover, its style is used to present a portrait of the philosophical transcendent in opposition to the contemporary cult of life-prolonging artifice, so its fu rhetoric is employed in service of the political criticism which was another main function of the genre. This simulated spontaneity is a feature of 9  Cheng, “The Assimilation and Dissimilation of Fu and Shi Poetry up to the Tang Dynasty.”

10  Xu Jie has drawn attention to the importance of these works in articles such as his “Keju yu cifu: Jingdian de shuli yu pianli.”

11  Apart from Knechtges’ translation of the Wen xuan and other publications, and Watson’s Chinese Rhyme-Prose, it is also worth mentioning the translation of Gong Kechang’s Studies of the Han Fu, edited by David R. Knechtges. This is a substantial volume dedicated solely to the genre during the Han dynasty (206 B.C.E.–220 C.E.). Some recent textbooks and surveys also offer valuable new studies, such as two chapters in Cai Zong-qi’s How to Read Chinese Poetry in Context. Another outstanding close reading of a single fu poem is Stephen Owen’s “Hsieh Hui-lien’s ‘Snow Fu’: A Structural Study.”

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many of the best fu poems, in keeping with the origins of the genre in the specific situation of oral recitation. It is only with regard to content that “Great Man” bears a strong resemblance to sao poetry; its stylistic and formal features exemplify Sima Xiangru’s distinctive creative genius in the fu form. Chapter Two turns to a little-read fu by another representative Han poet: Yang Xiong’s 揚雄 (53 BCE–18 CE) “Shu Capital” (Shu du fu 蜀都賦). This panegyrical celebration of the capital of Chengdu, capital of Shu (modern Sichuan province) is extraordinary rich in its diction, containing many expressions that are unprecedented. In a thorough study and translation of the piece, David R. Knechtges shows that it is characteristic of Yang Xiong’s mature style, and a representative example of the capital fu of the Han dynasty. The piece has been overlooked in part because of its difficulty, but that is precisely where the achievement of the poem lies, in its recherché vocabulary and intricate references to actual flora, fauna, and geographical details of Shu. By carefully tracing the origins of each challenging term in the poem, Knechtges shows how faithfully the poem is grounded in the historical actuality of its place and time. Rather than being “problematic,” as it has been presented in some modern scholarship, “Shu Capital” shows how the encyclopedic catalogues and verbal virtuosity of the fu form a virtual cornucopia of Han China. It is a memorable example of the epideictic style at work, and ought from now on to be accorded its rightful place in the canon of Han fu. As dazzling as the verbal pyrotechnics of Han fu poets can be, there is also a more subtle kind of creative virtuosity at work in the more personal and private fu that thrived during the Six Dynasties (220–589). Chapter Three examines a work by one of the finest fu writers of this period, Yu Xin. While Yu Xin’s greatest work, the aforementioned “Lament for the Southland,” would require a book-length study to do it justice, his relatively minor fu poems are also major works in their own right, including the “Small Garden” (Xiaoyuan fu 小園賦), in its own way a subtle study of the author’s emotional world. In this chapter Luo Yiyi elucidates the complex network of historical and literary allusions in the piece. Though at first glance a study of reclusion, the deeper significance of the piece lies in its reflections on Yu Xin’s own life and times. While we expect the recluse to be a high-minded sage at ease in Daoist contemplation, Yu Xin subtly conveys his regrets and frustrations as well. Whether describing a vast metropolis or a modest garden, the microcosm of the fu poem is carefully wrought to represent the world beyond as well. The Tang dynasty is conventionally seen in Chinese literary history as the golden age of the short, lyrical shi 詩. But it was a period of creative brilliance in the fu and other genres as well, as we can see in Timothy W. K. Chan’s study and translation of Wang Bo’s 王勃 (650–676?) “Spring Longings” (Chunsi fu 春思賦). Wang Bo was the poetic prodigy who signaled new heights of economy and passion in the shorter genres of lyric poetry in the Early Tang, but “Spring Longings” is a glorious piece that deserves to be studied along with the greatest poetry of the Tang. As Chan shows in his rigorous analysis, this fu can be subdivided into numerous short sections which are essentially pentasyllabic yuefu songs. It also draws on the inspiration of Qi and Liang court poetry (such as that written by Yu Xin). Thus, the fu genre does not remain static, but draws on contemporary trends in other genres to enrich itself. Nonetheless, only in the fu genre would a



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piece of this scale and complexity be possible. In over 200 lines, Wang Bo paints dozens of separate spring scenes of romance and nostalgia, ranging across both Chang’an and Luoyang to the remote frontier, alternating between his own voice as an ambitious young poet and that of lonely palace ladies, weaving together the various scenes with fluent modulation of repetition and parallelism. Finally, the last chapter of this book presents an extraordinary but little-known poem by China’s most famous female poet, Li Qingzhao 李清照 (1084–1150s). This is her “Capture the Horse” (Dama fu 打馬賦), a poem on a popular board game which uses it as an innovative vehicle to convey Li’s thoughts on military strategy. In Ronald Egan’s subtle and sensitive reading, we see that Li is using the deceptively modest topic to express her heartfelt desire for the Southern Song generals to recapture the northern heartland from the Jin invaders. What is particularly notable about this poem is that, as Egan shows, Li Qingzhao also wrote a long shi poem conveying similar views. By comparison, the shi poem seems relatively formal and restrained, while the freedom and scale of the fu genre allows her to present her feelings more fully. Both examples of her work, needless to say, offer a different view of Li Qingzhao than the brief song lyrics for which she is so famous. Though “Capture the Horse” is not Li’s masterpiece, it is a vivid example of how attention to the fu genre enriches our view of every period of Chinese literature. It will be seen from the summaries given above that each of the chapters of this volume refer, sometimes in passing but elsewhere in considerable depth, to the broader historical context of the compositions under consideration, ranging from the travails of individuals to the fall of cities and empires. But these considerations are grounded in each case in a translation of one fu poem in its entirety, with annotation and explication as appropriate, and close attention to the particular verbal and stylistic choices of the individual writer. For the concept of a literary genre, as useful as it may be as a label or sorting device, is after all in the end a fiction imposed on literary works that exist individually. Even though all the poems in this volume were composed consciously as “fu” that revel in the spontaneous, verbose, allusive, polyphonic, and allegorical qualities of that genre, they are each unique and incomparable cases that have to be read on their own and can in no way be predicted from the characteristics of the genre. Each study is a close reading of its own, that follows the course of the original fu text in ways that frequently end up going against the grain of contemporary expectations, whether as to the nature of poetry, or of genre, or Chinese literature. Thus, this volume is intended not just as a contribution to the study of a major genre of Chinese literature, but also as an original venture in the art of close reading.

Chapter 1

INVENTING THE FU: SIMULATED SPONTANEITY IN SIMA XIANGRU’S “GREAT MAN” NICHOLAS MORROW WILLIAMS*

Although it is one of the principal forms of Chinese poetry, the fu is difficult to classify in relation to Western or comparative literary criticism. Historically speaking, the term fu itself seems to originate in the verb “to recite,” and fu poems were originally distinguished by their performance as long recitations rather than songs accompanied by music.1 To some extent the content of the fu is distinctive, with its frequent adoption of the dialogue form and introduction of philosophical ideas, as well as its implicit political messages.2 And yet it also overlaps considerably with other kinds of Chinese poetry in its use of rhyme, meter, and other basic verse techniques.3 Even though there is no absolute criterion one can use to distinguish fu from other genres of Chinese poetry, nonetheless throughout the history of imperial Chinese literature the fu has been marked as a genre distinct from the lyric (shi 詩), from dramatic poetry, or from song lyrics (ci 詞). The concept of the fu survived because poets selfconsciously employed fu in a manner that differentiated it explicitly from other forms of writing. For while it is not always possible to distinguish strictly between fu and other poems in terms of the received texts on their own, fu was vividly distinguished from other forms of writing by its paradigmatic context of composition: a performance at court in front of a royal audience. Even though the fu became a literary genre composed and distributed in written form, the singular quality of the fu was still conceived to be this improvisational quality. To highlight this improvisational quality in the fu, we can examine a minimal pair, namely a fu poem that bears much in common with another, near-contemporary poem in another genre (in this case the sao, i.e., the genre of poems derived from Qu Yuan’s “Li sao”). By close comparison of the two texts, we will be able to recognize some of the uniqueness of the fu, which turns out to be a matter of inef*  I gratefully acknowledge the corrections and assistance of Timothy W.K. Chan and Travis Chan.

1  See Su Jui-lung, “The Origins of the Term ‘Fu’ as a Literary Genre of Recitation,” which also contains extensive bibliography and discussion of alternative theories. 2  For more on these topics see my edited volume The Fu Genre of Imperial China, chapters six, seven, eight, and nine. 3  See Cheng, “The Assimilation and Dissimilation of Shi and Fu Poetry up to the Tang Dynasty.”

Nicholas Morrow Williams is associate professor of Chinese literature at Arizona State University. His books include Imitations of the Self: Jiang Yan and Chinese Poetics (Brill, 2015) and The Residue of Dreams: Selected Poems of Jao Tsung-i (Cornell East Asia Series, 2016).

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fable intention rather than of any fixed rules governing form or content. This chapter concludes with full annotated translations of both “Great Man” (Daren fu 大人賦) and “Far Roaming” (Yuanyou 遠遊).

Context: A Calculated Performance within a Composite History

“Great Man” is one of the earliest surviving fu poems, and one of only a handful of poems that survive in full by the first true master of the genre, Sima Xiangru 司馬相如 (179–117 BCE).4 “Great Man” is often read in tandem with the “Far Roaming” poem from the Chuci 楚辭 anthology, but close comparison also reveals many singular features in “Great Man” which need to be appreciated on their own. This is true in regard to both its philosophico-religious content, which belongs to quite a different brand of Daoist spirituality than “Far Roaming,” but also with regard to its style. Whereas the sao tradition had offered fluent narratives structured by regular rhyming quatrains, Sima Xiangru’s abundant use of descriptive compounds seems to overflow the bounds of the meter, creating the effect of spontaneous improvisation in the finished piece. Though sometimes neglected by later poets, the simulation of spontaneity is one of the distinguishing features of many fu masterpieces throughout history. Though there were a number of earlier fu poems, Sima Xiangru has consistently been recognized as the first true master of the genre.5 A native of Chengdu in Shu 蜀, Sima Xiangru is said to have been devoted from youth to both study and swordplay. He changed his personal name to “Xiangru” out of admiration for Lin Xiangru 藺相如, the courageous and loyal servant of Zhao during the Warring States period. He first won recognition by composing “Sir Vacuous” (Zixu fu 子虛賦) at the court of the King of Liang 梁, but after the king’s death returned to his native place, where he became wealthy through his marriage to Zhuo Wenjun 卓文君, daughter of a wealthy merchant. But Emperor Wu discovered his earlier fu, and called Sima to the capital, where he composed his most famous fu, the lengthy “Imperial Park” (Shanglin fu 上林賦), a sort of sequel to “Sir Vacuous” in which the imperial park at Shanglin is praised as outdoing those of any of the lesser princedoms. He spent the remainder of his career as an influential courtier in Chang’an, with one of his final compositions, the “Essay on the Feng and Shan Sacrifices” (Fengshan wen 封禪文) being a model of imperial encomium. Sima Xiangru’s “Sir Vacuous” and “Imperial Park,” which effectively form one magnum opus, became the indispensable model for the fu genre in generations to come. 4  For texts of the poem, see Han shu, 57B.2592–2600; Shi ji, 117.3056–63; Sima Xiangru ji jiaozhu, ed. Jin Guoyong, 92–110; Sima Xiangru ji jiaozhu, ed. Zhu and Sun, 67–79; Sima Xiangru ji jiaozhu, ed. Li Xiaozhong, 71–80; Gong and Su, Liang Han fu pingzhu, 117–27. For more on the character of the text, however, see discussion below.

5  For more on the historical sources and authenticity of this biography, however, see discussion below. Yves Hervouet’s rich study Un Poète de cour sur les Han remains full of insight, not to mention his scrupulous translation of Le Chapitre 117 du Che-ki. See also Gong, “The Poet Who Laid the Foundation for the Han Fu: Sima Xiangru,” in Studies in the Han Fu, 132–66; Gong and Su, Sima Xiangru; and “Sima Xiangru,” in Ancient and Early Medieval Chinese Literature: A Reference Guide, eds. Knechtges and Chang, 970–86.



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Above all, they were the model for the “epideictic” style, with its bold and expansive depictions of imperial greatness, heavily embellished with lists of precious objects, flora, and fauna, and overwhelming cascades of euphonic language, notably the disyllabic descriptive compounds (lianmian ci 連綿詞), which come in both alliterative and rhyming varieties.6 At the same time, they were also an important model for indirect criticism; “Imperial Park” concludes with a surprising epilogue in which the Emperor abruptly regrets his lavish spending on entertainment, and transforms his own pleasure resort into fields for the sustenance of the peasants. It is these poems that are often seen as representative of the Han fu genre as a whole, but they are not representative even of the whole oeuvre of Sima Xiangru, which also includes various shorter and more lyrical pieces like “A Beauty” (Meiren fu 美人賦) and “Lament for the Second Qin Emperor” (Ai ershi fu 哀二世賦).7 At the same time, it is widely agreed that Sima Xiangru established the definitive models of the fu genre for centuries to come.8 The goal of this study will be to indicate a dimension of Sima Xiangru’s achievement in the fu genre which is visible even in his shorter compositions, and thereby also to clarify not just his overall achievements as one of China’s major writers in any genre, but also the distinctive features of the fu genre. Indeed, “Great Man,” though composed on a more modest scale, shares both the extravagant language and the ambiguous message of Sima’s other works. “Great Man” is contained, like Sima Xiangru’s famous “Sir Vacuous” and “Imperial Park,” within his Shi ji 史記 (Records of the grand historian) biography, which is also repeated in the Han shu 漢書 (History of the Former Han).9 The biography of Sima Xiangru introduces the poem by describing its composition as a gradual process divided into multiple stages:10 Xiangru was appointed as administrator of the memorial parks of Emperor Wen. The Son of Heaven had long admired his poem “Sir Vacuous.” Xiangru observed that the emperor was fond of the methods of attaining immortality, and so told him, “My treatment of the ‘Imperial Park’ does not deserve your admiration, for I have even more exquisite works. I once composed the ‘Fu on the Great Man,’ but did not complete it. Let me finish it and

6  For more on this topic, see the following chapter on Yang Xiong’s “Shu Capital,” as well as Knechtges, The Han Rhapsody.

7  For the former, which only survives in commonplace books, see Sima Xiangru ji jiaozhu (1), 80–81. The latter is included in Sima Xiangru’s biography: Shi ji, 117.3055; Han shu, 57B.2591. 8  See Gong and Su, Sima Xiangru, 63–64.

9  “Great Man” is not contained in the Wen xuan, like Sima Xiangru’s better-known fu on “Sir Vacuous” and the “Imperial Park.” This is important because it means we do not benefit from the extensive commentarial tradition available for Wen xuan texts. Instead, our interpretations rely heavily on the Han shu commentary of Yan Shigu 顏師古 (581–645). Yan also frequently quotes earlier scholars, especially Zhang Yi 張揖 (fl. 227–232), author of the Guang ya 廣雅, and Ying Shao 應劭 (E. Han).

10  Han shu, 117.3678–79; Shi ji 57B.2592. I generally follow the Han shu text, because although the biography’s content is identical, there are a large number of textual variants, and the Han shu appears to preserve the earlier transcriptions. Yves Hervouet translated the entire biography into French, and examined the variants scrupulously, concluding that the Han shu version was superior in 71% of cases (“Le Valeur relative des textes du Che Ki et du Han Chou”). See also discussion below.

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present it for you.”11 Xiangru believed that when the immortals were said to inhabit the mountains and swamps, and to have bodies and faces terribly emaciated, that this did not amount to a conception fitting for kings or emperors. So he completed the “Fu on the Great Man,” and it reads: 相如拜為孝文園令。天子既美子虛之事，相如見上好僊道，因曰：「上林之事未足美 也，尚有靡者。臣嘗為大人賦，未就，請具而奏之。」相如以為列僊之傳居山澤閒， 形容甚臞，此非帝王之僊意也，乃遂就大人賦。其辭曰:

The entire text of the poem may be found below. The biography does not specify the date of these events, except in that it implies that the poem was composed not long after Sima Xiangru’s most successful fu poem on the “Imperial Park.” Wan Guangzhi has suggested the plausible date of 125 BCE, the date when Sima Xiangru had attained the position of administrator for memorial parks (xiaowen yuanling 孝文園令).12 For the most part it describes the glorious ascension of the “Great Man” as a triumphant progress throughout the cosmos to various remote and mythical places, and concludes in a kind of Daoist transcendence, returning to a condition of non-being beyond any material limitations or characteristics. There is only one moment of hesitation, when the protagonist passes by the immortal Spirit Mother of the West, and finds her a comical figure, living inside a cave with a three-legged crow as messenger. After the poem, the biography concludes with the following description of the emperor’s enjoyment of the poem:13 After Xiangru had presented the “Rhapsody on the Great Man,” the Son of Heaven was greatly pleased. Floating freely, he enjoyed a sense of idle enjoyment, as if piercing the clouds and wandering between Heaven and Earth. 相如既奏大人賦，天子大說，飄飄有凌雲氣游天地之閒意。

Thus we are fortunate with regard to the poem in having an early account of both its composition and also its reception (at least by one person, the Emperor). It is an account that highlights the simultaneously performative and scripted nature of the piece. The fu was spontaneously rendered for the enjoyment of the emperor, but is also asserted to derive from a written text that existed previously. Moreover, the performance of the poem is intimately tied to its concealed message of political admonition. We obtain a compelling picture of the skilled poet Sima Xiangru composing elaborate texts in private, but also adapting them as necessary to specific political demands. In this case, he is disturbed by Emperor Wu’s vain pursuit of immortality through alchemical concoctions which are more likely to poison and starve the seeker than to elevate him. In an attempt to persuade the Emperor to adopt a more phil-

11  The verb translated as “present,” zou 奏, is also used to mean “perform” in the context of musical compositions. Though the primary sense here seems to be that of offering up to the emperor, an echo of musical performance may also be pertinent.

12  Wan Guangzhi, “Sima Xiangru ‘Daren fu’ xianyi,” 66. Gong Kechang and Su Jui-lung make some reasonable objections to this proposal (Sima Xiangru, 40–42), but I find no way to make all the contradictory data coherent. As discussed further below, all prose contextualization for fu poems needs to be taken with a grain of salt as it may contain fictionalized components. 13  Han shu, 57B.2600; Shi ji, 117.3687.



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osophical and enlightened attitude, Sima Xiangru presents his poem, which singles out certain popular superstitions for criticism (“immortals were said to inhabit the mountains and swamps, and to have bodies and faces terribly emaciated”), and concludes by celebrating the philosophical transcendence of his hero: “Riding into the empty void I ascend far off – / transcendently companionless I persevere alone.”14 The biographical account is delightfully detailed in its presentation of the performative context of the poem, and so in itself constitutes a landmark document in the selfdefinition of the fu genre. It is somewhat unclear, however, with respect to the intention of the piece; the introduction to the poem leads us to anticipate a critique of the immortals, but the concluding remark suggests that its effect was the opposite of what was intended. The earliest readers all seem to have taken “Great Man” to contain such critique. Yang Xiong 揚雄 (53 BCE–18 CE) observed that the poem had the opposite effect of its satiric intent (feng 風),15 and Wang Chong 王充 (27–ca. 100) too objected that Sima Xiangru’s critique had failed, since Emperor Wu continued to pursue immortality.16 Modern critics have often followed this interpretation as well, but it is in fact a superficial view that fails to take into account the multiplicity of views on the pursuit of transcendence during the Han.17 To resolve this question, we need to place the poem more precisely in its intellectual context, within a larger discourse of immortality inspired by the Zhuangzi. Together, the two contextualizing passages quoted above situate the poem quite distinctly within the context of pre-existing legends about the “immortals” (xian 仙 or 僊).18 Likewise, the title of the poem is best understood as a reference to the immortal figures of the Zhuangzi.19 Among many occurrences of “Great Man” and also related terms, perhaps the key example is in the eleventh chapter of Zhuangzi: “The teaching of the Great Man is something like the relation of body to shadow, like sound to echo . . . passing in and out without neighbour, like the sun he has no origin” 大人之教，若形之於影，聲之於響⋯⋯出 入无旁，與日无始.20 More importantly, though, “Great Man” is just one example of a set 14  For more discussion of these concluding lines of the poem, though, see below.

15  Han shu, 87B.3575.

16  Lunheng jiaoshi, 42.641–42. Incidentally, Wang Chong also cites the Han shu rather than the Shi ji as the source of this episode, perhaps another suggestion that the extant Shi ji version is an interpolation. 17  See, e.g., Gong and Su, Liang Han fu pingzhu, 119. But they go too far, in my view, when they suggest that the conclusion of the piece is critiquing the loneliness and emptiness of the immortal’s life. As we will see below, this passage needs to be read in light of a broader and primarily eulogistic discourse of immortality in the Western Han. 18  Yü Ying-shih’s survey on this topic remains useful: “Life and Immortality in the Mind of Han China.” Yü emphasizes that the Han saw a new emphasis on the pursuit of xian immortality apart from the immediate world, off up in the clouds or beyond.

19  Fukunaga, “Taijin fu no shisōteki keifu––Jifu no bungaku to Rō Sō no tetsugaku,” 266–67. Wan Guangzhi also rightly criticizes the view that the term refers directly to the emperor: see his “Sima Xiangru ‘Daren fu’ xianyi,” 63–64. Though the term “Great Man” also appears in the first hexagram of the Yijing and other contexts, in the case of this fu its pedigree is clearly from Zhuangzi.

20  Zhuangzi jishi, 11.395. Guo Xiang 郭象 (d. 312) claims that this first sentence is comparing the

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of synonymous terms for the enlightened person in Zhuangzi, like “percipient man” 達 人 or “ultimate man” 至人. Jia Yi’s 賈誼 (200–168) “Houlet” (Funiao fu 鵩鳥賦), for the most part an exposition of Daoist thought, likewise employs “Great Man” as a term for the enlightened person.21 Thus the “Great Man” depicts an idealized Daoist sage, in Sima Xiangru’s eyes an appropriate model for the emperor.22 The collective picture of the poem’s composition thus attains a kind of novelistic harmony. In that light, it is important to step back from the text itself as preserved in the Shi ji and Han shu, and consider the reliability of the biography as a whole. The passages cited above, belonging to the Shi ji, are usually treated as historical documents authored by Sima Qian, which are due a high level of confidence. As I show below, however, there are a number of other reasonable explanations of their provenance; one of the most plausible hypotheses would be that the prose passages surrounding the poetic text of “Great Man” were composed by Sima Xiangru himself, and describe the intended or only imagined purpose of its composition. After all, the composition of “Great Man” is just one of a number of fanciful events related in the biography of Sima Xiangru; another is his romantic elopement with Zhuo Wenjun, daughter of a wealthy merchant. The definitive study of this narrative is the lengthy monograph by French scholar Yves Hervouet (1921–1999), who also completed a meticulous translation of the biography. As Hervouet has discussed extensively, it seems that we do not have the original version of the Shi ji biography. The conclusion to the biography even quotes Yang Xiong’s judgment on the author from long after Sima Qian’s time, so there are certainly anachronistic interpolations in the text.23 One possible explanation is that the Shi ji version of this and other chapters were recopied from the Han shu after they were lost or censored. Indeed, Hervouet also wrote a separate study demonstrating that the Han shu text of the biography is much to be preferred, since the Shi ji version seems to have been cleaned up with newer versions of the characters.24 However, the texts of the Shi ji and Han shu are nearly identical in content, so the question of priority in itself would not much affect the interpretation of the biography. The more significant question is whether these details cast doubt on Sima Qian’s authorship. Martin Kern has argued that the biography was composed after Sima Qian’s time, perhaps as late as Eastern Han, citing a wide range of evidence. 25 Though there is no teaching of the Great Man to that of the common people, but this is ambiguous in the original text. See Akatsuka, Sōji, 1:446; Mair, Wandering in the Way, 101. 21  Wen xuan, 13.607.

22  Not necessarily identical with the emperor, though, as it is sometimes described. The interpretation of the poem as simply representing Emperor Wu is much criticized by both Wan Guangzhi and Fukunaga Mitsuji. 23  Shi ji, 117.3073.

24  Hervouet, “Le Valeur relative des textes du Che Ki et du Han Chou.”

25  Kern, “The ‘Biography of Sima Xiangru’ and the Question of the Fu in Sima Qian’s Shiji,” Journal of the American Oriental Society 123 (2003): 303–16. Apart from the issue discussed below, there are a number of problematic points in Kern’s argument. In general Kern fails to distinguish between



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question that the text of the biography of Sima Xiangru is something of a misfit within the Shi ji, however, its singularity within the larger history does not in itself prove that it was composed later: both Shi ji and Han shu texts could have been recopied from some third, prior source. For instance, Kern notes that the biography employs the personal name of Sima Qian’s father, Tan 談.26 While this fact does suggest that Sima Qian was not the primary author, it does not necessarily imply that the chapter was composed after Sima Qian. An alternative hypothesis would be that Sima Qian included materials from another source, perhaps editing them but not correcting every detail, such as his father’s taboo name. As a matter of fact, there is another, much older, hypothesis about the biography of Sima Xiangru that deserves to be taken into consideration at this point: namely, that the chapter was authored in large part by Sima Xiangru himself. This seems to have been the conventional wisdom in the Sui and Tang. One of the preeminent Chinese historiographers, Liu Zhiji 劉知幾 (661–721), in the Shi tong史通 (Comprehensive examination of historiography) asserts that the whole “biography” was copied from Sima Xiangru’s autobiography.27 Liu Zhiji does not even present this as a hypothesis but simply observes it as a well-known fact, cited casually prior to criticizing Sima Xiangru’s omission of a full account of his own parentage. Liu Zhiji also comments elsewhere that Sima Xiang­ ru’s biography was copied from the autobiography in his personal collection.28 We can tell this is not simply idle speculation on Liu’s because the same view had already been expressed a century earlier by Liu Xuan 劉炫 (ca. 546–ca. 613).29 Though the hypothesis of Sima Xiangru’s own authorship of his (auto-)biography is tantalizing, it still poses a number of problems. Among other issues, premodern scholars celebrated this very chapter of the Shi ji as the most splendid demonstration of Sima Qian’s narrative art.30 We do not have access to the original collection of Sima Xiangru, so there is no way to decide the issue ourselves, but examining the varied opinions of past scholars helps to place in perspective modern critiques. It seems to have been widely agreed that Sima Xiangru’s biography in the 117th chapter of the Shi ji differs significantly from Sima Qian’s other work, particularly in its lively narrative prose. Returning evidence on the date of transcription (such as graphical forms of individual words) and evidence on the date of composition (such as anachronisms). 26  Kern, “The ‘Biography of Sima Xiangru’ and the Question of the Fu in Sima Qian’s Shiji,” 309.

27  See Shitong tongshi, 9.5b–6a See discussion in Wan Guangzhi, “Wenjun, Xiangru gushi de wenhua jiedu,” 121–22; Hervouet, Un poète du cour, 7n. 28  Shitong tongshi, 16.15a.

29  Liu Xuan begins his own “Self-Encomium” 自讚 by writing: “The comprehensive masters Sima Xiangru, Yang Xiong, Ma Rong, and Zheng Xuan all recounted their own celebrated achievements, transmitting the fragrance to future generations” 通人司馬相如、揚子雲、馬季長、鄭康成等，皆 自敍風徽，傳芳來葉. See Sui shu, 75.1722.

30  See Wan, “Wenjun, Xiangru gushi de wenhua jiedu,” 121, citing Qing scholar Yao Zhutian 姚 苎田. Wan accepts Liu Zhiji’s view that the biography was adapted from Sima Xiangru’s own autobiography, but sees Qian as editing it extensively as well. His demonstration of the cultural significance of the Sima Xiangru biography through the entire course of imperial Chinese history from the Eastern Han through the late Qing is also instructive.

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to the specific context of “Great Man,” then, we can at the very least, without taking any great historical liberties, consider the possibility that some of these prose sections were composed by Sima Xiangru. Treating the prose passages surrounding “Great Man” not so much as factual incidents but as parts of a constructed narrative, even potentially part of the fu poem itself, helps to explain their proper significance. The two passages cited above could be rearranged and repunctuated as follows: Autobiographical narrative

Xiangru was appointed as administrator of the parks of Emperor Wen. The Son of Heaven had admired the content of “Sir Vacuous.” Xiangru observed that the emperor was fond of the practices to lead to immortality, and so told him, “My treatment of the “Imperial Park” does not deserve your admiration, for there are even more exquisite ones. I once composed the ‘Fu on the Great Man,’ but did not complete it. Let me finish it and perform it for you:

Fu introduction

‘Xiangru felt that those technicians of immortality who inhabited the mountains and lakes, their bodies and faces terribly emaciated, were not at all a conception of the immortals fit for a king or emperor. So he completed the “Fu on the Great Man,” and it reads: [text of poem omitted]

Fu poem postface

‘After Xiangru had performed the “Eulogy to the Great Man,” the Son of Heaven was greatly pleased. Floating free up in the air and piercing the very clouds, he seemed to enjoy a sense of freedom wandering between Heaven and Earth.’”

In other words, the mention of both Xiangru’s own view of the immortals, and of the surprising effect of the piece, may be fictionalized components of the biography as a whole, belonging either to the text of the fu or to Xiangru’s larger autobiographical narrative.31 This makes sense in parallel with the dramatic depictions of the authorial contexts of several other works in the Sima Xiangru biography, such as the composition of the “Sir Vacuous” and “Imperial Park” rhapsodies in the courts of Liang and the capital, respectively. Yet another memorable episode in Sima Xiangru’s biography is that of the imperial envoy discovering the manuscript of the “Treatise on the Feng and Shan Sacrifices” after his death.32 This episode could not have been authored by Xiangru himself, of course, so

31  Note that it is quite plausible in the poetics of early literature for a piece to be attributed to one of its protagonists. See, e.g., how Qu Yuan’s “Fisherman” and “Divination” are presented as original compositions by Qu Yuan in the Chuci zhangju; or for an earlier example of how Zhuangzi employs Zhuangzi himself as a leading protagonist. Perhaps the richest example of this type, however, is the autobiography of Yang Xiong in the Han shu, in which Yang himself explains the authorial context of each of his writings. Since Yang Xiong patterned all his extant compositions on earlier models, it is possible that this autobiography itself was modeled on Sima Xiangru’s autobiography (a point suggested to me by David Knechtges, personal communication, April 1, 2020). 32  Shi ji, 117B.3063.



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the biography must consist of multiple layers, between the poems by Xiangru, whose authenticity is unquestioned; autobiographical elements of uncertain scope; and the work of later historians or editors. Rather than settling on any single hypothesis, my goal in the discussion above has been to demonstrate that the prose passages surrounding “Great Man” are most likely not random bits of historical trivia interjected among poetic compositions, but purposefully crafted paratexts intended to shape our interpretation of the work just like prefaces or postfaces. Reconceiving of this passage of the biography as an idealized account of the rhapsody’s performance and reception, an account perhaps authored by Sima Xiangru himself, we can appreciate that it is artfully reconciling two dimensions of the fu genre. On one hand, the rhapsody is intended to please and entertain its audience, in this case the Emperor himself.33 On the other hand, it is also supposed to contain an element of remonstrance or corrective. The only section that can be read convincingly as critique, in my view, is the description of the Spirit Mother of the West (lines 75–78): Her white head gleaming with its beam-like headdress, she resides in a cave –  and enjoys the three-footed crow who serves as her messenger. If long life must be such as this without ever dying –  though I could endure ten thousand ages it would hold no pleasure for me!

Sima Xiangru’s “Great Man” has traveled to the Kunlun mountains and met this great deity, but finds himself unimpressed by her modest living conditions. Yet this is not the conclusion of the poem and does not present the author’s final verdict on the pursuit of immortality, which is positive. The poet is critiquing the popular contemporary legends of immortality, only to celebrate in louder tones the triumphant ascension of a Zhuangzian hero towards philosophical transcendence. In keeping with the tradition of fu poetics both before and after, from Mei Sheng 枚乘 (d. ca. 140 BCE) to Zhang Heng 張 衡 (78–139), the emphasis of the poem is on praise and celebration, even if there is also a calculated admonition within the text as well. Thus “Great Man” is a fictional poem in which Sima Xiangru devises an appropriately triumphant and noble figure of the “immortal” to offer up to his imperial patron, while also making a modest critique of popular conceptions of the same. The implicit critique identified by Yang Xiong and Wang Chong is indeed present in the poem, but since the specific target among Sima’s contemporaries is not spelled out in detail, it would have been easy for Emperor Wu, or even the broader audience for the piece in the Western Han, to have missed it. In fact, the fu as a whole is not intended as critique, but rather to celebrate a particular conception of the immortals which is distinct from the contemporary fad for reclusion in the wilderness. The fu genre was typically conceived of in the Han as a calculated intervention in a specific court context, and the introduction to “Great Man” thus fittingly emphasizes the 33  Incidentally, Martin Kern observes in “The ‘Biography of Sima Xiangru’ and the Question of the Fu in Sima Qian’s Shiji” that the Shi ji version describes “Great Man” as a song 頌 rather than as a fu. Rather than helping to determine which version has priority, though, this noteworthy variant simply reflects the fluid boundaries between the fu and other genres during the Western Han.

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performance of the piece. According to the quasi-historical narrative which surrounds it, even though Sima Xiangru had written an earlier draft, he completed it only in order to sway the emperor from his misconceptions regarding the pursuit of immortality. In that sense, the genesis of the poem is explicitly conceived as one that combines both writing and performance, both oral and written transmission. Whatever the historical reality of this account, it remains a compelling account of the fu text as we have it that identifies precisely where the originality of the fu lies, in its extraordinarily improvisational rhythms conveying its compelling message. No matter how long Sima Xiangru actually spent in composing the piece, its stylistic features seem intended to convey a sense of sudden inspiration. Moreover, the virtuosity of “Great Man” in rhythm and diction, constantly evading and exceeding the formal regularity expected in poetry, are a formal equivalent to the more substantive excellence of the emperor, and so constitute a fitting homage to him. This expressive dimension of the poem helps to define its generic identity as a fu, and may aid us in analyzing the relationship of “Great Man” to another literary tradition: the sao poetry of the Chuci anthology, originating in the poems attributed to Qu Yuan, in particular “Far Roaming.”

Genre: Fu and Sao Narratives of Transcendence

Interpretation of “Great Man” in the past has often foundered on the comparison with the poem “Far Roaming,” attributed to Qu Yuan in the Chuci anthology.34 These comparisons tend not to pay due attention to “Great Man,” because of the unique cultural gravitas of Qu Yuan. In fact, though, “Far Roaming” probably postdates Qu Yuan: its references to the cult of the immortals seem to belong to the Han cultural sphere, while the poem’s message of Daoist detachment and indifference to political vicissitudes is hard to relate to the passionate laments of the “Li sao” 離騷 and “Jiu zhang” 九章.35 Another striking fact is that Liu Xiang 劉向 (79–8 BCE) himself used the same title for the last poem in his “Nine Threnodies” (Jiutan 九歎). It seems unlikely that he would have done so if a poem by that title were already attributed to Qu Yuan, so “Far Roaming,” regardless of when it was composed, may not even have been attributed to Qu Yuan until the Eastern Han. Finally, another piece of evidence for a Han dating to the poem is its mention of the immortal “Han Zhong” 韓眾 who is supposed to have lived in the Qin dynasty, long after Qu Yuan’s death.36

34  Much of the best Chinese scholarship gives explicit priority to “Yuan you” and so devotes little serious attention to “Daren fu.” Hervouet’s discussion (Un Poète du cour, 288–96) is particularly valuable for its unusual emphasis on Sima Xiangru’s poem. A detailed comparison of the two poems is Yata Naoko, “Soji ‘Enyū’ to ‘Daijin fu’: Tenkai yūkō mochiifu o chūshin to shite,” which is valuable for summing up previous scholarship but does not really break new ground.

35  A.C. Graham also pointed out a prosodic particularity that distinguishes the poem from the “Li sao” (“The Prosody of the Sao 騷 Poems in the Ch’u Tz’u”), though this is arguable depending on one’s parsing of key lines in “Li sao.” Kroll’s “On ‘Far Roaming’” also makes a detailed argument for a Han date, following David Hawkes.

36  On the other hand, though, it is frequently the case with these mythical figures, like Peng and Xian as well, that they turn up recurrently in historical epochs that ought to be remote. See Tang Bingzheng, Chuci leigao, 394–95, for a convincing argument on this point. The reappearance of this legendary figure is not quite conclusive.



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It seems likely to date to early Han, though whether composed at the court of Huainan, that of Emperor Wu, or elsewhere, is unknowable.37 In the traditional classification, “Far Roaming” belongs to the sao 騷 genre, that is to say, it is modeled in part on the “Li sao” poem and written in the same regular meter (typically XXXKXX, where K is a key-word such the preposition yi 以 or yu 與, and with odd lines followed by the rhythmic particle xi 兮). But “Far Roaming” often includes lines with a XXXKXXX structure, i.e., with three full words after the key word in the centre of the line, diverging a bit from the “Li sao,” and the “Great Man” shares this feature.38 The content of “Far Roaming” also bears a close relationship to the “Li sao,” as it borrows some specific phrasings and images from the “Li sao,” and even the device of the “fictional dialogue.” Yet with regard to its essential content and meaning, “Far Roaming” is not a rehash of “Li sao” so much as its antithesis. Consider the following passage (lines 41–50) from “Far Roaming”:39 I am disquieted that the seasons of Heaven rotate in succession –  that the radiance of spirit refulgent advances ever westward. A slight frost descends and sinks downward –  I mourn the fragrant plants so soon to wither. I’ll idle here a while and wander on at will –  though enduring the long years with nothing attained. Who will enjoy with me the blossoms that remain? –  at dawn I face into the wind and put forth my feelings. Our ancestor Gaoyang is somewhere beyond my ken –  how can I make of him the model for my journey hence?

The reference to the passage of time calls to the mind the parallel evocations of transience in “Li sao,” and the appeal to the mythic Chu ancestor Gaoyang relates “Far Roaming” explicitly to Qu Yuan, who likewise invokes Gaoyang at the opening of the “Li sao.” But instead of taking refuge in the ancestors of Chu, the “Far Roaming” poet rejects this model. In the following section he appeals instead to the immortal Prince Qiao, and ultimately goes off in search of a Daoist transcendence. In general, in the “Li sao” the celestial journey cannot be read without political allegory, but in the “Far Roaming” it is the main point: lightening one’s body and eliminating worldly detachments are precisely means to allow one’s spirit to roam throughout the cosmos.40 Similarly, where Qu 37  Hawkes proposed the court of Huainan (Songs of the South, 191) but Hervouet casually asserts the plausibility of the court of Emperor Wu (Un Poète du cour, 292). As mentioned, the identical title of one of Liu Xiang’s poems suggests it could potentially have been completed much later.

38  As pointed out by A.C. Graham, and used by him as evidence that “Far Roaming” was not composed by Qu Yuan (see again “The Prosody of the Sao 騷 Poems in the Ch’u Tz’u”). Since there are plenty of other ways to differentiate the poem from “Li sao,” this metrical point is supererogatory with regard to the question of authorship, but quite significant for what it suggests about the originality of “Far Roaming.”

39  For Chinese text and detailed notes see the complete translation of the poem at the end of this chapter.

40  For more detailed commentary, particularly with respect to Daoist allusions, and a vivid rendering of the poem, see also Kroll, “On ‘Far Roaming.’’’

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Yuan is constantly pondering his models from the past, the protagonist of “Far Roaming” seems to be set adrift in a timeless, infinite present. “Li sao” and “Far Roaming,” then, present a relatively straightforward case for the literary historian, in which an innovative poet responds to the inspiration of a masterpiece with a new creative sally. How “Great Man” fits into this picture is less clear and has indeed been the topic of much debate for nearly two millennia. Zhang Hua 張華 (232–300) already proposed that “Great Man” was modeled on “Far Roaming”: “Xiangru composed in the mode of the ‘Far Roaming’ to write a rhapsody about the ‘Great Man’” 相如作遠遊之體，以大人賦之也.41 With subtle variations, this has been the consensus among most scholars up to today. As Kirkova writes of Sima Xiangru’s piece, “Consciously modeled on the ‘Yuanyou,’ this fu takes as its subject not a Daoist adept or a frustrated official but the emperor, the Great Man himself, who triumphantly travels to the larger otherworld of the gods and immortals.”42 This traditional view has persisted because of the association of “Far Roaming” with Qu Yuan, which has led most readers to assume it is the earlier and primary work, and prevented them from reading “Great Man” closely. A contrary view, though, already appears in the work of a late Qing scholar, Wu Rulun 吴汝綸 (1840–1903), who is cited by Yata Naoko as the earliest proponent of “Great Man” as the prior work:43 [Far Roaming] was composed by a later person imitating “Great Man” and attributing the piece back to Qu Yuan. The style is flat and lax, not like that of Master Qu. The popular view that Xiangru imitated this poem is false. Writers of fu were constantly imitating one another. This started with Yang Xiong and Ban Gu. All the poems recorded by the Grand Historian as Xiangru’s were actually his compositions.44 When Emperor Wu read45 the “Great Man” he had the sense of “floating free up in the air and piercing the very clouds,” if Qu Yuan had also composed these words, he would have heard them and been very familiar with them. The poem draws extensively on the Laozi, Zhuangzi, and almanac of Lü (Lüshi chunqiu), and its phrases also borrow from the “Li sao” and “Nine Avowals.” Master Qu was extremely erudite, with “Heavenly Questions” and “Nine Songs” both referring to many spirits and monstrosities, but in spite of all that erudition, his knowledge was not comprehensive. These legends of people attaining immortality through special techniques, a message of employing alchemy to transcend this world, originated with the technicians of Yan and Qi, and grew widespread only under the Han. How could Master Qu ever have heard of them?

41  Quoted in Shi ji 117.3056n. There is a curious ambiguity in this sentence which potentially suggests that Xiangru himself wrote both poems, first “creating” the “Far Roaming mode,” and then employing it for another composition on the “Great Man.” I will leave this possibility aside for now, but it would be a valuable lead for a comprehensive study of Sima Xiangru and his still underrated literary achievement. 42  Zornica, Roaming into the Beyond, 32.

43  Guwenci leizuan pingdian 古文辭類纂評點 (Jingshi guoqun zhuyi she 京師國群鑄一社, 1914), 2.22b; quoted in Yata, “Soji ‘Enyū’ to ‘Daijin fu,’” 38, n. 5.

44  N.b.: in contrast to the “Tall Gate Palace Rhapsody,” whose authenticity has been contested. See Knechtges, “Ssu-ma Hsiang-ru’s ‘Tall Gate Palace Rhapsody.’” 45  Whether this is the correct verb is a complicated question.



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此篇殆後人仿大人賦而託為之。其文體格平緩，不類屈子。世乃謂相如襲此為之，非 也。辭賦家輾轉沿襲，蓋始于子雲、孟堅。若太史公所錄相如數篇皆其所創為。武帝 讀大人賦，飄飄有凌雲之意。若屈子已有其詞，則武帝聞之熟矣。此篇多取老、莊、 呂覽以為材，而詞亦涉於離騷、九章者。屈子所見書博矣。天問、九歌所稱神怪，雖 閎識，不能究知。若夫神仙修練之說，服丹度世之恉，起于燕齊方士而盛于漢武之 代。屈子何由預聞之？

While some of the presuppositions here, such as that Emperor Wu would have recognized borrowings from an earlier poem, or that Qu Yuan would have been unable to employ a different style, may be arguable, Wu Rulun’s key point is a solid one, namely that the cult of the immortals as depicted in “Far Roaming” places the poem beyond the ken of Qu Yuan or the Chu court; “Far Roaming” owes too much to the popular doctrines of the Han for it to be plausible that it was composed earlier by a Qu Yuan still unaware of them, just as You Guoen had already demonstrated almost a century ago.46 But once we accept this view, both “Far Roaming” and “Great Man” can be recognized as Han poems, and there is no reason to assume either one has precedence. Instead of comparing the two directly, then, both ought to be read within a broader cultural tradition. Several Japanese scholars have contributed to this effort already.47 For instance, Fujino Iwatomo concurs with You Guoen, and further points out that “Far Roaming” is distinguished from either “Li sao” or “Great Man” in its use of the hun 魂 soul (absent from the other two) and qi 氣 (present in “Great Man” in reference to external airs, but not internal pneuma).48 Roughly speaking, the author of “Far Roaming” is clearly more interested in Daoist breathing practices and in the actual techniques of immortality-seeking than is Sima Xiangru. Fukunaga Mitsuji made an important contribution to the study of both poems by placing them in the broader context of Western Han intellectual history.49 Beyond “Far Roaming” and obvious references to Laozi and Zhuangzi, he proposes that we also read “Great Man” in context of the Lu Ao 盧敖 episode in the Western Han philosophical compendium Huainanzi 淮南子. Though Zhuangzi does provide the theoretical foundation for much of the discourse of the immortals, the Lu Ao episode may be even more relevant. First of all, Lu Ao was a scholar at the court of the First Emperor of Qin, who was sent in search of the recipes of immortality but did not return. In the relevant passage, he goes on a journey through the heavens, where he encounters a superior-looking gentleman (shi 士). Lu Ao inquires if the gentleman will become his companion, and the other replies:50

46  You, Chuci gailun, 214–18.

47  For instance, Takeji Sadao suggests that both “Yuanyou” and “Daren fu” are ultimately based on “Li sao,” but adapting that framework in different directions, in one case towards abstract Daoist thought and in the other towards the immortals (Soji kenkyū, 902–12). This view is appealing but ultimately hard to pin down. 48  Fujino, Bukei bungaku ron, 113–16.

49  See Fukunaga, “Taijin fu no shisōteki keifu.” 50  Huainan honglie jijie, 12.407–9.

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“Pfaw! You are a man of the Middle Province, how have you dared to travel as far as this?  This is what illuminates the sun and moon and carries the serried stars,  what causes Yin and Yang to move in process,  that from which the four seasons are produced. Compared to the place that has not even been given a name yet, it is a secret recess even more deeply secluded. If I:  travel southwards to the plains of Measureless Immensity,  and northwards pause in the country of Unutterable Silence,  and westwards reach to the home of Inscrutable Abyss,  and eastwards bask in the gleam of Vapourous Opacity itself;51 here there is no earth below, nor is there any heaven above. When you listen you hear nothing, and when you look you perceive nothing.  Beyond this you find the Lush and Life-bearing Shores,  and when you pass them you are once many thousands of leagues removed.  I have not been there yet myself.  Now your journey has just begun at this point,  and you speak of the ultimate view—  surely you are still far from that point! Please stay back there. I have a rendezvous with the Indomitable Deluge at a place beyond the Nine Peripheries, and I cannot be detained here longer.” Thus the gentleman straightened his back and lifted his body, and departed off into the clouds. 「嘻！子中州之民，寧肯而遠至此，此猶光乎日月而載列星，陰陽之所行，四時之所 生。其比夫不名之地猶窔奥也。若我南游乎岡㝗之野，北息乎沉墨之鄉，西窮窅冥之 黨，東開鴻濛之光，此其下無地而上無天，聽焉無聞，視焉無矚眴眴。52此其外，猶有 汰沃之汜，其餘一舉而千萬里，吾猶未能之在。今子游始於此，乃語窮觀，豈不亦遠 哉！然子處矣！吾與汗漫期于九垓之外，吾不可以久駐。」若士舉臂而竦身，遂入雲 中。

I have indented some passages here to reflect the important fact that these lines employ end-rhyme, which is more prevalent in classical Chinese than is normally recognized. Even leaving aside the formal similarity, this passage bears a clear resemblance to “Great Man” in content and transcendent geography. “Great Man” too identifies the hero’s origin as located in the “Middle Province,” and the Great Man likewise journeys across the cosmos and persistently aims to transcend all mundane conditions. This parallel in the Huainanzi has long been pointed out as part of debates about the historical priority of “Far Roaming,” but the close relationship between this passage, “Great Man,” and “Far Roaming” ought to transform our understanding of each of these texts individually.53 Whether the parallels have to do with direct borrowings or a broader Zeitgeist has to remain largely a matter of speculation, but we can make 51  For hongmeng, the shapeless mass at the beginning of the universe, as “vaporous opacity,” see Kroll, Student’s Dictionary. This line may be corrupt and Wang Niansun proposed that kai 開 was an error for guan 關.

52  Liu Wendian mentions that shun 眴 has a variant shu 矚 (Huainan honglie jijie, 12.408), both of which I take to mean “to look” (rather than the other reading of xuan 眴, “dizzy” or “eyesight blurred”). In any case 眴 is to be preferred on account of the half-rhyme with tian 天 and wen 聞 (all nasal codas though the vowels are probably not identical).

53  He Tianxing already discusses this point as part of his systematic argument that the Chuci poems were composed in the Han (see Chuci zuoyu Handai kao, 113). Paul Kroll’s study “On ‘Far Roaming’” also leads the way here by showing how that poem can be read outside of its original



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some preliminary assessments. As we have already seen, “Far Roaming” itself has been ascribed to the milieu of the Huainan court. Whether it or not it was actually composed there, all these texts originate in the vibrant intellectual environment of the Western Han. Their similarities and intertextual borrowings should not be seen as overly significant in themselves, because each piece is an individual treatment of themes that were popular throughout the second century BCE. “Great Man” is original in its application of these themes to the personal situation of the emperor, even though the basic subject of the poem, the lone protagonist journeying past the limits of space and time, was not an unusual one for Sima Xiangru’s time and place. Appreciating the common discourse to which these texts belong establishes a foundation from which we can also identify their distinctive points. In a sense, all these different texts in one way or another may be seen as tracing out individual itineraries within the vastness of space. They naturally share many points along the route, but these individual points may actually be a distraction from their ultimate destinations. Here there is one point of differentiation among the three texts. Whereas Qu Yuan makes a journey through celestial realms, Sima Xiangru and Lu Ao’s interlocutor are all aiming even further, at the kind of destination which only Daoist philosophy in the manner of Zhuangzi is able to make precise. In that sense, the Huainanzi intertext may be especially suggestive for appreciating the achievement of “Great Man,” namely the way that it seems to point beyond the bounds of the empire. Much recent scholarship has drawn attention to the cosmological import of the Han fu.54 Sima Xiangru is quoted in the Xijing zaji 西京雜記 (Miscellaneous records from the Western Capital)—in an anecdote most likely apocryphal, but still valuable at least as an example of Six Dynasties literary criticism––as saying that “the mind of the fu writer encompasses and organizes the entire cosmos, comprises and examines the people and things” 賦家之心，苞括宇宙，總覽人物.55 Though it would have been out of character for Sima himself to put this so abstractly, the formula encapsulates how later readers have experienced his exuberantly grand fu poems. And yet it is not necessarily quite accurate to the original spirit of the Han fu. Another fundamental aspect of Sima’s poetry, and one of its most appealing features, is the sense of ceaseless striving to go further, to reach beyond. In that sense, it is fitting that Sima Xiangru was not content merely to limn the contents of the empire in “Imperial Park” and other works, but also was moved to write a poem aiming even higher beyond the people and things within the realm.

Chuci context. For fu rhetoric in the Huainanzi, see Kern, “Creating a Book and Performing It: The ‘Yao lüe’ Chapter of the Huainanzi as a Western Han Fu.”

54  One insightful discussion is Tokura Hidemi, Shijin tachi no jikū, 7–39, on the way that the language of the Han fu attempts to depict “the whole” (zentai). Cheng and Patterson insightfully elucidate the way that Sima Xiangru’s language evokes the macrocosm of the empire in their study “Empire in Text.” More broadly Knechtges has shown how Han aesthetics celebrate grandeur itself as a sine qua non in “Have You Not Seen the Beauty of the Large.” Recently Tamara T. Chin has also elucidated the economic dimension of fu aesthetics in her chapter, “Quantification: Poetic Expenditure in the Epideictic Fu,” in Savage Exchange, 69–142, though her emphasis on imperial tribute and deficit spending makes her interpretation difficult to apply to “Great Man.” 55  Yan Kejun, “Quan Han wen,” 22.4b.

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The grandiosity of the fu is related to, but not congruent, with the contemporary demands of empire, as we can see from the critique directed by “Great Man” against any simple assumptions about the limits of the realm (this critique is also voiced in the passage of Huainanzi quoted above). By suggesting that the highest kind of insight allows the seeker to participate in the Dao in a way that cannot be represented by some isolated goddess in the mountains, but is even grander and more universal, “Great Man” also reminds the emperor of the limits of his own domain. Though the starting point is entirely different, the ultimate effect begins to resemble that of “Imperial Park,” where the poet concludes by encouraging the emperor to shut down his own hunting park and endow it as farming land to the people. “Great Man” utterly lacks the introspective narrative of “Far Roaming” and other sao poems, but makes up for it with an implicit critique. Even if modest in scale, just as Yang Xiong is said to have disparaged the epideictic fu for “exhorting one hundred times and only criticizing once” 勸百而風一, this element of critique distinguishes the fu from other forms of poetry.56 The implicit critique itself would be of little note, however, were it not couched within the ecstatic torrent of verbiage that seems to pour forth from the Han fu, distinguishing it from either the regular beat of sao poetry or the philosophical dialectic of Huainanzi or Zhuangzi.

Style: Peerless Diction and Unbounded Prosody

The putative origin of “Great Man” as a fu poem performed for Emperor Wu is not just an accident of labeling but is inscribed in the very language of its verse. It is evident, most strikingly, in the stylistic and metrical properties of the piece, which consistently signify that the poem is meant to be understood as a spontaneous composition, to give the sense of freedom and fluency throughout. Its content does overlap considerably with “Far Roaming,” but stylistically the two are far removed.57 The spontaneous, staccato, somewhat incoherent quality of “Great Man” seems to comport well with Sima Xiangru admitting in the Shi ji biography, as we have seen above, that “Great Man” was not yet finished (wei jiu 未就), that is, was presented to the emperor as only a draft.58 And yet the biography also describes the text it records as Sima Xiangru’s completion of the poem: “so then he completed [it]” (nai sui jiu 乃遂就). It remains unclear whether the text we have is intended to be a completed piece or an unfinished one. This element of the poem corresponds to the contradiction in its global interpretation that we have already seen, whether it is intended as a critique of immortals or as a panegyrical piece.59 56  According to the historian’s encomium at the end of Sima Xiangru’s biography. Han shu, 87B.2609.

57  Kominami Ichirō has made this rather obvious point already (Soji to sono chūshakushatachi, 285–88). Hervouet also comments that “Daren fu” is superior in style but not “dans la composition du poème” (Un Poète du cour, 295). 58  See Hervouet, Un Poète de cour, 62.

59  Conceivably there might have been a moralizing epilogue, as with Sima’s “Imperial Park,” that



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Since there is no possibility today of achieving the reconstruction of such an alternate, expanded version of the text, though, we are forced instead to accept the testimony of the biography that the poem is an incomplete panegyric, composed in advance but then performed anew for Emperor Wu himself. That is, “Great Man” is neither an improvisation nor a calculated composition but something in between, a simulation of spontaneity. This can be seen not just from the external historical evidence but close analysis of the text itself, with regard to both its local linguistic features and its broader structure, both of which differ dramatically from “Far Roaming.” Below, I have divided the entire poem into five sections for convenience (lines 1–18, 19–28, 29–44, 45–77, 78–99), and each of these sections is distinctive in form and content. The opening passage introduces the Great Man and describes him as superior to his surroundings. He is garbed in celestial bodies and heavenly vapours. This passage proceeds straightforwardly to introduce and panegyrize the hero. It opens in tetrasyllables with final xi after unrhymed lines (“There was a great man in the world” 世有大人兮), but these modulate smoothly into a standard sao line. At first we seem to be reading a relatively traditional sao poem on a noble hero, but the introduction abandons this theme almost immediately to describe the lavish pennants attached to the hero’s chariot in extraordinarily, extravagant detail. To understand this passage it is essential to consider the parallel descriptions in the rhapsodies on hunting, such as Sima Xiangru’s own “Imperial Park” (Shanglin fu 上林賦) or Yang Xiong’s “Plume Hunt” (Yulie fu 羽獵賦).60 “Great Man” devotes much of its passionate description to the retinue of the hero because he is intended to be a figure of might and majesty comparable to the emperor himself. That is why Section II, instead of turning directly to the cosmic journey as one might expect from the parallel of “Far Roaming,” instead describes with gusto the Great Man’s cosmos-straddling steeds. There is an ambiguity throughout this passage which is typical of classical Chinese poetic language, namely whether the referent of the various descriptive adjectives is horses or dragons. One of the more thorough modern commentaries, by Jin Guoyong 金國永, comments here that the entire passage uses the motion of horses as a metaphor (yu 喻) for that of dragons.61 But of course one could just as easily reverse the equation and say that the poet is using dragons to represent the actual horses of the imperial retinue. Rather than being a substitution, the poet employs general correspondences to extend the range of his poem, so that it can be understood simultaneously in reference to a fictional “Great Man” pursuing immortality in the heavens, but also to a terrestrial ruler surrounded by the finest steeds. The implicit homage to himself would have heightened Emperor Wu’s enjoyment of the poem, though it can still be understood in its literal sense with regard to the figure of the Great Man. was either left unwritten or somehow has been omitted from our text.

60  From the former: “Chariots and riders thunderously set forth, / Rumbling through the heavens, shaking the earth, / Front and rear, helter-skelter, / Scattered and dispersed, in separate pursuit . . .” (Knechtges, Wen xuan, 2: 99); from the latter, “… wave vermilion staffs hung with sun-and-moon flags / Trail flying pennants of shooting stars” (Knechtges, Wen xuan, 2: 121). 61  Sima xiangru ji jiaozhu, ed. Jin Guoyong, 96n12.

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Though the poem has hardly begun, the intensity of the description is such that the normal sao meter cannot contain it, and the prosody goes haywire. Consider, for instance, just these six lines, which are an outstanding example of the author’s stylistic ingenuity (line 19–24): Driving Responding Dragon with ivory chariot, now treading steady, now circling sinuously,62  alongside crimson wyvern and azure spirax, coiling and curving, wriggling and writhing; Looking down and then up, spontaneously outstretched, they loom in haughty postures –  now curling and coiling, now towering tall, they inch ahead in serpentine circuits.63 Swiftly stirring, nodding and bobbing, they stand now fixed and still –64  dispersing in a medley of disarray, they begin to prance, capering high and low. 駕應龍象輿之蠖略委麗兮， 驂赤螭青虬之蚴蟉宛蜒。 低卬夭蟜裾以驕驁兮， 詘折隆窮躩以連卷。 沛艾赳螑仡以佁儗兮， 放散畔岸驤以孱顏。

These lines can barely be analyzed for content at all. The true purport of the lines lies in the interface between the phonological forms of the descriptive binomes and the grand panegyrical intent of the passage. Thus, potentially more significant than either the Chinese text or the translation is the reconstruction of the original pronunciation of these lines, which I give here following Axel Schuessler’s Later Han reconstructions:65 kai Ɂiŋ-lioŋ ziaŋ-ja tśə ɣuak-liak Ɂyai-le ɣei tshem tśhak-thiə tshêŋ-giu tśə Ɂiu-kiu Ɂyan-jan

62  Responding Dragon (Yinglong 應龍) is mentioned in quatrain #17 of “Heavenly Questions,” and also appears in the Classic of Mountains and Seas: “Responding Dragon lives at the South Pole. He killed the gods Jest Much and Boast Father. But then Responding Dragon could not go back up to the sky. That is why down on earth there are so many droughts. When there is a drought, people make an image of Responding Dragon, and then they receive a heavy rainfall’ (trans. Birrell, 14.162). Ivory is one material of Qu Yuan’s chariot in “Li sao,” line 338. 63  Only by parallelism is it clear that huo 蠖, “inchworm” is being used as the main verb of this line, parallel with ju 裾 “loom” in the previous line.

64  The explanation of Zhang Yi that peiai 沛艾 *bas-ŋas is identical with po’e 駊騀 *bai-ŋai seems dubious. Instead I take this as descriptive of fast motion following the sense of the initial graph pei and so translate “swiftly stirring.” Qiuxiu 赳螑 describes the motion of dragons (or horses) alternately extending or contracting their necks. The first character is also written 虬, the coiled dragon or “spirax,” whose distinctive form is also used frequently in compounds descriptive of the same shape. 65  While it might seem more natural to use the Old Chinese reconstructions, in fact these often introduce distinctions that no longer affect the phonology of Sima’s poem, particularly in regard to the compounds. A more detailed study of the phonology of Sima Xiangru’s fu would be invaluable, but its feasibility is limited by the plethora of unusual graphs.



tei ŋaŋ Ɂiau-giau kia jə giau-ŋau ɣei guat-tsat luŋ-guŋ kyak jə lian-kyan bas-ŋas kiu-hu ŋiət jə ŋiə-jə ɣei puaŋ san ban-ŋan siaŋ jə juan-ŋan 駕應龍象輿之蠖略委麗兮， 驂赤螭青虬之蚴蟉宛蜒。 低卬夭蟜裾以驕驁兮， 詘折隆窮躩以連卷。 沛艾赳螑仡以佁儗兮， 放散畔岸驤以孱顏。

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We should first observe the preponderance of rhyming compounds, underlined in the reconstruction above. The motion of the celestial chariots is “coiled and curved, slithering and sliding” (*wak-rak Ɂye-le 蠖略委麗). All of these lines have at least two such descriptive binomes, and lines four and five, remarkably, contain three each. But this is only one of the sound effects present here that is relatively easy to identify in spite of the challenges of phonological reconstruction. Note also the series of aspirated dentals in the second line, or the sequence of guttural initials in the third line. One of the remarkable features of the second couplet is the isolated verbs in the fifth position each line: ju 裾 (*kia) ‘pause’ vs. jue 躩 (*kyak) ‘leap, bound’, the two verbs not just parallel in position but also sharing an initial consonant. Finally, in the sixth line every full word ends in a velar or dental nasal. Moreover, apart from end-rhyme in -an in alternate lines, the passage contains numerous examples of assonance and internal rhyme, most notably the last line in the passage in which all seven substantive words end in either –an or –aŋ. Beyond the remarkable phonic patterning of the passage, it also employs a unique concatenation of meters. Writing the unstressed words zhi 之 and yi 以 as “keywords” K, we may write out the scheme as follows: XXXXXKXXXX兮 XXXXXKXXXX XXXXXKXX兮 XXXXXKXX XXXXXKXX兮 XXXXXKXX

In other words, this passage comprises nonasyllabic and heptasyllabic lines supplemented by a keyword in the sixth position and unrhyming lines marked by xi 兮, altogether achieving a bold amplification of the sao meter. Though these lines are an extreme example, “Great Man” consists primarily of deviations from the regular sao meter of one kind or another. Lines 79–85, for instance, involve complex transitions from a tetrasyllabic meter, to a sao-like 4-3 meter, back to a regular XXXKXX sao meter. One can locate the full significance of “Great Man” in the cumulative effect of these formal variations. What is the collective effect of these extremely dense, binome-laden, alliterating and internally rhyming lines?66 It can only be to call our attention to the poet himself. That is, while the first section introduces the Great Man—the emperor—this second section 66  Hervouet notes: “Ces deux paragraphes, qui occupent près du tiers du poème, se contentent

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introduces the narrating voice of the poet. The poem thus constitutes in effect a kind a dialogue, with both perspectives of the Great Man himself and of the adulatory poet being indispensable to it. As great as an immortal hero may be, it is only through the verbal dexterity of the poet that other people can be made aware of it. This verbal virtuosity is displayed to such an extent that it disturbs the regular rhythm of the verse, distracts from the primary subject matter, and upsets the structure of the piece as a whole. The third section describes encounters with various celestial deities in a straightforward, regular sao meter. This passage seems closest to the “Far Roaming” in content. It is the only section of the poem that presents a clear geographical route. While the second half of “Far Roaming” is devoted in large part to a kind of hopscotch among different celestial deities, these are only gestured to here. Whether this insubstantial section is based on “Far Roaming” or on the “Li sao,” though, it is not where the poet’s attention lies. He needs this bridging section to prepare from the dramatic turn of in the fourth section. This section contains 34 lines or 17 couplets all following the same Han rhyme of *-i. Though beginning with the sao meter, at line 53 the poet begins a tremendous volley of rhyming binomes and dramatic euphonic effects. If the third section was quiet and unremarkable, this passage is where the poet has employed the most effort and achieved the loudest, brashest, most memorable effects. The “Li sao” already has its hero commanding the gods of wind and rain to lead the way on his journey, but the “Far Roaming” poet commands them to entertain him as well (lines 153–54): I cause the Spirit of the Xiang River to play the zithern –  command the Ocean Eminence to dance alongside Fengyi.

And Sima Xiangru’s Great Man, upset by the onset of dusk, goes even further in dominating these spirits (lines 65–66): It seems the moment is swiftly darkening and the world confused and disordered –  so I summon Pingyi to reprimand the Sire of Winds, to punish the Master of Rains.

The final twelve lines of this section are the true climax of the poem, where the Great Man encounters the famous deity, Spirit Mother of the West, and is disturbed by the tawdry sight of her one-legged crow servants. This passage seems to correspond to the framing narrative of the poem as a whole in which Sima Xiangru casts aspersions on legends of weird, emaciated immortals. His Great Man is superior to these supernatural beings, even the rulers of the mythological cosmos. As in Section II, the poet does not merely describe these encounters but enacts them in verse form as well (lines 67–68): To the west I gaze at the unfathomable vastness of Kunlun, imperceptibly extending –  and gallop straight across to Mount Triperil.

donc de décrire l’aspect extérieur, les condition de la chevauchée dans les airs du Surhomme, sans rien dire encore de ses buts” (Un Poète du cour, 297).



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This section is a kind of sao crescendo, its lines steadily increasing in length till they reach a dramatic height of nonasyllabic or decasyllabic meters, then slowly receding afterward. At its fortissimo climax (lines 53–58): Roiled and raucous, rushing and crushing, they charge forwards mightily –  gurgling and gushing, prodigiously projecting, drenching in full flood: Filing in formation, thronging together, densely disposed –  brimming bountifully, amply outspread, multitudinous in unruly profusion; Entering directly into the Chamber of Thunder, rumbling and rattling, perilously perched –  I pass through Spirit Valley’s steep escarpments, precipitously spiraling.

The effect is like being thrust into the midst of the clouds during a raging thunderstorm, surrounded by such a tumult of sound and force that it is hard even to tell which way is up. Indeed, the effect creates a kind of immediacy which is unusual in poetry. I translate “Great Man” in the first person after the first few lines, which introduce the protagonist in the third person. The first person seems more appropriate since it is used in all the other great travel fu and cosmic journeys of the period, and particularly in order to reflect the vigorous rhythms of the original text. The long sequences of descriptive phrases flow by in a torrent of sound and meaning that is hard to interpret objectively or descriptively. Instead, it feels like a present-tense, first-person representation of direct experience, comparable to the ebullient language of Mei Sheng’s depiction of the tidal bore in “Seven Stimuli.” To be clear, though, this impression of immediacy and spontaneity required discipline and craft. This is perhaps nowhere as clear as in the conclusion of the poem (lines 96–99): Vision dazed and dazzled, seeing nothing –  listening muddled and muted, I hear no more. Riding into the empty void I ascend far off –  transcending companionlessness I persevere alone.

Though some readers have attempted to distinguish the philosophical import of this poem from that of “Far Roaming,” it seems to me that the two are closely connected, particularly since they both conclude with an evocation of a state that is somehow beyond sensory capacity to describe. But there is one special difficulty in the final line of “Great Man,” the phrase chao wu you 超無友 “transcending companionlessness.” It has been proposed that this is a transcription error for the homophonous 超無有 “transcending nonbeing and being.”67 But the more interesting choice is to follow the received text (the lectio difficilior), while interpreting it not as an error but as a pun. That is, it is quite true that chao wuyou can be interpreted in both ways, but this might be an intentional play of words on the part of the author. Supposing that the poem was to have been performed orally before the emperor, this line would have been ambiguous depending on which graph the audience understood as the intended meaning. Indeed, the double meaning here may suggest the dual requirements which any interpretation of the piece as a whole ought to satisfy. On one hand, “transcending non67  Both you are pronounced wu in Schuessler’s Later Han reconstruction.

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being and being” would match the philosophical trajectories of both Huainanzi or of “Far Roaming,” describing a destination beyond reach of hearing or sight. But there is also a case for “transcending companionless,” considering the poem as a critique targeted at the identification of Daoist transcending with solitary starvation. Xiangru proposes that the true “Great Man” is not just somebody who departs from society to live in reclusion, but rather someone who has attained a higher state of being. Indeed, the formal characteristics of “Great Man,” with its abrupt transitions and metrical aberrations, may evoke this kind of transcendence better than the more elaborate and well-structured journey of “Far Roaming.” “Far Roaming” remains more firmly in the tradition of the shamanistic journeys of the “Li sao” and “Nine Songs,” whose heroes roam within a cosmos of deities and mythology. By contrast, “Great Man” accepts the philosophical critique of myth that we can find in Zhuangzi or Huainanzi, and so underplays the mythic journey, instead placing greater emphasis on transcendence of ordinary life’s limits. On one hand, “Great Man” enacts a sense of spontaneous experience through bold, varied use of language in modulating rhythms; at the same time that it enacts spontaneity, though, it also attempts to describe it, since the ultimate state attained by its protagonist is one of Daoist spontaneity, free of all moral or physical restraint. Thus Sima Xiangru also manages to critique, indirectly, the amateurs of Daoist reclusion who starve themselves in the mountains, thereby subjecting themselves to much more fundamental restraints and abjection than they would have suffered in society. This reading of the poem fits well with the context as presented in Sima Xiangru’s (auto)biography, not just with regard to satiric intent, but also by reflecting the hybrid origins of the poem as something written in advance and also improvised. “Great Man” thus allows us to perceive a key moment in the establishment of a self-aware notion of the fu as a genre that is painstakingly crafted to produce the appearance of being improvised in response to a particular occasion. Though “Great Man” does not compare in scale to Sima Xiangru’s “Imperial Park,” and may not even have been completed, in style and diction it vies for extravagance with any of his extant writings. Its intended function certainly includes panegyric celebration of a hypothetical emperor-Daoist, while also conveying effectively a gentle satire of those immortality-seekers who starved themselves with potions and mountain herbs. The poem bears enough similarity to “Far Roaming” that it might have been inspired by that work, but it is just as likely that both poems are parallel examples of a broader discourse on the immortals that thrived during the Western Han. Above all, from the details of vocabulary and meter, to its haphazard structure and occasional setting in its prose paratexts, “Great Man” is a representative example of the full-fledged fu genre, a literary improvisation composed to be performed before the emperor, combining both laudatory and critical components. Though not the earliest surviving fu poem, “Great Man” is one of the earliest fu texts that revels in the specific features of its genre. In that light, it needs to be incorporated into future studies of the Han fu, which cannot be defined solely by capital or hunting rhapsodies. The medium is not the message; rather it is the interpenetration of meaning and method that are used by Sima Xiangru to convey his own vision of greatness.



Great Man68

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I. Introducing the Great Man There was a Great Man in the world –  situated in the Middle Province.69 Though his homeland extended a thousand leagues –  yet it was still not worth his pausing there: 5 Instead he felt a melancholy within those cramped confines –  and so departed, ascending to lightness and roaming afar.70 Trailing white fogbows and scarlet pennants –  borne upon cloud vapours he rose aloft. Upraising his own long staff composed of fiery meteors –71 10  upon it he fastened polychrome oxtail-pennants of pure light. Dangling the Calends Star to make the fringe –  he attached a comet behind for as a decorative plume.72 Their swaying was gorgeous and graceful, undulating lavishly –73  elegantly dangling as they swivel and swing. 15 Picking up a lightning lance to be his standard –74  he split the arced rainbows to be his scabbards. A crimson haze diffused indistinctly, dazzling and dazing –  the whirlwind surged and the clouds soared high:

68  In spite of its importance in literary tradition, the fu has rarely been translated. I am aware of the following translations: first, the French version in Hervouet, Le Chapitre 117 du Che-ki, 185–204; two unannotated English versions, Watson, Records, 2:332–35, and Owen, Anthology, 182–84; and a rather free translation into baihua in Chen Zizhan, Chuci zhijie, 272–80.

69  According to Han shu commentator Yan Shigu, the “middle province” refers to China, the Middle Kingdom.

70  Here Sima Xiangru employs the very title of “Far Roaming,” yuan you 遠遊. In my view, that poem was not known widely by its current title (whether or not it existed) in the Western Han. Another good piece of evidence for this is that Liu Xiang 劉向 (79–8 BCE) employed it as the title of one of his “Nine Threnodies” (Jiu tan 九歎). See Williams, “Roaming the Infinite,” 81.

71  The obscure term geze 格澤 (also heduo 鶴鐸) is identified in the Shi ji “Astronomical Treatise” as a “flame-shaped astronomical object [xing 星 clearly not meaning “star” in this context]. Yellowwhite, it rises up from the ground. The bottom is large and the top pointed.” See Shi ji, 27.1335.

72  The term Xunshi 旬始 is somewhat obscure, but considering its prominence in the celestial pantheon here (close to the palace of the Lord of Heaven) the Zhangju identification of Venus seems plausible. The term used here, xunshi, literally means “beginning of the ten-day cycle,” so I translate as “Calends Star” in parallel to the common designations of Venus as “Morning Star” or “Evening Star” in the West. Kroll follows the alternative, and indeed more common understanding of the term as designating a comet, but it seems that this was usually perceived as an evil omen. Here the two terms are used in tandem, but this does not really elucidate the problem. Cf. “Far Roaming,” line 98. 73  Two descriptive compounds here: alliterative zhijiao 指橋 (*ki-kiau) and rhyming yanjian 偃蹇 (*Ɂian-kan). The former may be a hapax legomenon while the latter is common in the Chuci, with one of its senses there being something like “intricately ornate.” For instance, in line 301 of the “Li sao” Qu Yuan uses it to describe his decorative gems, but earlier on (line 235) it describes a lofty tower. I render it “undulating lavishly” to convey a dual sense of motion and beauty.

74  Chancheng 欃槍 (*dzram-dzaŋ), which I render “lightning lance,” is an alliterative compound and synonym for comet. Alternatively, though, it might refer to two distinct constellations, the Tianchan and Tiancheng.

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II. The Great Man’s Retinue

Driving Responding Dragon with ivory chariot, now treading steady, now circling sinuously,75 20  alongside crimson wyvern and azure spirax, coiling and curving, wriggling and writhing; Looking down and then up, spontaneously outstretched, they loom in haughty postures –  now curling and coiling, now towering tall, they inch ahead in serpentine circuits.76 Swiftly stirring, nodding and bobbing, they stand now fixed and still –77  dispersing in a medley of disarray, they begin to prance, capering high and low. 25 Here halting, there charging, chaotically careening, they appear to be tracing serpentine circuits–  once circling round each other, now rising erect, next they trot forth poised like rafters in the roof.78 Interlaced and interlinked, whinnying at whim, loping haughtily along the avenues –79  skitting and flitting, bounding and bouncing, they gallop off in rambunctious sortie.80 75  Responding Dragon (Yinglong 應龍) is mentioned in quatrain #17 of “Heavenly Questions,” and also appears in the Classic of Mountains and Seas: ‘Responding Dragon lives at the South Pole. He killed the gods Jest Much and Boast Father. But then Responding Dragon could not go back up to the sky. That is why down on earth there are so many droughts. When there is a drought, people make an image of Responding Dragon, and then they receive a heavy rainfall’ (trans. Birrell, 14.162). Ivory is one material of Qu Yuan’s chariot in “Li sao,” line 338. 76  Only by parallelism is it clear that huo 蠖, “inchworm” is being used as the main verb of this line, parallel with ju 裾 “loom” in the previous line.

77  The explanation of Zhang Yi that peiai 沛艾 *bas-ŋas is identical with po’e 駊騀 *it seems dubious. Instead, I take this as descriptive of fast motion following the sense of the initial graph pei and so translate “swiftly stirring.” Qiuxiu 赳螑 describes the motion of dragons (or horses) alternately extending or contracting their necks. The first character is also written 虬, the coiled dragon or “spirax,” whose distinctive form is also used frequently in compounds descriptive of the same shape.

78  This couplet is extraordinarily difficult: 跮踱輵螛容以骫麗兮，蜩蟉偃寋怵𤟭以梁倚. Hervouet has extensive notes (Le Chapitre 117 du Che-ki, 190), but they are largely inconclusive. Commentators overinterpret rong 容, which I take instead as a rare but all-too-welcome term of comparison, simply reminding the reader that much of the hyperactive description here is meant figuratively. Weili 骫麗is written in a more conventional way in the Shi ji as 委麗, apparently just a variant of weiyi 委蛇, “sinuously snaking,” a common rhyming compound used to describe serpentine motion. Choumou 綢繆 is often used to describe a relation of intimate entanglement which seems inappropriate here, but Hervouet’s suggestion of “emportés dans une ronde” is suggestive: the description applies to the appearance of the dragons en masse rather than to individual beasts. Yanjian 偃寋 appeared above in line 13, but I take it in a different sense here since it is describing the motion of the dragons rather than the appearance of pennants, as emphasizing height, “rising erect.” The phrase shu chuo怵𤟭 may be an alliterative compound (*thuit-thuət?). Since it is a hapax legomenon, we may have no choice but to accept Zhang Yi’s gloss as “galloping.” 79  Jie 𦟣 looks difficult but in fact simply uses an obscure graph for the word jie 屆, “to reach.”

80  Miemeng 薎蒙 is an alliterative compound which is used by Yang Xiong and Zhang Heng to refer to mists floating high in the empyrean. I think this is because it describes a rapid, light, skipping motion that is characteristic either of galloping horses or of airborne mists. It is also used to



III. The Cosmic Journey

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Sprinting, spurting past, winds hissing and sighing, I arrive with the whirlwind,   vanish like lightning –81 30  when all at once the fog clears away, in an instant the clouds disperse.82 I pass by the Lesser Yang and ascend the Supreme Yin –  seeking a meeting with the Perfected Ones. Crossing opposite the remote void I veer right –  pass by the Flying Font and head due east.83 35 Summoning all from the numinous precincts and selecting from them –  deploy all the spirits at Carnelian Gleam.84 I make the Five Sovereign Deities my vanguard –  turn my back to Supreme Unity and follow Lingyang.85 On the left is Wondrous Abyss and on the right Dark Frailty –86 40  before me the Changli and ahead Supreme Sublimity.87

describe the tiny insect the “midge,” so Hervouet accordingly renders this line “Ils bondissent tels des moucherons et s’élancent pour une course éperdue” (Le Chapitre 117 du Che-ki, 191). 81  The difficult combination of compounds lisa huixi 莅颯芔歙 (*rəp?-səp hwə-həp) is an extremely evocative and euphonious sequence, but its significance is unclear. Most commentators relate it to the velocity and sounds of the wind.

82  Though there are hardly any pronouns or tenses in the original text, I change in this section to the first-person and the present tense, since this passage seems to correspond to the first-person journeys of sao poetry.

83  Feiquan 飛泉 could simply mean “gushing springs,” but it is understood by Zhang Yi 張揖 (3rd c.) to be located southwest of Mount Kunlun (Shi ji, 117.3058n).

84  The auspicious “Carnelian Gleam” (Yaoguang 瑤光, here written 搖光) is the seventh star in the Dipper.

85  Lingyang 陵陽 is an immortal mentioned in Liexian zhuan 列仙傳. His full name was Lingyang Ziming 子明, and he is said to have found instructions for achieving immortality inside the body of a white fish. The story is quoted in the note to Wen xuan, 21.1022. Mount Lingyang is located in Jing 涇 county, Anhui.

86  Wondrous Abyss (Xuanming 玄冥) is the attendant spirit of the North, corresponding to Zhuanxu. But here it is also a fitting term for the region approaching transcendence and return to the Way. See, for instance, its use in Zhuangzi: “There is neither east nor west, / Beginning as he does in darkest obscurity [Xuanming], / And returning to grand perceptivity” (Mair, Wandering on the Way, 17.163). “Dark Frailty” is Qianlei 黔雷, also written as Qianying 黔嬴, in “Far Roaming” (where ying should therefore probably be emended to the very similar character lei 羸 with sheep radical). This obscure deity is identified as a “god of creation” or a “water deity” by Hong Xingzu, but without any corroborating sources (Chuci buzhu, 5.174). Commentators and translators generally accept this, even though it seems implausible that there was a belief in a divine Creator by this name that is only mentioned in a couple of texts. Instead, I take this term as parallel to Wondrous Abyss above, essentially being a descriptive appellation for the Daoist Way of perfect receptiveness. 87  It seems that this is the earliest occurrence of both Changli 長離 and Yuhuang 矞皇. Changli, also written 長麗, seems to be an auspicious bird like the luan “simurgh,” or specifically the Vermilion Bird of the south, as it is identified by Ru Chun 如淳. Both these terms are glossed by Fu Qian 服虔 as “names of gods” 神名. It is interesting to note also that in the Shi ji text Yuhuang is written with the water radical in both graphs, absent in the Han shu text. It is an alliterative compound *gwit-gwang.

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I employ Lord Qiao and command Xianmen –  summon Sire Qi to compound medicines.88 Zhurong is on alert and clears the way –  clearing the vapours and airs they proceed on the journey.89

IV. Meeting the Spirit Mother of the West

45 Assembling my carriage and a myriad chariots –  amassing cloud canopies and planting ornate banners; I cause Curling Frond to prepare for the journey –  wishing to travel to the southern Shore.90 Passing by Yao of Tang at Mount Chong – 50  journeying by Shun of Yu at Nine Semblances.91 Densely clustered, interlocking criss-cross –  diversely disposed, mixing and mingling, they drive off en masse.92 Roiled and raucous, rushing forth and pushing past, a chaotic congeries –  flooding forth, projecting prodigiously, magnificent in forest-like profusion:93 88  Regarding the words Zheng Boqiao 征伯僑, Han shu commentator Yan Shigu says this is the name of an immortal other than the famous Wangzi Qiao, but this is hard to accept. The only obstacle to the identification as Prince Qiao is the surname Zheng 征, but this could be either a graphic error for Wang, or alternatively a common verb: “to summon Boqiao.” “Boqiao” just means “Lord Qiao,” in precisely the same way that Wangzi Qiao itself means “Prince Qiao.” Xianmen is Xianmen Gao 羨門高, an immortal from Mount Jieshi 碣石 (located in modern Leting 樂亭, Hebei). Sire Qi was said to have been the doctor to the Yellow Emperor. 89  Zhurong 祝融 is the fire spirit and attendant deity of the South, and is prominent throughout the Chuci as a southern ancestor.

90  “Curling Frond” (Goumang) is the “attendant spirit or daemon of the east and springtime”—one of Paul Kroll’s inspired renderings. See “Far Roaming,” line 112. Nanxi 南娭 looks like a graphic variant of Nansi 南涘.

91  In this couplet the Great Man visits the burial sites of both the model sage-emperors of antiquity, Yao and Shun. Mount Chong 崇山 is identified by Yan Shigu as the burial place of Yao located in the lands of the northern Di 狄 (see also Shanhaijing jiaozhu, 6.202–3). The Nine Semblances (Jiuyi 九 疑) were the mountain range where Shun was buried, located in the southwest of Lanshan 藍山 county in modern Hunan province. Regardless of precise location, though, the two mountains mark out the northern and southern poles of a symbolic geography of ancient sagehood. 92  The subject of this couplet is somewhat unclear. Zhu Yiqing and Sun Yizhao identify it as fog, but this is not explicitly mentioned. Jin Guoyong says that the referent is still simply the scale of the Great Man’s retinue, which seems the simplest interpretation. Jiaoge 膠輵 (the latter character also written 葛 or 輵), an alliterative compound pronounced *kru-kret, is glossed by Yan Shigu as jiaojia 交加.

93  This line describes the mass of chariots by comparing them to a torrential flood. The final four characters, li yi linli 麗以林離, which I have rendered after much consideration “magnificent in forest-like profusion,” invoke a core concept of Han fu aesthetics, “majestic beauty” 巨麗, as discussed in Knechtges, “Have You Not Seen the Beauty of the Large.” They do so with a particular euphony, considering the alliteration of these words *reh lehɁ rəm-rai. Even more notably, however, li 麗 and li 離 are etymologically related with an original sense of “attach” or even “array,” so these words relate the visual impression of the vast crowds to a sense of order and beauty in a complex and extraordinarily condensed way.



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55 Filing in formation, thronging together, clustering in close congestion –94  brimming bountifully, amply outspread, multitudinous in unruly profusion;95 Entering directly into the Hall of Thunder, rumbling and rattling, perilously perched –96  I pass through Spirit Valley’s steep escarpments, precipitously peaked.97 Gazing all around to the Eight Extremities and peering over the Four Seas – 60  I then cross over the Nine Streams and ford the Five-coloured Rivers.98 Navigating fire and flame and floating down Weakwater –  I sail past the Floating Islets and cross over the Drifting Sands.99 Taking a pause at the Onion Apex, floating along up to water’s shore –100  I cause the divine Nü Wa to play the zither and command Fengyi to dance.101 65 It seems the moment is swiftly darkening and the world confused and disordered –  so I summon Pingyi to reprimand the Sire of Winds, to punish the Master of Rains.102 To the west I gaze at the unfathomable vastness of Kunlun, extending imperceptibly –

94  Somewhat like lin yi linli in the previous line, cong yi longrong 叢以蘢茸 should perhaps be considered not a compound of two characters, but rather a rhyming triplet.

95  A rare example in classical Chinese poetry of perfect rhyme, this line ends with the four characters shi yi luli 痑以陸離. I reuse “profusion” to mirror the use of li 離 just two lines above.

96  The Hall of Thunder is the home of the Thunder God. Thus, it may be the same as Leize 雷澤, “Thunder Swamp.” See Shanhai jing jiaozhu, 13.329. It may also be referred to more dramatically in “Summons to the Soul” 招魂 as the “Thunder Abyss” 雷淵. See Chuci buzhu, 9.200.

97  Spectral Valley is Guigu 鬼谷, a term that appears in the Chuci (see Chuci buzhu, 16.311; though a more likely variant there is “hundred specters” 百鬼), and which is also of course the name of a strategic thinker, Guiguzi. Yan Shigu’s commentary identifies it as being a place in the heavens, “below the North Star.” 98  Chūbachi Masakazu has argued that the Nine Streams are actually the nine underground waterways of the aquatic realm surrounding Mount Kunlun (Chūgoku no saishi to bungaku, 20–22). Shi ji text has “Four Wastes” 四荒 instead of “Four Seas” 四海.

99  Weakwater (Ruoshui 弱水) is a river whose source is said to be located near Mount Kunlun. The “Floating Islets” (Fuzhu 浮渚) and “Drifting Sands” (Liusha 流沙) are both remote locales associated with the immortals. But cf. “Nine Threnodies,” 2/43, where the “Floating Islets” may be not a proper noun but a verb-object phrase (see discussion in Williams, “Roaming the Infinite,” 96–97). Some of the more obscure terms of mythic cosmography may have been understood in different ways even during the Han. 100  The Onion Apex (Congji 蔥極) is related to the Congling 蔥嶺 mountains, a mountain range in central Asia west of Xinjiang. The term is now identified with the Pamir Mountains, but may have been understood differently in the Han.

101  Nü Wa 女媧 is the goddess variously known as the creator of the human race, the consort of Fu Xi, etc. Commentator Fu Qian 服虔 (Eastern Han) says that she played a zither made for her by Fu Xi. He also identifies Fengyi馮夷 as the Sire of the Yellow River, the god celebrated in the “Nine Songs” and well known from other sources as well.

102  Pingyi 屏翳 is probably a rain deity. He is identified in the Chuci zhangju commentary as another name for the Yunzhong jun 雲中君, but since that deity also poses difficult challenges of identification, this only complicates the issue. See Chuci zhangju shuzheng, ed. Huang Linggeng, 3.793.

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 and gallop straight across to Mount Triperil.103 Opening up Heaven’s portal and entering the Palace of the High Lord – 70  I escort jade maidens and return along with them. Riding up Skywind and perching afar –104  leaping straight upwards like a bird I pause at last.105 Idling and whiling away on Mount Yin, I soar again on sinuous circuits –  and today at last I perceive the Spirit Mother of the West. 75 Her white head gleaming with its beam-like headdress, she resides in a cave –  and enjoy the three-footed crow who serves as her messenger.106 If long life must be such as this without ever dying –  though I could endure ten thousand ages it would hold no pleasure for me!

V. Continuing the Journey

Returning my chariot and going back – 80  my path crosses Broken Mountain,  and I gather for a feast in the Dark Capital.107 I breathe in the coldest damps of night – and feast on dawn cloudwisps,  I chew upon the numinous mushroom – nibble on jasper blossoms.108 Looking up I soar higher, steadily, surely – 85  amidst waves wildly crashing and splashing, I persevere skyward.109 Penetrating the inverted phosphors of Flickering Flash –110  I pass through Fenglong’s stormclouds surging and swelling.111 Further roaming on the route I prepare to descend –  suddenly leaving behind the mists depart for the faraway.112 103  Mount Triperil (Sanwei 三危) is a mountain in the far west.

104  Skywind (Langfeng 閬風) is one of Mount Kunlun’s peaks, mentioned in “Li sao,” line 214.

105  This line is grammatically troubling, but my translation follows the paraphrase of Ying Shao.

106  This account differes from that of the Shanhai jing, which describes the Spirit Mother of the West as having “three green birds” 三青鳥 as servants. See Shanhai jing jiaozhu, 12.306. But there were many contrasting legends about Xiwangmu 西王母. 107  Broken Mountain (Buzhou 不周) is again a mountain in the far west. Qu Yuan also passes it on his journey in “Li sao,” line 355. The Dark Capital (Youdu 幽都) has been identified as a place name, but refers clearly to the underworld in the “Summons to the Soul,” line 79.

108  In this couplet the Great Man seems to engage in the common pursuits of immortality-seekers, attempting to consume life-prolonging herbs, but on the other hand these are rather obscurely poetic terms and so probably do not pose any contradiction to the motivation for composition set out in the biography. 109  Cf. Liu Xiang’s “Nine Threnodies,” 4/48, for usage of hongrong 鴻溶: “Crashing and splashing, breaking higher and higher” 鴻溶溢而滔蕩. Chuci buzhu, 16.294.

110  Flickering Flash is a rhyming compound (lieque 列缺) which may also be the name of a god of lightning. 111  The alliterative compound pengpai 滂濞 also appears (written somewhat differently) in “Imperial Park,” line 56, where Knechtges renders it “surging and swelling.” See Knechtges, Wen xuan, 2:77.

112  “Faraway Departure” 遠逝 is the title of the fourth of Liu Xiang’s “Nine Threnodies.” A truly detailed study of these poems would need to take into account all of Liu Xiang’s pieces as well.



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90  Oppressed by the cramped confines of the mortal realm –  I relax the pace to depart for the Northern Rim. Leaving my retinue at Wondrous Watchtower –113  I abandon my vanguard at Cold Gate. To depths precipitously plummeting beyond any Earth – 95  soaring to prodigious heights beyond all Heaven;114 Vision dazed and dazzled, seeing nothing –  listening muddled and muted, I hear no more. Riding into the empty void I ascend far off –  transcendently companionless I persevere alone.115

大人賦 (Han shu text)116 I 世有大人兮，在乎中州。 宅彌萬里兮，曾不足以少留。 悲世俗之迫隘兮，朅輕舉而遠游。 乘絳幡之素蜺兮，載雲氣而上浮。 建格澤之修竿兮，總光燿之采旄。 垂旬始以為幓兮，曳彗星而為髾。 掉指橋以偃寋兮，又猗抳以招搖。 㩜攙搶以為旌兮，靡屈虹而為綢。 紅杳眇以玄湣兮，猋風涌而雲浮。 II 駕應龍象輿之蠖略委麗兮，驂赤螭青虬之蚴蟉宛蜒。 低卬夭蟜裾以驕驁兮，詘折隆窮躩以連卷。 沛艾赳螑仡以佁儗兮，放散畔岸驤以孱顏。 跮踱輵螛容以骫麗兮，蜩蟉偃寋怵 117以梁倚。 糾蓼叫奡踏以 路兮，118薎蒙踊躍騰而狂趭。 III 莅颯芔歙焱至電過兮，煥然霧除然雲消。119 邪絕少陽而登太陰兮，與真人乎相求。 互折窈窕以右轉兮，橫厲飛泉以正東。 悉徵靈圉而選之兮，部署衆神於搖光。

113  Wondrous Watchtower (Xuanque 玄闕) is said to be a mountain in the far north.

114  This couplet is very similar to the ending of “Far Roaming,” lines 173–74.

115  It has been proposed that chao wu you 超無友 “transcendently companionlessness” is an error for the homophonous 超無有 “transcending nonbeing and being.” But the more interesting reading is to follow the received text (the lectio difficilor), interpreting it not as an error but a pun. 116  Han shu, 57B.2592–2600.

117  The Han shu has an unusual graph here, standardized in Shi ji to chuo 㚟, an archaic graph for “deer.” 118  Zong is a rare character, in this sense interchangeable with zong 艐 and meaning “to arrive” (zhi 至). 119  I have altered the punctuation here slightly to reflect my interpretation of these as atrophied lines of seven or more characters each.

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使五帝先導兮，反大壹而從陵陽。 左玄冥而右黔雷兮，前長離而後矞皇。 廝征伯僑而役羨門兮，詔岐伯使尚方。 祝融警而蹕御兮，清氣氛而后行。 IV 屯余車而萬乘兮，綷雲蓋而樹華旗。 使句芒其將行兮，吾欲往乎南娭。 歷唐堯於崇山兮，過虞舜於九疑。 紛湛湛其差錯兮，雜遝膠輵以方馳。 騷擾衝蓯其紛挐兮，滂濞泱軋麗以林離。 攢羅列聚叢以蘢茸兮，衍曼流爛痑以陸離。 徑入雷室之砰磷鬱律兮，洞出鬼谷之堀礨崴魁。 徧覽八紘而觀四海兮，朅度九江越五河。 經營炎火而浮弱水兮，杭絕浮渚涉流沙。 奄息葱極氾濫水娭兮，使靈媧鼓琴而舞馮夷。 時若曖曖將混濁兮，召屏翳誅風伯刑雨師。 西望崑崙之軋沕荒忽兮，直徑馳乎三危。 排閶闔而入帝宮兮，載玉女而與之歸。 登閬風而遙集兮，亢鳥騰而壹止。 低徊陰山翔以紆曲兮，吾乃今日覩西王母。 暠然白首戴勝而穴處兮，亦幸有三足烏為之使。 必長生若此而不死兮，雖濟萬世不足以喜。 V 回車朅來兮，絕道不周，會食幽都。 呼吸沆瀣兮餐朝霞，咀噍芝英兮嘰瓊華。 僸祲尋而高縱兮，紛鴻溶而上厲。 貫列缺之倒景兮，涉豐隆之滂濞。 騁游道而脩降兮，騖遺霧而遠逝。 迫區中之隘陝兮，舒節出乎北垠。 遺屯騎於玄闕兮，軼先驅於寒門。 下崢嶸而無地兮，上嵺廓而無天。 視眩泯而亡見兮，聽敞怳而亡聞。 乘虛亡而上遐兮，超無友而獨存。

Far Roaming120 I. Self-Introduction How straitened and narrow are the customs of this age –  if only I might rise up weightless and roam afar! My body insubstantial and frail, I have no means at hand –  how can I find a vessel to drift heavenward? 120  Hoshikawa divides the text, arbitrarily but effectively, into nine sections, and I follow these divisions. See Hoshikawa, Soji no kenkyū, 686–705.



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5  Facing the defilement of disorder, virtue blemished and besmirched –  pent up in solitary sadness, whom can I tell? Disturbed, unnerved, all night unable to sleep –  my lone soul distressed and bereft until the dawn. Pondering the infinite space between Heaven and Earth – 10  I grieve for the unending hardship of human life; Those who have gone before I cannot equal –  of those yet to come I can learn nothing. Pacing hither and thither with thoughts of the remote –   dejected, defeated, depleted, passions gone astray: 15 My thoughts vague and unsettled, slipping away untethered –  my heart is pained by melancholy and my griefs multiplied.

II. Setting Forth towards Transcendence

My spirit departs in a start and does not return –  my body may wither and wilt but I’ll persist still. Inward I ponder and reflect on propriety and virtue – 20  seeking the very sources of the proper pneuma. In the vast, vacant, silences I enjoy tranquillity’s delight –  in serene non-action I find myself fulfilled. I have heard report of the immaculate traces left by Red Pine –121  if only I could carry on in the manner of his legacy! 25 I cherish the supreme powers of the Perfected Ones –  admiring those who rose to transcendence in past ages. They were transformed and departed, never to be seen again –  yet their fame and name remain, growing ever more prominent. I marvel at Fu Yue, whose spirit lodged in the Nascence Stars – 30  I envy Han Zhong who attained Unity. 122 My body is serene, pristine, advancing into remote spaces –  departing from the mass of men to disappear in seclusion. Pursuing the mutations of the pneuma, I rise up further –  precipitously my spirit soars along in its uncanny guises; 35 Occasionally a shadowy semblance appears from afar – 121  Red Pine is the first of several immortals cited here. In contrast to the shaman heroes of the “Li sao,” these are supposed to be ordinary men who employed mystic techniques to prolong their lives, becoming “transcendents” living apart from society. For a full translation and study of one of the key Six Dynasties sources on this topic, see Campany, To Live as Long as Heaven and Earth.

122  Fu Yue is named in Zhuangzi as the concluding member of a list of thirteen figures who attained the Dao. It is further asserted that he “thereby became mister of Wuding, / grandly in possession of all under heaven; mounted upon Sagittarius, / riding upon Scorpio, / he joined the arrayed stars” (Mair, Wandering on the Way, 6.56). The Nascence Stars (a literal translation) refer to the Heart constellation located in the centre of the eastern quadrant of the sky, and so signifying the advent of Spring.  The appearance of Han Zhong is more puzzling. A person of this same name is mentioned in the Shi ji as one of the men sent by the First Emperor of Qin in search of potions of immortality (6.258). But Hong Xingzu’s commentary (5.164–65) to this line quotes from the Biographies of the Immortals (a text not transmitted in complete form), identifying Han Zhong as a man of the state of Qi sent by the king in pursuit of potions of immortality, but imbibed them himself and thereby attained transcendence. Tang Bingzheng (cited above, Chuci leigao, 394–95) points out that it is very common for this kind of legendary figure to reappear in successive dynasties.

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 my essence passes to and fro with incandescent gleam. Absconding from grimy vapours and from all blessing or blame –  never will I return to the old capital. Freed of the myriad ills and no longer anxious –  no one in the world knows where this journey ends!

III. Regretting the Passage of Time

I am disquieted that the seasons of Heaven rotate in succession –  that the radiance of spirit refulgent advances ever westward.123 A slight frost descends and sinks downward –  I mourn the fragrant plants so soon to wither. 45 I’ll idle here a while and wander on at will –  though enduring the long years with nothing attained. Who will enjoy with me the blossoms that remain? –  at dawn I face into the wind and put forth my feelings. Our ancestor Gaoyang is somewhere beyond my ken –  how can I make of him the model for my journey hence? 124

IV. The Refrain

Springs and autumns pass abruptly on without stopping –  how can I linger long in this old abode of mine? Xuanyuan cannot be reached or relied upon –  so I consort instead with Prince Qiao for my enjoyment.125 55 Consuming the Six Energies and drinking midnight mists –126  gargling pure Yang energy and swallowing dawn roseclouds; Preserving the pristine purity imparted by divine illumination –  letting essential energies enter and filthy impurities depart. Coasting on the balmy breezes to roam where they lead me – 60  I reach Southern Nest with a single breath.127 There I see the Prince and sojourn with him –  inquiring how to unify vitality and to modulate potency:128 He says: 123  This formal term “spirit refulgent” (Lingye 靈曄) refers simply to the sun, and is reminiscent of the key term Lingxiu 靈脩 in the “Li sao.” 124  The reference to the divine Chu ancestor Gaoyang (Zhuanxu 顓頊) asserts a continuity with the “Li sao,” but note that in that poem Gaoyang is presented as a virtuous ancestor meant to be revered and worshipped, not as a direct model for Qu Yuan. Thus, the sense here, though consistent in content with the “Li sao,” marks a difference in intention.

125  Xuanyuan is the Yellow Emperor. This couplet does not rhyme but the problem can easily be resolved by reversing the order of the last two characters yu xi 娛戲.

126  The Zhuangzi describes an ideal transcending being as someone who could “chariot upon the transformations of the six vital breaths and thereby go wandering in infinity” (Mair, Wandering on the Way, 1.5). There are various identifications of the “Six Energies” by later interpreters.

127  Nanchao has been identified as a location near the Lu 廬river in modern Anhui province, but Hong Xingzu proposes (Chuci buzhu, 5.166) it instead as the resting place of the vermilion bird of the south.

128  For unified vitality, see the “Methods of the Mind” chapter in Guanzi: “What is at once with



“The Way can be received –  but cannot be transmitted. 65 So minute it has no interior –  so vast it has no bounds. Don’t let your soul be agitated –  but rather act spontaneously. Unify your vitality, concentrate spirit – 70  maintaining them through the nighttime. ‘Respond to things by vacancy’ –  do not move in advance of them.129 Let each kind achieve fullness –  this only is the gate of Potentiality’.

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V. Cleansing the Spirit

75 I heard this most precious message and then departed –  making haste to continue in my journey. Joining the feathered men on Cinnabar Hill –  I paused in the homeland of the immortals. At dawn I rinsed my hair in Sunny Vale – 80  at dusk I washed my body in ninefold Yang. I swallowed the subtle liquor of Flying Font –130  I consumed the sweetest blossoms of sacred jade. My complexion lustrous, my countenance glossy –  my essence pure, exquisite and newly vigorous, 85 My substance refined and dissolved till it becomes ethereally fine –  my spirit adrift in infinite space bursts into omnipresence.

VI. Celestial Journey

The southern lands possess the splendid virtue of fire –  beautified by the cinnamon tree that blooms in winter. Those mountains are desolate and drear, without a living beast – 90  the plains are silent and solitary, without a single man. Sustained by skysoul and earthsoul I ascend the auroras  concealed in drifting cloud I complete my climb. I order the watchman of Heaven to open the gate for me –  he pulls open the tiered portal and welcomes me in. I summon Fenglong to serve as my vanguard – the vital force and able to bring about changes in it is called the vital essence” 一氣能變曰精. See Guanzi jiaozhu, 37.647; Rickett, trans. Guanzi, 2:60.

129  The first half of this statement is a direct quote from Zhuangzi: “The ears are limited to listening, the mind is limited to tallying. The primal breath, however, responds to things vacantly” (modified from Mair, Wandering on the Way, 4.32). The second half follows from another principle enunciated in the same chapter: “The Way should not be adulterated… The ultimate men of the past first sought to preserve it in themselves and only after that to preserve it in others” (Mair, Wandering on the Way, 4.30). 130  For “Flying Font” see “Great Man,” line 34.

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 and ask where Grand Tenuity abides.131 Concentrating manifold Yang powers I enter the palace of the High Lord –  reach the Calends Star and from it observe the ethereal city.132 At dawn I loose my carriage-brake at the court of Grand Decorum – 100  only at dusk do I approach Mount Yuweilü.133 I set my own car alongside a myriad chariots –  multitudes roaming at random, racing side-to-side. I drive eight dragons before me, sinuously snaking –  upholding cloud pennants that coil and unfold. 105 I stand erect the many-coloured banners of the vivid rainbow –  the five colours mingle and shine splendiferously. My shaft-horses sinuously swerve, plunging and soaring –  my trace-horses tauten and slacken, haughtily charging. The steeds gallop to and fro in pandemonium – 110  spread out in riotous array and then advance en bloc. I seize the reins and hold the whip erect –  for now I go on to visit Curling Frond.134 Passing by Supreme Illumination I veer to the right –  Flying Lian rides ahead to guide my way.135 115 Tendrils of sun appear on the horizon not yet bright –  I transverse the Pool of Heaven along the equator.136

VII. Commanding the Spirits

As the Lord of Winds serves as my vanguard –  the grimy vapours dissolve into freshness and purity. Phoenixes winging alongside hold up dragon pennants – 131  Fenglong is a celestial god, though his specific domain is disputed; since the gods of rain and thunder are mentioned explicitly below, here he must be a god of winds or clouds. Grand Tenuity is a constellation surrounding the Pole Star and forming a kind of protective barrier for it. For this whole passage, cf. Zhang Heng’s celestial journey in “Rhapsody on Contemplating the Mystery” (Knechtges, Wen xuan, 3:132–35). 132  The term Xunshi 旬始 is somewhat obscure, but considering its prominence in the celestial pantheon here (close to the palace of the Lord of Heaven) the Zhangju identification of Venus seems plausible. The term used here, xunshi, literally means “beginning of the ten-day cycle,” so I translate as “Calends Star” in parallel to the common designations of Venus as “Morning Star” or “Evening Star” in the West. Kroll follows the alternative, and indeed more common understanding of the term as designating a comet, but it seems that this was usually perceived as an evil omen.

133  Grand Decorum is another term for the celestial court, while the mountain’s name, Yuweilü 於 微閭 may be the same as the mountain in Liaoning province today known as Mount Yiwulü, so the protagonist is journeying from the centre of the realm to the northeast. 134  “Curling Frond” (Goumang) is the “attendant spirit or daemon of the east and springtime.” See Kroll, “Far Roaming,” 667, note to line 112.

135  “Supreme Illumination” (Taihao太皓) is the sovereign deity of the east, corresponding to the Sovereign of the West in line 120 below, and also identified with Fu Xi. “Flying Lian” (Feilian 飛廉) is the god of winds who appears frequently in the Chuci, as in “Li sao,” line 198, etc. 136  I follow Yu Yue’s emendation of Tiandi 天地 to Tianchi 天池 (the two are graphically similar). See “Du Chuci,” 12a.



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120  I meet Reaper of Rushes along with the Sovereign of the West.137 Seizing onto comets to drape as my feathered banners –  I grab the handle of the Dipper to brandish as my flagpole. Distinguishing this motley melange, ascending and descending –  I navigate through jetting fog and billowing waves. 125 At this moment, dusky and dim, the shade pervading –  I summon the Mystic Warrior to charge before me.138 Behind him Civil Flourishing is dispatched to lead my attendants –139  he appoints the lower gods who race along, wheelhubs clattering. The road extends without end to the remotest places – 130  gradually I slow the pace and advance even higher. To the left the Master of Rains I dispatch to serve alongside –  on the right the Lord of Thunder I make my bulwark. I would visit the whole world and lose my will to return –  let my thoughts be free to meander, roaming at will:140 135 Delighting in my own interiority, finding beauty in myself –  enjoying merry leisure and even wanton bliss.141

VIII. Journeying Southward

Crossing azure cloudspace in my realmless roaming –  suddenly I peer back down upon my lifelong home. My driver seared by longing, my heart too grieves – 140  the carriage horses on both sides turn backwards and cease to go. Thinking of a lifetime’s friends, images come to mind –  I heave a deep sigh and wipe my tears. I will drift away, roaming upon a whim, and rise to the remote –  for now I’ll contain my ambitions and repress myself. 145 Aiming towards the Spirit of Fire I race directly –  for I am heading towards the Southern Semblances.142 Perusing the measureless vastness beyond all bound – 137  Zhangju distinguishes Reaper of Rushes (Rushou) as the attendant spirit (shen) of the West, while the Sovereign of the West (Xihuang) is the deity (di) of the West. On the evolution of Goumang and Rushou in early China, see Riegel, “Kou-mang and Ju-shou,” cited in Kroll, “On ‘Far Roaming,’” 667. Though the gods mentioned here presumably had an extensive history before the Elegies, extant records are often scanty before the systematization of Han scholarship. As in the distinction between Rushou and Xihuang here, “Far Roaming” seems to reflect the initial stage of systematization.

138  The Mystic Warrior is the sovereign deity of the North, hence also the name of the northern quadrant of the heavens.

139  Civil Flourishing (Wenchang 文昌), god of writing, is also a constellation of six stars within Purple Tenuity, also corresponding to a court of the imperial palace.

140  I read danjiao 担撟 as a variant of the alliterative compound jiejiao 揭驕, following Shen Zumian (Qu Yuan fu zhengbian, B.111).

141  Following the lectio difficilior of 淫 “wanton” for zi 自 “self.”

142  The Spirit of Fire could be either Shennong 神農, sovereign deity (di) of the South, or the Vermilion Bird (Zhuque 朱雀). The Southern Semblances (Jiuyi 九嶷) are just another term for the Nine Semblances, the mountain range where Shun was buried.

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 on the churning, surging currents I let myself flow. Zhurong cautions me to turn around my carriage-bar – 150  so I rush to summon the simurgh and welcome Lady Fu.143 Performing “Pool of Affinity” and presenting “Cloud Carried” –  the two goddesses attend the song of the Nine Shao.144 I cause the Spirit of the Xiang River to play the zithern –  command the Ocean Eminence to dance alongside Pingyi.145 155 The mystic wyvern, wyrm, and kraken rise together –  their bodies snaking sinuously, curving and coiling.146 Womanly coronas, delicate and lovely, curve yet further –  simurghs flutter and glide, soaring upwards in flight. The melange of marvellous melodies never ceases or slows – 160  yet I again depart on my whimsical wanderings.

IX. Departing Beyond

Releasing and then rejoining the tallies to race ahead –  passing beyond the furthest margin where the Frigid Gate stands:147 Overtaking the rushing winds to reach the pure springs –  I join Zhuanxu among the many-tiered glaciers.148 165 Passing by Wondrous Abyss by a deviant byway – 143  The goddess Fu Fei is identified as the goddess of the Luo River and also as the daughter of Fu Xi, inventor of the trigrams and writing. When all these associations were first established is uncertain. 144  The “Nine Shao” were an ancient musical piece said to be the royal music of Shun. Since shao is cognate with zhao, “summons,” they were also seen as an ancestor to the verse form of the Elegies themselves (whether this had any historical basis remains impossible to determine). The most important reference is in the Documents, “Yi Ji” chapter (see Legge, Shoo King, 88).

145  The Spirit of the Xiang River figures famously in the “Nine Songs.” For Pingyi, see “Great Man,” line 66. I reject the transposition of lines 151–52 with lines 153–54 in order to improve the rhyme scheme, which was suggested by Wen Yiduo, Chuci jiaobu, 82 (see also Kroll, 668, note to lines 150–60). The problem is that the rhyming of weiyi 逶蛇 *-ai is ambiguous. While it is true that it can rhyme with ge 歌 *-ai, it is not strange for it to rhyme with yi 夷 *-i either. Meanwhile fei 妃 *-ui is not a perfect rhyme for any of these words. Moreover, the whole passage of lines 141–60 rhymes continuously in a group of related rimes with front high vowels, and these cross-rhymes are consistent with that practice. Loosely speaking, one might speculate that the effect is to suggest the rapidity of the journey, with the rhymes themselves adopting the vertiginous trajectory of the protagonist, spiralling higher and higher in a single direction upwards.

146  This couplet adds to the various divinities mentioned above a set of curious monsters, namely a winged dragon (wyvern), a serpent (wyrm), and a more obscure aquatic monster known as the wangxiang in Zhuangzi (though here abbreviated to xiang). For this last, translated as “nonimagoes” there, see Zhuangzi: “In pits there are pacers; around stoves there are tufties. Fulgurlings frequent dust piles inside the door; croakers and twoads hop about in low-lying places to the northeast; spillsuns frequent low-lying places to the northwest. In water there are nonimagoes; on hills there are scrabblers; on mountains there are unipedes; in the wilds there are will-o’-the-wisps; and in marshes there are bendcrooks.” See Mair, Wandering on the Way, 19.181. 147  Frigid Gate is said to be a mountain in the extreme north. See Major et al., Huainanzi, 6.159.

148  Zhuanxu is the deity of the north, but also identified with Gaoyang, ancestor of the Chu royal lineage.



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 riding over the cosmic nodes I gaze back down; I summon Dark Frailty and meet with him –149  he goes before me and straightens out the way. Passing hither and thither amid the Four Margins – 170  circumnavigating the Six Penumbras;150 Rising up to the final fissures –  descending I observe the Mighty Chasm.151 To depths precipitously plummeting beyond any Earth –  soaring to prodigious heights beyond all Heaven; 175 I gaze at shimmering swiftness seeing nothing –  listen to the thunderous roar but hear nothing; I pass beyond non-action to the ultimate clarity –  joining the primal origin as my neighbour.152

I 悲時俗之迫阨兮，願輕舉而遠遊。質菲薄而無因兮，焉託乘而上浮。 遭沈濁而汙穢兮，獨鬱結其誰語。夜耿耿而不寐兮，魂營營而至曙。 惟天地之無窮兮，哀人生之長勤，往者余弗及兮，來者吾不聞。 步徙倚而遙思兮，怊惝怳而乖懷。意荒忽而流蕩兮，心愁淒而增悲。 II 神倏忽而不反兮，形枯槁而獨留。內惟省以端操兮，求正氣之所由。 漠虛靜以恬愉兮，澹無為而自得。聞赤松之清塵兮，願承風乎遺則。 貴真人之休德兮，美往世之登仙，與化去而不見兮，名聲著而日延。 奇傅說之託辰星兮，羨韓眾之得一。形穆穆以浸遠兮，離人群而遁逸。 因氣變而遂曾舉兮，忽神奔而鬼怪。時髣髴以遙見兮，精皎皎以往來。 絕氛埃而淑尤兮，終不反其故都。免眾患而不懼兮，世莫知其所如。 III 恐天時之代序兮，耀靈曄而西征。微霜降而下淪兮，悼芳草之先零。 聊仿佯而逍遙兮，永歷年而無成。誰可與玩斯遺芳兮？晨向風而舒情。 高陽邈以遠兮，余將焉所程。

149  For “Wondrous Abyss” and “Dark Frailty” see “Great Man,” line 39.

150  The Four Margins (Sifang 四方), as above, refer to the lands within the very limits of the four directions. The Six Penumbras (Liumo 六漠) are the limits of the four cardinal directions plus the limits above and below.

151  For “Mighty Chasm” (Dahuo 大壑) the site of Daoist cosmography, see Zhuangzi: “Zealot Vague was on his way east to the Mighty Chasm when he happened to meet Boreal Wind along the shores of the Eastern Sea. ‘Where are you going?’ asked Boreal Wind. ‘I’m going to the Mighty Chasm.’ ‘What for?’ ‘The Mighty Chasm is something that never fills up no matter how much water pours into it, and is never exhausted no matter how much water is drawn from it. I’m going there to wander about.’ ” (Mair, Wandering on the Way, 12.113; “great gulf” modified to “Mighty Chasm”).

152  The last six lines of the poem seem to form an independent unit, united by the rhyme and also the use of the character wu 無, “not,” in all but the final line. As we have seen, the “Li sao” and other Elegies employ a six-line envoi, so it seems reasonable to understand this remarkable summation as the “Envoi” of “Far Roaming,” emphasizing a Daoist overcoming of all material obstacles and physical sensations.

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IV 重曰： 春秋忽其不淹兮，奚久留此故居？軒轅不可攀援兮，吾將從王喬而娛戲。 餐六氣而飲沆瀣兮，漱正陽而含朝霞。保神明之清澄兮，精氣入而麤穢 除。 順凱風以從遊兮，至南巢而壹息。見王子而宿之兮，審壹氣之和德。 曰：道可受兮，不可傳。其小無內兮，其大無垠。 無滑而䰟兮，彼將自然。壹氣孔神兮，於中夜存。 虛以待之兮，無為之先。庶類以成兮，此德之門。 V 聞至貴而遂徂兮，忽乎吾將行。仍羽人於丹丘兮，留不死之舊鄉。 朝濯髮於湯谷兮，夕晞余身兮九陽。吸飛泉之微液兮，懷琬琰之華英。 玉色頩以脕顏兮，精醇粹而始壯。質銷鑠以汋約兮，神要眇以淫放。 VI 嘉南州之炎德兮，麗桂樹之冬榮；山蕭條而無獸兮，野寂漠其無人。 載營魄而登霞兮，掩浮雲而上征。命天閽其開關兮，排閶闔而望予。 召豐隆使先導兮，問大微之所居。集重陽入帝宮兮，造旬始而觀清都。 朝發軔於太儀兮，夕始臨乎於微閭。 VII 屯余車之萬乘兮，紛容與而並馳。駕八龍之婉婉兮，載雲旗之逶蛇。 建雄虹之采旄兮，五色雜而炫燿。服偃蹇以低昂兮，驂連蜷以驕驁。 騎膠葛以雜亂兮，斑漫衍而方行。撰余轡而正策兮，吾將過乎句芒。 歷太皓以右轉兮，前飛廉以啟路。陽杲杲其未光兮，淩天地以徑度。 風伯為余先驅兮，氛埃辟而清涼。鳳皇翼其承旂兮，遇蓐收乎西皇。 擥彗星以為旍兮，舉斗柄以為麾。叛陸離其上下兮，遊驚霧之流波。 時暖曃其曭莽兮，召玄武而奔屬。後文昌使掌行兮，選署眾神以並轂。 路漫漫其修遠兮，徐弭節而高厲。左雨師使徑侍兮，右雷公以為衛。 欲度世以忘歸兮，意姿睢以担撟。內欣欣而自美兮，聊媮娛以淫樂。153 VIII 涉青雲以汎濫游兮，忽臨睨夫舊鄉。僕夫懷余心悲兮，邊馬顧而不行。 思舊故以想像兮，長太息而掩涕。氾容與而遐舉兮，聊抑志而自弭。 指炎神而直馳兮，吾將往乎南疑。覽方外之荒忽兮，沛罔象而自浮。 祝融戒而還衡兮，騰告鸞鳥迎宓妃。張咸池奏承雲兮，二女御九韶歌。 使湘靈鼓瑟兮，令海若舞馮夷。玄螭蟲象並出進兮，形蟉虬而逶蛇。 雌蜺便娟以增撓兮，鸞鳥軒翥而翔飛。音樂博衍無終極兮，焉乃逝以徘 徊。 IX 舒并節以馳騖兮，逴絕垠乎寒門。軼迅風於清源兮，從顓頊乎增冰。 歷玄冥以邪徑兮，乘間維以反顧。召黔嬴而見之兮，為余先乎平路。 經營四荒兮，周流六漠。上至列 兮，降望大壑。 下崢嶸而無地兮，上寥廓而無天。視儵忽而無見兮，聽惝怳而無聞。 超無為以至清兮，與泰初而為鄰。

153  The Chuci buzhu notes an interesting variant of 淫 for 自.

Chapter 2

A PROBLEMATIC FU OF THE WESTERN HAN: THE “SHU DU FU” ATTRIBUTED TO YANG XIONG DAVID R. KNECHTGES

In 1968, I

completed a PhD dissertation on the Han dynasty fu poet and thinker Yang Xiong 揚雄 (53 bce–18 ce).1 At that time I translated and made detailed studies of all of Yang Xiong’s fu except one. This is a poem on Yang Xiong’s natal region, Shu 蜀 (modern Sichuan), which circulated under the title “Shu du fu” 蜀都賦 (Fu on the Shu capital). Although I had originally planned to include a translation and analysis of this fu in my dissertation, as I began to study it, I discovered the piece was fraught with serious textual problems. I was not even certain how to punctuate many of the lines. I also could not decide whether it had been written by Yang Xiong. Thus, I gave rather cursory treatment to the “Shu du fu.” Here is what I wrote about it in my dissertation: Yang did appear to have an interest in his native province. He is attributed with a Fu on the Shu Capital 蜀都賦, a long composition describing the city of Chengdu. Although the present text is long, it is incomplete. It survives in several versions. The longest text is in Guwen yuan, which immediately draws suspicion on the piece. A short excerpt is also found in Yiwen leiju, quoted frequently in Li Shan’s Wen xuan commentary. The earliest testimony to Yang’s authorship is much earlier, it being cited in Liu Gui’s San du fu commentary.

There is not much internal evidence to prove or disprove Yang Xiong’s authorship. It is possible that Zuo Si made use of Yang Xiong’s fu in writing his own fu on the Shu capital, for there are a number of phrases in Zuo’s poem that appear to echo Yang’s fu. Similarities do not prove too much, however, since it is virtually impossible to determine which work is quoting from which. It is also conceivable that the fu ascribed to Yang Xiong is based on the Zuo piece. I am inclined in this case to respect the traditional attribution to Yang Xiong. The style of this poem is crude, suggesting the hand of a novice. Since this would have been one of Yang’s first attempts at writing a fu, one might expect the piece to exhibit amateurish qualities. I also consider the third century attribution by Liu Gui a reliable testimony to Yang Xiong’s authorship.2 In another section of my dissertation, I provide a brief discussion of the “Shu du fu”: 1  Knechtges, “Yang Shyong, the Fuh, and Hann Rhetoric.”

2  Knechtges, “Yang Shyong, the Fuh, and Hann Rhetoric,” 55–56. Romanization has been converted to Pinyin for consistency. David Knechtges is Professor Emeritus of Chinese in the Department of Asian Languages and Literature, University of Washington. He is the editor and translator of the Wen xuan (three volumes to date) and co-editor, with Taiping Chang, of Ancient and Early Medieval Chinese Literature: A Reference Guide, among many other publications.

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As I indicated in Chapter II, the Shudu fu or “Fu on the Shu Capital,” was one of Yang Xiong’s first attempts at writing a fu. It was probably this poem that brought his poetic talent to the attention of the emperor. The fu is an epideictic description of Chengdu, the capital of Shu province, then one of China’s most beautiful and prosperous cities. The Shudu fu appears to be the first panegyric of a city in Chinese literature. The topic was extremely popular in Eastern Han times and thereafter. Eulogies of cities were also common in medieval European literature, and the rhetorical manuals even established specific rules for epideictic poems of this kind.3

“The Fu on the Shu Capital” begins with a topographia which not only identifies Chengdu’s location in the Chinese empire, but establishes its position in relation to the cosmos. It rests below the place in the heavens where the essence 精 of the Well Star (stars in Gemini) accumulates, and maintains the fixed position of the Kun 巛 trigram (which represents the southwest). There then follows a geographical enumeration of the city and its distinguishing features, much on the order of the geographical enumerations found in Sima Xiangru’s fu. The general structure is as follows: Zixu fu: 其山則 其土則 其石則 其東則 其南則 其西則 其北則 Shudu fu: 東有 其中則有 南則有 西則有 北則有

Yang also makes extensive use of cataloguing. Like Sima Xiangru, he includes long lists of stones, gems, fabulous animals, plants, trees, aquatic life, and buildings. His animal catalogue contains many of the same names as a similar list in the Shanglin fu: Shanglin fu: 玄猨素雌， 蜼玃飛蠝， 蛭蜩玃蝚， 獑胡豰蛫。 Shudu fu: 𧴃胡雖獲， 猨蠝玃猱， 猶豰畢方。

The poem concludes with a long description of a feast attended by the aristocrats of the city who are entertained by singers, dancers, and pretty serving girls. Because the fu is so badly fragmented, it is difficult to adequately evaluate it. From what survives, however, it is possible to conclude that it was primarily intended as a 3  See Curtius, European Literature and the Latin Middle Ages, 157.



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descriptive poem with no ulterior purpose other than presenting an effusive verbal display. The fu contains a great number of impressifs—many of them identical to those used by Sima Xiangru. Unlike the “Fan sao” 反騷 (Contra sao), then, this poem is more in the epideictic fu tradition. It is for this reason that I place it among Yang’s early works, for a novice would most probably write in a style then in vogue. It could even be earlier than the “Fan sao.”4 The passages cited above contain statements that require a more rigorous analysis than I provided in 1968. Some of what I say is naive and impressionistic. For example, the whole issue of whether this piece is by Yang Xiong requires a much more extended examination of the text and its history. In order to understand the piece more fully, I have completed the task I was unable to do when I was a graduate student: prepare an annotated translation of the entire “Shu du fu.” I felt obliged to do this before I could feel confident enough to speculate about the authenticity of this fu and if authentic, how it fits into Yang Xiong’s fu corpus. However, before proceeding with a close reading, I first must discuss the textual history of the “Shu du fu.” The first issue of textual history directly related to the question of authenticity is the “Shu du fu’s” first appearance. It is not contained in Yang Xiong’s biography in the Han shu, which does preserve a number of his fu compositions including “Fan sao”, “Ganquan fu” 甘泉賦 (Fu on the Ganquan Palace), “Hedong fu” 河東賦 (Fu on Hedong), “Jiaolie fu” 校獵賦 (Fu on the barricade hunt), “Jie chao” 解謿 (Rebutting ridicule), and “Jie nan” 解 難 (Rebutting objections). If Yang Xiong had composed the “Shu du fu,” why is a piece on his natal place not included in his Han shu biography? One must mention that Yang Xiong’s biography in the Han shu is almost entirely extracted from a “Zi xu” 自序 (autobiographical postface) written by Yang Xiong. Ban Gu copied large portions of it into the Han shu. Did the Yang Xiong “Zi xu” contain a text of the “Shu du fu” that Ban Gu deemed unworthy of inclusion in the Han shu? Or did Yang Xiong himself exclude it from the “Zi xu”? I believe this is not likely, for the “Zi xu” portion of Yang Xiong’s biography in the Han shu contains the following statement that mentions the titles of two pieces that were excluded: 又旁《離騷》作重一篇，名曰《廣騷》。又旁《惜誦》以下至《懷沙》一卷，名曰《 畔牢愁》。《廣騷》、《畔牢愁》文多，不載。

There are two possible readings of this passage. The first assumes that this is Yang Xiong’s own statement. My rendering reads: “In addition, based on ‘Encountering Sorrow,’ I wrote another piece titled ‘Expanding Sorrow,’ and also based on the poems from ‘Grieving I Make My Plaint’ to ‘Embracing the Sand,’ I wrote a one-juan work titled ‘Rebutting Grief and Sorrow.’ The texts of ‘Expanding Sorrow’ and ‘Rebutting Grief and Sorrow’ are too long and are not included here.’” It is possible Ban Gu refers to himself here, and is the one who excised the two pieces from the biographical account of Yang Xiong: “In addition, based on ‘Encountering Sorrow,’ Yang Xiong composed another piece titled ‘Expanding Sorrow,’ and also based on the poems from ‘Grieving I Make My Plaint’ to ‘Embracing the Sand’, he wrote a one-juan work titled ‘Rebutting Grief and 4  Knechtges, “Yang Shyong, the Fuh, and Han Rhetoric,” 316–18.

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Sorrow.’ The texts of ‘Expanding Sorrow’ and ‘Rebutting Grief and Sorrow’ are too long and are not included here.’”5 I suspect the one who excised the two pieces was Ban Gu rather than Yang Xiong, for he would have had more concerns about saving space in a work such as the Han shu than Yang Xiong, who likely intended the “Zi xu” as a postface for one of his Master’s works, the Taixuan 太玄 (Grand mystery) or more likely the Fa yan 法言 (Exemplary sayings).6 Another reason some scholars have suspected the authenticity of the “Shu du fu” is there is no Han or Wei, Jin, or Nanbeichao text of the piece. It is not in the Wen xuan 文 選 (Selections of refined literature).7 The earliest “text” is a short excerpt cited in the Yiwen leiju 藝文類聚 (Compendium of arts and letters arranged by category), a commonplace book submitted to the Tang court in 624.8 The earliest putative complete version is contained in the Guwen yuan 古文苑 (Garden of ancient writings). The Guwen yuan contains some works of suspicious authorship, and for this reason several modern scholars have doubted the authenticity of the “Shu du fu” simply on the grounds of “guilt by association.”9 According to Han Yuanji 韓元吉 (1118–1187), who edited and printed the first edition of the Guwen yuan in ca. Chunxi 淳熙 6 (1179) in Wuzhou 婺 州 (modern Jinhua 金華, Zhejiang), Sun Zhu 孫洙 (1031–1079), zi Juyuan 巨源, discovered a collection of “ancient writings” (gu wenzhang 古文章) in a shrine of a Buddhist temple that reputedly had been deposited there by an unknown compiler in the Tang dynasty. This collection contained writings not preserved in the standard histories or the Wen xuan.10 The Han Yuanji edition is in nine juan and is held by the Zhongguo guojia tushuguan in Beijing. A photo-reproduction has been issued in the Zhonghua zaizao shanben 中華 再造善本 series. Sun Xingyan 孫星衍 (1753–1818) previously issued a facsimile reprint in the Dainan ge congshu 岱南閣叢書in Jiaqing 14 (1809). The Dainan ge congshu is relatively rare. The University of Washington East Asia Library owns a copy purchased from the famous botanist and book collector Joseph F. Rock (1884–1962) in the 1950s.11 Professor Wang Xiaojuan 王曉娟, author of a detailed study of the Guwen yuan, has proposed that Han Yuanji was not its first compiler. She argues because the nine juan edition contains a large number of inscriptions, the compiler must have been a specialist in epigraphy. She suggests the most likely compiler was Wang Houzhi 王厚 之 (1132–1204), a well-known specialist in ancient inscriptions and a book collector.12 5  Han shu, 87A.3514.

6  See my discussion of this matter in The Han shu Biography of Yang Xiong (53 B.C.–A.D. 18), 2–5.

7  For speculation about why the “Shu du fu” was excluded from the Wen xuan, see Shao and Xie, “Yang Xiong ‘Shu du fu’ weiru Wen xuan tanze.” 8  Yiwen leiju, 61.1096–97.

9  See Xu, “Lun Shu wang benji chengshu niandai ji qi zuozhe”; Zheng, “Dui Yang Xiong shengping yu zuopin de tansuo,” 209; and Yang Xiong wenji jianzhu 30. 10  See Han Yuanji’s preface in Guwen yuan 9.13a.

11  At The University of Washington East Asia Library, Dainan ge congshu is held in the Special Collections. This edition is the reprint published by the Shanghai Boguzhai 博古齋 in 1924. 12  See Wang, Guwen yuan lungao, 51–58.



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Professor Wang also notes Fan Qin 范欽 (1505–1585) in his catalogue of the Tianyi ge 天 一閣 credits Wang Houzhi with editing the Guwen yuan in 1159.13 Professor Wang also notes that between 1059 and 1066 Sun Zhu compiled a onejuan anthology of fifty-eight fu and song 賦頌 beginning with Song Yu 宋玉. Chao Gongwu 晁公武 (1101–1171) records this work in his Junzhai dushu zhi 郡齋讀書志 under the title Za wenzhang 雜文章 (Diverse writings).14 Wang argues this work was incorporated into the Guwen yuan, and points out that it contains fifty-seven fu, which nicely corresponds with the fifty-eight fu of the Za wenzhang.15 Thus, the Za wenzhang possibly was the source of most of the fu contained in the Guwen yuan, including Yang Xiong’s “Shu du fu.” In the Shaoding period 紹定 (1228–1233) of the Southern Song, Zhang Qiao 章樵 (d. 1235) in 1229, while serving as magistrate in Wu 吴 county (modern Suzhou), began editing and writing a commentary to the Han Yuanji edition, which he rearranged into twenty-one juan.16 The Guwen yuan contains some 260-plus works from the Eastern Zhou to the Southern Qi. Some scholars suspect that a number of the works it includes are forgeries or wrongly attributed. The reliability of the text has also been questioned because Zhang Qiao made changes in the Han Yuanji edition. As I mentioned above, he rearranged the collection from nine juan to twenty-one. He also added thirty-one pieces to the nine-juan edition.17 Zhang Qiao’s edition went through many printings, and in the process additional errors were created. In the Qianlong period of the Qing, Qian Xizuo 錢熙祚 (d. 1844) carefully compared Zhang Qiao’s version with the Han Yuanji nine-juan edition. His collation notes are quite useful for understanding some of the more problematic lines in the “Shu du fu.”18 In addition to the Za wenzhang, another possible source for the Guwen yuan text of the “Shu du fu” in the collected works of Yang Xiong. The earliest record of Yang Xiong’s fu collection is in bibliography of the Han shu compiled by Ban Gu 班固 (32–92). Ban Gu based his catalogue mainly on the Qi lüe 七略 compiled at the end of the Former Han by Liu Xin 劉歆 (d. 23 CE). In the section designated “Shi fu lüe” 詩賦略, there is a listing of “Twelve fu by Yang Xiong” 揚雄賦十二篇.19 Ban Gu notes he had added eight pian to this 13  See Fan et al., ed., Tianyi ge shumu, 3.36b (272).

14  See Sun, ed. and comm., Junzhai dushu zhi jiaozheng, 20.1057. 15  See Wang, Guwen yuan lungao, 64–65.

16  The printings include: Yuan woodblock, held by the Fu Ssu-nien Library, Academia Sinica, Taiwan; Ming, Chenghua 成化 renyin (1482), Zhang Shiyong 張世用 printing of a Fujian woodblock reprint of a Song edition; Siku quanshu; Mohai jinhu 墨海金壺 (1817); Shoushan ge congshu 守山閣 叢書 (1844), with collation notes by Qian Xizuo 錢熙祚 (d. 1844), rpt. Baibu congshu jicheng; Xiyin xuan congshu 惜陰軒叢書 (1846) compiled by Li Xiling 李錫齡 (1794–1844); Guangxu 12 (1886), Jiangsu shuju 江蘇書局 woodblock; Longxi jingshe congshu 龍谿精舍叢書 (1917); Sibu congkan (1919) photolithographic reproduction of a Song edition, rpt. Taipei: Dingwen shuju, 1973. 17  On the changes made by Zhang Qiao see Wang, Guwen lungao, 87–95.

18  For Qian Xizuo’s “Guwen yuan jiaokan ji” 《古文苑》校勘記, see Guwen yuan, Shoushan ge congshu. 19  See Han shu, 30.1749.

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listing.20 Thus, the original “Shi fu lüe” only recorded four of Yang Xiong’s fu compositions. Because Ban Gu does not record the titles of the fu, there is no way to determine if the “Shu du fu” was included among these twelve fu pieces.21 The next mention of Yang Xiong’s collected writings is the “Jingji zhi” 經籍志, presented to the Tang imperial court in 656. This was largely based on pre-Tang catalogues such as the Qi zhi 七志 of Wang Jian 王儉 (452–489) and the Qi lu 七錄 of Ruan Xiaoxu 阮孝緒 (479–536).22 The “Jingji zhi” records the Han Taizhong dafu Yang Xiong ji 漢太中 大夫揚雄集 (Collected works of the Han Palace Grandee Yang Xiong) in five juan.23 The Jiu Tang shu and Xin Tang shu list a Yang Xiong ji 揚雄集 (Collected works of Yang Xiong) in five juan.24 Despite the difference in title, based on the fact this collection is also in five juan, one might speculate it was the same collection listed in the Sui shu “Jing ji zhi.” In any case, the bibliographical record provides evidence that Yang Xiong’s collection was still extant in the late Tang.25 However, it may have been lost during Five Dynasties or early Northern Song. The only collections of Han-period writers listed in the early Northern Song catalogue Chongwen zongmu 崇文總目 compiled during 1034–1042 are those of Dong Zhongshu 董仲書 (ca. 179–ca. 104 bce), Cai Yong 蔡邕 (133–192), and Chen Lin 陳琳 (d. 217).26 We do not know when the five-juan edition listed in the Sui shu was compiled. However, there is evidence that Yang Xiong’s “Shu du fu” was extant in the sixth century, 20  See Han shu, 30.1750.

21  G Shiu 顧實 (1878–1956) speculates the Qi lüe listed “Ganquan fu” 甘泉賦, “Hedong fu” 河 東賦, “Jiaolie fu” 校獵賦, and “Changyang fu” 長楊賦, all of which are contained in Yang Xiong’s “Autobiographical Postface.” He suggests Ban Gu added “Fan Li sao” 反離騷, “Guang sao” 廣騷, and “Pan laochou” 畔牢愁 contained in the “Autobiographical Postface” (the latter two pieces are omitted from Yang Xiong’s Han shu biography on the grounds that they were too long); and “Shu du fu,” “Taixuan fu” 太玄賦, and “Zhu pin fu” 逐貧賦, full texts of which are found in Guwen yuan; “He ling fu” 覈靈賦 and “Du jiu fu” 都酒賦 (also titled “Jiu zhen” 酒箴 or “Jiu fu” 酒賦). These total eight pieces. Gu then mentions other possible fu compositions such as “Jie chao” 解謿, “Jie nan” 解 難, “Zhao Chongguo song” 趙充國頌, and “Ju Qin mei Xin” 劇秦美新. He remarks: “This exceeds the number of twelve. Why were they not included with the other pieces?” See Han shu Yiwen zhi jiangshu, 176. The problem with Gu’s analysis is we cannot be sure whether all of these pieces are genuine. “Tai xuan fu” certainly is not authentic. In addition, I doubt works such as “Zhao Chongguo song” and “Ju Qin mei Xin” are fu. 22  See Gao, Guji mulu yu Zhongguo gudai xueshu yanjiu, 84–94. 23  See Sui shu, 35.1057.

24  See Jiu Tang shu, 47.2054; Xin Tang shu, 60.1576. The Jiu Tang shu was completed in 945 during the Five Dynasties period. The monograph on bibliography was based on the Gujin shulu 古今書錄 compiled by Wu Jiong 毋煚 shortly after 745. Wu’s catalogue in forty juan was an abridgement of a much larger catalogue, the 200-juan Qunshu sibu lu 群書四部錄, compiled ca. 721. The compilers of the Jiu Tang shu extracted the titles and copied them into the “Jingji zhi.” See Twitchett, The Writing of Official History under the T’ang, 231–32. 25  The compiler of the Xin Tang shu “Yiwen zhi” was Ouyang Xiu 歐陽修 (1007–1072). He based this monograph on the Jiu Tang shu “Yiwen zhi” and added works contained in the Kaiyuan siku shumu 開元四庫書目. 26  See Chongwen zongmu, 11.11a.



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for Sima Yingzhi 司馬膺之 (507–577) of the Northern Qi wrote a commentary to it.27 One can date the circulation of the “Shu du fu” even earlier. In the third century, during the Western Jin, Liu Kui 劉逵 (fl. 295) cites ten lines from Yang Xiong’s “Shu du fu” in his commentary to the “Shu du fu” of Zuo Si 左思 (ca. 250–ca. 305).28 (Liu Kui’s commentary is preserved in the Wen xuan commentary of Li Shan 李善.) Xie Lingyun 謝靈 運 (385–433) also cites a line from Yang Xiong’s “Shu du fu” in his commentary to the “Shan ju fu” 山居賦 (Fu on dwelling in the mountains).29 Somewhat later in the Northern and Southern Dynasties, Li Daoyuan 酈道元 (ca. 469–527) also quotes the “Shu du fu” in his Shui jing zhu 水經注 (Classic of rivers, annotated).30 This evidence clearly shows that the “Shu du fu” was circulated relatively widely during the Northern and Southern Dynasties period. There is evidence that Yang Xiong’s collected works was still extant in the Song at the time that the Guwen yuan was compiled. The “Hou zhi” 後志 supplement of Zhao Xibian 趙希弁 (d. post-1250) to the Junzhai dushu zhi 郡齋讀書志 of Chao Gongwu 晁 公武 (1101–1171) records an edition in three juan. Zhao notes Yang Xiong’s collection had been lost, and a scholar of the Song period named Tan Yu 譚愈 prepared a new edition that included over forty pieces.31 The “Yiwen lüe” 藝文略 catalogue in the Tong zhi 通志 of Zheng Qiao 證樵 (1104–1162), which is a summary of Zheng’s no longer extant Qunshu huiji 羣書會記 he presented to the court in 1149, lists the Taizhong dafu Yang Xiong ji in five juan.32 The Zhongxing guange shumu 中興館閣書目, which was a catalogue of the Southern Song Imperial Library (Mishu sheng 秘書省), lists a Yang Xiong ji in six juan.33 Liu Kezhuang 劉克莊 (1187–1269) also mentions a six-juan edition.34 This might be the same edition recorded in the bibliography of the Song shi 宋史 (History of the Song dynasty), which is largely based on Song-period imperial catalogues.35 In the Southern Song, Chen Zhensun 陳振孫 (1211–1249) in his Zhizhai shulu jieti 直齋書錄解 題 records a five-juan collection that he claims was reconstructed from pieces from the Han shu and Guwen yuan.36 27  See Bei Qi shu, 18.241; Bei shi, 54.1951.

28  There are actually eleven citations, but one line is cited twice. See Wen xuan, 4.176, 4.177, 4.178 (2 citations), 4.181, 4.186, 4.187 (3 citations), and 4.188. On the Liu Kui commentary citation of the “Shu du fu” see Kuriyama, “‘San to no fu’ Ryū Ki chū no chūshaku taido”; and Sun孫少華, “Wenben cengci yu jingdianhua.” 29  See Song shu, 67.1755.

30  See Shui jing zhu jiaozheng, 33.767.

31  See Junzhai dushu zhi jiaozheng, 827.

32  See Tong zhi, 69.32b.

33  Cited in Wang Yinglin 王應麟 (1223–1296), Yuhai 玉海 (Siku quanshu), 55.10a. This collection, which was compiled by Chen Kui 陳騤 (1128–1203), was completed in 1178. Yang Xiong’s collection listed here consists of forty-three pian plus one juan of twenty-four zhen 箴 (admonitions). 34  See Liu, Houcun shihua (Siku quanshu), 7.1b. 35  See Song shi, 208.5328.

36  See Xu and Gu, ed., Zhizhai shulu jieti, 16.641.

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None of these editions has survived. The only extant printings of Yang Xiong’s collected works are reconstructions produced in the Ming and Qing.37 The version of the “Shu du fu” they reproduce is mainly based on the Guwen yuan. However, individual editors change the text in some places, and so the received version of the “Shu du fu” has a number of variant readings. Thus, the received text of the “Shu du fu” is quite difficult to read, and in some places even the punctuation of the text is problematic. I provide specific examples below. Professor Wang Qing 王青, who has written a detailed biography of Yang Xiong, raises several questions about the authenticity of the “Shu du fu.” As I mentioned above, if Yang Xiong wrote such an important piece, why did he not mention it in his “Autobiographical Postface,” which according to Wang Qing was attached to Yang Xiong’s Fa yan? Wang suggests the possibility that Yang Xiong did not mention the “Shu du fu” in the “Zi xu” because he wrote it after he completed the Fa yan. However, he rejects this proposition on the grounds that at this point in his life, Yang Xiong was no longer composing dafu 大賦 of which “Shu du fu” is a prime example. Wang Qing also notes both Ban Gu and Zuo Si did not mention Yang Xiong’s “Shu du fu.” Ban Gu, who wrote the “Two Capitals” fu, does not mention the “Shu du fu” in the preface. It is also puzzling why Zuo Si, who wrote a “Shu du fu” “does not say a word” about the existence of a “Shu du fu” by such an illustrious writer from the Shu area. However, Wang Qing does not consider this evidence sufficient to prove that the “Shu du fu” is a forgery, for he considers the citation of the “Shu du fu” in leishu such as Yiwen leiju and commentaries important testimony to its authenticity. He concludes by saying “we should provisionally still regard the received ‘Shu du fu’ as written by Yang Xiong.”38 Xu Zhongshu 徐中舒 (1898–1991) doubted the authenticity of the “Shu du fu” on the grounds that the term du 都 in the sense of jingdu 京都 (‘capital’) in the name “Shu du” 蜀都 only began to be used with the establishment of the Shu state of Shu Han 蜀 漢 in the Three Kingdoms period. Xu argues this usage is inappropriate to the Shu area during the time of Yang Xiong. Thus, on this basis alone, the “Shu du fu” cannot be by Yang Xiong.39 Xiong Liangzhi 熊良智 suggests Xu Zhongshu has misinterpreted the term du 都. Xiong argues that Shu had a history as a state ruled by kings long before 37  The earliest critical text was prepared by Yan Kejun 顏可均 (1762–1843); see Quan shanggu Sandai Qin Han Sanguo Liuchao wen, “Quan Han wen” 全漢文, 51.1a–3b (402–3). The full text is also contained in the Yang Ziyun ji 楊子雲集 compiled by Zheng Pu 鄭樸around 1595 and reprinted in the Siku quanshu (5.14b–18b); Zhang 張燮 (1574–1640), ed., Yang Shilang ji, 1.1a –5b (188–90); Ge Yinliang 葛寅亮 (jinshi 1601), Yang Xiong ji, 1.1–4b; Zhou周復俊 (Ming), ed., Quan Shu yiwen zhi, 1.1a–5b; Chen Yuanlong 陳元龍 (1652–1736), ed., Yuding lidai fuhui, 32.12a–16b; Huang 黃 亭桂 (Qing), Sichuan tongzhi, 39.67–69a. Modern critical texts include: Fei et al., ed., Quan Han fu, 160–68; Zhang, ed, Yang Xiong ji jiaozhu, 1–42; Lin, ed, Yang Xiong ji jiaozhu, 1–36; Zheng, ed, Yang Xiong wenji jianzhu, 306–26; Gong, Quan Han fu pingzhu, 279–301; Ye, comm. and trans., Xinyi Yang Ziyun ji, 3–27; Fei et al., ed. and comm., Quan Han fu jiaozhu, 212–30; Fei, et al., ed., comm., and trans., Wenbai duizhao quan Han fu, 163–76. 38  See Wang, Yang Xiong pingzhuan, 267–69.

39  See Xu, “Lun Shu wang benji chengshu niandai ji qi zuozhe,” 103.



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the Han. “Thus, it must have had its capital” 則必有其都.1 Indeed, recent scholars have claimed that the excavations at Sanxingdui 三星堆 show evidence of a city that qualifies as a capital. For example, Steven F. Sage writes: “Sanxingdui was evidently the capital, or principal centre, of a fairly powerful entity.”2 According to Sage, after Shu was conquered by Qin in 311 bce, “the old Kaiming settlement at Chengdu was accorded county status and improved into a proper administrative headquarters along the lines of the Qin capital itself;” and “Hua yang guo zhi described the Shu capital’s layout as adhering on a reduced scale to that of Xianyang, the Qin royal centre.”3 As early as the Former Han, Sima Xiangru 司馬相如 (179–117 bce) refers to Chengdu as Shu du 蜀都 in his “Nan Shu fulao” 難蜀父老 (Refuting the elders of Shu).4 If Shu du does not mean Shu capital on the grounds that it was not a capital in the strict sense, it is clear that Shu du is not an anachronistic designation for a city that was the cultural, economic, and administrative centre of the Shu region. As Xiong Liangzhi has shown, the “Shu du fu” does not limit itself to describing the area of Chengdu. The opening lines of the piece read “The land of the Shu capital/ Anciently was called Liangzhou” 蜀都之地，古曰梁州. Liangzhou 梁州 was one of the nine provinces that the Great Yu 禹 established in the Xia dynasty. It reached into Sichuan from modern southern Shaanxi. The “Shu du fu” also refers to the Ba 巴, Cong 賨, and Baipu 百濮 states of eastern Sichuan, as well as Qianwei 犍為, Zangke 牂牁, and Kunming 昆明, which extended into eastern Sichuan, Yunnan, and even Guangxi. Thus, the “Shu du fu” is more than an account of the Chengdu area, or even Shu commandery, but is a poetic topographia on most of the southwest region of the Han realm. As I mentioned above, one of the reasons I have long avoided translating the “Shu du fu” is its heavy use of unusual words, many of which are hapax legomena.5 Here is a sampling, many of which are rhyming or alliterative binomes (note varying pronunciations are given for a number of these words). • • • • • • • • • • •

dănxiáng 亶翔 fényī�n 岎崯 tóubèng 𡷠𡾛 lí�nglí�n 岭嶙 lí�nzì� 臨柴 diéniè 崼𡸣 cuī�càn 漼 (variants漼𥹛, 漼粲) lì�yí� 脇施 gònglóng / dăowāng / dăoyăng / jī�yáng 嶋㟅 xí�ngyăn 𡶭嵃 jiékĕ / hékĕ / gēkĕ / kĕkĕ 嵑㞹

1  See Xiong, “Yang Xiong ‘Shu du fu” shi yi,” 114.

2  Ancient Sichuan and the Unification of China, 25.

3  Ancient Sichuan and the Unification of China, 127. 4  See Shi ji, 117.3049; Han shu, 57B.2583.

5  For a study of unusual words in Yang Xiong’s writings see Ma, Yang Xiong ji cihui yanjiu, 191–221.

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• • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • •

yàjiā 𡸗𡶐 géxiè 輵𡽖 fēnrū / fēnrú 紛𦭰 dí�xiā 敵呷 tángpèi 闛沛 tuózhuì� / yĭ�zhuì�陁隧 zhì�dī�ng 銍釘 zhōngyŏng 鍾涌 pēnglóng 泙龍 qī�ngzhì� 青稚 jié 楬 yàchén 圠沈 cuōruó / cuōnuó 撮捼 yòumĭ� 幼靡 fēnchàng 紛𢀺 fėnwěi 忿葦 sāoxì� 㮻合 [翕] biān 猵 tuó 鱓 tăwéi 鰨𩽨 xī� 𡥷 kuāng 𢼑 bāguān 般關 ènuó / héruò 何若 shànmiăo 蟬杪 / jùxī� 𧲽貕 tángyí� 螗蛦 zǐ�guī� 子𪆳 qiú 紌 xuàn 繏 fĕi 𦃄 xié 䋶 chī�zhú 螭燭 xì�dū 細都 ruòzhé 弱折 yōugé 幽輵 shuăng 𧴅 dăn 𤢏 dŭonăo 𩩜腦 pì�yàn 被鴳 jì�nglǐ�ng 靖領



• • • • • • • • •

a Problematic Fu of the Western Han

jiàoyōu 激呦 yèjiū 喝啾 zăyí�n / zănyí�n 喒吟 xiāosà 踃馺 bǐ�hăn 吡噉 yănyăn 偃衍 biéxiè 𣟷曳 chí�suŏ 絺索 huī�huò 睢䁨

49

I discuss most of these words in the notes to my translation, and so do not provide information about them here. I will only say that given the rarity of these words, it is difficult to imagine that a forger would have been able to devise them. For example, qiú紌, qiú繏, fĕi 𦃄, and xié 䋶 are the names of Shu silk fabrics. They are not mentioned in any other work. It is unlikely a forger would have inserted such little-known local information into the text. Analyzing the “Shu du fu”’s rhyming, or even determining which lines actually rhyme, is also difficult. As far as I know, no scholar has done any thorough study of the rhyming of the “Shu du fu.” The usually reliable Han-dynasty rhyme handbook by Luo Changpei 羅常培 and Zhou Zumo 周祖謨 leaves out long rhymed passages from the “Shu du fu,” and because they did not do a careful study of the variant readings, they misidentify or wrongly classify some of the rhyme words.6 Since Yang Xiong’s home area was Shu, the rhymes, especially the heyun 合韻, or “cross-rhymes” between rhyme groups, could provide evidence of whether the “Shu du fu” was written by Yang Xiong. Luo Changpei and Zhou Zumo identify salient features of the rhyming of three Shu poets, Sima Xiangru, Wang Bao 王褒 (ca. 84–ca. 53 bce), and Yang Xiong, which they argue exhibits “phenomena of Shu regional pronunciation” 蜀方音的現象.”7 W. South Coblin has published a long article in which he uses rhyme data to identify the linguistic features of Yang Xiong’s Shu language.8 Nicholas Williams in a recently published study of what he calls “half-rhyme” in ancient Chinese classical poetry shows a healthy skepticism of this approach, and questions whether the cross-rhyme data can be used as evidence for the claim that Shu poets’ rhyming practice is determined by the Shu dialect.9 One piece that none of these scholars examined in detail is the “Shu du fu.” One reason the “Shu du fu” data were not incorporated into their studies is that the received versions are fraught with textual problems. They did not even have proper punctuated editions of the text. In recently punctuated versions, scholars provide different punctuation. Here is a series of lines in the Sibu congkan edition of Guwen yuan (4.8a): 旋溺寃 綏頹慚*博岸敵呷祽瀨磴巖摚汾汾 (Quan Han wen reads 𡐛 for 慚). I have intentionally omitted punctuation. 6  See Han Wei Jin Nanbeichao yunbu yanbian yanjiu.

7  See Han Wei Jin Nanbeichao yunbu yanbian yanjiu, 84. 8  See “The Finals of Yang Xiong’s Language.”

9  See Williams, “The Half-life of Half-Rhyme.”

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• Zhang Zhenze (Yang Xiong ji jiaozhu 12): 旋溺寃，綏頹慚，博岸敵呷，祽瀨磴巖。摚汾汾， • Gong Kechang (Quan Han fu pingzhu 280): 旋溺寃，綏頹慚，博岸敵呷祽瀨，磴巖摚汾， • Fei Zhengang (Wenbai duizhao quan Han fu 164): 旋溺寃，綏頹慚，博岸敵呷，祽瀨磴巖。摚汾汾， • Ye Youming (Xinyi Yang Ziyun ji 8): 旋溺寃綏，頹𡐛博岸，敵呷祽瀨。磴巖摚汾，

• Zheng Wen (Yang Xiong wenji jianzhu 311): 旋溺寃，綏頹𡐛。博岸敵，呷祽瀨，磴巖摚汾，

There are several other places in the “Shu du fu” where scholars have differently punctuated the text. Obviously, if one cannot determine where one line ends and the next begins, the process of determining the rhymes becomes more difficult. The “Shu du fu” also has a number of variant readings, and in several cases the variant reading provides a clue to a rhyme sequence. Here is one example of the text as it reads in the Shoushan ge congshu (4.10a) and Ming Chenghua editions (4.13b) of Guwen yuan, and the Zheng Pu edition of Yang Ziyun ji (5.17b). 尒乃其俗： 迎春送臘， 百金之家， 千金之公， 乾池泄澳， 觀魚於江。

東部 東部

The nine-juan edition (2.9b) has no character following 送. Qian Xizuo notes that Li Shan’s commentary (4.186) in the Wen xuan cites this line as 迎春送冬. 冬rhymes with 公 and 江 in the following lines.10 Thus, it is clear the text should read: 尒乃其俗： 迎春送冬， 百金之家， 千金之公， 乾池泄澳， 觀魚於江。

冬部 東部 東部

*touŋ *koŋ *kɔŋ

The 冬部 / 東部 cross-rhyme is a common phenomenon in Yang Xiong’s fu,11 and may be evidence to corroborate his authorship of the “Shu du fu.” Another cross-rhyme contact in the “Shu du fu” that is confined to Shu writers appears in the following sequence of 東部 and 陽部 rhymes:

10  Qian Xizuo (“Guwen yuan jiaokan ji,” 6b) claims Zhang Qiao arbitrarily supplied 臘. However, the Sibu congkan edition (4.12b) of Guwen yuan reads 冬. 11  See the examples in Luo and Zhou, Han Wei Jin Nanbeichao yunbu yanbian yanjiu, 179 and in Coblin, “The Finals of Yang Xiong’s Language,” 38–39.



a Problematic Fu of the Western Han

絕限㟍嵣， 堪巖亶翔。 靈山揭其右， 離堆被其東。

陽部 陽部 東部

51

*dâŋ *ziaŋ *toŋ

This feature is also found in the “Shengzhu de xianchen song” 聖主得賢臣頌 of Wang Bao.12 The following rhyme contacts between 歌部 and 支部 are also found only in other pieces by Yang Xiong and the Shu writers Sima Xiangru and Wang Bao:13 龍陽累峗。 漼粲交倚， 𡹐崪崛崎， 集嶮脇施， 形精出偈， 堪𡽊隱倚。 彭門嶋㟅， 𡶭嵃嵑㞹， 方彼碑池， 𡸗𡶐輵𡽖，

歌部 *wai 歌部 *gai 歌部 *gɨai 歌部 *śai 歌部 *gai

歌部 *khai 支部

*gɛ

An even more compelling set of rhyming data that may support the claim of Yang Xiong as author of the “Shu du fu” is the following: 尒乃其人， 自造奇錦， 紌繏𦃄䋶， 縿緣盧中， 發文揚采， 轉代無窮。 其布則細都弱折， 綿繭成衽。 阿麗纖靡， 避晏與陰。 蜘蛛作絲， 不可見風。 筩中黃潤， 一端數金。 雕鏤釦器， 百伎千工。

侵部 冬部 冬部 侵部 侵部 侵部 侵部 東部

*kɨm *ṭuŋ guŋ

*ńim *ʔɨm

*puəm *kɨm *koŋ

Luo and Zhou list 侵部 (final *–m) and 冬部 (final *-ng) cross-rhymes in Sima Xiangru and Wang Bao. They also list examples from Yang Xiong’s Taixuan jing.14 Coblin and Williams list cross-rhymes between these two rhyme groups from the Taixuan jing, rhyme data that Luo and Zhou did not record.15 However, Williams dismisses the Taixuan jing data on the grounds that “there are no contacts between *-m and *-ng in any of Yang Xiong’s fu 12  See Luo and Zhou, Han Wei Jin Nanbeichao yunbu yanbian yanjiu, 179.

13  See Luo and Zhou, Han Wei Jin Nanbeichao yunbu yanbian yanjiu, 156. 14  See Han Wei Jin Nanbeichao yunbu yanbian yanjiu, 88, 216.

15  See “The Finals of Yang Xiong’s Language,” 12; and Williams, “The Half-life of Half-rhyme,” 30–31.

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compositions.”16 If one considers the “Shu du fu” a genuine Yang Xiong work, the rhyme sequence cited above provides evidence of such contacts from Yang Xiong’s fu corpus. I believe there is enough evidence to support the traditional attribution of the “Shu du fu” to Yang Xiong. His rhyming practice, even more informal than one finds in his capital fu pieces, perhaps is an indication that he wrote the “Shu du fu” while he was living in Shu, when he was still honing his skills and before he was exposed to the “standard” language of the Central Plain. Yang Xiong mentions while in Shu he composed four rhymed compositions that a compatriot from Shu named Yang Zhuang 楊莊 recited to Emperor Cheng, who was so impressed by their resemblance to the style of Sima Xiangru that he granted Yang Xiong an audience at the court in Chang’an. Three of the pieces are inscriptions on sites in Chengdu: “Xian di ming” 縣邸銘 (Inscription on the county official lodge), “Jie ta ming” 階闥銘 (Inscription on a staircase and inner gate), and “Chengdu cheng siyu ming” 成都城四隅銘 (Inscription on the four corners of the Chengdu city wall).17 Yang Xiong is also credited with the “Mianzhu song” 綿竹頌 (Ode on Mianzhu), which presumably was a tribute to the city of Mianzhu (north of modern Deyang 德陽, Sichuan), already a prominent city in Guanghan 廣漢 commandery located northeast of Chengdu.18 These pieces are all lost, but are good evidence of Yang Xiong’s bona fides as a writer of rhymed compositions about Shu. He may indeed have attempted to emulate Sima Xiangru, who is credited with a now lost “Zitong shan fu” 梓桐山賦 (Fu on Zitong Mountain), which he wrote about Zitong 梓潼 Mountain, also in Guanghan commandery.19 The “Shu du fu” could have been a grander composition that Yang Xiong wrote at the same time as a tribute to his home area.20 It might have even been preserved in the Shu area, and later transmitted in Yang Xiong’s collected works. I have divided the “Shu du fu” into nine sections, each designated with a Roman numeral. Section I begins by referring to the ancient name by which the Shu area was known, Liangzhou 梁州, one of the nine provinces reputedly established by the Great Yu in the Xia period. Yang also mentions its astronomical coordinate of Jing 井 (Well), which technically was the astral field that corresponded to the state of Qin. However, before the Han period, Shu was conquered by Qin, and perhaps that is why Yang Xiong gives it this astral designation. Yang Xiong continues by enumerating prominent places in the Shu region. He follows the standard solar-cycle order of the four directions: east, south, west, and north. In the east, he mentions the Shu brine pits that produced natural gas, gemstones, the famous Qiong bamboo, and Shu beaked sturgeon. In the south, he tells of the different 16  See “The Half-life of Half-rhyme,” 30.

17  See Guwen yuan (Sibu congkan), 10.7a/b.

18  This piece is mentioned in the Wen xuan commentary of Li Zhouhan 李周翰. See Liuchen zhu Wen xuan (Sibu congkan), 7.1b. 19  See Bi Shuchun, “Sima Xiangru Ba Shu xingji kaolun.”

20  Liu Yuejin 劉躍進 dates the “Shu du fu” to 33 bce over twenty years before Yang Xiong moved to Chang’an. See Qin Han wenxue biannian shi, 257. Lu Kanru 路侃如 dates it to 14 bce, two years before Yang Xiong departed for Chang’an. See Zhonggu wenxue xinian, 8. Wu Mingxian 吴明賢 suggests Yang Xiong wrote the “Shu du fu” between 15 and 14 bce, and speculates that the “Shu du fu” was one of the compositions in the style of Sima Xiangru that impressed Emperor Cheng. See Wu, “Yang Xiong Zuo Si ‘Shu du fu’ bijiao.”



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non-Han peoples that occupied areas as far south as modern Guangxi and Yunnan, along with a number of gems and minerals. For the west, he refers to its importance in salt and iron production, as well as its citrus fruits and copper. Finally, in the north, Yang singles out the Min Mountains, the land of the Qiang and other tribes. He ends the first section with a catalogue of animals, including a number of simians. Section II begins with a long epideictic description of the mountains, described with numerous alliterative and rhyming binomes. There then follows a detailed account of the waterways, including the famous Dujiang River 都江. As in the mountain section, Yang portrays the rushing waters with a series of descriptive binomes. Section III is a long catalogue of trees, including a separate section on bamboos, for which Shu was renowned. After listing some water plants, Yang Xiong mentions the names of nine birds that lived in the waters. He ends this section with a catalogue of aquatic animals, reptiles, shellfish, and eels. In Section IV, Yang Xiong turns his attention to the city of Chengdu. He first mentions its eighteen gates, four hundred wards, and nine bridges, all of which are well attested in historical sources. He then provides a history of the kings who ruled the area in remote antiquity followed by an account of the clans who emigrated to Shu during the Qin and Han. He ends this section with a list of local products. Section V, which is quite brief, is a catalogue of fruit trees and plants. It includes the famous Shu pipa 枇杷 (loquat) and lizhi 離支 (lychee) as well as another type of orange (cheng). In Section VI, also quite short, and perhaps best combined with Section V, Yang Xiong enumerates the alimentary plants that grow in the Shu area. They include ginger, cape jasmine (zhi 梔), betel pepper, and two types of Sichuan pepper, mu ai 木艾 (Zanthoxylum ailanthoides, commonly called “Vietnam pepper”) and jiao 椒 (Zanthoxylum simulans, fagara). He ends the section by comparing the lush vegetation to “waving brocade and outspread embroidery.” The reference to brocade and embroidery makes a neat transition to Section VII, which is devoted mainly to providing an account of Shu brocades. As I mentioned above, some of the names of fabrics are not otherwise known. In this section, Yang Xiong portrays Chengdu as a commercial hub where merchants from as far as Qi (Shandong) and Chu (Hunan and Hubei) gather to sell and purchase goods. Yang gives an especially vivid description of haggling in the marketplaces. Section VIII tells of the seasonal rituals and ceremonies that involve sacrificial offerings followed by a grand feast. Yang Xiong here enumerates the various foods on which the celebrants dine: puffer fish (Japanese fugu), pigs raised in an ultra-hygienic chamber, deer that had never been in the marketplace, leopard fetus, the brains of roe deer, and newly hatched birds. In the concluding lines, Yang mentions the salubrious qualities of these foods that “can refine the spirit and nurture the blood.” In the final section, Yang provides an account of the activities of the elite families of Chengdu. He describes their outings on the river, and their banquets in grand halls, which are lavishly decorated. He also recounts the story of the famous legendary Shu ruler, Duyu 杜宇, whose regnal name was Wangdi 望帝. Wangdi eventually abdicated to a man from the Chu area named Bieling 鼈靈, who had died in his home area but came

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back to life after his corpse traveled to Shu. Yang Xiong describes a musical program performed by female singers and dancers, as well as a boat race. He ends the fu with a brief account of the spectators watching fishermen hauling in a large catch, and archers shooting down birds with corded arrows. In the final lines, we learn that the flesh of the birds is turned into meat pickles, and the flesh of fish is mashed into mincemeat. Unlike Yang Xiong’s later fu compositions, the “Shu du fu” does not have a didactic ending. The final line reads “Only when all of the viands are consumed does everyone part for home.” This is of course assuming that the received version is complete, for it is possible that the “finale,” if there was one, has not been preserved. The piece also lacks the subtle “moral suasions” (feng 風) found in the four fu compositions Yang wrote at the court of Emperor Cheng.21 If Yang Xiong wrote this piece in Shu, he would have no reason to insert moral reprimands into a piece devoted to celebrating the attractions of his homeland. The lack of a didactic conclusion might have been one reason the “Shu du fu” was not included in the Han shu or the prestigious Wen xuan anthology.22 As I mentioned at the start of this chapter, the “Shu du fu” is an example of the epideictic fu. In this piece Yang Xiong shows that before he went to Chang’an he had mastered the epideictic style for which his Shu compatriot Sima Xiangru won acclaim during the Emperor Wu era. Although there is scant data about fu composition in Shu during the Former Han period, the fact that this area produced three of the most distinguished fu writers, Sima Xiangru, Wang Bao, and Yang Xiong, might allow one to speculate that Shu may have been an important centre of fu writing from at least the time of Sima Xiangru if not before. In order to compose a long epideictic fu such as the “Shu du fu,” a poet had to be well versed in a variety of subjects including history, geography, music, dance, botany, zoology, ornithology, ichthyology, mineralogy, astronomy, and even gastronomy. Above all, an epideictic poet had to be a verbal virtuoso, for the epideictic style is mainly defined by the poet’s extensive use of rare words, especially rhyming and alliterative binomes. This skill required a solid knowledge of what in Han times was called xungu 訓詁, “glosses on words.” Yang Xiong received instruction in xungu from an early age from two Shu scholars, Yan Junping 嚴君平 (fl. 34 bce), also known as Yan Zun 嚴遵, Zhuang Zun 莊尊, and Linlü Wengru 林閭翁孺. As mentioned earlier, the “Shu du fu” is an example of the epideictic fu. I first used the term epideictic to designate what is usually called the dafu 大賦 in my 1968 dissertation on Yang Xiong. A common type of literary definition in ancient China was the paronomastic gloss, which involved explaining the meaning of a word with the use of a synonymous homophone. Several Han-time commentaries and lexicons equate fu 賦 (LHan *puɑC) with homophones that basically have the same meaning, ‘to spread out’ or ‘to display’: fu 敷 (LHan *phua), bu 布 (LHan *paC), and pu 鋪 (LHan *phua).23 Thus, 21  For Yang Xiong’s use of the device of feng (moral suasion, indirect criticism) see Knechtges, The Han Rhapsody, 54–57, 75–77, 79–80, 85–88. 22  I must credit Professor Ronald Egan for this suggestion.

23  For a thorough discussion of fu in the sense of puchen, see Nakajima, Fu no seiritsu to tenkai, 16–31.



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the Shi ming 釋名 (Terms explained), a lexicon compiled about 200 CE, defines fu as to “spread out and display one’s meaning” 敷布其義.24 The Chu ci commentator Wang Yi 王逸 (fl. 125 CE) explains fu in the combination fu shi 賦詩 as pu 鋪 or puchen 鋪 陳, “to display.”25 Six Dynasties critics were especially partial to this interpretation. For example, Liu Xie 劉勰 (ca. 465 ca. 522), whose chapter Quan fu 詮賦 (Elucidating the fu) in the Wenxin diaolong 文心雕龍 is the most detailed early history of the fu, singles out display as the primary meaning of the word: Fu means “to display” (pu): To display ornament and exhibit refinement, To embody an object and express feeling.

賦者鋪也： 鋪采摛文， 物體寫志也。26

In my doctoral dissertation, I called attention to the similarity between puchen and the Greek word epideixis, which also means “display.” Epideictic was a common type of ancient Greek (genos epideiktikon) and Latin (genus demonstrativum) rhetorical writing.27 Although it was primarily a panegyrical form, one of its primary features was verbal display. Plato designated ornate, sophistic speech as epideitikē teknnē, the “art of display.”28 Writing in 1902, Theodore C. Burgess explained that epideictic in its widest sense is “a style of prose in which ornateness is introduced in a conscious effort to please.”29 An epideictic speech in its more technical sense was regarded among earlier rhetoricians as one whose sole or chief purpose was display, thus agreeing with the derivation of the word “epideictic.” The hearer is to gain pleasure, if not information. The style is the most distinctive feature. . . . A tendency to ornament of every kind is fostered. . . . “A pomp and prodigality of words,” well-balanced periods, a style half-poetic, half oratorical, are the qualities that are most desired.30

What Burgess says here about ancient Greek and Latin epideictic poetry closely approximates the fu epideictic form, distinguished for its ornate style and blending of rhymed and unrhymed lines. By the first century bce, learning and scholarship were highly developed in Shu. The high level of culture in this region is often attributed to the efforts of Wen Weng 文翁, who became governor of Shu around 158 bce. According to Ban Gu, Wen was concerned about the low state of Shu culture and morals, and as a first step toward improving this situation, he sent a group of talented young men to the capital to receive instruction from boshi 博士 (professors, academicians) at the imperial court.31 When the Shu students completed their studies in Chang’an, they returned to Shu where they were given official 24  See Ren, Shi ming huijiao, 6.340. 25  See Chuci buzhu 4.157.

26  See Wenxin diaolong, 2.13a.

27  For ancient Western epideictic rhetoric, see Walker, Rhetoric and Poetics in Antiquity, 7–16. 28  See Pernot, Epideictic Rhetoric, 3–4. 29  Burgess, Epideictic Literature, 215.

30  Burgess, Epideictic Literature, 93–94.

31  For his biography, see Han shu 89.3625–27. For translations, see Biot, Essai sur l’histoire de l’instruction publique en Chine, 121–24; Shryock, The Origin of the State Cult of Confucius, 68; and

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positions; Wen Weng also founded a xueguan 學官 or “school for officials” in Chengdu, attended by officials from the Chengdu area. After finishing their course of study, these students were sent into remote areas of the province to educate people in “morals and laws.” The Han shu monograph on geography describes the effect of Wen’s policies: During the reigns of Emperor Jing and Emperor Wu, Wen Weng served as governor of Shu. He taught the people oral reading of texts, laws, and ordinances. But they were not firmly committed to moral principles, and on the contrary using the medium of writing they engaged in criticizing and ridicule, and they honoured and admired authority and power. When Sima Xiangru traveled to the capital and [the state of] the vassal lord [=Liu Wu, King of Liang] to serve as an official, he attained prominence by means of his belles lettres, and people in his home area wished to follow in his footsteps. Later, the writings of men such as Wang Bao, Yan Zun, and Yang Xiong were the crown of the realm. Wen Weng led the education, and Sima Xiangru became the master.32

Although some scholars have suggested that Ban Gu overstated Wen Weng’s influence on education,33 the fact that Shu natives such as Sima Xiangru, Wang Bao, and Yang Xiong became distinguished writers at the imperial court is testimony to the high level of learning in Shu during this period.34 As mentioned above, Yang Xiong received instruction in xungu from Yan Junping and Linlü Wengru. Yan Junping is the better known of the two scholars. For much of his life, he earned his living as a diviner in the Chengdu marketplace.35 He was a broadly learned scholar known for his studies of the Zhou yi,36 Laozi, and Zhuangzi.37 There are several variants for the name of Linlü Wengru; Linlü is likely a bisyllabic surname. However, the Huayang guozhi give his name as Lin Lü 林閭, zi Gongru 公孺, identifies his natal home as Linqiong 臨邛 (modern Qionglai, Sichuan), and mentions he was “skilled in ancient learning.”38 Yang Xiong in a letter to Liu Xin writes the following about his experience studying with these two scholars: Jablonski, “Wen Wong,” 135–40. For studies, see Farmer, “Art, Education, and Power”; and Fang, “Wen Weng hua Shu dui Ruxue chuanbo de tuidong yiyi.” 32  See Han shu, 59.3625–27.

33  The claim that Sima Xiangru studied with Wen Weng is especially questionable. See Hervouet, Un Poète de cour sur les Han, 17–18; and Fang, “Dui Sima Xiangru chengming yu Wen Weng hua Shu guanxi de zairenshi.” Thomas Lee even suggests that Wen Weng, which literally means “cultured elder,” is not a real name, but rather “the much celebrated mythical founder of the Ch’eng-tu local school in the early Han whose name by the second century c.e. had been lost.” See Education in Traditional China, 52n10. The distinguished Sichuan scholar Meng Wentong 蒙文通 (1894–1968) writes: “When Sima Xiangru was young, Wen Weng had not yet established a school in Shu, and based on Sima Xiangru’s writings, one can see that his language is mostly based on the Six Classics. Thus, we know that before Wen Weng established a school in Shu, the study of the Six Classics had already been transmitted to Shu.” See Meng, 31. 34  For a balanced account of Shu scholarship during the Western Han see Farmer, The Talent of Shu, 9–14. See also Wang, “Liang Han Shu xue kao xumu.” 35  See Han shu, 72.3056.

36  For Yan Junping’s scholarship on the Zhou yi, see Jin, Han Tang Ba Shu Yixue yanjiu, 66–75.

37  For Yan Junping’s Taoist writings, see Vervoorn, “Zhuang Zun: A Daoist Philosopher of the Late First Century B.C.”; Chan, “The Essential Meaning of the Way and Virtue.” 38  See Ren, Huayang guozhi jiaobu tuzhu, 10A.533.



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When I was young, I did not follow the chapter-and-verse commentaries, even in the places where glosses on the Five Classics made no explications. I had heard that the writings presented and recorded by the Light Carriage envoys of former dynasties were all stored in chambers of the Zhou and Qin. When those halls were destroyed, the documents became lost and discarded so that no one saw them. There were only men of Shu, Yan Junping and Linlü Wengru of Linqiong, who being profoundly fond of glosses on words still had seen the words presented by the Light Carriages envoys. Wengru and I were kinsmen who were related on my maternal grandparents’ side of the family. Moreover, Junping, overlooking my faults, provided me with the opportunity to meet with him privately. During my youth when I associated with him Junping just had a thousand words. Wengru had in rough form a method for making a general outline. Wengru died several years ago, and his wife née Zhang of Shu went away because she had no offspring.39

The linguistic data that Yang Xiong’s teachers gave him were the basis of his lexicon commonly titled Fangyan 方言.40 Yang Xiong also compiled another lexicon, the Xun zuan pian 訓纂篇, a Chinese synonymicon that is a list of words arranged by category.41 Only fragments of this work have survived.42 Sima Xiangru is also attributed with a synonymicon titled Fan jiang pian 凡將篇, which only survives in fragments.43 One long entry contains a list of plant names that is rhymed and is similar to the plant catalogues that are common in the epideictic fu: 烏喙、桔梗、芫華， 款冬、貝母、木蘖、蔞， 芩草、芍藥、桂、漏蘆， 蜚廉、雚菌、荈詫， 白歛、白芷、菖蒲， 芒消、莞椒、茱萸。

魚部 侯部 魚部 鐸部 魚部 侯部

Aconite, balloon flower, lilac daphne, Coltsfoot, fritillary, munie, betel pepper, Waterdrop, peony, cinnamon, globe thistle, Welted thistle, reed polypore, tea, Ampelopsis, angelica, calamus, Natrii sulfas, prickly ash, evodia.44

LHan *ɤua LHan *lio, lo LHan *lɑ LHan *bɑ LHan *jo

Another entry is a seven-syllable line that mentions the famous Shu fabric known as huangrun 黃潤 which Yang Xiong mentions in the “Shu du fu”: “Yellow Sheen, delicate and beautiful, is suitable for making trousers” 黃潤纖美宜制褌.45 Thus, there is a clear connection between mastery of xungu, compilation of synonymicons, and fu composi39  See Qian, ed. and comm., Fangyan jianshu, 13.32a/b.

40  See Knechtges, “The Liu Hsin/Yang Hsiung Correspondence on the Fang Yen.” For a Chinese version of this article, see Handai gongting wenxue yu wenhua zhi tanwei, trans. Su Jui-lung, 119–31.

41  On these works, see the study by the Austrian Sinologist Artur von Rosthorn (1862–1945): “Das Er-ya und andere Synonymiken.” 42  See Ma, Yuhan shanfang ji yishu, 60.598–99. 43  See Ma, Yuhan shanfang ji yishu, 60.587–88.

44  This passage is preserved in Lu Yu 陸羽 (733–804), Cha jing, B.6b–7a.

45  Cited in Wen xuan, 4.185, Liu Kui’s commentary.

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tion.46 The epideictic fu is similar to what Ernst Robert Curtius called the “lexical poetry” or “versified lexicography” in medieval European Latin literature in which “the poet writes verses in order to bring in rare words recorded by glossographers.”47 As early as the Qing dynasty, Yuan Mei 袁枚 (1716–1798) suggested the fu was a forerunner of the leishu 類書, which was a compendium of phrases arranged by category: In antiquity there were no commonplace books arranged by category, no gazetteers, and no dictionaries. Thus, in the “Fu on the Three Capitals” and the “Fu on the Two Metropolises,” when speaking of trees, it lists a certain number of them, and when speaking of birds, it lists a certain number of them. The authors had to rely on searching through a large number of texts, and gathering a broad array of information on local mores and products before they could complete their compositions. . . . The reason that paper in Luoyang was so expensive was simply because every household kept a copy [of Zuo Si’s fu], which took the place of a commonplace book and local gazetteer.48

Xu Jie 許結 has written a detailed study on the relationship between the Han fu and the leishu.49 One feature they share is what Xu Jie calls bilei 比類 “juxtaposing objects in categories.” In the fifth century Liu Xie remarked that Sima Xiangru’s “Shanglin fu” achieved beauty because of its profusion of things “grouped by category” 繁類以成艷.50 Yang Xiong also mentions that the process of writing a fu involves arranging the composition by “setting forth things by category,” He writes: “[The fu writer] must speak by setting forth things by category. He uses the most luxuriant and ornate language, grossly exaggerates and greatly amplifies, striving to make it such that another person cannot add anything to it” 必推類而言。極麗靡之辭，閎侈鉅衍，競於使人不能加也.51 Here Yang Xiong calls attention to the full and overflowing quality of the fu, both in terms of its style and content. His statement that one should fill up the composition with catalogues of names and a profusion of words to the point that no one could think of anything else is a reflection of what I have called the “aesthetic of the large” that informed the epideictic fu.52 As I have shown above, the “Shu du fu” is replete with difficult words, many of which are hapax legomena. Even Ma Lian, who has done the most thorough study of the language of Yang Xiong’s fu, provides scant information about many of these rare words.53 The “Shu du fu” also makes extensive use of catalogues. He has lists of trees, bamboos, water plants, birds, aquatic and arboreal creatures, fruit, food, plants and animals, and fabrics. His lists even contain Shu words such as shimeng 石䲛 “beaked sturgeon” and 46  For a lucid discussion of the relationship between Han lexicons and fu writing in the Han, see Wan, Han fu tonglun (Zengding ben), 396–405. For the way in which young men were taught script in the Han and its relationship with fu composition, see Kong, “Lun Qindai ‘dao bi li’ dui Han fu chuangzuo de yingxiang.” 47  Curtius, European Literature and the Latin Middle Ages, 135. 48  Suiyuan shihua, 1.7.

49  See Xu, “Lun Han fu ‘leishu shuo’ ji qi wenxue shi yiyi.” 50  See Wenxin diaolong, 2.14b. 51  See Han shu, 87B.3575.

52  See Knechtges, “‘Have You Not Seen the Beauty of the Large?’”

53  Ma discusses in detail sixteen “problematic words” in Yang Xiong ji cihui yanjiu, 191–216.



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mu ai木艾, a variety of Zanthoxylum for which Sichuan is renowned. Here is the list of alimentary plants along with one alcoholic beverage: And then there are the five cereals growing rife and rich, Melons and gourds in bountiful supply. The fields are planted with hemp placed in distinct plots, Everywhere one finds ginger and cape jasmine, Aconite and garlic, Prickly ash, fagara, lovage, Black pepper, and “fermented clear,” Numerous offerings are stored here. In the peak of winter bamboo shoots grow here. Among the old vegetables there is also eggplant. 尒乃五穀馮戎， 瓜瓠饒多。 卉以部麻, 往往薑梔， 附子巨蒜， 木艾椒蘺， 藹醬酴清。 衆獻儲斯。 盛冬育荀， 舊菜增伽。

歌部 支部 歌部 支部 歌部

Verse catalogues of this kind are usually rhymed (I have noted the rhyme category in the Chinese text above) and follow a consistent metrical pattern, and are well suited to the fu, which in the Western Han was often chanted before an audience.54 We do not know if the “Shu du fu” was composed for oral performance. However, in his letter to Liu Xin, Yang Xiong mentions that other compositions he composed while in Shu were recited at the imperial court: I had previously composed “Inscription on the County Official Lodge,” “Eulogy for Wang Er,” “Inscription on a Staircase and Inner Gate,” and “Inscription on the Four Corners of the Chengdu City Wall.” A man from Shu named Yang Zhuang, who was serving as [attendant] gentleman, recited them to Emperor Cheng. Emperor Cheng liked them, and considered they resembled the style of Sima Xiangru. I subsequently because of this obtained an informal reception by the emperor.55 先作《縣邸銘》、《王佴頌》、《階闥銘》、《成都城四隅銘》，蜀人有楊莊者爲 郎，誦之於成帝，成帝好之，以爲似相如，雄遂以此得外見。

What we learn from the passage cited above is that Yang Zhuang was skilled in fu recitation, a skill he presumably learned in his natal Shu. Thus, one might speculate that he composed the “Shu du fu” for a performance in Chengdu. At the end of the piece, Yang mentions gatherings hosted by distinguished clans of the Shu area: The Hou, Luo, Sima, Guo, Fan, Lei, and Yang clans Host banquets in leisure dwellings on rivulets and streams,

54  On fu recitation in the Han, see Wan, Han fu tonglun, 405–18.

55  Guwen yuan (Sibu congkan), 10.7a/b.

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And set places to sit in a tall resplendent hal. 侯羅司馬，郭范畾楊， 置酒乎榮川之閒宅，設坐乎華都之高堂。

Perhaps Yang Xiong wrote the “Shu du fu” for one of these occasions. I conclude this chapter with an annotated translation of the “Shu du fu.”56

Fu on the Shu Capital

I The land of the Shu capital Anciently was called Liangzhou.57 Yu tamed its rivers,58 Level embankments stretch as far as one can see.59 Lush in greenish verdure, Fertile fields extend for a thousand leagues. If above one examines the degrees of Qian, One finds this is where the Well Network stores its essence.60 If below one follows the guidelines of earth, One finds this is where the Kun palace fixes its position.61 To the east are Ba and Cong,62

56  In addition to the baihua translations of Fei and Ye mentioned in note 37, there is a Japanese translation by Kase, “Yō Yū ‘Shoku to no fu’ yakuchū.”

57  Liangzhou 梁州 was one of the nine provinces that the Great Yu 禹 reputedly established in the Xia dynasty. According to the “Yu gong” 禹貢 (Tribute of Yu) in the Shang shu, Liangzhou encompassed the area between “south of Mt. Hua 華陽 and the Hei River 黒水.” See Shang shu zhengyi, ed. Huang, 6.218. Mt. Hua is located south of modern Huayin 華陰, Shaanxi. Scholars have variously identified the Hei River. For a detailed summary, see Gu and Liu, Shang shu jiaoshi yilun, 2:680–713. The area of Liangzhou extended from modern southern Shaanxi and into Sichuan. 58  This line probably refers to Yu’s creating channels for the Tuo 沱, Qian 潛, and Yangtze rivers. See Shang shu zhengyi, 6.219, 234.

59  Ting 渟 has the meaning “accumulated waters.” See Shi ji, 87.2553: the Second Qin Emperor said to the minister Li Si 李斯: “Yu bored through Longmen, opened up Daxia, dredged the Nine Rivers, at each bend of the Yellow River made a dike for a total of nine, and he released the accumulated waters which he led to the sea” 禹鑿龍門，通大夏，疏九河，曲九防， [六]【正義】謂河之九曲，別為隄防。決 渟水，致之海. However, the phrase tinggao 亭臯 occurs in Sima Xiangru’s “Shanglin fu” 上林賦 in the sense of “level embankment.” See Wang Xianqian 王先謙 (1842–1918), Han shu buzhu, 4106–7n12.

60  Qian 乾 is the trigram or hexagram that stands for heaven. The Well (Jing 井) constellation (Gemini) was the astral field that corresponded to the territory of the state of Qin to which Shu belonged. The Han-period weft text He tu kuo di xiang 河圖括地象 (River diagram: Images that enclose the earth) says “the spiritual essence of the Min Mountains ascended to become the Well Network”; see Wen xuan (Shanghai guji chubanshe edition), 4.189, Li Shan’s commentary. Chang Qu 常璩 (ca. 291–ca. 361) cites the same text in his gazetteer of Shu, the Huayang guozhi 華陽國 志 (Record of the states south of Mt. Hua). See Liu, ed. and comm., Huayang guozhi jiaozhu, 3.175.

61  The Kun palace (Kun gong 巛/坤 宮) in the Yi jing weft text tradition is considered to correspond to the southwest, which is the geographical location of Shu. For example, the Yi wei Qian zuo du 易 緯乾鑿度 reads: “Kun nurtures things in the southwest, and its position is in the sixth month.” See Zhao, Qi wei, 32. 62  The Ba was the name of a state and ethnic group that occupied eastern Sichuan and western



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Extending throughout are the Bai Pu.63 At Tongliang and Jintang,64 Are fire wells and dragon pools.65

Within this area there are: Jadelike stones, peaked and pointed,66 Cinnabar and azurite, bright and translucent,67 Walking stick bamboo,68 lady palm,69 Hubei. Zhou kings reputedly granted the title of zi 子 ‘viscount’ to Ba leaders. During the Qin and Han, it was made a commandery. On the early Ba culture, see Sage, Ancient Sichuan, 53–60. The Cong 賨 was a tribal group that lived in the Ba area along the Yu 渝 River (modern Jialing 嘉陵 River). They were known as fierce fighters. Liu, ed. and comm., Huayang guozhi jiaozhu, 1.37; Tong, Gudai de Ba Shu, 44–46.

63  Bai Pu 百濮 is a loose designation for a widely dispersed group of peoples of Mon-Khmer ethnicity that lived in the area of the Han commandery of Yongchang 永昌 (modern western Yunnan). See You, Zhongguo xinan de gudai minzu, 57–59; and Tong, Gudai de Ba Shu, 43–44.

64  Tongliang 銅良 is a mountain south of the Tang-dynasty county of Hechuan 合川 (modern Chongqing Municipality). See Li, Yuanhe jun xian tuzhi, 33.856. Jintang is 金堂 is a mountain south of the Tang county of Jintang (modern northeastern Chengdu, Sichuan). See Li, Yuanhe jun xian tuzhi, 31.779.

65  The fire wells are brine pits from which natural gas was obtained. According to the Bowu ji 博 物記 (Notes on the investigation of things) by Tang Meng 唐蒙 (fl. 190), there were many of these wells located one hundred li south of Linqiong 臨邛 (modern Qionglai邛崃, Sichuan). See Hou Han shu, “Zhi,” 23.3509; and Tong, Gudai de Ba Shu, 161. On the salt industry in the Han, see Zhang and Zhang, “Guanyu Linqiong Pujiang de yanye lishi.” Zhang Zhenze (Yang Xiong fu jiaozhu 4n10) says Long qiu 龍湫is the same as Long chi 龍池, the name of a pool mentioned in Zuo Si’s “Shu du fu”: “Dragon Pool, gurgling and frothing” 龍池滈瀑. The commentator Liu Kui 劉逵 (fl. 295) locates Long chi ten li south of Shushi 朱提 (near modern Zhaotong 昭通, Yunnan). See Wen xuan, 4.176. However, this location seems far removed from the area mentioned in Yang Xiong’s fu.

66  This line is virtually identical to a line in Yang Xiong’s “Jiao lie fu” 校獵賦 (Fu on the barricade hunt) (Wen xuan, 8.396): “Jadelike stones are peaked and pointed” 玉石嶜崟. The word qíncén 嶜岑 (LHan *khɨm tshɨm) is a rhyming binome. 67  Dan 丹 is dansha 丹砂 (cinnabar), and qing 青 is qinghuo 青雘 (azurite).

68  Qiong jie 邛節, literally “bamboo nodes of Qiong,” is Qiongzhu 邛竹, Qiongzhuea tumidissinoda Hsueh & Yi, or “walking stick bamboo.” It was known for its protruding nodes. Its culms were used for making walking sticks. Scholars have variously identified the location of Qiong. Liu Kui in his commentary to Zuo Si, “Shu du fu” (Wen xuan, 4.177) writes: “The Qiong bamboo comes from the area south of the Pan River in Xinggu. The bamboo has a solid core and protruding nodes, and can be made into staves.” Xinggu 興古 was a commandery the administrative seat of which was located south of modern Qiubei 丘北 in southeastern Yunnan. The Pan River 盤江 is the modern Nanpan River 南盤江. Qiong is also interpreted as referring to the area of Qiongdu 邛都, a Han county located southeast of modern Xichang 西昌, Sichuan, and Qionglai Mountain 邛崍山, located southwest of modern Rongjing 榮經, Sichuan. There is considerable scholarly literature on Qiongzhu. See Laufer, Sino-Iranica, 535–37; Hagerty, “Tai K’ai-chih’s Chu-p’u,” 395, 403–5; Sang, “Shu bu Qiongzhu chuan zhi Daxia lujing de lice”; Ren, “Shu bu Qiongzhu zhang ru Daxia kao”, in Ren, ed. and comm., Huayang guozhi jiaobu tuzhu, 323–28; Xiao, “Zhang Qian Daxia suojian Qiongzhu zhang ji lingshou zhi mu kao”; Kudō, “Shokufu to kyōchikujō”; and He, “Qiongzhu zhang zhi chandi xinshuo.” 69  Liu Kui in his commentary to Zuo Si’s “Shu du fu” (Wen xuan, 4.179) identifies taozhi 桃枝 as a type of bamboo that grew in the area of Dianjiang 墊江, which is modern Hechuan 合川 in Chongqing. According to the Zhu pu 竹譜 of Dai Kaizhi 戴凱之 (fifth century), taozhi 桃枝was a

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Lithic sturgeons, aquatic wiverns.70

To the south there are Qian, Zang, and the tribes of Qian,71 In Kunming and Emei.72 To the extreme limits in Langtang,73 type of bamboo with a red cortex that was used to make mats. However, Dai Kaizhi also mentions that taozhi may refer not to bamboo but another tree, which he does not identify. Fang Yizhi 方 以智 (1611–1671) suggests that taozhi also refers to the tree known as taozhu 桃竹. See Tong ya, 42.26b–27b. This was used for making walking sticks. Du Fu 杜甫 wrote a poem about it titled “Taozhu zhang yin” 桃竹杖引 (Ditty on the lady palm walking sticks). See Qiu, ed. and comm., Du shi xiangzhu, 12.1063–64. For a translation see Owen, The Poetry of Du Fu, 3:295–96. Owen renders this as “peach bamboo.” The taozhu of Sichuan is most likely what is commonly called zongzhu 棕竹 or zonglü zhu 棕櫚竹, which is not a bamboo but Rhapis excelsa, lady palm. See Li, Zhu pu, 10.1b–2a.

70  The shimeng 石䲛 is probably the same as gengmeng 䱎䲛, which is a Shu name for wei 鮪, “beaked sturgeon.” See Wen xuan, 8.364, commentary of Li Qi 李奇 (late Eastern Han).

71  Qian and Zang refer to two prominent commanderies, Qianwei 犍為 and Zangke 牂牁/柯. Qianwei was established as a commandery in 135 bce with its administrative seat at Bie 鄨 county (modern west of modern Zunyi 遵義, Guizhou). In 130 bce the administrative seat was moved to Nanguang 南廣 (modern Yunlin 筠連, Sichuan). In 86 bce the administrative seat was transferred to Bodao 僰道 (modern southwest of modern Yibin 宜賓, Sichuan). See Ren, ed. and comm., Huayang guozhi jiaobu tuzhi, 3.172–74. Its territory corresponded to modern Dazu 大 足 and Hejiang 合江, Sichuan, Guizhou west of Suiyang 綏陽, Guizhou north of Jinsha金沙, and Yunnan north of Huize 會澤, the lower reaches of the Jinsha and Dadu 大渡 rivers, east of the lower reaches of the Min 岷 River, Sichuan south of Xinjin 新津, and Jianyang 簡陽. Zangke, which was established as a commandery in 111 bce, was the territory of the Yelang 夜郎 and Julan 且 蘭 people. See Ren, ed. and comm. Huayang guozhi jiaobu tuzhi, 4.259–67. On Yelang, see Wade, “The Polity of Yelang (夜郎) and the Origins of the Name China.” The area corresponded to most of modern Guizhou, northeastern Guangxi, and eastern Yunnan. Qian 潜is the Qian River, also known as the Dangqu 宕渠 River, which corresponds to the modern Qu River 渠江 and Upper Nanjiang 上 南江 of eastern Sichuan. The “Yu gong” refers to tribes of this area: “The Tuo and Qian rivers Yu led into their courses, the Cai and Meng mountains he laid out, and in the region of the He Tribes he completed his feats.” See Shang shu zhengyi, ed. Huang, 6.229. The area of Dangqu (modern Qu 渠 county, eastern Sichuan) was the reputed home of the Ba state of Cong 賨. See Liu, Huayang guozhi jiaozhu, 1. 99, n. 1. For a detailed study of the Cong, see Wang, “Congren yu Congguo—Dangqu lishi wenhua sanlun.”

72  Kunming 昆明, also written Kun 昆 and Kunmi 昆彌, is the name of a group of largely nomadic peoples who lived in an area east of Han-period Tongshi 桐師 (modern Baoshan 保山, Yunnan) and north to Yeyu 楪楡 (modern Dali 大理, Yunnan). See Shi ji, 116.2991. The Kunming are generally regarded as of Di-Qiang氐羌ethnicity. For more detailed information, see You, Zhongguo xinan de gudai minzu, 32–44. However, Gong Kechang proposes Kunming here refers to an area in Jianling 建 伶 (modern Jinning 晉寧, Yunnan) and Guchang 谷昌 (north of modern Kunming county, Yunnan). See Gong, Quan Han fu pingzhu, 286n9. It could also refer to modern Kunming Lake in Yunnan. Emei 峨眉 is the famous mountain in central Sichuan. 73  Langdang 㟍嵣 may be an alternate writing of Tanglang 堂琅, also written 堂狼 and 螳螂. This was a Han-period county located in the area of modern Qiaojia 巧家 and Huize 會澤, Yunnan. It was the site of a peak named Mt. Tanglang. See Liu, Huayang guozhi jiaozhu, 4.417; Hou Han shu, “Zhi,” 23.3516.



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Cragged cliffs soar on high.74 Ling Mountain rises up on the right,75 Lidui covers the area to the east.76 In the near area there are Red jade, fungal wondergrowth,77 Jadelike stones, Yangzi pearls.78

In the distance there are Silver, lead, tin, and green jade, Horses, rhinos, elephants, and Bo people.79 In the west there are Salt springs and iron smelters,80

74  The rhyming binome kānyán (*khǝm *ŋam) 堪巖 is probably a variant of kānyán嵁巖, 嵁巗 (*khǝm ŋam), “cragged cliffs.” See Ma, Yang Xiong ji cihui yanjiu, 203–4. Zhang Qiao (Guwen yuan 4.5b–6a) suggests亶 (read dăn) may be an abbreviated form for xiān 𦒜 “to soar.”

75  According to Zhang Qiao (Guwen yuan 4.6a), Lingshan 靈山 is the Lingguan Mountain 靈關 山 located southwest of Chengdu. According to Liu Lin (Huayang guozhi jiaozhu, 183–84n5), the Lingguan Mountain is a narrow pass located south of modern Baoxing 寶興 county and northwest of modern Lushan 蘆山 county. Fei Zhengang (Wenbai duizhao quan Han fu, 166n8) rejects Zhang’s identification and proposes that Lingshan refers to the Daxue Mountain 大雪山 range west of Chengdu. However, he provides no textual evidence for this claim. Right is the direction of west.

76  Lidui 離碓/堆/𡺾 is a hill on the Min River near Chengdu through, which Li Bing 李冰 (3rd century bce) had a channel bored through to allow the waters of the Mo River 沫水 (modern Dadu 大渡 River) to flow. He went on to construct the famous Dujiang yan 都江堰. See Shi ji, 29.1407; Han shu, 29.1677. There are different sites given in various sources for the location of Lidui, most prominently Guan county 灌縣, Sichuan (now Dujiangyan City), and modern Leshan 樂山, Sichuan. According to Liu Lin, the most suitable location for this line from Yang Xiong’s “Shu du fu” is Leshan, the location of the confluence of the Dadu and Min rivers. See “Lidui bian.” The more famous Lidui is the Guan county Lidui located at the Baopingkou 寶瓶口 inlet on the Dujiangyan waterway.

77  The jun zhi 菌芝 or “fungal wondergrowth” is a type of ganoderma that was mainly used in Chinese medicine. See Conley, “Divine Medicine,” 56.

78  The Bowu zhi 博物志 cited by Li Shan (Wen xuan, 4.) claims jiang zhu 江珠 is a type of amber. However, 江 likely is a miswriting for hong 紅 “red,” the colour of amber. See Fan 范寧, ed. and comm., Bowu zhi jiaozhu 博物志校注 (1980; rpt. Beijing: Zhonghua shuju, 2014), 4.56n36. Zhu Jian 朱珔 (1769–1850) suggests it is a type of luminous pearl that was found in the Luminous Pearl Cave (Guangzhu xue 光珠穴) of Bonan 博南 in Yongchang 永昌 (southwest of modern Yongping 永 平, Yunnan); see Wen xuan jishi, 6.6a–b. See also Liu, Huayang guozhi jiaozhu, 4.440–42; and Hou Han shu, “Zhi,” 23.3514n5.

79  Huiwu 會無county (modern Huili 會理county, southern Sichuan) was renowned for its heavenly horses and rhinoceroses. See Ren, Huayang guozhi jiaobu tu zhi, 3.210. The Bo 僰 were a loose group of tribal people of Di-Qiang ethnicity who in the Spring and Autumn period lived in southern Sichuan and northern Yunnan. During the Western Han, the county of Bodao 僰道 (southwest of modern Yibin 宜賓, Sichuan), which presumably was named for them, served as the administrative seat of Qianwei commandery. See Han shu 24B.1158, 28A.1599; Zhong, Zhongguo xinan de gudai minzu, 17–32; and Tong, Gudai de Ba Shu, 88–91. 80  On the salt springs, see note 9 above. The Shu area was an important center for salt and iron production in the Han. See Lai, “Shuzhong jingyan”; Sage, Ancient Sichuan, 178–80; and Zhang and Zhang, “Guanyu Linqiong Pujiang de yanye lishi.”

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Orange groves and copper slopes.81 Here the Qiong joins with Lu Pond,82 With its pulsing waves and waters.

On the sides there are Kui oxen, gaurs, and yaks,83 Bronze horses and green-jade cocks.84 To the north there are the Min Mountains, Beyond which live the Qiang and Baima tribes.85 Animals include: Serow, elaphure,86

81  The Shu area was also rich in citrus fruits and copper. According to Sima Qian (Shi ji, 129.3272), inhabitants of Shu, Han, and Jiangling who owned 1,000 citrus trees were comparable to marquises who were enfeoffed with 1,000 households. Juren 朐忍 (southwest of modern Yunyang 雲陽, Sichuan), Yufu 魚復 (modern Baidi 白帝, east of modern Fengjie 奉節, Sichuan), and possibly Yandao 嚴道 (modern Rongjing 榮, Sichuan) produced a substantial number of citrus fruits that required the appointment of a citrus commissioner during the former Han. See Han shu, 28A.1598, 28A.1603. See also Zhang, “Cong Huayang guozhi kan Ba Shu diqu de nongye zhuangkuang,” 35. During the Former Han period, the Nanshan 南山 of Qiongdu 邛都 (southeast of modern Xichang 西昌, Sichuan) was a major producer of copper ore. See Han shu, 28A.1600. Liu Shixu 劉世旭 has identified the Nanshan copper source as located in the area of Luoji 螺髻 Mountain, east of modern Dongping 東坪 Village, Xichang, Sichuan. See “Han ‘Qiongdu Nanshan chu tong’ di kao.” See also Sage, Ancient Sichuan, 179. 82  邙 is a miswriting for Qiong 邛, which refers to the Qiong River 邛河 or Qiong chi 邛池, located in Qiongdu 邛都 county. See Shui jing zhu jiaozheng, 36.824. Lu chi 盧池 refers to Lu shui 瀘水, also known as Lu jin 瀘津. According to the Shui jing zhu, Lu jin was eighty li east of Shushi 朱提. It was a body of water 600 to 700 paces wide. It was infested with miasmal pestilence, and few people went there. See Shui jing zhu jiaozheng, 36.826.

83  Qi niu 期牛 (*gɨǝ ŋu) is probably kui niu 夔牛 (*guɨ ŋu), “Kui ox.” The Shanhai jing locates many of these creatures in the Min Mountains area. Guo Pu 郭璞 (276–324) only says it was a large ox that weighed several thousand jin. See Shanhai jing jiaozhu 5.156.

84  The metal horses and green-jade cocks were objects from the Shu area that were considered divine. They were discovered in the Yizhou 益州 area (northeast of modern Jinning 晉寧, Yunnan). The Han shu “Monograph on Geography” says the bronze horses and green-jade cocks were found on Mt. Yutong 禺同 of Qingling 青蛉 county (modern Dayao 大姚, Yunnan). See Han shu 25B.1250, 28A.1600. For detailed studies see “Jinma biji zhi mi” 金馬碧鷄之謎, in Wang, Zhongguo xinan minzu de lishi yu wenhua, 64–66; and Li, “Shixi Dianxi gaoyuan qingtong wenhua zhong de ji ma xinyang.”

85  In Han times the Qiang 羌 was a large group of Tibeto-Burman stock that occupied the area from modern Min 岷 county, Sichuan, to modern Songpan 松潘, northwestern Sichuan. On the Qiang of ancient Sichuan, see Ren, Sichuan shanggu shi xintan, 3–38. The Baima 白馬 was a branch of the Di 氐, another Tibeto-Burman ethnic group. The Baima occupied an area corresponding to modern Wudu 武都 and Wencheng 文成 counties, Gansu. In 111 bce, Emperor Wu established Wudu commandery in the territory. See Han shu 95.3837. For a detailed study, see Huang, “‘Baima zangren’ zu yuan tanxi.” 86  The Shuowen explains xián 麙 as a large goat with fine horns. See Shuowen jiezi zhu, 471. Most commentators identify this as xijiao ling 細角羚, ‘rhim gazelle’. However, this is a North African animal that did not live in China. Bernard Read equates it with the lingyang 麢羊, Japanese serow. See Read, Chinese Materia Medica Animal Drugs, #362.



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Brown bear, yak, giant panda,87 badger, Yu, yu,88 sika deer, musk deer, Red-striped leopard, brown bear,89 Macaque, kahau, hoolock,90 Ape, flying squirrel, monkey, gibbon, Rhesus monkey, panther cub, and bifang.91 蜀都之地，古曰梁州。禹治其江，渟臯彌望。 鬱乎青蔥，沃壄千里。上稽乾度，則井絡儲精。 下按地紀，巛宮奠位。東有巴賨，綿亙百濮。 銅梁金堂，火井龍湫。 其中則有 玉石嶜岑，丹青玲瓏，邛節桃枝，石䲛水螭。 南則有 犍牂潛夷，昆明峩眉。絕限㟍嵣，堪巖亶翔。 靈山揭其右，離堆被其東。 於近則有 瑕英菌芝，玉石江珠。 於遠則有 銀鉛錫碧，馬犀象僰。 西有 鹽泉鐵冶，橘林銅陵。邙連盧池，澹漫波淪。 其旁則有

87  Mo 貘, also written mo 獏, is usually identified as “tapir.” See Read, Chinese Materia Medica Animal Drugs, #352. However, mo, which was native to ancient Sichuan, is more likely the giant panda. See Lin and Lin, “Ye tan daxiongmao zhi jingu chengwei”; and Harper, “The Cultural History of the Giant Panda (Ailuropoda melanoleuca) in Early China.”

88  It is not certain whether yùyú 𪋉𪋮 is one or two names. The Shuowen explains yú 𪋮 as “resembling a deer, but larger.” See Duan, comm., Shuowen jiezi zhu, 471. 𪋉 is not otherwise known.

89  Hu 戶 is probably hu 昈, “red pattern/stripe.” See Yang Xiong Fangyan jiaoshi huizheng, ed. Hua, 12.850. Ma (Yang Xiong ji cihui yanjiu, 194–95) shows that this word is written 戶, 昈, 扈, or 蔰, and has the basic meaning of wencai 文彩, “patterned.” 90  Chánhú 𧴃胡, also written 獑猢, is Macacus sancti-johannis, Saint John’s macaque. See Read, Chinese Materia Medica Animal Drugs, #402. 雖獲 is probably wèi jué蜼玃 as in Sima Xiangru’s “Shanglin fu” (see Wen xuan, 8.370). The wei is proboscis monkey or kahau; the jue is hoolock or great gibbon. See Knechtges, Wen xuan, vol. 1, 138, l. 358n; 316, l. 67n.

91  The you 猶, also known as youhu 猶猢, is a type of monkey. According to the Shui jing zhu, the mountains in the Bodao area had many youhu, which it describes as resembling macaques or rhesus monkeys. They have short feet, enjoyed cavorting on cliffs and trees, and could leap a hundred paces in one bound. See Chen, Shui jing zhu jiaozheng, 33.770. According to the Erya, the hu 豰 is the offspring of the pi 貔, which is variously described as a type of panther, tiger, or bear. See Erya yishu, C6.5b. I render it as “panther cub.” The bifang 畢方 is a fabulous bird. The Shanhai jing describes it as resembling a one-footed crane, with red stripes on a blue background and a white beak. See Shanhai jing jiaozhu 2.52; Strassberg, A Chinese Bestiary, 110–11.

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期牛兕旄，金馬碧雞。 北則有岷山，外羌白馬。 獸則 麙羊野麋，罷㹈貘貒， 𪋉𪋮鹿麝，戶豹能黃， 𧴃胡雖獲，猨蠝玃猱，猶豰畢方。 II And then [there are]: Greenish mountains blotting out the sky, Rising abruptly,92 winding closely clustered, Tiered peaks, layered and jutting upward, Mountain boulders precipitously poised, Sheer and sharp, steeply spiring. Frost and snow last through summer,93 If one strikes the cliffs, there is a clanking sound. Loftily soaring are piled peaks, At all the border posts are rugged crags. [There are] Five Peaks diversely disposed,94 The Jian Mountains rise lofty and tall,95 Guanshang soars steep and precipitous, Longyang is piled and pinnacled.96 Mountain masses nestled together,97 Steeply jut upward, sloped and slanted. Massed defiles stretch out on all sides,98 Their forms and elementals exuding martial might,99

92  The rhyming binome fényīn 岎崯 (LHan *bun ŋɨm) “rising abruptly,” is a hapax legomenon.

93  Li Shan in his Wen xuan commentary (4.151) cites this line as reading 夏含霜雪, “In summer they are enfolded in frost and snow.”

94  Wuwu 五矹 (Five Peaks), also written 五屼 and 五兀, is a mountain south of Nan’an 南安 county (near modern Leshan 樂山, Sichuan). See Liu’s commentary in Wen xuan, 4.187.

95  According to Zhang Qiao (Guwen yuan 4.7a), the Jian Mountains 湔山 are the Yulei 玉壘 Mountains, where the Jian River had its source. See Han shu 28A.1598. The Yulei Mountains were located northwest of modern Dujiangyan City, Sichuan. See Shi, ed., Zhongguo lishi dili dacidian, 535. 96  Guanshang 觀上 and Longyang 龍陽 are mountains, but their location is not known.

97  The Sibu congkan edition of the Guwen yuan (4.7a) reads cuīcàn 漼𥹛, and the nine-juan edition of Guwen yuan (2.7a) reads 漼 . The pronunciation and meaning of the second graph are not known. The “Quan Han wen” (51.1b) reads cuican 漼粲. Fei Zhengang (Wenbai duizhao quan Han fu, 167n17), explains it as “describing the masses of mountain peaks.” See also Fei and Qiu, ed., Han fu cidian, 442. However, this is a pis aller that may fit the context, but has no dictionary or textual support. Nevertheless, I have provisionally followed this interpretation.

98  Fei (Wenbai duizhao quan Han fu, 167, 18) and Zhang (Yang Xiong ji jiaozhu, 11n50) suggest that 脇施 has a similar meaning and pronunciation to lǐyí 峛嶷 (*rat ŋǝ), “appearance of mountains stretching out long.” They do not explain the phonology, but I suspect they assume that li 力 is phonetic in 脇, which is usually pronounced xié (*hap). The pronunciation of 施 as yí is well attested. Gong (Quan Han fu pingzhu, 288n19) seems to read it as xiéshī and explains it as “stretching out all around from the sides of the mountains.” I follow Professor Gong’s explanation. 99  Jie偈 is equivalent to jie 朅 “martial might.” See Mao shi 62 “Bo xi” 伯兮: 伯兮朅兮 “Oh, my lord,



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The ragged ridges jutting forth lean one upon another.100 Peng Gatetowers stand face to face,101 Rising prominently, lofty and high, On the sides, they slope and slant.102 The peaks, densely arrayed, sublimely soar, In a stony mass prominently protruding, Northward extending to the extreme limits of Kunlun.103 [From these mountains] gush forth spring water sweet as ale, Their gathered waters and flowing moisture Drain off, gather together, and form rivers.

And then: To the left is Chenli,104 To the right is the court of the Qiang.105

with his martial might.” The Yu pian 玉篇 reads 偈 for 朅. See Chongxiu Yu pian 重修玉篇, Siku quanshu, 3.4b.

100  Zhang (Guwen yuan, 4.6b) explains 堪 as equivalent to 嵁, which is equivalent to kān 嵌 ragged ridge. He says 𡽊 is pronounced chēng 撑. However, its meaning here is not certain.

101  Pengmen 彭門 (Peng Gatetowers), located in Du’an 都安 county (modern Guan 灌 county, Sichuan) in the area of Dujiangyan, was formed by two mountains that faced each other like monumental gatetowers. See Zuo Si, “Shu du fu” (Wen xuan, 4.187): 出彭門之闕 “They come out of the Peng Gatetowers.” Liu Kui explains in his commentary to this line: “Du’an county in the Min Mountains has two mountains that face each other like monumental gateways. It is called Pengmen (Peng Gatetowers).” See also Huayang guozhi jiaozhu, 3.201: “After the Zhou was destroyed, King Xiao of Qin appointed Li Bing governor of Shu. Li Bing understood the patterns of heaven [i.e., astronomy] and the ordering of the earth [i.e., geography and geomancy]. He referred to the Min Mountains as the Tianpeng Gate. When he arrived at Jiandi county, he saw two mountains facing each other like monumental gateways. He thus called them Tianpeng Gateways.” See also Yang, Shu wang benji, in Yang Xiong ji jiaozhu, 258; Shui jing zhu jiaozheng, 33.765. Zhang (Guwen yuan, 4.7a) gives the pronunciation of gonglong 共籠 for 嶋㟅. Fei (Wenbai duizhao quan Han fu, 167n119) gives the pronunciation dăowāng for 嶋㟅 with the meaning of “numerous mountains densely arrayed, with the appearance of competing in towering upward” 眾山森列 爭高峻貌. Gong (Quan Han fu pingzhu, 288n21) reads it as jīyáng and gives it the meaning “numerous mountains densely arrayed” 眾山森列. Zhang (Yang Xiong ji jiaozhu, 11n53) says 嶋 has the same pronunciation and meaning as dao島 “island,” and 㟅 has the same meaning and pronunciation as ŏu腢 meaning ŏu偶, “paired.” It describes two peaks facing one another. 102  Several words in this line are problematic. Fei (Wenbai duizhao quan Han fu, 167n20) construes fang 方 as meaning 且 “moreover.” Zhang (Yang Xiong ji jiaozhu, 10n55) and Gong (Quan Han fu pingzhu, 288n22) explain it as pang 旁 “on the sides.” Zhang also suggests Shu has a mountain named Fangshan 方山. 方彼 is parallel to 彭門, and thus he suspects 方彼 might be understood as 方坂 “Fang slopes.” All commentators understand pōtuó碑池 as a variant for the rhyming binome pōtuó陂陀 (LHan *phai dai) “slope and slant.”

103  Kunlun refers to the Kunlun Mountains that lie between Tibet and Xinjiang. The Min Mountains extend northward and join the Kunlun Mountains.

104  Left here means east. Chenli 沈犂 is Chenli 沈黎, a commandery established in 121 bce out of the old Zuodu 筰都 state. See Han shu, 95.3842. Its administrative seat of Zuodu was in the area of modern Hanyuan 漢源, Sichuan.

105  Right here is west. The Qiang “court” presumably refers to an administrative area or large settlement in the land of the Qiang, located in northwestern Sichuan.

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The Mo River gushes at its breast,106Dujiang glides at its shins,107 Where it spills out into the intersecting channels, Its giant waves surge and swell. A thousand currents, ten thousand rivulets, Flowing together, turning and twisting, Clash and collide as they compete in their descent.108 Lake waters swell, battering standing boulders, Gyring waves plash and splash Rolling over rocks, tearing open mountain peaks, In turbulent chaos broadly they spread. The whirling sinking waves seem aggrieved, The calm and receding waters seem ashamed. Battering the shores, striking gaps in the hills, They collide with the shoals, climb the cragged banks. Smashing into pillars, the waters splash and spray,109 Surging and billowing, frothing and foaming, Leaping from confinement, the waters go beyond the river bed limits, Blending inclines and channel into a solid mass. Booming and bellowing, The tumultuous din seems almost a stentorian roar, Surpassing that of the Thunder God himself. The deep undercurrent flowing steadily onward, Battering like thunder, striking like lightning, Torrents bubble and boil,

106  Zhang (Guwen yuan, 4.7b) suggests Qi 漆 should be read Mo 沫. The Mo River, now known as the Dadu River 大渡河, is a tributary of the Min River. It flows into the Min River south of Chengdu at Leshan 樂山, Sichuan. “Breast” refers to the front area, which here would be south. Lin (Yang Xiong ji jiaozhu, 12–13n28) questions Zhang Qiao’s equation of Qi 漆 with Mo 沫 on the grounds that there is no graphic or phonetic similarity with the two characters, and suggests that Qi, which means “black lacquer,” refers to the Hei River 黑水, which has its source in the area of Hongyuan 紅 原 county, Sichuan, and flows through the Mao Wen Qiang Autonomous County where it enters the Min River. Ma (Yang Xiong ji cihui yanjiu, 196–97) disputes Lin’s hypothesis on the grounds that in Han times there was a graphic similarity between Qi 漆 and Mo 沫. On the Mo River, see Tian and Deng, “Tuo jiang Mo shui Lidui kaobian.” 107  Dujiang 都江 is likely another name for the Tuo River 沱水. See Taiping huanyu ji, 73.1486. Jing 涇 should be understood as jing 脛 ‘shin’, which here refers to the north. A Tuo River is mentioned in the “Yu gong” 禹貢 of the Shang shu. According to Liu Lin, the Tuo River of the Chengdu area is the Botiao River柏條河, a tributary of the Min River that flowed through Dujiangyan in the area of Pi county 郫縣 northwest of Chengdu. At Xindu 新都 it becomes the Pi River 毗河, which joins the Qingbai River 青白江 at Jintang 金堂 located about forty kilometers from the city center of modern Chengdu. From here it flows south to Luzhou 瀘州 where it joins the Yangtze River. See Liu, Huayang guozhi jiaozhu, 3.177. On the Tuo River, see Tian Shang and Deng Zixin, “Tuo jiang Mo shui Lidui kaobian.” 108  On bìjié泌瀄 (*pjet *tsrjiet) see Knechtges, Wen xuan, 2:76, l. 53n.

109  Zhang (Yang Xiong ji jiaozhu, 12) punctuates: 旋溺寃，綏頹慚，博岸敵呷，祽瀨磴巖。摚汾 汾; Gong Kechang (Quan Han fu pingzhu, 280) punctuates: 旋溺寃，綏頹慚，博岸敵呷祽瀨，磴 巖摚汾; Fei (Wenbai duizhao quan Han fu, 164) punctuates: 旋溺寃，綏頹慚，博岸敵呷，祽瀨磴 巖。摚汾汾; Ye Youming (Xinyi Yang Ziyun ji 8) punctuates: 旋溺寃綏，頹慚博岸，敵呷祽瀨。磴 巖摚汾.



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Their raging roar is swiftly carried into the distance.110 The waters race like troops racing down a mountain, Rapids descend, swiftly flowing, And join at Jiangzhou.111

爾乃 蒼山隱天，岎崯迴叢， 增嶃重崒，𡶑石𡿄崔，𡷠𡾛㠑嵬。 霜雪終夏，叩巖岭嶙。崇隆臨柴，諸徼崼𡸣。 五矹參差，湔山巖巖，觀上岑嵓，龍陽累峗。 漼粲交倚，𡹐崪崛崎，集嶮脇施，形精出偈，堪𡽊隱倚。 彭門嶋㟅，𡶭嵃嵑㞹，方彼碑池。 𡸗𡶐輵𡽖，礫乎嶽嶽，北屬崑崙泰極。 湧泉醴，凝水流津，漉集成川。 於是乎則 左沈犂，右羌庭；漆水浡其匈，都江漂其涇。 乃溢乎通溝，洪濤溶沈。千湲萬谷，合流逆折，泌瀄乎爭降。 湖潧排碣，反波逆濞，𥕴石冽巘，紛𦭰周溥。 旋溺冤，綏頹慚。博岸敵呷，祽瀨磴巖。 摚汾汾，忽溶闛沛，踰窘出限，連混陁隧。 銍釘鍾涌，聲讙薄泙龍，歷豐隆。 潛延延，雷扶電撃，鴻鴻康濭，速遠乎長喻。 馳山下卒，湍降疾流，合乎江州。 III Of trees there are stinking elm and oak, Camphor and sandalwood (?),112 Jian, smoke-tree, white-grained tree, and jia,113 110  The nine-juan edition reads 鴻鴻康濭速遠乎長喻. The Sibu congkan edition of Guwen yuan and the Shoushan ge congshu version both read鴻康濭遠遠乎長喻. Ye (Xinyi Yang Ziyun ji, 10n91) suggests 鴻鴻 should be understood as 轟轟, descriptive of the loud roar of the waters. He suggests yu 喻 is a borrowing for yu 愉 ‘pleasant’. He thinks the waters are happily flowing into the distance. This reading is quite forced. I follow Gong (Quan Han fu pingzhu, 290n30), who says yu 喻 refers to the sound being “directed” or “carried” into the distance.

111  During the Han, Jiangzhou 江州 was the administrative seat of Ba commandery. See Han shu 28A.1603. It was located on the north bank of the Jialing 嘉陵 River north of modern Chongqing. According to the Shui jing zhu, five rivers joined the Yangtze at Jiangzhou. They included the Qiang 強 (same as the Qiang 羌), Fu 涪, Han 漢, Bai 白, and Dangqu宕渠 (i.e., the Qian 潛 and Yu 渝). See Shui jing zhu jiaozheng, 33.773.

112  The term shupeng樹榜 is difficult to explain. Based on the parallelism with yuzhang 豫章 it should be a binome. Gong (Quan Han fu pingzhu, 290n34), Zhang (Yang Xiongji jiaozhu, 16n90), and Fei (Wenbai duizhao quan Han fu 168n27) all claim péng榜 is a borrowing for fāng枋, which is explained as tan 檀, ‘sandalwood’. I tentatively follow their explanation.

113  For 𣚞櫖 Zhang (Guwen yuan, 4.8a) gives the pronunciation of jiānlǜ 間慮, but does not identify it. The nine-juan edition of Guwen yuan writes yánlǜ檐櫖. The identification of yan is not known. Lü could be the zhulü諸慮 of the Erya, which it explains as equivalent to 山櫐 [lĕi]. See Erya yishu, C2.6b–7a. Hao Yixing equates it with gĕlĕi葛藟 in Mao shi, 4: 莫莫葛藟. Gelei is Vitis flexuosa (zigzag vine), a liana in the grape family. Gao Mingqian identifies lü as huang lü 黃櫖, Cotinus coyggyria, Eurasian smoke tree, smoke bush. See Gao, ed., Zhiwu gu Hanming tu kao, 500–501. The exact

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Green zhi and carve-worthy catalpa,114 White elm, parasol tree, sweet oak, sawtooth oak, You trees with downward facing branches and water-pine,115 Coconut trees spread out, cherry trees cluster together,116 Their tall trunks thickly massed. Spicebush, jujube, bayberry, and jie trees,117 Stretching over a vast expanse, lean one upon another,118 And are buffeted and ruffled by the wind, Following the cliffs they rub and bump together, As if in fluvial flow, steadily coursing, Merged and mingled, dense and dark.119 Vast and wide gazing upon the wilds, One sees an overflowing bounty, a lush luxuriance. The bamboos include Zhonglong, nie, and jin,120

identity of zhàn 樿 (also read shàn) is not known. It is only known as a tree with a white grain used to make combs. See Yuan, Shanhai jing jiaozhu, 5.159; Li ji zhengyi, 33.1190, 39.1189. The jiă 柙 (also read xiá) is mentioned in Zhang Heng’s “Nan du fu” 南都賦, but its identity is not known. See Knechtges, Wen xuan, 1:314, l. 52n.

114  Zhang (Yang Xiong ji jiaozhu, 16–17n92) suggests zhi 稚 is a loan graph for qi 杞 on the grounds that zhi 稚 can also be written zhi 穉 (LHan *sei) which has the phonetic xi 犀 (LHan *sei). He claims this is phonetically related to qi (LHan *khɨəB), Salix matsudama, Chinese willow. However, both initials and finals in these two words are quite different. I am skeptical of Zhang’s hypothesis. I have left zhi untranslated.

115  The Shuowen explains yóu 楢 as a softwood tree used to make wheels that provided a less bumpy ride. See Duan, ed. and comm., Shuowen jiezi zhu, 6A.240. Si 㯕 (also read xi) may be an abbreviation for the binome pisi 㯅㯕 (or pixi), which means “downward facing branches.” See Wang, ed. and comm., Guangya itshuzheng, 10B.65a–b. Guo explains jì 㮨 as a fine-grained tree resembling a pine. See Yuan, ed. and comm., Shanhai jing jiaozhu, 2.37. I rendered “water pine” in Wen xuan, vol. 1, 315. 116  Zhang (Yang Xiong ji jiaozhu, 17n95) suggests yē枒 is the same as yé 椰 “coconut,” and 信 should be read shēn 申 (LHan *śin) “spread out.” He also speculates that jí楫 (LHan *tsiap) is equivalent to xiē楔 (LHan *set), Cerasus pseudocerasus, Cambridge cherry. Zuo Si mentions yē 枒 and xiē 楔 together in his “Shu du fu.” See Wen xuan, 4.178.

117  Guang yun identifies zĭ� 𣐑 as lún 棆, Lindera umbellata, umbelled spicebush. See Zhou, ed. and comm., Guang yun jiaoben, 48. According to Guo, jī 櫅 is a type of jujube. See Erya yishu, C2.10a. Zhang (Yang Xiong ji jiaozhu, 17n97) notes all editions write jué 㭈, which is not the name of the tree (it means “bowl”). He suggests it is an error for yăng柍, which is the yangmei柍梅, Myrica rubra, bayberry, arbutus. The jié 楬 is not otherwise known.

118  Zhang (Yang Xiong ji jiaozhu, 18n98) suggests chēng 樘 is the same as chēng 橕 and yĭ� 椅 is equivalent to yĭ� 倚, both of which mean “lean on,” “support.”

119  Zhang (Guwen yuan, 4.7a) suggests yòu 幼 (LHan *ʔeuB) should be read yăo 窈 (LHan *ʔeuB). He glosses yăomĭ (LHan *ʔeuB mɨe) as shēnmĭ 深靡 (LHan *ʔeuB mɨe), which I approximate with “dense and dark.” 120  According to Dai Kaizhi’s Zhu pu, the zhonglong 鍾龍 is a type of bamboo that grew in the Kunlun Mountains. Huangdi sent Ling Lun 伶倫 to cut them into bamboo tubes, used to play the sounds of the twelve pitch pipes. See Hagerty, “Chu-p’u,” 386–87. According to Dai, the jin 𥯑 bamboo “has a cortex as white as frost. The larger ones are used for making boat poles.” See Hagerty, “Chu-



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Wild dwarf bamboo profusely proliterating.121 Growing in thickets, gathered in clusters, Exquisitely flourish, full and beautiful. Vast and broad, dense and thick, Leaves and branches quiver and shake, sough and sigh,122 Pushed and pulled by the wind.123 Occupying both sides of the river, hemming the mountains, In continuous clusters, bamboos tower upward.124 Knotted roots grow suckers and shoots,125 Growing full and profuse they stretch far to the distant plain.126 Bamboos like these occupy an expanse of several ten or hundred league square. In pools where water roils and rages, swells and surges, They pile up earth to raise the dikes. In the shallows grow: Green reeds, wild rice, and calamus, Giant hyssop, rice flat sedge, clover fern,

p’u,” 422. Niè may be the same as miè 篾. According to the Pseudo-Kong Anguo commentary to the Shu jing, this is the peach-branch bamboo. See Shang shu zhengyi, ed. Huang, 18.729. According to Dai, it had a red cortex and could be woven into mats. See Hagerty, “Chu-p’u,” 395–96.

121  The xiao 篠, also written 筱, is a dwarf bamboo of the arrow bamboo class. According to Hagerty, it is Arundinaria japonica. See “Chu-p’u,” 412.

122  The Shoushan ge congshu and Ming Chenghua editions write sāohé 㮻合 (LHan *sou gǝp), while the Sibu congkan and nine-juan editions write sāoxī 搔翕 (LHan *sou hɨp). These are probably variant ways of writing the more familiar form sāoxiè 騷屑 (LHan *sou jit), “sough and sigh.” 123  The Shoushan ge congshu edition of Guwen yuan reads 柯無風披, and the Ming Chenghua edition reads 柯輿風披. The nine-juan and Sibu congkan editions of Guwen yuan read與風披拖. I have followed their reading.

124  Zhang (Yang Xiong ji jiaozhu, 19n109) suggests zu卒 is a miswriting for zhang 丈. He argues 尋 (eight feet) and 丈 (ten feet) describe the height of the bamboos. Gong (Quan Han fu pingzhu, 292n42), citing a passage in the Shanhai jing, identifies xun 尋 as a type of large bamboo. He suggests卒 should be read cù 猝, “suddenly.” Following his reading, the translation would read “Tall bamboos suddenly rise up.” Fei (Wenbai duizhao quan Han fu, 168n31) cites Yang Xiong’s Fangyan, which glosses xun 尋 meaning “long.” He construes 卒 as cuì 萃 “gather.” He explains that this line describes the bamboo groves continuous extending in clusters over the river banks and slopes. Ma (Yang Xiong ji cihui yanjiu, 197–201) notes that xun is the name of a tall bamboo, also known as the “thousand-foot tree.” See i.a. Yuan, ed. and comm., Shanhai jing jiaozhu 3.241; Wen xuan, 5.234. He speculates that because in some dialects zu 卒 and zhu 竹 sound alike, 卒 was miswritten for 竹. Finally, he cites a suggestion from Dong Zhixiang 董志翹, who proposed xun here is a verb synonymous with yuan 緣 meaning “following along,” and zu is equivalent to zú 崒 “lofty and steep.” He paraphrases the line to read “(bamboos) tower upward along the lofty and steep mountain topography.” Given the disagreement among scholars, the line is difficult to render. My translation is highly speculative. 125  Zhang (Yang Xiong ji jiaozhu, 19n110) suggests ye (LHan *ŋɨɑp) is equivalent to nie櫱 (LHan *ŋɨɑt). Ye (Yang Ziyun ji, 11n137) explains caiye 才夜 (LHan *dzə ŋɨɑp) is a rhyming binome equivalent to jieye 𤴗嶫 (LHan *dziap ŋɨap), “jaggedly jutting.” I have cautiously followed Zhang’s explanation. 126  The Shoushan ge congshu and Sibu congkan editions read 𨒡, a graph the pronunciation of which is unknown. I follow the reading jiong 迥 “stretch far” of the nine-juan edition.

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Hornwort, lotus, Lotus blossoms,127 water chestnut roots.

Within the waters there are: Kingfishers, mandarin ducks, Wild ducks, cormorants, herons, egrets,128 Cranes, storks, and squacco herons.129

In the depths there are Otters, plunging alligators, Water leopards, lamiae, snakes, Giant softshell turtles, swamp eels, trionyx, and tortoises Sundry scaled creatures teeming and thronging

於木則楩櫟，豫章樹榜，𣚞櫖樿柙，青稚雕梓， 枌梧橿櫪，㯕楢木㮨，枒信楫叢，俊幹湊集。 𣐑櫅㭈楬，圠沈樘椅。從風推參，循崖撮捼。 涇 [= 淫] 淫溶溶，繽紛幼靡。汎閎野望，芒芒菲菲。 其竹則 鍾龍䇣𥯑,野篠紛𢀺。宗生族撍，俊茂豐美。 洪溶忿葦，紛揚㮻合[翕]，與風披拖。 夾江緣山，尋卒而起。結根才業，填衍迥野。 若此者方乎數十百里。 於汜則汪汪漾漾，積土崇隄。 其淺溼則生 蒼葭蔣蒲，藿芧青蘋，草葉蓮藕，茱華菱根。 其中則有 翡翠鴛鴦，裊盧鷁鷺，䨥鶤鷫鷞。 其深則有 獺猵沈鱓，水豹蛟蛇，黿蟺鼈龜，衆鱗鰨𩽨。

127  Zhang (Guwen yuan, 4.8b) explains zhuhua 茱華 as fuqu 芙蕖, “lotus.” Zhang identifies it as the blossoms of zhuyu 茱萸, “evodia.” The nine-juan edition of Wen xuan reads 朱 for 茱. Ma (Yang Xiong ji cihui yanjiu, 207–8) rejects Zhang’s explanation on the grounds that 茱 never occurs as a monosyllabic form for茱萸. He also cites several passages in which 朱華 is a name for lotus. I have followed his interpretation.

128  Fei (Wenbai duizhao quan Han fu, 169n35) construes niăolú裊盧 as a binomial name for a water bird. He does not identify it. Zhang (Yang Xiong ji jiaozhu, 20n118) suggests niăo 裊 is an error for jiāo 鵁. He proposes jiaolu 鵁盧 is equivalent to jiaojing 鵁鶄 “squacco heron.” He also notes the jiao and lu could be two different birds, jiaojing 鵁鶄 and lúcí 鸕鷀 “cormorant.” Ye (Xinyi Yang Ziyun ji, 11n157) speculates niăo裊 is a miswriting for fú 鳧 “wild duck.” I have cautiously followed his identification. The yì 鷁 is an aquatic bird similar to a heron. The lu 鷺 is white egret. 129  Zhang (Yang Xiong ji jiaozhu, 20n119) suggests hè 䨥 represents the graph hè 鸖, which is an archaic form of hè 鶴, “crane.” The kūn鶤 is the kūnjī 鵾雞, perhaps a type of stork. See Schafer, “Professor Schafer Would Say …,” 800.



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IV And then: The capital gates numbered two-times nine,130 Along with four hundred-plus ward gates, Two channels ring the markets,131 Nine bridges gird the streams like belts.132 Wudan Mountain protects the city,133 Carved and trimmed like bushkiller.134 When the foundation of the royal house had collapsed, The Marquis of Shu was venerated as Cong.135

130  The Chengdu walls were first constructed in 313 BCE by Zhang Yi and the Shu governor Zhang Ruo 張若. The walls had a circumference of twelve li (ca. 4.94 km) and a height of seven zhang (17.1 m). See Huayang guozhi jiaozhu, 3.196, 216–17; Chengdu chengfang guji kao, 15–16; and Sage, Ancient Sichuan, 126–27.

131  The two channels are two canals that Li Bing had dredged in the 240s bce to relieve flooding and provide irrigation in the Chengdu area. Each channel has several names. The most commonly occurring names are Pi jiang 郫江 and Jian jiang 檢江. The Pi jiang, also known as the Nei jiang 內 江 (Inner channel), began northwest of Chengdu, flowed slightly west of the city, then turned east and flowed south of the city where it joined the Jian River at a place called Hejiang ting 合江亭. The Jian jiang, also known as the Wai jiang 外江 (Outer channel), corresponds to the modern Zouma 走 馬 River of the Chengdu Plain. See Shi ji, 29.1407; Liu, ed. and comm., Huayang guozhi jiaozhu, 3.202; Ren, “Chengdu qi qiao kao,” in Huayang guozhi jiaobu tuzhu, 224; and Shui jing zhu jiaozheng, 33.766. 132  Liu, Huayang guozhi jiaozhu, 3.228–32, identifies seven bridges: 1. Chongzhi Bridge 沖上字， 元豐本黑巴，嘉泰本作中。茲依《水經注》引改作上。舊各本脫曰字，下各橋並有。茲依《水 經注》、《初學記》引 文補。治橋, variant Chongli Bridge 沖里橋. Outside modern Xicheng men 西城門, between Laocheng men 老城門 and Tonghui men 通惠門. Northwest of this is the tomb of Wang Jian 王建. 2. Shi qiao 市橋. On the Pi River outside the Shijiu men 石牛門. 3. Jiang qiao 江橋. Modern Chengdu near Wenmiao. 4. Wanli qiao 萬里橋, modern Laonan men daqiao老南門大橋. 5. Zuo qiao 筰橋, variant Yili qiao 夷里橋, east of modern Baihua tan 百花潭. 6. Changsheng qiao 長 昇橋, outside modern Lao Ximen 老西門. 7. Yongping qiao 永平橋, variant Chongxing qiao 衝星 橋. Near the modern Taishui qiao 踏水橋. See also Ren, “Chengdu qi qiao kao” 成都七橋考, in Ren, Huayang guozhi jiaobu tu zhu, 224–27. These seven bridges reputedly were counterparts to the seven stars of the Northern Dipper (Ursa Major). The nine bridges may have included two others, the names of which are no longer known.

133  Wudan 武儋 (Wŭdān), also written 武擔, is a mountain located northwest of Chengdu. See Liu, ed. and comm., Huayang guozhi jiaozhu, 3.188. Liu locates Wudan Mountain in the northeast corner of the old city of Chengdu.

134  Lián蘞 is Cayratia japonica, bushkiller, a notorious invasive plant that grows rampantly over everything in its path. Perhaps the image conveyed here is that of a menacing peak that dominated the area.

135  The royal house here refers to the Zhou royal house. During the reign of King Nan 赧 (314–256 bce), the Zhou king ruled mainly in name only, and other states, especially Qin, began to expand their territories. In 316 bce, King Huiwen 惠文 of Qin sent Sima Cuo 司馬錯 to lead an army to conquer the Shu ruler Kaiming 開明. In 314 or 313 bce, King Huiwen installed his son, variously known as Tong 通, Tongguo 通國, or Youtong 肴通, as Marquis of Shu. See Shi ji, 5.207, 15.733; Liu, Huayang guozhi jiaozhu, 3.194. See also He, “Qin Shu hou kao”; and Sage, Ancient Sichuan, 124–25. Cong refers to Cancong 蠶叢, the legendary first king of Shu. See Liu, Huayang guozhi jiaozhu, 3.181. For detailed accounts see Ren, “Cancong kao” 蠶叢考, in Huayang guozhi jiaobu tuzhu, 219–23; and Jia, “Cancong kao.” Jia argues that 蠶叢 should be read Canzong.

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They piled up stones and dwelled in stone houses,136 Where hillocks and crags follow one upon another. During the transfer of families during the Qin and Han They filled the area [with clans] from east of the mountains.137 Thereupon, they took down the mountains, And their bounty was sent by water as tribute. Harvests of hemp seed and bamboo, Float downstream thronging like turtles on a gravel beach. Pollia and scorpions are complementary curatives,138 They are angled for and drawn from, and not stowed away.139 The burrowing bird, eagle, myna, and phoenix,140 Are inseminated by the wind, fledged by the rain.141

136  The graph 𡥷 is an ancient form for xī 犀, which here stands for qī 棲, “to dwell.” This line refers to the stone dwellings of the ancient Shu people. See the following account in Hou Han shu, 86.2858: “The Minshan commandery tribes . . . all abided with their dwellings resting on mountains. They piled up stones to make their houses. The highest ones reached more than ten feet high. They were known as qionglong.” This is a type of dwelling known as diaolou 碉樓 (pillbox tower). It is still commonly used by Tibetans in Xikang and northwestern Yunnan, as well as Qiang, Naxi, and Yi peoples. See Guan, “Xinan minzu zhuzhai de leixing yu jianzhu jiegou.”

137  Zhang (Guwen yuan, 4.9b) explains that during the reigns of King Hui of Qin and Emperor Wu of the Former Han, the Shu rulers for the first time established their base east of the mountains, meaning that the early Shu rulers Cancong and Wangdi all had their administrative seat at Picheng 郫城 (northwest of modern Chengdu), located south of the Min Mountains. Following Zhang’s explanation, the couplet could be rendered, rather awkwardly, “During the Qin and Han there was a movement [of the administrative seat],/ From the original place to east of the Min Mountains.” Qian (Guwen yuan jiaokan ji, 6a–b), citing the version of this line quoted in the commentary of Liu Kui to Zuo Si’s “Wei du fu” (see Wen xuan, 6.294), which reads chong 充 for yuan 元, interprets this couplet as referring to the transfer of various families from eastern China to Shu during the Qin and Former Han. One of the most famous of these families was the Zhuo卓 clan, originally from Zhao 趙 (administrative seat, Handan 邯鄲, northwest of modern Handan, Hebei). After being transferred to Shu, they became quite wealthy from iron mining and smelting in the area of Linqiong 臨邛 (modern Qionglai 邛崍, Sichuan). See Shi ji, 129.3278; Han shu, 91.3690; and Sage, Ancient Sichuan, 178. I have followed the reading suggested by Qian in my translation. 138  Zhang Qiao (Guwen yuan 4.9b–10a) points out that bamboo was already mentioned in the previous line, and thus bamboo and stones should not be mentioned again. He suggests that 竹 and 石 should be combined to form ruo若, which is the fragrant plant duruo 杜若 ‘pollia’. Jiu 救 means “to cure an illness.” The pollia and scorpion have the complementary medicinal properties of gentleness and savagery respectively. According to Zhang, this “refers to something tiny and minute to show the richness of multiple things.” 139  I construe yu 魚 as yu 漁 “to fish for,” “to angle for.”

140  The graph 𪄫, usually pronounced yú, is likely the same as tú鵌, which, according to the Erya, is a bird that shares a burrow with a type of rat called tū 鼵 (sulphur-bellied rat, Epimys confucianus). Guo describes it as similar to the duò 鵽 or tujue que 突厥雀, sand grouse. See Erya yishu, C5.15b. I have rendered it “burrowing bird.” The hóu 𪃶 is not otherwise known. Zhang (Guwen yuan, 4.10a) says it is a type of eagle. The qú鴝 is the qúyù 鴝鹆, crested myna, Aethiospare cristatellus cristatellus. See Read, Chinese Materia Medica, 65. Huang 䳨 is a variant for huang 凰 of fenghuang 鳳凰, “phoenix.”

141  Both the Zhuangzi and Bowu zhi tell of a female bird that conceived simply by looking at the male. See Zhuangzi jishi, 14.532: “Female and male white herons look at each other without turning



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The multitude of things so startles the eyes, One is completely unable to know their full extent.142

尒乃 其都門二九，四百餘閭。兩江珥其市，九橋帶其流。 武儋鎮都，刻削成蘞。王基既夷，蜀侯尚叢。 幷石石𡥷，岓岑倚從。秦漢之徙，元 [充] 以山東。 是以隤山，厥饒水貢，其獲苴竹，浮流龜磧。 竹石 [=若] 蠍相救，魚酌不收。 𪄫𪃶鴝䳨，風胎雨鷇。衆物駭目，單不知所禦。 V And then as for the fruit trees:143 They are spread out on the entire periphery of the orchards,144 Hemming the pathways are yellow sweetpeel orange, Sugar cane,145 persimmon, peach, Apricot, plum, loquat, Birch leaf pear, hazelnut, chestnut, crab apple, Kerria, and lychee. The plots are intermingled with pomelo,146 Covered with cherries and plums, Planted with magnolia. Pearleaf crabapples grow in tandem one upon another,147 Ban Pass pears glitter and glisten.148 their pupils, and the female conceives. With insects, the male chirps on the wind above, the female responds on the wind below, and she conceives.” Bowu zhi jiaozheng, 4.45: “The female and male herons look at each other and the female conceives.”

142  Zhang (Guwen yuan, 4.10a) explains dān 單 as dān 殫 “use up,” “ exhaust.” This is a common loan graph. See Gao, Gizi tongjia huidian, 204. Commentators variously understand the sense of yu 禦. Fei (Wenbai duizhao quan Han wen, 169n43) glosses it as zhi 止 ‘”to end,” zhongzhi 終極 “limit.” He renders this as “as for things that cause people to be amazed, the amount of them can never be known, no matter how hard one tries.” Gong (Quan Han fu pingzhu, 294n57) construes yu 禦 as御, meaning 進奉 “to offer up.” Zhang also reads yu 禦 as御, which he glosses as yong 用 “to use.”

143  Zhang (Guwen yuan, 4.10a) says luŏ祼 is also written luŏ蓏, a word that means the fruit of lowgrowing plants. However, most of the fruits listed below are arboreal. 144  Zhang (Guwen yuan, 4.10a) explains kuāng 𢼑 as 圃之四圍 “all sides of the orchards.” 𢼑 is a hapax legomenon. 145  I construe zhuzhe 諸柘 (LHan *tśa tśaC) as a variant for shuzhe 薯蔗 (LHan *dźa tśa), “sugarcane.” The form zhuzhe appears in Sima Xiangru’s “Zixu fu” 子虛賦. See Wen xuan, 7.350. Perhaps this is the Shu dialect form of the word.

146  It is not clear what chān 梴 means in this line. In the Shijing (see Mao shi, 305) it is glossed as 長貌 “appearance of being long.” Zhang (Yang Xiong ji jiaozhu, 25n25) construes chānchéng梴橙 as a binome. He identifies it as Guang gan 廣柑, Citrus sinensis. However, this is the same citrus fruit as the huang gan 黃柑 mentioned above. Zhang (Guwen yuan, 4.7a) identifies it as a type of you 柚 or pomelo, as does Gong (Quan Han fu pingzhu, 295n58). I tentatively accept their identification. 147  Zhang (Guwen yuan, 4.10a) explains fu 扶 as “growing in tandem” 駢生, meaning the fruits lean one upon another其實相扶. Fu扶 might also be fushu扶疏 “outspread.”

148  Banguan 般關 is not otherwise known. Zhang (Guwen yuan, 4.7a–7b) identifies it as the name of a fine pear. He cites the Guang zhi 廣志 of Guo Yigong 郭義恭 (Jin) which says most of the pears

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Side branches are soft and delicate,149 Blossoms reticulate among them. Spring alders,150 poplars and willows, Gently sway, pulling and tugging on one another,151 Spreading and splaying, twisting and twining. Purple-azure cicadas, crested cicadas,152 And cuckoos chirp within them.153

尒乃其祼，羅諸圃𢼑，緣畛黃甘， 諸柘柿桃，杏李枇杷，杜樼栗㮏，棠梨離支。 雜以梴橙，被以櫻梅，樹以木蘭。 扶林禽，爚般關。旁支何若，英絡其間。 春机楊柳，褭弱蟬抄，扶施連卷。𧲽貕螗蛦，子𪆳呼焉。 VI And then there are the five cereals growing rife and rich, Melons and gourds in bountiful supply. “west of the [Hangu] Pass” 關西 are presented to the imperial court as tribute. However, it is not clear whether this refers to the Shu area.

149  Zhang (Yang Xiong ji jiaozhu, 25n146) and Fei (Wenbai duizhao quan Han fu, 170n45) suggest 何若, pronounced ēruò (LHan *ʔai ńak), should be read ĕnuó 阿那 (LHan *ʔɑi na), “soft and delicate.”

150  The ji 机 tree is mentioned in the Shanhai jing. Guo describes it as similar to the elm. It could be burned to provide fertilizer for rice fields. See Yuan, ed. and comm., Shanhai jing jiaozhu, 3.67. Yang Shen 楊慎 (1488–1559), who was from Sichuan, identifies it with the qi 榿, a common Shu tree. One ancient name for it was Shu mu 蜀木 (Tree of Shu). See Sichuan tongzhi, 38/6.2b. This is Alnus cremastogyne Burk., alder, which is native to southwestern China. See Fèvre and Métailié, Dictionnaire Ricci des plantes de Chine, 357.

151  Zhang (Guwen yuan, 4.10b) says 蟬抄 is pronounced chányuán 撣爰. He glosses it as “pulling and tugging on one another” 相牽引. Based on Zhang Qiao’s sound gloss, Zhang Zhenze (Yang Xiong ji jiaozhu, 25n147) suggests 抄 was originally written yuan援, and chányuán 撣爰is the same as chányuán 撣援 that appears in Zhang Heng’s “Nan du fu” 南都賦 (see Wen xuan, 4.152, where this word is actually written chányuán蟬媛). Ma (Yang Xiong ji cihui yanjiu, 201–2) shows that the word is also written chánjuàn 蟬蜎 and chánjuān 蟬娟, and interprets the usage in the “Shu du fu” line as describing the intertwining of the fine, long, delicate branches of the trees.

152  Zhang (Guwen yuan, 4.10b) suggests jùxī 𧲽貕 may be equivalent to xīlù 螇螰, which, according to the Fangyan, is a Qi dialect word for huìgū 蟪蛄, Platypeura kaempferi, a small purple-azure coloured cicada that sings in the fourth and fifth lunar months. See Hua, ed. and comm., Yang Xiong Fangyan huizheng, 11.750. According to Guo, the tángyí 螗蛦 is the name given south of the Yangtze River to the tángtiáo 螗蜩 or hú chán 胡蟬, crested cicada. See Yang Xiong Fangyan huizheng, 11.713. 153  The nine-juan edition of Guwen yuan reads 子 for zǐguī子𪆳. In an entry for the guizhou 雟周 bird in the Erya, Guo explains “[This is] the zigui 子雟 bird which comes from Shu.” See Erya yishu, C5.7b. In the Shuowen jiezi, Xu identifies the guizhou as “swallow,” but adds, “One source says ‘The Shu king Wangdi had illicit relations with his minister’s wife. Ashamed, he ran away and became a zigui.’” See Shuowen jiezi zhu, 4A.141. This bird is the cuckoo variously known by the name zigui (more commonly written 子規) and dujuan 杜鵑. The bird is an important figure in Shu lore. It is even called the Shu niao 蜀鳥 or “bird of Shu.” The Shuwang benji attributed to Yang Xiong says that when Wangdi departed, the cuckoo began to sing. “Thus, the people of Shu, sad over the singing of the cuckoo, longed for Wangdi.” See Yang Xiong ji jiaozhu, 247. For a brief account of the legend, see Cui, “Shu wang Wangdi yu ‘Duyu hua juan.’”



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The fields are planted with hemp placed in distinct plots, Everywhere one finds ginger and cape jasmine,154 Aconite and garlic,155 Prickly ash, fagara, lovage,156 Black pepper, and “fermented clear,”157 Numerous offerings are stored here.158 In the peak of winter bamboo shoots grow here, Along with old vegetables there also is fresh eggplant. Various flowers bloom through spring, Lushly luxuriant, exuding sweet fragrance. Spreading tea shoots brilliantly burgeon, In azure, purple, green, and yellow hues, Lovely and delicate, spreading luster, Like waving brocade, outspread embroidery: Gazing upon it, one sees a vast, boundless expanse.159 尒乃五穀馮戎，瓜瓠饒多。 卉以部麻，往往薑梔，附子巨蒜，木艾椒蘺，

154  “Quan Han wen” writes wéi桅 for zhī梔 of the Sibu congkan edition of Guwen yuan (4.10b) and the Ming Chenghua edition (4.11b). The nine-juan edition (2.8b) also reads wéi桅. However, wéi, which means “mast,” is not the name of a plant or tree. Zhī梔 is Gardenia jasminoides, cape jasmine. The Shu area was famous for its ginger and cape jasmine. See Shi ji, 129.3261: “Ba and Shu also have fertile fields, the land is rich in cape jasmine and ginger.” Cape jasmine was often used as a dye. 155  Fuzi 附子 is a type of aconite, a poisonous plant belonging to the Ranunculaceae (buttercup) family. The area of Shu is famous for fuzi. See Obringer, L’Aconit et l’orpiment, 100–106.

156  Mu ai木艾 (arboreal ai) may be the same as aizi艾子, also known as chuye huajiao 樗葉花 椒 and yi 藙, a type of Zanthoxylum ailanthoides, also known as Yue jiao 越椒 (Vietnam pepper). Yang Shen 楊慎 (1488–1559), who was from Sichuan, has a detailed discussion of this plant. See Danqian yulu 丹鉛餘錄, Siku quanshu, 12.11a–b; and Ma, “‘Shu du fu’ ‘mu ai’ kaobian.” See also Fèvre and Métailié, Dictionnaire Ricci des plantes de Chine, 61. Jiao 椒 is most likely Chuan jiao 川椒, Zanthoxylum simulans, Sichuan peppercorn. See Hu, Food Plants of China, 504–505.

157  Zhang (Guwen yuan, 4.10b) explains ăi jiàng 藹醬 as jŭzhēn jiàng枸椹醬. Although ju jiang, more commonly written 蒟醬, usually is identified as Piper betle or betel-pepper, Li has shown that the jujiang from Sichuan is Piper nigrum or black pepper, which originally came from India. See Nan-fang ts’ao-mu chuang, 46–53. On the jujiang of Shu, see Ren, ed. and comm., Huayang guozhi jiaobu tu zhu, 316–22. Zhang (Guwen yuan, 4.8b) suggests túqīng 酴清 (fermented clear) is túmí jiŭ 酴醿酒, which is the same as tú jiŭ 酴酒, a type of wine produced in ancient Shu. Jia Sixie 賈思勰 (fl. ca. 530–544) provides a recipe for making it in Qimin yaoshu. It was made with a wheat ferment blended with rice. See Qimin yaoshu jiaoshi, 684. See also Peng, “Handai jiu zashi.”

158  Fei (Wenbai duizhao quan Han fu, 170n47) and Zhang (Yang Xiong ji jiaozhu, 27n156) construe chŭ 儲 as shŭyù薯蕷, Chinese yam; and si 斯 as sī 䔮. Miao cautiously suggests sī 䔮 might be the same as shī 蒒, Carex macrocephala, largehead sedge, a perennial grass-like herb. See Miao, ed. and comm., Miao, coll., Qimin yaoshu jiaoshi, 695. According to Gao Mingqian 高明乾, shī 蒒 is Carex kobomugi, Japanese sedge. See Gao, ed., Zhiwu gu Hanming tukao, 390. Although I have not followed their explanations in my translation, the line could possibly be rendered, “The offerings from the populace include yams and sedge.” I construe chu儲 in its more common meaning of “to store,” and si 斯 as ci 此, meaning 於此 “at this place.” 159  The nine-juan edition version of this line 望芒芒子於無塩 is difficult to explain.

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藹醬酴清。衆獻儲斯。 盛冬育荀，舊菜增伽。百華投春，隆隱芬芳，蔓茗熒郁， 翠紫青黃，麗靡螭燭，若揮錦布繡，望芒兮無幅。

VII And then as for the people here: They make their own extraordinary brocades, Including qiu, xuan, fei, and xie,160 With scarlet borders and black interior, Showing forth decorative patterns, displaying rich colour, They have circulated through the ages without end. Its fabrics include fine hemp-cloth and “soft twist,”161 Raw silk is made into silk cloth. It is so delicate, lovely, fine, and thin-spun, It recedes from sight either in a cloudless sky or dark shadows. Like filaments woven by a spider, It cannot be ruffled by the wind. Yellow Sheen in a tube,162 One bolt is worth several catties of gold. Vessels with incised patterns and gilded lips, Are made by hundreds of artisans, thousands of craftsmen. Goods and merchants gather like scales on fish, From north and south they converge here, Galloping and chasing, they meet together, Making broad circuits hither and thither Driving shaft-to-shaft, hub-to-hub, Rumbling and roaring, rattling and rottling,163 Strewing dirt, flinging dust. Goods of a myriad types, diverse kinds, Copiously collected, closely clustered, Circulate in the marketplaces, Qi merchants shout and shriek, Chu merchants likewise, But their throats never mutter a stingy word. All manner of goods are collected here one after another, Each of the four seasons brings a different ware. The other parties do not discount their goods, And we place no restrictions on ours. Assets and resources are plentiful and ample, 160  These Shu brocades are not otherwise known.

161  Zhang (Yang Xiong ji jiaozhu, 29n165) suggests xidu 細都 should read xichi 細絺 based on the writing of this line in Taiping yulan (Siku quanshu, 820.12a). Chi is a type of hemp-cloth. Xichi 細絺 may be the same as the ruoxi 弱緆, a type of hemp-cloth mentioned in the “Qi su” 齊俗 chapter of the Huainanzi. See Huainan honglie jijie, 11.345. “Soft-twist” is my invention for 弱折. This fabric is not otherwise known.

162  The Shu area produced an especially fine fabric called Yellow Sheen. It was placed in a tube and thus was also referred to as “the fine fabric in the tube.” Liu in his commentary to Zuo Si’s “Shu du fu” cites a line from the lost Fan jiang pian 凡將篇 attributed to Sima Xiangru which reads, “Yellow Sheen is fine and beautiful and is suitable for making breeches.” See Wen xuan, 4.185. 163  Yang also uses yōugé 幽輵 (LHan *Ɂiu kat), “rattling and rottling,” in his “Yu lie fu” 羽獵賦: “Resplendent chariots rattling and rottling” 皇車幽輵. See Wen xuan, 8.349.



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Stores and savings are fully provided.

尒乃其人，自造奇錦，紌繏𦃄䋶，縿緣盧中，發文揚采，轉代無窮。 其布則細都弱折，綿繭成衽。阿麗纖靡，避晏與陰。 蜘蛛作絲，不可見風。筩中黃潤，一端數金。雕鏤釦器，百伎千工。 東西鱗集，南北並湊，馳逐相逢，周流往來， 方轅齊轂，隱軫幽輵，埃㪍塵拂。 萬端異類，崇戎總濃，般旋闠圚。齊𠴲楚而，喉不感槩。 萬物更湊，四時迭代。彼不折貨，我罔之械。財用饒贍，蓄積備具。 VIII As for dutiful grandsons, filial sons: They pay homage in the temples of their ancestors and fathers, And make offerings and sacrifices to ghosts and spirits. They choose a proper time, select a suitable day, Dribble wine on the ground, purify and purge themselves beforehand. They don cleansed garments,164 Dress the sacrificial beast in an outer garment of black crêpe.165 They select an even-numbered auspicious day, Separate the clear and turbid wines.166 They meet kinsmen of both distant and clear relation, And settle the guests by their rank. They then have men like Yi Yin Blend the five flavors,167 Make sweet and savoury blends, 164  Zhang (Guwen yuan, 4.11b) suggests long 龍 should be read xí 襲 “add a second layer of clothing.” Zhang (Yang Xiong ji jiaozhu, 31n180) claims in ancient texts the clothing radical was sometimes deleted from xí� 襲. The Quan Shu yiwen zhi version (1.4a), Yuding lidai fuhui (32.15b), Sichuan tongzhi (39.68b) write xí 襲. The ming yi 明衣 (cleansed or cleaned clothing) was the clothing a noble man was required to wear during periods of purgation and purification. See Lun yu 10/7: “During times of purgation and purification [the noble man] must wear clean undergarments made of plain cloth.”

165  Zhang (Yang Xiong ji jiaozhu, 32n181) suggests hú穀should be understood as hú 縠, a type of crêpe, a thin and light tabby silk fabric. The practice of clothing a sacrificial animal in black is mentioned in the Guliang zhuan穀梁傳, Xi 31: “In the case of a sacrificial animal exempted from the offering, dress it in a black upper garment and a red lower garment, and have the person in charge of [raising the animal] wear a black garment and escort it to the southern suburbs.” Chunqiu Guliang zhuan zhushu, 9.178. Fei (Wenbai duizhao quan Han fu, 297n84) argues xuan hu玄穀 means “black millet.” According to the Zhou li, “On the day of a sacrifice, the master of the sacrifices indicates [the names of] the sacrificial vessels filled with grain. He announces they are pure, he inspects their arrangement, and he announces they are prepared.” Zhou li zhushu, 21.721.

166  According to the Zhou li, the supervisor of wines had the task of distinguishing the five types of brews used in sacrifices. They include the fan 泛 (brew with lees floating on top), li 醴 (sweet brew), ang 盎 (seething brew), ti 緹 (tangerine-coloured brew), and chen 沈 (brew with lees settled at the bottom). According to Zheng, the most turbid of the brews were those from li and above, i.e., fan. The clearest were those from ang and below. See Zhou li zhushu, 5.162.

167  See Shi ji, 3.94: “Yi Yin’s personal name was Eheng. Eheng wished to seek out Tang, but had no way to do so. He then became a bridal escort in the Youshen Clan [of Tang’s wife’s clan]. Carrying a tripod and a chopping block he made persuasions to Tang using succulent flavors [as analogies to governance], and he led him to the proper way of rulership.” See also Mei Sheng 枚乘, “Qi fa” 七

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Prepare a well-seasoned stew,168 Puffer and salted fish from Jiangdong,169 Beef and mutton from Longxi, Fat pigs fed on grain in cleansing chambers,170 Yearling deer and muntjacs obtained not through purchase, Large shuang and suckling dan,171 A solitary white heron, a lone gray crane,172 Spit-roasted owl and the fetus of a dissected leopard,173 Roe-deer brains,174 Belly fat of water denizens, Giant shoats, migratory geese, Button quail and wild ducks,175 Wild geese and herons newly hatched, Mountain cranes already mated, Spring eanlings, autumn bamboo rats, Minced salamander, viands of turtle flesh,176 Golden pheasants newly hatched in rice fields, Whose bodies have yet to evidence any strenuous effort. The seven vegetables with the five meats,177

發 (Seven stimuli): “Thereupon, he had Yi Yin do the roasting, / Yi Ya blend the flavors” (Wen xuan, 34.1563).

168  The word zhuólüè 勺藥 (LHan *tśak rak) means “well-blended” or “well-seasoned.” See Wang Guanguo 王觀國 (d. after 1144), “Zhuolüe” 勺藥, in Xue lin, 1.18a–19b; Wang, Dushu zazhi, 40/10.16b–17b (319); Aoki Masaru 青木正兒, “Shakuyaku no wa” 芍藥之和, in Aoki Masaru zenshū, 8:64–76; and Yang, “Shuo ‘zhuolüe zhi he.’”

169  鮐 has two pronunciations. In the reading tái it designates the qingyu 鯖魚 “black carp.” In the pronunciation yí it is an abbreviated form of houyi 鯸鮐, “puffer fish.” In this context, it is more likely to be the puffer fish. Bào鮑 is “dried fish,” “salted fish.” See Ma, Yang Xiong ji cihui yanjiu, 213–14.

170  According to He Xiu 何休 (129–182), the di 滌 or “cleansing chamber” was the place where animals that were sacrificed to the Lord on High were raised. See Chunqiu Gongyang zhuan zhushu, 15.377. 171  The shuăng 𧴅 and dăn 𤢏 are not otherwise known.

172  Zhang (Yang Xiong ji jiaozhu, 33n191) suggests 竹 is zhŭyù 屬玉. Zhang (Guwen yuan, 4.12a) claims the flavour of birds that are neither female nor male is kept intact. If Zhang’s explanation is correct, the “solitary” and “lone” avians in this line may be hermaphrodites.

173  Zhang (Guwen yuan, 4.12a) suggests pí 紕 should be read as pí 豼, which is a variant of pí 貔. Zhang identifies it as a type of leopard. It is variously identified as a type of leopard, tiger, or bear. Sima Xiangru mentions it together with the bao 豹 leopard in the “Shanglin fu” (see Wen xuan, 8.371). Fei (Wenbai duizhao quan Han fu, 171n62) suggests pī被 is the same as pi 披 “to dissect.” Mei Sheng in the “Qi fa” refers to dining on 豢豹之胎 “the fetus of a tamed leopard.” See Wen xuan, 34.1564. 174  Zhang (Guwen yuan, 4.11b) suggests suĭ 𩩜 should be read as suĭ髓 of suinao 髓腦 “brains.”

175  Zhang (Guwen yuan, 4.12a) suggests pīyàn 被鴳 is chĭyàn 斥鴳, “button quail.” Ma shows that chen fu 晨鳬, which is often explained as a “wild duck that flies at dawn,” is simply a binome meaning “wild duck.” See Yang Xiong ji cihui yanjiu, 215–16.

176  Fang Yizhi 方以智 (1611–1671) identifies the suō 鮻 as the renyu 人魚, which can designate either the newt or giant salamander. See Tong ya, 47.36a. 177  According to Zhang, (Guwen yuan, 4.12b), the five meats are beef, mutton/lamb, chicken, dog,



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Cover and suppress the rank odours of the meat, Things that can refine the spirit and nurture the blood and veins,178 None failed to be put on display here.

若夫慈孫孝子，宗厥祖禰，鬼神祭祀。練時選日，瀝豫齊戒。 龍明衣，表玄穀。儷吉日，異清濁。合疎明，綏離旅。 乃使有伊之徒，調夫五味，甘甜之和，勺藥之羮，江東鮐鮑，隴西牛 羊， 糴米肥䐗，𪋇𪊍不行，鴻𧴅𤢏乳，獨竹孤鶬，炮鴞被紕之胎， 山麕𩩜腦，水遊之腴，蜂豚應鴈，被鴳晨鳬，戮鶂初乳， 山鶴既交，春羔秋𪕋，膾鮻龜餚，秔田孺鷩，形不及勞。 五肉七菜，朦猒腥臊，可以練神養血腄者，莫不畢陳。 IX Now, as for the local customs They welcome spring and send off winter.179 Households worth one hundred catties of gold, Lords worth a thousand catties of gold, Drain ponds, dredge back-waters, And view fishing on the river bank. As for auspicious days and favourable occasions, They set a time for meeting at the Fu River, To send off the cloudy days of spring, And welcome the sun of summer. 180 The Hou, Luo, Sima, Guo, Fan, Lei, and Yang clans,181

and pork, and the seven vegetables are scallions, chives, and the like.

178  The Sibu congkan edition of Guwen yuan writes . Zhang (4.12b) says this character should be written chuí 腄 “fat in the intestines.” The Shoushan ge edition of Guwen yuan writes chuí 腄. Qian, Guwen yuan jiaokan ji, 6b, argues that chuí腄 is a wrong character. He cites Beitang shuchao (Siku quanshu, 142.2a) which writes mai 脈 “vein.”

179  The Shoushan ge congshu (4.10a) and Ming Chenghua editions (4.13b) of Guwen yuan, and the Zheng Pu edition of Yang Ziyun ji (5.17b) read 送臘 “send off the twelfth month of the year.” The nine-juan edition (2.9b) has no character following 送. Qian notes that Li Shan’s commentary (4.186) in the Wen xuan cites this line as 迎春送冬 “greeting spring, sending off winter.” 冬rhymes with 公 and 江 in the following lines. Qian (“Guwen yuan jiaokan ji,” 6b) claims Zhang arbitrarily supplied 臘. However, the Sibu congkan edition (4.12b) of Guwen yuan reads 冬.

180  The nine-juan edition reads 期於倍春之陰，迎夏之陽. Zhang (Yang Xiong ji jiaozhu, 36n303) proposes to read 倍 as fú 涪, and suggests the lines should read 期於涪湔，送春之陰，迎夏之陽, “They set a time for a meeting at the Fu and Jian rivers,/ To send off the cloudy days of spring,/ And welcome the sun of summer.” Fu 涪is the name of a river that has its source in northern Sichuan. It flows through Wuping 武平, Youjiang 油江, Mianyang 綿陽, Suining 遂寧, and joins the Jialing 嘉陵 River at Hechuan 合川. Ye (Xinyi Yang Ziyun ji, 24n12) suggests one character is missing after 涪. The Ming Chenghua and Shoushan ge editions of the Guwen yuan read 期於送春之陰，迎夏之陽, “They set a time to welcome the cloudy days of spring, / And to welcome the sun of summer.” The Sibu congkan edition of Guwen yuan writes期於倍春之陰，迎夏之陽. Fei (Wenbai duizhao quan Han fu, 172n65) writes 倍春之陰, which he explains as the third month of the lunar calendar, which is the end of spring. However, I cannot find any textual support for his interpretation. He notes that the Shoushan ge and Xiyin editions of the Guwen yuan write 送 “send off” for 倍. 181  According to Zhang (Guwen yuan, 4.12b), these are the seven most distinguished clans of the

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Host banquets in leisure dwellings on rivulets and streams,182 And set places to sit in a tall resplendent hall. They stretch out drapes, lift curtains, A continuous line of coverings extends to the ridges. The various feast vessels are carved and polished, Their ornate engravings gleam and glitter.183 Paintings on their vermilion edges, Multicoloured, beautifully shine. Dragons and snakes, sinuously slithering, are mingled within them; Birds and beasts, rare and remarkable, adorn mountains and woods. Long ago, heaven and earth gave birth to Duhu, A ruler with a foreshortened span, To whom appeared the minister whose corpse had disappeared from Jing;184 [And it was here where a king] for his lady composed a song.185

Shu capital. However, neither he nor any other commentator provides information about them. The Huayang guozhi has a list of the most prominent clans of each county of Shu commandery. The only ones in Yang Xiong’s list are the Luo and Guo clans of Pi 郫 county, and the Yang clan of Chengdu county. See Ren, ed. and comm., Huayang guozhi jiaobu tu zhi, 3.156–57.

182  The Sibu congkan edition of the Guwen yuan reads xing chuan 滎川. The nine-juan and Shoushan ge editions read rong 榮 for xing 滎. Zhang (Yang Xiong ji jiaozhu, 36n205) construes xing chuan 滎川 as “small river.” Zhang (Guwen yuan, 4.12b) suggests the leisure dwellings may be those of Sima Xiangru and Yan Junping 嚴君平 (first century BCE) whose old houses were still in Chengdu during his time (Southern Song).

183  The nine-juan, Siku quanshu, and Shoushan ge editions read zao 早 for zao 藻, “ornate,” of the Xiyin xuan edition. I have followed the latter reading. They read 皇 for 星 in the Shoushan ge and Xiyin xuan editions. The word in question is likely the rhyming binome jiānghuáng 將皇 (LHan *tsiaŋ ɣuaŋ), “gleam and glitter.”

184  Duhu 杜𨝘 is a variant name for Duyu 杜宇, a legendary early ruler of Shu. According to the Shu wang benji (see Yang Xiong ji jiaozhu, 245–46), there was a man named Duyu who settled in the area of Shushi 朱提 (modern Zhaotong 昭通, Yunnan). A woman named Li 利 emerged from a well and became Duyu’s wife. At this time Duyu established himself as King of Shu and took the title Wangdi 望帝 (Emperor Wang). He established his administrative seat at the foot of the Min Mountains at a place called Pi郫 (modern Pi county, Sichuan). After Wangdi had ruled for over one hundred years, the corpse of a man from Jing named Bieling 鼈靈 disappeared. His corpse followed the Yangtze River to Pi where it came back to life. Wangdi appointed Bieling his prime minister. At this time a huge flood ensued from the Yu Mountains 玉山 [or Yulei 玉壘 Mountains]. Wangdi was unable to tame it, and he sent Bieling to make an opening in the Yu Mountains so that the waters could flow through and allow the people relief from the flood. After Bieling tamed the flood, Wangdi abdicated the throne to him just as Yao had done with Shun. When Bieling was installed as ruler, he called his dynasty Kaiming, which ruled for twelve generations. According to the Shu wang benji (see Yang Xiong ji jiaozhu, 244), before Wangdi there were three rulers in Shu: Cancong 蠶叢, Bohuo 柏濩, and Yufu 魚鳧. After ruling for several hundred years, they transformed into spirits but did not die. The people of Shu worshipped them as kings. Although Wangdi ruled for one hundred years, his rule was considered “foreshortened” because he ruled for only one hundred years and abdicated to Bieling. 185  The Shu wang benji (Zhang, ed. and comm., Yang Xiong ji jiaozhu, 250–51) contains two accounts that help explain this line: (1) “There was a man from Wudu 武都 (modern Wudu, Gansu) who married his daughter to the King of Shu. After living in Shu, she could not adjust to the climate, and wished to return home. The King of Shu would not let her leave. He then composed a six-part



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Thus, the sounds were plaintive and plangent, Wailing, keening, sobbing, and moaning. [Their performance was like] the six movements of the “Hu” melody,186 And as if pacing to the “Xia,” they stepped slow and easy.187 The songs of the music attendants enter the celestial depths. They then go to the temples where they intone ancient melodies,188 With each refrain they express their full feeling. The rhythm of the turns and whirls of the dancers, And heir cadence perfectly follows the beat. In the files of dancers one fragrant beauty follows another, Their aprons and lappets are delicate and long. Stamping on the ground they perform “Chill Autumn,” Loudly they sing “Sunny Spring.” Luoru sings the lead,189 The Venerable Yu sings the refrain.190 They gaze afar at red-cheeked beauties, Who part their scarlet lips in song. With an aloof and demure bearing, They sing in modulated tones. As for those who take pleasure in fishing and shooting with corded arrows,

song to cheer her up.” (2) “There was a man from Wudu who changed into a woman. She was quite beautiful and was thought to be a mountain sprite. The king of Shu took her for his wife. She could not accustom herself to the Shu climate, and after becoming ill, requested to return home. Shortly thereafter she died.” There is also a similar account in the Huayang guozhi: “There was a man in Wudu who changed into a woman. She was quite beautiful and was thought to be a mountain sprite. The king of Shu took her for his wife. She could not accustom herself to the Shu climate and wished to return home. The king insisted that she stay. He then composed the ‘Dongping’ song to cheer her up. Shortly thereafter, she died. The king mourned for her. He sent five stout men to Wudu to carry back earth to construct her tomb. This is the Wudan 武擔 in the north corner of Chengdu. While grieving for her, the king also composed two other songs, ‘Yuxie’ 臾邪and ‘Long gui’ 隴歸.” See Huayang guozhi jiaobu tuzhu, 1.123.

186  Zhang (Guwen yuan, 4.13a) suggests hu 戶 should be read hu 濩, which is short for “Da hu” 大 濩, also written 大護, the name of a dance suite performed at the court of the Shang founder Tang. See Zhou li zhushu, 25.834.

187  The “Xia” or “Si Xia” 肆夏 was an ancient ritual dance. See Li ji Zhengyi, 40.1229: “The noble man of antiquity was required to wear a jade pendant. . . . He raced forward to the ‘Cai ci’ [Gathering goatweed] and walked at a slow pace to the ‘Si xia.’” 188  The temples are those of Wangdi and Bieling.

189  Zhang (Guwen yuan, 4.13b) suggests Luoru 羅儒 is the same as Qin Luofu 秦羅敷. According to the Gujin zhu (B.2b) of Cui Bao 崔豹 (fl. 300), Luofu was picking mulberries. The King of Zhao saw her and sought to take her home with him. Luofu refused and composed the song “Mulberry in the Fields” to rebuff him. Although all commentators accept Zhang’s interpretation, this identification is not certain.

190  Zhang (Guwen yuan, 4.13b) cites the now lost Bie lu 別錄 catalogue of Liu Xiang 劉向 (79–78 BCE) which mentions a skilled singer from Lu named Yu gong 虞公 (the Venerable Yu). His mournful singing stirred up the dust on the rafters. See Yiwen leiju, 43.771. Zhang claims that Yu 虞 (LHan *ɳya) and Wu 吴 (LHan *ɳua) were interchangeable in Han times.

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Men like the Venerable Xi,191 Together they go to the level plain, And look down upon a giant pond,192 Where they array a hundred chariots, And set a time to meet where they can spend the night.193 Spectators line the banks of the dikes, To watch moving boats compete in a race. Helter-skelter, hustling and bustling,194 Bumping and battering, they fade in the distance. They spread into the coves, fill the bights,195 Spreading and sprawling, they can barely be seen. Fish-traps lie agape as if google-eyed, fish warrens are laid out in orderly array,196

191  The Venerable Xi 郤公 is only known as a wealthy and powerful man of Shu. Zuo also mentions him in the “Shu du fu” (Wen xuan, 4.187): “Men like Wangsun, / The likes of the Venerable Xi, / When they chase wild game in the city outskirts, / No one is left in the lanes.”

192  Qian (“Jiaokan ji,” 6b) notes this line reads in Li Shan’s commentary (Wen xuan, 4.157) to Zhang Heng’s “Nan du fu” 如乎陽瀕, and in his commentary (Wen xuan, 4.187) to “Shu du fu” as 如 乎巨野. He suggests three characters in the Guwen yuan versions are wrong. He notes 野 rhymes with 徒 above (both are in the 魚). The Ming Chenghua edition of Guwen yuan (4.15a) reads 相與如 平陽𩒙臣沼. Zhang’s commentary (Guwen yuan, 4.14a) reads: 如，往也。 平陽猶平野。𩒙疑是頫 字，與俯同。一本作頻字 “Ru means ‘to go.’ Pingyang is like pingye 平野 ‘level plain.’ I suspect guī 𩒙 is the graph fu 䫍, which is the same as fu 俯, ‘to look down on’. One edition writes pin 頻.” Zhang (Yang Xiong ji jiaozhu, 40n224) suggests 臣 is a miscarving of 巨. He argues since this line writes about wealthy, powerful persons fishing and hunting, it makes more sense for the lines to refer to fishing in a pond and hunting in the wild. Thus, he proposes to write 平野 for 平陽. He also suggests emending 𩒙 to pin頻 as noted by Zhang Qiao. Zhang Zhenze construes this as pin 瀕 as in the “Nan du fu” commentary of Li Shan. Gong (Quan Han fu pingzhu, 300n106) retains the reading 平陽, which he glosses as 平曠的原野 “level plain.” 193  Zhang (Yang Xiong ji jiaozhu, 41n225) suggests this means they set a time to rendezvous when the animals and birds settle down for the night, when they hunt them.

194  Fei (Wenbai duizhao quan Han fu, 173n77) glosses the rhyming binome yanyan 偃衍 (LHan *ʔɨan jan) as 繁雜紛亂 “in bustling disorder.” He notes the nine-juan edition writes 𣟷曳 for the rhyming binome piēyè 撇曳, which he glosses as 紛沓 “chaotically gathered.” I render it “helterskelter.”

195  Zhang (Yang Xiong ji jiaozhu, 41n230) and Fei (Wenbai duizhao quan Han fu, 173n78) suggest 畏 is an error for wang 罔 “net.” Following this reading, one could render the line “Mesh nets fill the bights.” Yan (“Quan Han wen” 51.3b) notes another version writes wēi 隈 for畏. Wēi 隈, which means “river bend” or “cove,” is a neat parallel with xiè澥 “bight.”

196  Zhang (Guwen yuan, 4.14a) suggests long 蘢 should be read as long 籠, which he explains is a type of bamboo device used as a fish-trap. The Shuowen explains shen 罧 as a type of fish warren made of brushwood. See Ding, Shuowen jiezi gulin, 7B.3386a–87a. The Erya includes two words that are possibly variants of shen: san 槮 and qian 涔, which Guo 郭璞 equates with shen. Guo explains people gathered brushwood and placed it in the water. When fish were cold, they went inside to hide where fishermen could catch them. See Erya yishu, C2.2b–3a. It is also possible that shen is related to qian 潛 in Mao shi #281, which the Xiao Erya 小爾雅, a now lost lexicon of the Former Han, explains as a place where fish rest. See Mao shi zhengyi, 19C.8a. For detailed discussion see Wang, Shi sanjia yi jishu, 25.1028–29; Karlgren, “Glosses on the Ta Ya and Sung Odes,” 157–58; and Yang, Shijing yinan ciyu bianxi, 160–61. The alliterative binome huīhuò睢䁨 (LHan *hui huâk)



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A single large fish net is stretched out, arrow cords of fine silk are shot forth,197 Frightened females are shot down, high flying males fall from the sky, Soaring storks are snagged, fleeing creatures are tangled in nets, They make meat pickles out of the flyers, mincemeat out of the divers,198 Only when all of the viands are consumed does everyone depart for home. 尒乃其俗：迎春送臘 [冬]。百金之家，千金之公，乾池泄澳，觀魚於 江。若其吉日嘉會，期於倍□，送春之陰，迎夏之陽。侯羅司馬，郭 范畾楊，置酒乎榮川之閒宅，設坐乎華都之高堂。延帷揚幕，接帳連 岡。衆器雕琢， 藻刻將皇。朱緣之畫，邠盼麗光。龍虵蜿蜷錯其中，禽獸奇偉髦山。 昔天地降生杜𨝘，密促之君，則荊上亡屍之相。厥女作歌。 是以其聲呼吟靖領，激呦喝啾。戶音六成，行夏低徊。胥徒入冥。 及廟噆吟，諸連單情。舞曲轉節，踃馺應聲。其佚則接芬錯芳， 襜袩纖延。𨅍淒秋，發陽春。羅儒吟，吴公連。眺朱顔，離絳脣。 眇眇之態，吡噉出焉。若其遊怠魚弋，郤公之徒，相與如平陽 [野]， 𩒙巨沼，羅車百乘，期會投宿。觀者方隄，行船競逐。偃衍𣟷曳， 絺索恍惚。羅畏彌澥，蔓蔓沕沕。蘢睢䁨兮罧布列，枚孤施兮纖𦅾出， 驚雌落兮高雄蹷，翔鵾挂兮奔縈畢。俎飛膾沈，單然後別。

means “to stare in astonishment,” “to stare google-eyed.” Yang Xiong portrays the nets gaping open like staring eyes.

197  The nine-juan edition of the Guwen yuan reads fang 房 for xi 兮 of the other editions. The Sibu congkan and nine-juan editions of Guwen yuan read zhuó 𦅾 “arrow cord” for fán繁 of the Ming Chenghua and Shoushan ge congshu editions. The preferred reading clearly is zhuó.

198  The flyers are birds, the divers are fish.

Chapter 3

A RECLUSE’S FRUSTRATION? RECONSIDERING YU XIN’S (513–581) “FU ON A SMALL GARDEN” YIYI LUO

The fu as a genre is usually said to have reached its peak during the Han dynasties.

The period witnessed the flourishing of the epideictic fu, namely, the lengthy and lavishly written rhapsody characterized by its use of binomes, extensive cataloguing, and hyperbole. The fu, especially the epideictic fu, is now recognized as part of the cultural splendour of the Han empire and thus has contributed to its glory. Nonetheless, the fu never faded away after the collapse of the Han and continued to be written in the following millennia. During the Six Dynasties, the fu shifted its focus from metropolises and royal hunts to a much more diverse set of topics, ranging from natural phenomena, flora and fauna, daily objects such as zithers, flutes, and mirrors, to lived experience of the writers such as reflections about military expeditions, vicissitudes of the world, and personal choices about serving the court and retreating from society. Accompanying the relatively smaller scope and more diverse range of subjects was the shift of rhetoric and style. Although lavish verbal display is still an important component of some fu in the Six Dynasties, in many other fu pieces during this period, we see noteworthy changes in the use of diction and imagery. To be specific, fu pieces increasingly adopt vocabulary and images more directly associated with the immediate surroundings and emotions of the writers. One of the most significant attributes of the fu that marked its development in the Six Dynasties is its emotional expressiveness and thus a stronger presence of the poetic persona.1 Because of the smaller scope and size compared to their predecessors in the Han, the fu pieces during this period are sometimes called shuqing xiaofu 抒情小賦 (lit. “shorter rhapsodies that express emotions”).2 But the notion of “shortness” is only a relative idea. In general, rhapsodies still tend to be longer than shi poems, the latter of 1  See Liu, Zhongguo wenxue fadashi, 147–48; Zhang and Luo, Zhongguo wenxue shi, 1:266–72; Ma, Fushi, 142–46; and Yuan, Zhongguo wenxueshi, 2:163.

2  Gong Kechang in his analysis of Zhang’s “Guitian fu” 歸田賦 claims that the piece represented the trans­ition from grand fu of earlier times to shorter fu that express personal feelings, although Xu 許 結 points out that the shuqing xiaofu appeared early in the Western Han period. See Gong, “Fu feng zhuanbian de ming pian,” and Xu, Zhang Heng pingzhuan, 304–5.

Yiyi Luo is Assistant Professor in the School of Literature at Capital Normal University, Beijing, China. Her research focuses on literature, court culture, and the interrelation between literature and religions in early medieval China. She is currently engaged in a project that explores the multisidedness of the poetic corpus of Yu Xin (513–581 CE), with special emphasis on the polyvocality of language registers, voices, themes, and perspectives in his writings.

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which usually run no more than a dozen lines. The longer length of fu allows more space for the writer to be not only elaborate in their description, but also more eloquent in their unfolding of logic, and more articulate in their display of sentiments. Most of the extant rhapsodies before the Tang dynasty are found in the Quan shanggu Sandai Qin Han Sanguo Liuchao wen 全上古三代秦漢三國六朝文 (Complete prose of antiquity, the Three Dynasties, Qin, Han, the Three Kingdoms, and the Six Dynasties) compiled by Yan Kejun 嚴可均 (1762–1843), a massive collection that preserves literary writings other than shi 詩 poetry from antiquity to the Sui dynasty. However, we should refrain from interpreting the word wen in the title of this collection as prose, an umbrella term under which a vast number of literary writings in a wide range of genres have been lumped. More and more scholars have recognized that fu, in its use of rhythmic and rhyme patterns, shares much in common with shi poetry. These two together belonged to the domain of verse and were nurtured in the same cultural background. As Paul W. Kroll has accurately remarked, “the fu provides the broader background against which the tighter, more controlled forms of verse, such as the shih, must be considered.”3 Indeed, the boundary between fu and shi in the Six Dynasties became more blurred in the Six Dynasties, with fu writers more consciously producing highly stylized pieces with rhyme patterns that resemble shi poetry, so much so that several scholars have highlighted this aspect and called it “lyricization of rhapsody” (fu de shihua 賦的詩化), or the “merging of shi and fu” (shifu heliu 詩賦合流).4 This chapter focuses on the “Small Garden Rhapsody” (“Xiaoyuan fu” 小園賦) of Yu Xin 庾信 (513–581), a court literatus of the Liang and the Northern Zhou dynasties who was recognized as one of the most important poets in the sixth century. The rhapsody presents Yu’s life in reclusion through a description of residing in his small garden and voices a strand of sentiments and reflections about his past and present realities. Its seemingly simple and allusive but highly controlled language, adoption of distinct rhyming patterns, and construction of the image of a scholar-farmer familiar from earlier literature on reclusion embodies new strands of development of fu in the Six Dynasties outlined above. As we shall see below, the rhapsody also stands out in its emotional richness and nuance, representing another strand of development of the fu in the Six Dynasties. Moreover, the piece itself has been regarded as an important component of Yu Xin’s authorial images as recluse and frustrated scholar at a critical moment of his life.5 My analysis of the rhapsody shows that behind the façade of the writer as a scholarfarmer who lives a reclusive style lies a string of complicated emotions that could only be understood with adequate knowledge about his life experience; I argue that it is exactly the way Yu Xin adopts a conventional literary topic to articulate his various sentiments that makes this piece of writing unique. While we may never precisely pin down 3  Kroll, “The Significance of the fu in the History of T’ang Poetry,” 89.

4  See Cheng, “The Assimilation and Dissimilation of Fu and Shi Poetry up to the Tang Dynasty”; Yuan, Zhongguo wenxueshi, 2:160–73.

5  Modern scholars tend to read the “Small Garden Rhapsody” as a reflection of his intention to retreat, an interpretation this chapter aims to problematize. For a notable study, see Sun, “Yu Xin houqi zhengzhi jueze zhong de maodun xing.”

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the specific relation between Yu Xin’s life events and the voices in his writings, with effort, we may still be able to glimpse the distant literary world whose many elements have become fragmentary or even vanished entirely due to the lapse of time.

Historical Context of the “Small Garden Rhapsody”

Some background information regarding Yu Xin is necessary. During his early and prime years, Yu Xin was the attendant of Liang princes and honoured guest at the imperial court. After the Hou Jing rebellion broke out in 548, leading to the fall of the Jiankang 建康 (present Nanjing, Jiangsu), Yu Xin fled to Jiangling 江陵 (present Jingzhou, Hubei) and served the newly established court of Emperor Yuan, Xiao Yi 蕭繹 (r. 552–554). In 554, he was sent by Xiao Yi to the Western Wei court for a diplomatic mission; during his stay, however, in Chang’an (present day Xi’an, Shaanxi), the Western Wei launched an attack against the Liang court that led to the fall of the southern regime. Yu Xin was never allowed to return to the south. Although specifically when the rhapsody was written remains unknown, it is usually dated to sometime between 554 and 557, a time when Yu Xin had just arrived in the north. As envoy from the southern conquered state, he was not given much freedom during those years. Although several honorary titles were conferred on him, he did not hold any substantial official post.6 Composed in such an historical context, the rhapsody voices the poet’s frustration over his personal experience as well as the fate of the southern state. However, this frustration is not voiced in an emotional manner, but couched in the description of an idealized recluse, who, despite living in adversity, is distant from the affairs of worldly men. The poet’s identification with this recluse is evident from the first-person voice adopted throughout. The small garden serves not only as a physical space in which the poet lives his reclusive life, but the depiction of it as a secluded place signals that the poet identifies it as a mental space where he finds comfort and calm, echoing the experience of hermits throughout time. In depicting the life of solitude and simplicity, “Small Garden Rhapsody” draws on traditional discourses about reclusion, that is, disengagement from active participation in an official career. A prevalent topic in literature of the early medieval period, reclusion is now generally recognized as an umbrella term that encompasses a wide range of motivations and circumstances, and takes on an entire array of rhetorical patterns. Literary representations of recluses or hermitic lifestyles abound in historical, hagiographical, and literary texts in the early and medieval period. One of the most notable images to emerge from these texts is what Alan Berkowitz terms the “Untroubled Idler,” which is formulated through the “depiction of retirement in such works as Zhang Heng’s ‘Rhapsody on Returning to the Fields’ (‘Gui tian fu’ 歸田賦), Pan Yue’s ‘Rhapsody on the Leisurely Life’ (‘Xianju fu’ 閒居賦), and the various Western Jin ‘Beckoning the Recluse’ (‘Zhao yin’ 招隱) poems.”7 The untroubled idler is depicted as a scholar-farmer who

6  See Yu Xin’s biography in Zhoushu 41.733–45, for a brief list of his official and honorary titles. For a more detailed analysis of Yu’s career path in the north, see Lu, Yu Xin zhuanlun, 20–40. 7  See Berkowitz, Patterns of Disengagement, 60.

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shuns officialdom and yet remains calm and carefree in his daily routine of engaging in farm work, reading, and playing zither. In Tao Yuanming’s 陶淵明 (365?–427) writings, we find the culmination of literary representations of the untroubled idler.8 Among the extant corpus of Yu Xin, more than a dozen poems and rhapsodies treat the theme of reclusion directly, and a larger number of writings across genres employ images and diction associated with reclusion.9 While these writings do not construct a consistent poetic image of the hermit scholar as each follows its own internal logic, Yu Xin does consciously draw on the textual legacy of exemplary hermits in history as the basis for his depiction of an eremitic life. In the first half of the “Small Garden Rhapsody,” in particular, Yu Xin frames his poetic discourse within the longstanding tradition of disengagement, and thus aligns himself with earlier exemplars of eremitism. Nonetheless, upon close reading, we find that the rhapsody is not simply constructing the persona of a scholar-farmer in tranquility. A sense of insecurity and melancholia begins to emerge in the middle of the rhapsody, and it becomes stronger and more emotionally expressive toward the end. Oscillating between the past and the present, the poetic persona reminisces about his prime years when his talent was recognized and appreciated, then grows melancholy over the destruction of war, and the powerlessness of men in the face of catastrophe. Adopting metaphors of reclusion, the central image of which is the small garden, the poet voices his discontent about his own living reality, as well as that of those who experienced isolation and violence. As a result, the rhapsody is not essentially about reclusion. Its descriptiveness in the first half and expressiveness in the second half should not be seen as incompatible, but a conscious effort of the poet to use traditional rhetoric on a familiar literary topic to reconstruct his own memory about the painful past. The result is the authorial image of Yu Xin, who attempted to achieve inner peace and make sense of his living reality, but failed at it, a self-image which recurs in his writings. The recognition of this point helps us come up with a fuller understanding of the “Small Garden Rhapsody.” Since the time of Ni Fan 倪璠 (fl. ca. 1705)), an influential commentator of Yu Xin’s anthology, the piece has been interpreted as a text that expresses the poet’s longing for reclusion and nostalgia.10 While Ni 8  To name a few studies on Tao’s literary representations of reclusion and their later influence, see Swartz, Reading Tao Yuanming; Xiaofei, Tao Yuanming and Manuscript Culture; and Ashmore, Transport of Reading.

9  For an analysis of rhetorical patterns in Yu Xin’s verbal representations of reclusion, see my dissertation, “Yu Xin (513–581) and the Sixth-Century Literary World,” ch. 4, “Writing about Reclusion: Convergences and Divergences,” 189–257.

10  In his introduction, Ni Fan says: “The ‘Small Garden Rhapsody’ laments the poet’s subjection to the Western Wei and Northern Zhou courts and his unfulfilled desire to reside in seclusion. Its writing is different from both of Pan Yue’s ‘Rhapsody on Living in Idleness’ and Zhongchang Tong’s writings on ‘Delighting My Intent.’ In longing for his homeland, the poet let loose words of sorrow and resentment” 小園賦者，傷其屈體魏周，願為隱居而不可得也。其文既異潘岳之閑居，亦 非仲長之樂志，以鄉關之思，發為哀怨之辭也 (Yu Zishan jizhu, 1.19). Ni emphasizes that the authorial intention of the rhapsody is to express the poet’s frustration over his failure to renounce officialdom and to live in reclusion, and that Yu’s desire to retreat from public life arose out of his nostalgia for the south, an emotional undertone Ni Fan finds running through Yu Xin’s writings.

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Fan is correct in seeing reclusion as a foil for Yu Xin to voice his “sorrow and resentment” 哀怨, Ni’s reading of the emotions in the piece is a bit one-dimensional.  Before presenting my own interpretation of the piece as a whole, I provide an annotated translation and close reading of the rhapsody. The piece has 136 lines, a mixture of four-, six-, and seven-syllable lines. It consists of thirteen stanzas. Except for the first two stanzas, which are usually taken as introduction to the rhapsody for their lack of rhyme patterns, each section follows a distinct rhyming scheme.11 Rhyme words are underlined. Parallelism is adhered to throughout, sometimes within the couplet, other times between couplets. Yu Xin, Small Garden Rhapsody 小園賦12

(Stanza #1) 若夫一枝之上 巢父得安巢之所 一壺之中 4 壺公有容身之地 況乎管寧藜床 雖穿而可坐 嵇康鍛竈 8 既暖而堪眠 豈必連闥洞房 南陽樊重之第 綠墀青瑣 12 西漢王根之宅

On one branch alone, Nest-dweller obtains a spot to set up his nest,13 Within one pot, Sire Gourd finds space to fit his body.14 Let alone Guan Ning’s chair of goosefoot vine,15 though worn out yet is still good for sitting. Or Ji Kang on the smelting stove—16 once it is warmed up, ready for a nap. What need for rows of doorways, chamber after chamber, such as the mansion of Fan Zhong from Nanyang?17 Or green stairways, blue engravings, like in the residence of Wang Gen of the Western Han?18

11  My identification of the rhyme schemes is based on David Prager Branner’s reconstruction of medieval Chinese, Yīntōng: Chinese Phonological Database “音通”: 聲韻學數據庫: http://yintong. americanorientalsociety.org/public/.

12  Yu Zishan jizhu, 1.19–34. For another English translation of this rhapsody, see Watson, Chinese Rhyme-Prose, 123–32.

13  Nest-dweller, a purported hermit in Emperor Yao’s 堯 time, earned this name for his habit of sleeping in tree tops. It is said that when Yao relinquished his throne to Xu You 許由, the latter asked for the opinion of Nest-dweller, who, in turn, slighted Xu You for not being resolute enough to live as a hermit. See Gaoshi zhuan, 1.3a/b. 14  Sire Gourd refers to an anecdote recorded in the Hou Hanshu 後漢書 regarding Fei Zhangfang 費長房, a market administrator in Runan 汝南 (modern Henan Province). He often saw an old man who sold herbs at the market always jump into his gourd and disappear when the day was over. Fei later became the disciple of Sire Gourd and left his family in order to pursue immortality, but failed at the attempt. See Hou Hanshu, 82b.2743–45. 15  Guan Ning, the renowned recluse in late Eastern Han, is said to have sat in the same chair for fifty years until the chair was worn out. See Gaoshi zhuan, 3.14a/b. 16  Ji Kang (223–262) was said to be fond of blacksmithing. In summertime when it was hot, Ji would forge iron under a willow tree in his yard. See Jinshu, 49.1372.

17  Fan Zhong, maternal grandfather of the founding emperor of the Eastern Han, was a wealthy merchant who built a luxurious mansion with layered terraces and high-standing pavilions. See Hou Hanshu, 32.1119. 18  Wang Gen was the uncle of Emperor Yuan of Han and held a number of prominent positions.

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The first stanza is usually considered as preface, which introduces the topic by enumerating historical figures associated with either large or small spaces. The poetic contrast between large and small spaces is reminiscent of a set of group compositions titled “Poems of Magniloquence” (Dayan shi 大言詩) and “Diminiloquence” (Xiaoyan shi 小言詩) composed by Xiao Tong 蕭統 (501–531) and five of his literary coterie. Each member composed a pair of poems that describe an exaggeratedly large universe and miniscule world respectively. As Ping Wang has shown in The Age of Courtly Writing, the elaboration of largeness and smallness in poetry has an enduring tradition traced back to the Warring States.19 While our rhapsody does not draw on the relativity in perspective associated with the smallness/largeness duality, as the chapter “On Making Things Equal” (Qiwu lun 齊物論) of the Zhuangzi attempts to illuminate, Yu Xin’s adoption of this duality and his emphasis on the “smallness” of this binary reflect his awareness of this enduring writing practice. Now, the first four characters sketched in the opening four couplets are more commonly acclaimed for their lack of interest in official careers, yet what the poet highlights here is their poor surroundings and contentment despite modest living. Both Nest-Dweller and Sire-Gourd live in an impossibly miniscule space. Guan Ning sat in the same ragged chair for fifty years, and Ji Kang slept on a smelting stove for its remaining warmth. In contrast, Fan Zhong and Wang Gen, two wealthy and politically-important men from the Han, built lavish mansions. The poet uses multiple allusions to express his identification with those who lived in frugality and his disapproval of those who lived extravagant lifestyles. After listing exemplars of eremitic withdrawal in the past, the poet now turns to his own residence: (Stanza #2)

余有數畝弊廬 寂寞人外 聊以擬伏臘 16 聊以避風霜 雖復晏嬰近市 不求朝夕之利 潘岳面城 20 且適閑居之樂

I have several acres of land and a shabby hut, alone in seclusion, beyond the crowd. Enough to fend off the hottest and coldest days, enough to shelter me from wind and frost. Even though Yan Ying lived close to the market, He did not pursue petty profits.20 Pan Yue[’s residence] faced the city wall, And yet he took pleasure in dwelling in idleness.21

In his late years, Wang was accused of painting stairways in his mansion in vermillion 赤墀 and engravings on the edge of doors in blue 青瑣, the practice of which was restricted to the residence of the emperor. See Hanshu, 98.4028. Here chi 赤 (“vermillion”) is replaced by lü 綠 (“green”) probably to fit the rhyming pattern. Note that both Fan Zhong and Wang Gen were related to two sovereigns of the Han by blood. 19  See Ping, The Age of Courtly Writing,18-35.

20  Yan Ying was prime minister of the state of Qi. When Duke Jing of Qi offered him a large mansion in place of his old smaller residence, Yan declined and claimed that the new place would be too luxurious and that since his old home was closer to the market, he would be able to buy cheaper produce. See Zuozhuan, Zhao 3.3, in Yang Bojun, Chunqiu zuozhuan zhu, 1237.

21  Pan Yue (247–300), the Western Jin writer, wrote the “Rhapsody on Dwelling in Idleness” 閑居

Reconsidering Yu Xin’s (513–581) “Fu on a Small Garden” 況乃黄鶴戒露 非有意於輪軒 爰居避風 24 本無情於鍾鼓 陸機則兄弟同居 韓康則舅甥不别 蝸角蚊睫 28 又足相容者也

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Furthermore, the yellow crane wary of dew, is not interested in carriage ride.22 Yuanju takes shelter from wind, it by nature is not attached to bells and drums.23 Lu Ji shared the residence with his brother,24 Han Kang did not separate with his uncle.25 Even the snail’s feeler, or the eyelash of a mosquito,26 is enough to accommodate me.

Stanza 2 is equally allusive, with a series of references pointing to the central idea of holding no interest in wealth but delighting in a small space. The poet not only cites examples of earlier scholar-officials who express their contentment with the current situation, that is, Yan Ying with his old house, and Pan Yue with his retirement, but also birds that were offered unwanted social status and rituals. All these allusions speak for the shabbiness of the poet’s hut (line 13), which is “alone in seclusion, beyond the crowd,” a phrase that describes his dwelling and unworldly attitude at the same time. Even though the poet further uses hyperbolic diction, such as the snail’s corner and mosquito’s eyelash (lines 27–28) to illustrate the smallness of his residence, the reader finds a sense of delight in this stanza, marked by “taking pleasure in dwelling in idleness” (line 20).  To be sure, Yu Xin was not the first poet to illustrate living in adversity and to associate it with spiritual contentment. There is a longstanding convention, both in philosophical and literary discourses, that embraces an antique simplicity and nurturing one’s 賦, in which he expresses his disillusionment with officialdom and describes his life in retirement at his country estate. The rhapsody is recorded in Wenxuan, 16.697–707. The term “facing the city” 面城 refers to the phrase, “I face the suburb and have the markets behind” 面郊後市, with which Pan Yue describes the location of his retreat in that rhapsody.

22  The Zuozhuan records that Duke Yi of Wei 衛懿公 was obsessed with cranes and enjoyed bringing them along on carriage rides. When the Di 狄 troops attacked the Wei in 660 BCE, Duke Yi commanded his soldiers to defend, but they declined while suggesting that the cranes take up the duty, since they were the ones given prestigious status. See Zuozhuan, Min 2.5, in Chunqiu zuozhuan zhu, 265. 23  According to Guoyu 國語, Yuanju was a type of seabird that stopped by the city gate of Lu to take shelter from wind. The minister of Lu, Zang Wenzhong 臧文仲, once captured Yuanju and made lavish, but inappropriate, sacrifice to it. Guoyu (SKQS edition), 4.7a.

24  When Lu Ji 陸機 (261–303) and his younger brother Lu Yun 陸雲 (262–303) first arrived in Luoyang, they stayed in the same residence. See Xu Zhen’e, ed., Shishuo xinju jiaojian, 8.243.

25  Han Kang refers to Han Bo 韓伯, the nephew of Yin Hao 殷浩 (303–356), an Eastern Jin minister. When Yin Hao was banished from the capital in 354, Han Bo went along with him, staying for one year before returning to the capital. See Jinshu, 75.1992 and 77.2047. Lines 25 and 26 illustrate two pairs of historical figures who shared the same residence when travelling away from home.

26  Zhuangzi 莊子 records that two kingdoms that reside in two opposite corners of a snail fought with each other, leaving tens of thousands dead. See Zhuangzi jishi, 25.891–92. The eyelash of a mosquito refers to the conversation between Duke Jing of Qi and Yanzi concerning extreme grandness and smallness, for which Yanzi provided two examples. The example that illustrates diminutiveness is a type of insect that lived under the eyelash of a mosquito without ever being discovered. See Yanzi chunqiu jishi, 8.514.

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inner strength. The literary trope of remaining joyful in hardship goes back to Kongzi’s 孔子 comment on Yan Hui 顏回 in the Lunyu 論語,27 The Master said, “How virtuous is Hui! With a single basket of rice, a single ladle of drink, and living in a crude alley, where others would not endure the distress, Hui does not alter in his joy. How virtuous is Hui!” 子曰：賢哉回也！一簞食，一瓢飲，在陋巷。人不堪其憂，回也不改其樂。賢哉回 也！

This passage is one of the most influential comments on men who maintain their composure and joy in adversity. It has been so widely read, adopted, and transformed by later ages that allusions to it appear in a whole range of intellectual discussions and literary writings. In literature, on the theme of reclusion, specifically, so much ink has been spilled on delineating a poor man’s life and his preservation of inner tranquility that it becomes an integral part of this type of rhetoric. Pan Yue’s “Rhapsody on Dwelling in Idleness” 閑居賦, which line 20 refers to, expresses the poet’s delight in retreat. A similar portrayal could be found in “Rhapsody on Reading” 讀書賦 by Shu Xi 束皙 (ca. 263–ca. 302),28  耽道先生 澹泊閑居 藻練精神 呼吸清虛 抗志雲表 戢形陋廬

The gentleman who is engaged in the Way, Dwells in idleness, calmly and peacefully.  Cultivating and nourishing his vital spirits, He inspires and expires in the pure emptiness.  His lofty aspirations rise above the clouds, Although he hides his form in the decrepit hut. 

Here is another sketch of a classicist scholar in retreat, who resides in a rundown hut, yet is devoted to the Way, embraces lofty aims, and enjoys reading. That the tininess of space and lack of material wealth could even evoke joy and spiritual freedom suggests the image of a superior man, who upholds his integrity despite unfavourable times. Besides Shu Xi, the most famous poet engaged in writing about reclusion in adversity and reading is perhaps Tao Yuanming, whose lyric depiction of the joys of reading, as Robert Ashmore states, is “one of the most distinctive dimensions of his work.”29 This dimension also figures heavily in the “Small Garden Rhapsody,” where one finds a similar depiction in the next stanza: (Stanza #3)

爾乃窟室徘徊 And then, I pace back and forth in the cave, 聊同鑿坯 like [Yan He who] chiseled the adobe [to shun summons to the court].30 桐間露落 Among paulownia trees dew drops,

27  Lunyu yizhu, 6/11.

28  “Quan Jin wen,” in Yan, Quan shanggu Sandai Qin Han Sanguo Liuchao wen, 87.1962a. Robert Ashmore has translated and analyzed this rhapsody in his The Transport of Reading, 4–9. 29  Ashmore, The Transport of Reading, 63.

30  The adobe-chiseler refers to a recluse named Yan He 顏闔, who, upon receiving the ruler’s

Reconsidering Yu Xin’s (513–581) “Fu on a Small Garden” 32 柳下風來 琴號珠柱 書名玉杯 有棠梨而無館 36 足酸棗而非臺

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under willow trees wind ruffles. A zither called Pearl-Peg, a book named Jade Cup.31 I have pear trees, yet not the Lodge,32 enough sour jujubes, but no Terrace.33 (-ei)

Here we come to a descriptive presentation of the poet’s daily routines and his garden. Lines 33 and 34 juxtapose two noun phrases, a precious zither with pearl-pegs and an ancient text attributed to Dong Zhongshu 董仲舒 (179–104 BCE); it implies that it is the poet who plays the zither and reads the text. As mentioned above, reading is often associated with reclusion, and zither-playing too is a typical eremitic behaviour. Lines 35 and 36 invoke the Pearl Lodge 棠梨館 and the Terrace of Air Gazing outside Sour Jujube Monastery 酸棗寺, two royal edifices from earlier times. Nonetheless, the poet wittily highlights that he possesses only the enjoyment without the edifice itself, implying that he keeps distance from power and wealth. The image of the lofty-minded scholar is reinforced in the next section through a depiction of the plants in his garden, (Stanza #4)

猶得欹側八九丈 縱横數十步 榆柳兩三行 40 梨桃百馀樹 撥蒙密兮見窗 行欹斜兮得路 蟬有翳兮不驚 44 雉無羅兮何懼

I only have an odd-shaped room of eighty or ninety feet, its width is just a few dozen paces. Elms and willows in two and three rows, pear and peach trees, about one hundred. Pushing aside the dense bushes, one sees the window, meandering through the zigzag, there is a path. In the thickets, cicadas are not frightened, no net for the pheasants, nothing to dread. (-uo)

The lush plantation engulfs his cottage and provides natural protection to insects. It also conveys a sense of unkemptness and seclusion to the point of oblivion that is appropriate for rustic life. This trope made an earlier appearance in Tao Yuanming’s writings. For instance, lines 3–40 echo the first poem of Tao’s set of “Return to Dwell in Gardens and Fields” 歸園田居 in their use of numerals, summons to the court, chiselled a hole in the wall and escaped. See Liu, ed., Huainanzi, 11.372. 31  The “Jade Cup” is a text written by Dong Zhongshu 董仲舒 (179–104 BCE).

32  The Pearl Villa was part of the Sweet Springs Palace in the Han dynasty. It is mentioned in Yang Xiong’s 揚雄 “Rhapsody on Sweet Spring Palace” 甘泉賦.

33  This refers to the Terrace of Air Gazing 望氣臺 outside the Suanzao Monastery 酸棗寺 (lit.: sour jujube), which was built by the kings of the state of Han during the Warring States period. In the preface to one of his now fragmentary rhapsodies, “The Old Terrace of the King of the Han” 韓王故 臺賦, the Western Jin writer Sun Chu孫楚 (220–293) records his visit to the remnant of the terrace, which was located in Suanzao (present Xinxiang 新鄉, Henan), and states that the grandiosity of the terrace was not compatible with the small size of the state of Han, and that its grandness serves to remind rulers now and in the future of the potential harm caused by extravagance. See “Quan Jin wen,” 60.1800b.

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“Return to Dwell in Gardens and Fields,” No. 134 …… 方宅十余畝 My house plot: ten acres or more, 10 草屋八九間 And a thatched cottage: eight or nine rooms. 榆柳蔭後檐 Elms and willows shade eves at the back, 12 桃李羅堂前 Peach and plum spread in front of the hall. ……

Every one of lines 37–40 of the rhapsody echoes Tao Yuanming’s poem, and the resonance exists on the level of diction as well as of poetic structure. Both detail the size of the residence by using the approximation of numbers (“eight or nine” 八九, and “ten or more” 數十/十余), and then continue with a brief list of plants. The approximation of numbers is said to “truly capture Tao Yuanming’s casualness,”35 but more importantly, it helps create the effect of “plainness” on the linguistic level and the overall lighthearted tone that characterizes Tao’s poem. The adoption of a similar set of phrases in Yu Xin’s rhapsody indicates an awareness of this stylistic feature of Tao and an effort to model it.36 Such resemblance is not mere coincidence. We know that the reputation of Tao Yuanming as a famed recluse was already being circulated among the cultural elites by the sixth century, as Wendy Swartz has shown in her reading of Tao’s biographies by Shen Yue 沈約 (441–513) and Xiao Tong 蕭綱 (503–551).37 Yu Xin was particularly familiar with the latter of these.38 Thus this textual resemblance very likely reflects Yu Xin’s conscious modelling on Tao’s self-presentation as a scholar-farmer. However, something unsettling seems to loom behind the calm of the small garden. Despite the negative indicator in each line, lines 43 and 44 present two images associated with instability: frightened cicadas and pheasants afraid of being caught. Instead of depicting plants and animals in his garden as they appear, the poet focuses on their “mental states,” through which he transfers the insecure feelings from himself to the natural world. This transference would appear later again, and the sense of insecurity mounts toward the end. The poet continues to depict the flora and fauna in the garden, while highlighting the awkward and confining space around himself. (Stanza #5)

草樹混淆 枝格相交 山爲簣覆

Vines and trees twist and tangle, twigs and branches touch each other. The hill is soil that piles up,

34  Lu Qinli, Xian Qin Han Wei Jin Nanbeichao shi, “Jinshi,” 17.991. 35  Swartz, Reading Tao Yuanming, 157.

36  An additional example that utilizes the approximation of numbers is lines 67-68 of the “Small Garden Rhapsody,” “Fishes of one or two inches long, and bamboo, three or two canes” 一寸二寸之 魚, 三竿兩竿之竹. 37  See Swartz, Reading Tao Yuanming, 23–38.

38  Yu Xin took up the position of Compiler-Academician of Xiao Tong 東宮抄撰學士 sometime around 534. See Lu, Yu Xin zhuanlun, 11–12.

Reconsidering Yu Xin’s (513–581) “Fu on a Small Garden” 48 地有堂坳 藏狸並窟 乳鵲重巢 連珠細茵 52 長柄寒匏

(Stanza #6)

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the ground has a shallow hollow for a pond. Hidden foxes stay in the same burrow, fledgling magpies share one nest. Linked pearls are tender grass, long-necked is the winter gourd. (-au)

可以療饑 With which one can alleviate hunger, 可以棲遲 With which one can rest at leisure.39 㩻區兮狹室 Crooked and slanted is my cramped chamber, 56 穿漏兮茅茨 Cracked and leaky is the thatched roof. 檐直倚而妨帽 Straighten up under the eaves, one gets a bump to the hat, 戶平行而礙眉 Walk across the door, its frame gives one’s brows a thump. 坐帳無鶴 Sitting next to my curtain there is no crane,40 60 支床有龜 yet turtles hold up the legs of the bed.41 鳥多閑暇 Birds are at leisure most of the time, 花隨四時 flowers change with each of the four seasons. 心則曆陵枯木 My heart is like the withered tree of Liling,42 64 發則睢陽亂絲 and my hair resembles the matted silk threads in Suiyang.43 非夏日而可畏 It is not the summer sunlight that I dread,44

39  This line and the previous line echo Maoshi #138, “Hengmen” 衡門, which articulates the joy of living in simplicity.

40  The crane refers to the Shenxian zhuan 神仙傳 story regarding Jie Xiang 介象, a Daoist with many special talents, including concealing his form. As a result, the ruler of the Wu kingdom respected Jie Xiang and had his home site made into a temple. Whenever the king visited the temple to make offerings to Jie, a white crane would appear on the altar then leave after a time. The crane is thus a symbol of Jie Xiang. See Shenxian zhuan, 9.6b–9b. In this line, the absence of the crane seems to be the poet’s mocking his own lack of Jie Xiang’s talents.

41  An anecdote from the “Turtles and Divinations” 龜策列傳 of the Shiji records that an old man once put turtles under the legs of his bed. Twenty years later when he died and his family moved his bed, they found the turtles were still alive. See Shiji, 128.3228. Turtles are traditionally associated with longevity and their plastrons were used for divination.

42  Liling was a county under the Yuzhang 豫章 prefecture. According to the “Monograph on Five Phases” 五行志 of the Songshu 宋書, in the sixth year of the Yongjia 永嘉 reigning period (312), a withered tree in Yuzhang prefecture that had been dead for many years suddenly flourished. Taking place one year after the “disaster of the Yongjia reign-period” 永嘉之亂, during which the majority of the Western Jin army was eliminated, the withering and flourishing of the tree at Liling were taken as a sign of the fall of the Western Jin and rise of the Eastern Jin ruling house. See Songshu, 32.939. Yu Xin seems to adopt only the image of the withered tree, not the entire story, as a metaphor for his depression.

43  According to Lüshi chunqiu 呂氏春秋, Mozi 墨子 once witnessed the dyeing of silk threads and expressed how easily white silk 素絲 could be dyed into different colours (as a metaphor for the influence of subjects upon rulers). See Lüshi chunqiu jiaoshi 呂氏春秋校釋, 2.95. The connection between the tangled threads that saddened Mozi and Suiyang might be that Mozi hailed from the state of Song 宋國, whose capital was Suiyang.

44  “Summer sunlight” refers to Hu Yigu’s 狐射姑 (also called Jiaji 賈季) comment on Zhao Dun 趙 盾 (fl. ca. seventh century BCE), minister of the Jin, as “sunlight in the summer” 夏日之日. According

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異秋天而堪悲 It is not because of the autumn days that I feel sad.45 (-i)

Stanzas 5 and 6 visualize through multiple angles the smallness and unkemptness of the garden, a feature highlighted from the beginning of the rhapsody. Here we see one of the generic features of the fu at work: extended, though not monotonous, description of the subject matter from different perspectives. The audience is brought in to feel the minuteness of the space from several aspects: first, the diminished version of hills and ponds; second, the picturing of foxes and magpies sharing the same burrow and nest; and third, the poet’s daily jostling living in a small chamber. The simplicity of this reclusive life, already featured in stanzas 1–3, is also conveyed through the poet’s use of plain language with fewer allusions. However, such simple living described here is by no means associated with feeling carefree, but full of anxieties. Stanza 6 is comprised of two distinct parts with two different orientations. Whereas its first few lines focus on depicting the surroundings of the poet’s hut, lines 63–66 turn to his inner world, accompanied by a different meter. Recalling Mozi, who sighed upon seeing how easily white silk could turn to other colours, the poet expresses his empathy for Mozi in realizing with what speed and ease the world can corrupt. The concluding couplet, by referring to the dreadful Jin minister Zhao Dun 趙盾 and rueful Song Yu 宋玉, who lamented the coming of autumn, implies the poet’s unease, but the source of this anxiety is yet to be found. The unfolding of the poet’s sentiments pauses in the next two stanzas, where he shows the audience once again the routines of living as a recluse. (Stanza #7)

一寸二寸之魚 Fishes of one inch, two inches long, 68 三竿兩竿之竹 bamboo, three canes, two canes. 雲氣蔭於叢蓍 Cloudy air darkens over clustered milfoils, 金精養於秋菊 golden essence nourished in the autumn chrysan themum. Sour jujubes, pears of acidic taste, 棗酸梨酢 72 桃榹李薁 wild peaches, garden-grown plum, 落葉半床 Their fallen leaves half engulf my bed, 狂花滿屋 swirling flowers fill the room. 名爲野人之家 Name it home of a wild man,46 76 是謂愚公之谷 or call it valley of Sire Foolish.47 (-u) to Du Yu’s commentary, “sunlight in the summer was dreadful” 夏日可畏, implying that Zhao Dun was regarded as a dreadful figure. See Zuozhuan, Wen 7.5, in Chunqiu Zuozhuan zhu, 561.

45  I follow Ni Fan’s commentary on relating this line to the lament over the arrival of autumn in the opening line of “Jiubian” 九辯, which is traditionally attributed to Song Yu 宋玉 (fl. 298-263 BCE). See Chuci buzhu, 8.182.

46  The wild man refers to an anecdote from the “Arrayed Biographies of the Disengaged Folks” 逸 民列傳 in the Hou Hanshu. Emperor Huan 桓 once stopped by Yunmeng 雲夢 (now Xiaogan 孝感, Hubei) during one of his inspection trips. All locals came to greet him except for one old man, who kept ploughing his field. When asked by one official, the old man replied that he would not be able to understand the words of the emperor, since he was a wild man. See Hou Hanshu, 83.2775. 47  According to the Shuoyuan 說苑, when Duke Huan of Qi arrived at a valley on a hunting trip, he

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(Stanza #8)

試偃息於茂林 I attempt to rest in the luxuriant forest, 乃久羨於抽簪 and I have envied long those who doffed their hatpins.48 雖有門而長閉 I have a door, yet it’s always closed,49 80 實無水而恒沉 no water here, indeed, but I constantly submerge myself [even on dry land].50 三春負鋤相識 In spring, the third month, I bear a hoe and meet with friends, 五月披裘見尋 in the fifth month I wear a fur coat and am sought after.51 問葛洪之藥性 I ask Ge Hong about the properties of herbs,52 84 訪京房之卜林 visit Jing Fang’s forest of divinations.53 草無忘憂之意 Yet these plants do not intend to expel sorrow from me, 花無長樂之心 nor do flowers mean to bring me lasting joy.54 鳥何事而逐酒 What’s the use of offering wine to a bird?55 88 魚何情而聽琴 what favour is there for a fish to listen to the zither? (-em)

Here we see the return of images associated with reclusion that have appeared in earlier textual tradition. Bamboos have been linked to eremitism ever since the behaviour of the “Seven Worthies of the Bamboo Grove” 竹林七賢. Chrysanthemums have in Tao Yuanming’s writings so often that they have also been recognized as one of the symbols of hermits. Fallen leaves and swirling flowers convey a sense of naturalness, a result of the poet’s lack of intention. The anecdotes about the wild man and Sire Foolish further give rise to the image of a disengaged man who not only holds no interest in politics and wealth, but also consciously rejects calculation. saw an old man and asked him about the name of the valley. The man told the king it was called “valley of a foolish sir” after himself, and he was called so because his neighbours thought he had a simple mind and was incapable of doing business. See Shuoyuan, 7.196. 48  “Those who doff their hatpins” refers to recluses.

49  This is an adaptation of a line from Tao Yuanming’s “Guiqu laixici” 歸去來兮辭, “I built a door, yet it is always closed” 門雖設而長關. Lu, Xian Qin Han Wei Jin Nanbeichao shi, “Jinshi,” 17.987.

50  C.f. Zhuangzi 莊子, “he runs counter to the world and his mind disdains to associate with it. He is someone who can submerge himself on dry land” 與世違而心不屑與之俱, 是陸沈者也. Zhuangzi jishi, 8B.895. English translation adopted from Mair, Wandering on the Way, 259.

51  The anecdote of an old man wearing a fur coat 披裘公 comes from the Gaoshizhuan, which says that when Kongzi saw a man with a fur coat singing and gathering grains scattered in the field, he regarded the man as worthy. 52  Ge Hong (283–343; alt. 283–363), a late Western-Jin and early Eastern-Jin writer and philosopher, was the purported author of Baopu zi 抱朴子, a text on alchemy and longevity.

53  Jing Fang (77–37 BCE) was a protégé of the well-known Zhouyi expert Jiao Yanshou 焦延壽 and the purported author of Jingshi yizhuan 京氏易傳. 54  “Expelling sorrow” and “lasting joy” are names of a kind of plant and flower respectively.

55  This might refer to a story in the Zhuangzi, which is a variation of the Yuanju anecdote in line 23.

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Reading along, we find yet another similarity between Yu Xin’s description of the door to his garden and that of Tao Yuanming. Lines 79 and 80 read as follows, 雖有門而長閉 80 實無水而恒沉

I have a door, yet it’s always closed, No water here, indeed, but I constantly sink out of sight.

Line 79 is almost a verbatim borrowing from Tao Yuanming’s “The Return: A Rhapsody” 歸去來兮辭, where it depicts the poet’s joy of residing in the garden after renouncing officialdom,56 園日涉以成趣 門雖設而常關

A daily walking in the garden brings pleasure, I built a door, yet it is constantly closed.

Yu Xin’s conscious modelling of Tao Yuanming’s writings and adoption of pre-existing rhetorical topoi related to reclusion give rise to the poetic persona of scholar-farmer who lives a life of simplicity and solitude. Aside from Tao, Yu Xin also draws from the extensive textual tradition surrounding the theme of the recluse. Notable texts include, to name a few, the Zuozhuan (Zuo Commentary), Zhuangzi, Gaoshi zhuan (Tradition of High-Minded Gentlemen), and Shenxian zhuan (Tradition of Spirits and Transcendents), and these sources contain abundant anecdotes of historical/legendary figures that were unbound by conventions and harbored the intention of retreating to hermitage. These allusions are not merely borrowed phrases and images. Calling up a chain of associations to the past and to the source text, they help build up an extra dimension of meaning beyond the primary subject of the “Small Garden Rhapsody.” Nonetheless, it is misleading to describe the “Small Garden Rhapsody” as a conventional piece of literature on the theme of reclusion, and hence to regard it as a factual account of Yu Xin’s reclusive lifestyle. As shown above, the rhapsody is not a wholehearted or sincere celebration of living in retirement. Halfway through the piece, there emerges a rupture from the first half, where the joy of living in seclusion and in self-sufficiency turns into frustration. The types of diction used in these two different parts are also distinct: while the former section utilizes a cluster of words associated with nature imagery to convey a sense of carefreeness, the latter uses words loaded with emotions and hence is more expressive. The ending couplets of Stanzas 6 and 8 shift the poet’s gaze from external surroundings to his inner world. Starting from Stanza 9, we sense a notably stronger presence of the poetic persona, who voices his distress and reminisces about his past. Accordingly, the tone switches from peaceful to melancholy, and even bitter. (Stanza #9)

加以寒暑異令 Furthermore, winter and summer here are of a different kind, 乖違德性 and they are against my nature. 崔骃以不樂損年 Cui Yin’s lack of joy shortened his years,57 56  Lu Qinli, Xian Qin Han Wei Jin Nanbeichao shi, 987.

57  Cui Yin (?–92), an Eastern Han writer and official, was demoted because of his open critique of the transgressive acts of General Dou Xian 竇憲 (?–92); he died a few years later.

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92 吴質以長愁養病 Wu Zhi’s sickness aggravated with enduring sorrow.58 鎮宅神以薶石 I still the house deities by burying stones, 厭山精而照鏡 and expel mountain spirits by flashing a mirror. 屢動莊舄之吟 I constantly stir the groaning of Zhuang Xi,59 96 幾行魏顆之命 and almost commit acts as senseless as the order to Wei Ke.60 (-eing)

(Stanza #10)

薄晚閑閨 At early dusk, the family is at leisure, 老幼相擕 the elder brings along the young. 蓬頭王霸之子 The “son of Wang Ba” with tangled hair,61 100 椎髻梁鴻之妻 and “the wife of Liang Hong” with hair bun.62 燋麥兩甕 Two jars of roasted wheat, 寒菜一畦 winter vegetables in a small field. 風騷騷而樹急 Wind huffs and puffs, blowing trees hurriedly, 104 天慘慘而雲低 in the sky, dim and dull, clouds hang low. 聚空倉而雀噪 Gathering at the empty barn is a flock of clamoring sparrows, 驚懶婦而蟬嘶 The “lazy lady” is startled because cicadas chirr.63 (-ei)

Stanza 9 calls up an array of vignettes about historical figures in frustration, suggesting a poetic persona in anxiety to the point of delirium. By aligning with a series of men in misery, the poet casts himself in their roles: while Cui Yin (?–92) fell from grace in his late years and died a few years later, Wu Zhi (177–230) witnessed the demise of many of his friends during an epidemic that spread over China in 217; during his residence at the state of Chu, Zhuang Xi is said to have constantly sung tunes from his home state, 58  Wu Zhi (177–230), one of the literary coterie of Cao Pi, mourned the death of many of his friends in the plague epidemic of 217 and the fragility of human life.

59  According to the Shiji, Zhuang Xi was originally from the state of Yue and became a high official of the Chu. When Zhuang Xi fell ill, he sang songs of Yue, instead of Chu. The story shows his attachment to his homeland.

60  According to the Zuozhuan, when Wei Ke’s father, Wei Wuzi 魏武子, became sick, he ordered his son to have his favourite concubine remarry someone else, yet on his death bed he asked Wei Ke to bury her with him. Wei Ke, realizing that his father had lost his senses, refused to carry out the second order. The poet uses this anecdote of Wei Wuzi and Wei Ke to illustrate his own delirium.

61  Wang Ba (?–59 AD), a recluse of the Eastern Han, was a friend of Linghu Zibo 令狐子伯 in his youth, who later became a high-ranking official. When Zibo’s son visited Wang Ba, the latter felt embarrassed to have his son seen, for he was ploughing the field at that time. Wang Ba’s biography is found in Hou Hanshu, 83.2762–63.

62  Liang Hong was also a recluse of the Eastern Han. It is said that when he was newly married, he wouldn’t respond to his wife for the first few days, for she was well-polished. He began talking to her only when she changed into ordinary clothes and put a simple bun in her hair. Both lines 99 and 100 portray the poet and his family as living in meager conditions with sparse decorations.

63  According to a fragmentary text on the plants and animals in the Shijing, attributed to the obscure figure Lu Ji 陸璣, crickets are called quzhi 趣織, and their cry startles and hastens lazy ladies to finish their chores. The lazy lady is thus a metonym for crickets. See Yiwen leiju, 97.1688.

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the state of Yue, to voice his nostalgia, and Wei Ke was asked by his dying father to bury the latter’s favourite concubine alive after his own death. We do not need to take every of these allusions as allegorical, but altogether they indicate a mood of gloom. Stanza 10 provides a portrayal of the poet’s life of meagerness with his family members. Images that appear here, for instance, winter, wind, dim sky, low-hanging clouds, and empty barn, further generate a desolate atmosphere that stands in sharp contrast with the first half of the rhapsody. On the sight of barrenness and bleakness in his garden, the poetic speaker is suddenly reminded of his own past. This seemingly abrupt shift, however, is not uncommon in Yu Xin’s writings. Often, the poet’s memory of his old days in the south follows his description about the living reality at the moment of composition. This memory begins with joy and pride, but then swerves to the recall of wars and chaos.64 (Stanza #11)

昔早濫於吹噓 In the past I passed myself off as a pipe player,65 108 藉文言之慶馀 and was bestowed with superabundant fortune, as the “Wenyan” says.66 門有通德 Our house had a Gate of “Perspicacious Virtue,”67 家承賜書 our family received imperially granted books. 或陪玄武之觀 Sometimes I accompanied the emperor to the Tower of the Dark Warrior, 112 時參鳳凰之墟 at other times I visited the ruins of the Phoenix Terrace. 觀受釐於宣室 I watched the “reception of sacrificial meat” in the Proclamation Chamber,68 賦長楊於直廬 and rhapsodized “Tall Poplar” in the “Duty Lodge.”69 (-uo)

64  For an analysis of the structure of some occasional poems of Yu Xin whose conclusions hearken back to his personal past, see my dissertation, “Yu Xin (513–581) and the Sixth-Century Literary World,” chapter 3, “Writing for and under the Sovereignty,” 132–88.

65  The pipe player refers to an anecdote in the Hanfeizi, in which a man named Resident Scholar of the Southern City 南郭處士 pretended to play the pipes and was employed in the ensemble of Duke Xuan of Qi. His deception was exposed when the king’s son took over the throne and required the members to play one at a time. Hanfeizi jijie, 30.232–33. 66  The “Wenyan” commentary on the Yijing states, “The family that accumulates virtue is sure to have superabundant fortune” 積善之家, 必有餘慶. See Zhouyi zhengyi, “Kun” 坤 (Hexagram #2), 1.26a.

67  Kong Rong 孔融 established a Gate of Perspicacious Virtue for Zheng Xuan 鄭玄, the Eastern Han scholar, for his erudition and virtue. See Hou Hanshu, 35.1208.

68  In the Western Han, the Proclamation Chamber is the largest section of the Main Hall of the Weiyang 未央 (“Everlasting”) Palace. See Hanshu, 35.3175.

69  The “Duty Lodge,” located by the Chengming 承明 (“Bequeathed Brilliance”) Gate, is a place where the Wei 魏 court officials resided when on duty in the capital of Luoyang. See Li Shan’s 李善 (d. 689) quotation of Lu Ji’s 陸機 (261–303) Luoyang ji 洛陽記. This refers to Yu Xin’s distinguished career as a literary figure in the Liang.

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The phrase “passed oneself off as a pipe player” 濫於吹噓 in line 107 has appeared in two other writings of Yu Xin with variations: 1. Lines 23 and 24 of “Respectfully Presented to Minister of Justice, Duke Huainan” 謹贈 司寇淮南公, “The petty one is now serving as a regional inspector, / My employment and advancement is indeed merely a make-up in the ensemble of pipe players” 小人司刺舉, 明敭實濫吹.70

2. The opening couplet of “Expressing My Intent, Ten Poems Respectfully Matching Prince of Yongfeng” 奉和永豐殿下言志十首, no. 8, “During my youth I took part in advising and counseling, / in the past I passed myself off as a pipe player” 弱齡参顧問, 畴昔濫吹噓.71

In all three cases, Yu Xin likens his earlier days at the Liang court to that of Mr. Nanguo, who, despite being unable to play the pipe, made a decent living pretending to play. This analogy is both a humbling confession that Yu Xin did not deserve his official posts and a hint that he was content with his high ranks. The ensuing few lines proudly boast that his family received special favour from the royal house of the Liang, as Yu’s biography in the Zhoushu has shown. This, however, pauses in the next two stanzas, where the focus turns to wars and chaos caused by the Hou Jing rebellion and the fall of the Liang several years later. (Stanza #12)

遂乃山崩川竭 Yet then, mountains collapsed, rivers dried up, 116 冰碎瓦裂 ice shattered, tiles cracked. 大盜潛移 A great thief secretively overturned the state,72 長離永滅 we were forever separated, all perished for good. 摧直轡於三危 I suffered from bridling the horse at the Three Peril Hill,73 120 碎平途於九摺 and trampled on the flattened Nine-Bend Slope.74 荆軻有寒水之悲 Jing Ke was sorrowful by the wintry river, 蘇武有秋風之别 Su Wu lamented at the separation under the autumnal wind. 關山則風月淒愴 At the tune of “Border Mountain,” even the wind and moon feel distressed and despondent. 124 隴水則肝腸斷絕 hearing the song of Long River, my heart is broken. 龜言此地之寒 The tortoise talks about the coldness of this land, 鶴訝今年之雪 cranes are surprised by snow of this year. (-a)

70  See Yu Zishan jizhu, 3.188.

71  Yu Zishan jizhu, 4.336.

72  This probably refers to Hou Jing 侯景 (503–552), whose rebellion against the Liang lasted from 548 to 552.

73  The Three-Peril Hill is located to the south of Dunhuang 敦煌, is said to have three odd-shaped peaks that may fall down at any time. See Kuodi zhi jijiao, 4.228.

74  The Nine-Bend Slope, a historical site from the Han located in Sichuan province, was famous for its perilous paths. See Hanshu, 76.3229.

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(Stanza #13)

百齡兮倏忽 A hundred years pass by in a flash, 128 菁華兮已晚 my booming years have come to an end. 不雪雁門之踦 I have not wiped out the disgrace at the Wild Goose Gate,75 先念鴻陸之遠 and only think of the distance of the geese flying across the dry plains.76 非淮海兮可變 [Unlike sparrows and pheasants,] I cannot change shape in Huai River or the ocean.77 132 非金丹兮能轉 nor can I transform like cinnabar in the furnace. 不暴骨於龍門 I did not expose my bones at the Dragon Gate,78 終低頭於馬坂 instead, I only lowered my head along the slope of horse.79 諒天造兮昧昧 Realizing that Heaven’s creation is dim and dark, 136 嗟生民兮渾渾 I sigh over us living people, blind and benighted. (-an)

Stanzas 12 and 13 do not provide detailed description about the wars. Nonetheless, images of collapse, destruction, and disorder abound, and a careful reader finds that some of these images appear in Yu Xin’s other writings. For instance, the cracks of mountains and drying up of rivers (lines 115–116), as metaphors for the disrupted world, are present in what later became Yu’s magnum opus, “Fu on Lamenting the South” 哀江南賦, “As water and wood followed in sequence, / though mountains collapsed and rivers ran dry” 水木交運, 山川崩竭.80 Another link is the phrase “great thief” 大盜 (line 117) that opens “Lamenting the South,” “A great thief overturned the state, / Jinling scattered like tiles” 大盜移國, 金陵瓦解.81 The resonance between “Small Garden” and “Lamenting the South” and the latter’s direct description of catastrophes that led to the fall of the Liang 75  The disgrace of the Wild Goose Gate refers to Duan Huizong 段會宗, a Western Han official. Duan committed some offense during his stay at the Wild Goose Gate and had to resign from his official post. When a few years later he was reappointed for another position, he was advised by an old friend to act discreetly lest the disgrace of the Wild Goose Gate happen again. The term is thus a metaphor for wrongdoings. See Hanshu, 70.3029. 76  The “goose across the plains” 鴻陸 refers to the interpretation given to the third Nine 九三爻 辭 of the Jian hexagram 漸卦 in the Yijing 易經 or Zhouyi 周易, “the geese gradually advanced to the dry plains, / a husband goes on an expedition and does not return” 鴻漸于陸, 夫征不復. See Zhouyi jianyi 周易兼義 (Shisanjing zhushu 十三經註疏 edition), 5.117b.

77  A legend in the Guoyu claims that when sparrows enter the ocean, they turn into oysters, and when pheasants enter the Huai River, they become clams. The story, together with the reference to cinnabar in the next line, alludes to the poet’s difficulty in making changes to his current situation. 78  The Dragon Gate refers to an anecdote from the Shuijing zhu, in which fish would risk their lives to jump over the Dragon Gate. Those who succeeded became dragons, whereas the rest died. See Shuijing zhu jiaoshi, 4.54.

79  The horse slope refers to a Zhanguo ce 戰國策 story, in which a steed pulled a wagon loaded with salt and struggled to drag it along a slope. It was only Bole 伯樂, the legendary judge of horses, who noticed the outstanding features of the steed, freed it from labour, and presented it to the king. 80  Yu Zishan jizhu, 2.106. Translation is adapted from Graham, “The Lament for the South,” 58.

81  Yu Zishan jizhu, 2.94.

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indicates that the former is also about similar events. Yu Xin’s painful memory about the tragic ending of the southern state form a sharp contrast with the recollection of his prime years. His gaze into his personal past and history of the Liang is a remarkable departure from the previous stanzas, where the physical space of the small garden as well as the poet’s life living there remain the focal point. When considering the difference between the two sections of the rhapsody, scholars generally follow Ni Fan’s interpretation, that the piece expresses Yu Xin’s longing to retire and disappointment over failing to do so, as well as his nostalgia for the south. While Ni Fan is correct in not reading the rhapsody as a factual account of Yu’s life in retirement, his identification of sentiments in the piece needs reconsideration. Aside from Yu’s grief over the loss of his home state, there are in fact a few more nuanced motivations and emotions embedded in what appears to be commemoration of the past. The identification, or fuller understanding of these sentiments, as Xiaofei Tian has aptly put, “requires an intimate, detailed knowledge of the poet’s experimental and textual past.”82 Consequently, in my analysis, I frequently refer to Yu Xin’s life events and the socialhistorical background of his times. The arc of the second half of the rhapsody can be summarized in terms of three types of emotions, especially as displayed in the last three stanzas: first, the poet’s frustration over his lack of recognition, as evidenced by the allusion to Cui Yin 崔骃 (? –92) in line 91 and to the horse slope 馬坂 in 134. Cui Yin died a few years after his demotion caused by his overly straightforward critique of his patron, Dou Xian 竇憲 (AD ?–92). The onethousand-league steed with distinguished abilities, before it was recognized by the wise judge of Bole 伯樂, was dragging a wagon loaded with salt along a slope. The references to the steed and Cui Yin stand as two contrasting cases that demonstrate the importance of attaining recognition and the consequence of failing to obtain it. Historical evidence shows that Yu Xin in his first few years in the north did not hold any politically important official post and was financially pressed,83 and thus the cases of Cui Yin and the steed serve as apt analogies for the poet’s own situation. In fact, Yu Xin’s discontent over failed ambition is evident in several of his poems. For instance, his poem “Returning to the Field” 歸田,84 whose title recalls Zhang Heng’s 張衡 (78–139) “Rhapsody on Returning to the Field” 歸田賦, starts with a description of his daily routine as a scholar-farmer who sows grains, digs conduits, and enjoys the ordinary rustic landscape; however, the poem’s ending couplet betrays this peace by imagining and reevaluating Zhang Heng living as a recluse in Yu Xin’s time:85 今日張平子 This Zhang Pingzi of today, 12 翻為人所憐 Is nonetheless sympathized by men of his time.

82  Xiaofei Tian, “Yu Xin’s ‘Memory Palace’: Writing Trauma and Violence in Early Medieval Chinese Aulic Poetry,” 125. 83  See Yu Xin zhuanlun, 20–40. 84  Yu Zishan jizhu, 4.279.

85  For a close reading of the poem and detailed unfolding of how Yu Xin expresses his frustration upon lack of recognition in his writings, see the author’s dissertation, “Yu Xin (513–581) and the Sixth-Century Literary World,” 223–35.

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The connection between the poem and Zhang Heng exists on two levels. Aside from Yu Xin’s explicit allusion to the historical figure as quoted above, its title, “Returning to the Field,” recalls one of Zhang Heng’s writings, “Rhapsody on Returning to the Field” 歸田 賦.86 Expressing the poet’s desire for retirement and dreams of roaming freely beyond the mundane world, Zhang’s piece has been regarded as important in the history of writings on the theme of reclusion. While the historical figure Zhang Heng (style name: Pingzi 平子) is appropriate to the theme of “returning the field” for his own writing on the same topic, Yu Xin’s self-labelling as “Zhang Pingzi of today” is more complicated than identifying with the famed recluse in the past. The word fan 翻, meaning “nonetheless” or “despite,” embeds surprise as well as disappointment: the historical Zhang Heng probably received his due respect but did not earn his due sympathy (lian 憐). An alternative reading of the couplet would be “if Zhang Pingzi were to live now, he would be sympathized by men of the world.” In this case, what the couplet attempts to express is that living in retirement is not admired as the poet expected; it suggests distress upon having to retreat in seclusion. Second, there is a sense of regret and shame, as evidenced particularly by lines 129 and 133. The “disgrace of the Wild Goose Gate” 雁門之踦, alluding to the misconduct of Duan Huizong, functions as a metaphor for wrongdoings. Hence line 29, “I have not wiped out my disgrace of the Wild Goose Gate,” points to certain inglorious events in the poet’s life. Line 133, on the other hand, develops this line of thought by alluding to fish risking their lives to jump over the Dragon Gate to become dragons. Contrary to the fish, the poet shunned potential perils and chose to sustain his life like the unrecognized steed who suffered from hauling salt. Since the rhapsody, like most contemporary writings like it, adopts figurative language, we cannot pin down exactly what event is being depicted. Nonetheless, we might be able to link them to a few important moments in Yu’s life as recorded in his biographies and historical records during the 540s and 550s. In 548, when Hou Jing’s army attacked the then capital of the Liang, Jiankang, Yu Xin was appointed as commander-in-chief of the defense legion. However, he fled upon seeing the approaching enemy. The entire defense collapsed, setting off a series of incidents that led to the sacking of the royal palace.87 In 552, Yu Xin joined the court of Xiao Yi (508–554; r. 552–554) at Jiangling, who established himself as successor to his elder brother Xiao Gang 蕭綱 (503–551; r. 550–551). In 554 Yu Xin was dispatched by Xiao Yi as a diplomat to the Western Wei court to settle a disputed border issue, yet it ended in disaster: offended by the request from the Liang, the de facto ruler of the Western Wei, Yuwen Tai 宇文泰 (507–556), sent troops to take over Jiangling. Battles were fought, the Liang ruling house collapsed, and tens of thousands of its officials and commoners were forced to migrate to the north as slaves. Yu Xin was initially detained, but then stayed in the north for the rest of his life. Read against this historical backdrop, stanzas 86  See Quan Han fu, 468. For evaluation and analysis of this rhapsody, see Gong, “Fu feng zhuanbian de mingpian—Guitian fu”; Xu, Zhang Heng pingzhuan, 303–7, 325–28; and E. Lien, “Zhang Heng, Eastern Han Polymath, His Life and Works,” 267–79. For its full translation, see Knechtges, Wen xuan, 3:139–43. 87  This scenario is recorded in the biography of Hou Jing in Liangshu, 56.842.

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11–13 seem to express the poet’s regret at not (having the opportunity to) make the right choice and avoid these catastrophes. Associated with the sense of regret is deep frustration over the poet’s living reality, evidenced by his highlight of the bitter coldness of winter in “this land” 此地 (lines 125–26) and his emphasis on the long distance the geese had travelled, referring to a Zhouyi hexagram that describes a man who goes on an expedition and never returns. Yu Xin has expressed similar reluctance in living in an alien state in other poems. For instance, in the third of his twenty-seven poem set, “Emulating ‘Sing of My Cares’” 擬詠懷, he voices his helplessness, “A singing girl forced into marriage, / A hostage prince still in custody” 倡家遭強聘, 質子值仍留.88 In “Respectfully Presented to Minister of Justice, Duke Huainan” 謹贈司寇淮南公,89 Yu claims that he “was made to forget the tune from the Chu, / but why would one eat the ferns of the Zhou?” 遂令忘楚操, 何但食周薇, a strong statement indicating that he was pressed to forsake his attachment to the southern state.90 Third, beyond the poet’s dismay at his own experience and that of the Liang, there is also evident lamentation of his life as a microcosm of the general fate of “the living people” 生民, who were subjected to “Heaven’s making that is dim and dark” 天造兮昧昧 (line 135). Men suffer not only from the shortness of human life (lines 127–28), but also from the vicissitudes of the world. In this aspect, Yu Xin appears to be deeply pessimistic in recognizing the passive role of common folks (including the poet himself) in face of the external and uncontrollable force, heaven 天. Yu Xin, however, was not the earliest writer to realize and write about the contrast between the smallness of men and omnipotence of the Heaven. In his “Rhapsody on the Scholar Not Meeting His Time” 悲士不遇 賦, Sima Qian states, “The Way of Heaven is obscure” 天道微兮.91 Zhang Heng expresses similar feelings, too, as he observes in his “Rhapsody on Returning to the Fields” 歸田 賦, “the Heaven’s Way is dim and obscure” 諒天道之微昧.92 Although Yu Xin emulates Zhang in depicting the poor fate of an ordinary man in the face of uncontrollable sociohistorical change by adopting Zhang’s line almost verbatim, Yu’s response is much more despondent: whereas Zhang remains calm in choosing to “join the Fisherman and share his joys with him” 追漁父以同嬉,93 Yu Xin portrays men as vulnerable beings who are “blind and benighted” 渾渾 (lit., muddy and murky). 88  Yu Zishan jizhu, 3.230; For English translation, see Graham and Hightower, “Yü Hsin’s ‘Songs of Sorrow,’” 16. 89  Yu Zishan jizhu, 3.189.

90  That the Chu represents the Liang court, and the Zhou, the Western Wei (which turned into Northern Zhou a few years later), is evident: Jiangling, capital of the Liang under the rule of Xiao Yi, who reigned from 552 to 554, was also the former capital of the state of Chu under a different name, Ying 郢. The connection between the Northern Zhou and the earlier Zhou dynasty is more obvious: they not only shared the capital; the Northern Zhou court explicitly looked up to the Zhou as cultural icon and emulated its court systems. See Yan 閻步克, “Zongjing, fugu yu zunjun, shiyong (zhong): Zhouli liumian zhidu de xingshuai bianyi” 宗經、復古與尊君、實用(中)─《周禮》六冕 制度的興衰變異; Pearce, “Form and Matter.” 91  Yiwen leiju, 30.541.

92  Quan Han fu, 468.

93  My translation is adapted from that of Knechtges; see his Wen xuan, 3:141.

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Conclusion

Through a close reading and reconsideration of Yu Xin’s “Small Garden Rhapsody,” this chapter shows how the piece creates a paradox in the portrayal of the recluse, who feels at ease at the beginning, and yet transforms into a distressed scholar by the end. My reading has explored ways in which Yu Xin uses the fu genre with a conventional topic to describe his different identities as a hermit, an official from the south who has witnessed the loss of his home state, and a scholar who needs to make sense of what has happened. The textual tradition on the theme of reclusion first provides a rich vocabulary from which Yu Xin draws. Incorporating different images and references from traditional rhetoric, the poet aligns himself with famed hermits of the past, particularly Tao Yuanming. The “Small Garden Rhapsody” is thus a deliberate fashioning that involves the poet’s reading and understanding of textual legacy. On the other hand, the rhapsody is essentially not about reclusion. The poet uses a wide range of allusions and weaves into his writing multiple-layered emotions, including frustration over lack of recognition, regret and shame, lamentation over the fate of human beings in general, as well as his memory about the past. This historicity and specificity adds a new dimension to the pre-existing literature of this type, which, by Yu Xin’s time, tended to de-personify the idea of reclusion. And it is precisely the rhapsody’s expressiveness that creates the sincerity and emotional richness found throughout Yu Xin’s writing. This unfolding of multi-layered emotions, which have been carefully woven into a series of allusions, is possible only when one sees beyond the master narrative of Yu Xin as a nostalgic poet; careful readers are also rewarded if they come with knowledge of Yu Xin’s personal and textual past, as well as familiarity with a wider range of his writings. In fact, it is precisely these allusions, some of which are obscure, that have granted the rhapsody such emotional complexity within such a small textual space. Aside from the meticulous mixture of elaborate description with personal expression, which is found in other Yu Xin’s fu pieces, such as his magnum opus “Rhapsody of Lamenting the South” (“Ai Jiangnan fu” 哀江南賦), the “Small Garden Rhapsody” is also remarkable in its use of multiple forms of parallelism and varying rhyming patterns. For all these reason, Yu Xin’s fu writings are considered to represent the peak of development of this genre in the Six Dynasties.

Chapter 4

YUEFU AND FU: WANG BO’S NEW PROSODY FOR “SPRING LONGINGS” TIMOTHY WAI KEUNG CHAN

The two major forms of Chinese poetry, shi 詩 and fu 賦,1 grew to resemble one

another in the Southern Dynasties; and this trend was fully realized by Wang Bo 王勃 (650–676) in the early Tang. Before the two forms became fully “regulated,” respectively as lüshi 律詩 and lüfu 律賦, Wang wrote a new form of poetry in his “Rhapsody on Spring Longings” (Chunsi fu 春思賦).2 This long poem, a full translation of which is appended to this essay, comprises predominantly verses in the shi—mainly pentasyllabic—meter and marks a continuation of the reciprocal influence between the two forms that was initiated mainly in the Liang dynasty (502–557). Wang’s innovation is achieved by his personalization of the traditional topics of “spring” and frontier-related matters, especially the sentiments of the campaigning soldier and those of his forlorn wife, as well as his techniques of fu writing with shi skills. Through an analysis of this aspect of Wang’s aesthetics and prosody, this chapter examines the relevant literary and historical backgrounds of his creation and evaluates his innovation in this experiment that further blurred the demarcation of the two poetic genres by combining the shi form, content, and style. One main source of inspiration for this achievement was yuefu 樂府 (music bureau) poetry. In the history of fu prior to the Liang, the genre had little to do with frontierrelated matters in its thematic circle. The genre of fu had an “innate” repertoire of themes on capital, hunting, travel, etc.3 Although the genre had undergone some evolution since the Eastern Han whereby the thematic circle was expanded, frontier-related matters had almost no place in the fu repertoire, reserved mainly for the yuefu tradition. Despite the efforts of some Qi-Liang poets who sporadically wrote about “grievances of 1  Paul W. Kroll stresses the importance of fu and reasserts its status as one major poetic form of the Tang. See Kroll, “The Significance of the Fu in the History of T’ang Poetry”; “Poetry of the T’ang Dynasty,” 277–78. 2  Wang Zian ji zhu (Commentary on the collected works of Wang Zian), 1.1–15.

3  This repertoire of themes is most comprehensively summed up in Xiao Tong’s 蕭統 (501–531) selections of fu in the first 18 juan of Wen xuan (Selections of refined literature) (Zhonghua shuju ed.), “mulu,” 4–6. Timothy Wai Keung Chan is professor of Chinese at Hong Kong Baptist University. He received his PhD in Comparative Literature in 1999 from the University of Colorado at Boulder. Before starting his teaching and research career in Hong Kong in 2006, he taught at the Ohio State University and the University of Sydney. His research interests include classical Chinese literature, early Daoist literature, Chinese intellectual history, and comparative literature.

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the boudoir” in the form of fu, the genre never became a vehicle for this kind of sentiment.4 In the early Tang, Wang Bo and Luo Binwang 駱賓王 (ca. 627–ca. 684) continued this practice of writing about the campaigner and his lone wife in fu form. However, Wang’s writing differs from Luo’s in the crucial way that the yuefu tradition plays a much more important role in his “Fu on Spring Longings.” The chapter analyzes the prosodic features of this fu, especially in light of the yuefu tradition. The flourishing scholarship on the reciprocal influence between fu and shi has paid little, if any, attention to how yuefu influenced fu.5 I examine here the meter of Wang’s “Spring Longings,” discuss frontier-related matters as its theme, analyze its stanza structure, and identify the use of yuefu rhetorical devices. These analyses will help us understand the ways this fu stands out from its predecessors and its contemporaries. This experimental piece is a special product of the poet’s travel to the Shu region in 669–671, when he found the most appropriate tropes (such as the tamed kite, lone duck, pine tree under the brook, and the spring season) for his mental state and, through writing a fu in the format of shi, freed himself from the plain, monotonous meter of the fu form and more vividly in intonation or even singing, a generic feature of yuefu, to enhance the aesthetic appeal of this fu.

The Dislocated Literary Retainers

The central issue of this chapter is Wang Bo’s motivation for writing in this unconventional poetic form. Our young poet meets misfortune at the zenith of his career. He says in the preface to “Spring Longings” that he was twenty-two sui when he wrote the fu in 671, the second spring season of his sojourn in Shu since he left the capital. This journey followed an incident that cost him a promising career. Wang was appointed Reader-inAttendance for Li Xian 李賢 (654–684), Prince Pei 沛, at the age of seventeen. On one playful occasion, the poet wrote a “call-to-arms” proclamation on behalf of the fighting rooster of his patron against that of Li Xian 李顯 (656–710; posth., Emperor Zhongzong, r. 684, 705–710), who was then Prince Zhou 周.6 When Emperor Gaozong (628–683; r. 649–683) heard about it, he saw it as an incitement of antagonism among the princes, ordered Wang dismissed, and expelled him from the palace immediately. This setback had a lifelong impact on Wang’s psyche. Thereafter, his works, especially those written 4  There is no section for fu on frontier-related topics in the Lidai fu hui 歷代賦彙 (Collection of fu from successive periods). The one on “military deeds” (wugong 武功) includes no work exclusively on border matters, nor is there any on the lone wife missing her campaigning husband. See Chen Yuanlong 陳元龍 (1652–1736), comp., Lidai fu hui (Shanghai shudian ed.), “mulu,” 37–39.

5  See e.g., Suzuki, Fushi taiyō, 122–50; Hsü, Yu Xin shengping ji qi fu zhi yanjiu, 80–81; Shang, “Lun Chu Tang shige de fuhua xianxiang”; Lin, “Shihua yu fuhua”; Cheng, Wei Jin Nanbeichao fu shi, 230–44; and Shi and You, “Fu de shihua yu shi de fuhua.”

6  In the two dynastic histories of the Tang, “Prince Zhou” reads “Prince Ying” 英王. Hu Sanxing 胡三省 (1230–1302) points out that this was a mistake, and the prince in question should be Prince Zhou. See Jiu Tangshu (Old history of the Tang), 140A.5005; Xin Tangshu (New history of the Tang), 126.5739; and Zizhi tongjian (Comprehensive reference for orderly governance) (first ed.), 200.6325, Hu Sanxing’s commentary.

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in Shu, gave vent to his pent-up frustration and reveal an eagerness to recover this loss. On this journey, as I argue elsewhere, he compiled a small anthology of shi poems as a means to recommend himself to decision-making officials upon his return to the capital.7 Serving the same purpose, his fu written on this journey were mostly in the mode of yongwu 詠物 (on objects), in which plants and birds become tropes for his sentiments.8 The “Fu on Spring Longings” could have been written in the same yongwu mode, but Wang opted for an alternative. The abstract notion of si, “thoughts” or “longings,” hardly fits in the yongwu tradition. This discrepancy, however, does not explain his choice for a distinct style, as fu on abstract ideas, such as “autumn longings” (qiusi 秋思),9 formed a long tradition by Wang Bo’s time. For his part, Wang evidently emulated Pan Yue’s 潘 岳 (247–300) “Fu on Autumnal Inspiration” (Qiuxing fu 秋興賦).10 These prefaces share similarities in the self-introductory tone, but differ in respective contents: Pan says he is a 32-year-old uncultivated man in office, whose hair is beginning to turn white; Wang introduces himself as a 22-year-old upright person, who remains unemployed in the brilliant Tang. Pan expresses his wish to resign from official life, but Wang finds Pan’s self-portrait of a high-minded recluse incompatible. Most importantly, the different seasons as subjects of these two fu determine two distinct motivations: Pan wrote in autumn, a season of “receding,” to express his intent for retreat; Wang wrote in spring, a season of flourishing. Wang’s melancholy aroused by spring is a prominent motif in the Chuci, which Wang quotes: “As my eye’s vision reaches the limit of one thousand li my heart of the spring is saddened” 目極千里傷春心.11 In his meditative process, our young poet converts this sentiment to the hope that spring will invigorate him to recover this loss in his political career. Although “Spring Longings” does not have a direct model for emulation, the circle of Liang-dynasty court poets had profound influences on Wang Bo’s life and writing. The line just quoted from Chuci ends with the phrase ai Jiangnan 哀江南 (lamenting the Southland [i.e., Jiangnan, the area south of the Yangtze]), which inspired Yu Xin 庾 7  See Chan, “Restoration of a Poetry Anthology by Wang Bo,” 493–94, 508. A Chinese translation of this article (enlarged and revised) is in Chan, Han Tang wenxue de lishi wenhua kaocha, 319–47. 8  See Chan, “Cong hanwu qi feng dao jiangqu gu fu.”

9  Cao Zhi曹植 (192–232) wrote a “Qiusi fu” 秋思賦. See Ding 丁晏 (1794–1875), Cao ji quanping, 1.7–8. Ding’s titling of this fu is based on Chuxue ji, 3.54. An earlier, more reliable source has “Chousi fu” 愁思賦. See Yiwen leiju, 35.620. Arima Michi 有馬みち points out that Cao Zhi was an early poet to use the phrase chunsi in poetry, especially in his “Zashi” 雜詩. Southern Dynasties poets such as Xie Tiao 謝朓 (464–499), Shen Yue 沈約 (441–513), and Bao Zhao 鮑照 (414–466), etc. also used the phrase in their poetry. Arima also observes the influence of “Qiuxing fu” on “Chunsi fu.” See Arima, “Ō� Butsu no haru,” 9–13. 10  Wen xuan, 13.4a–8a; trans. Knechtges, Wen xuan, 3:13–15.

11  The Chuci line reads: 目極千里兮傷春心. See Hong Xingzu 洪興祖 (1090–1155), comm., Chuci buzhu (Supplementary commentaries on the Elegies of Chu), 9.215. Nicholas Morrow Williams argues that Wang “appreciates the ambiguity in that line, both enjoying a southern landscape in spring and also experiencing it as a kind of cause for grief.” See Williams, “The Pity of Spring,” in Ping and Williams, eds., Southern Identity and Southern Estrangement in Medieval Chinese Poetry, 149.

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信 (513–581) to entitle his tour de force, “Fu of Lament for the Southland” (Ai Jiangnan fu).12 This common source links together the two poets—although Wang turns the “lamenting” into reminiscence of Jiangnan, it is his own “loss” of the figurative Jiangnan (more below). The two poets share many similarities in both life and career: Wang’s first and most recent service as Reader-in-Attendance as a teenager under Li Xian forms a perfect match with Yu Xin’s similar position under Prince Zhaoming 昭明, Xiao Tong, at the Liang court at a similar age.13 Both prodigious writers met ill fortune later in life, but both enjoyed favour at the palace. Written in the capacity of a courtier, Wang’s “Fu on the Seventh Evening of the Seventh Month” (Qixi fu 七夕賦), a title on which Yu also composed, mentions the literary saloons in the Han, Wei, and Liang courts as a comparison for Wang’s current role.14 The poet disguises himself as Wang Can 王粲 (177–217) in the fu, at the service of the “emperor’s child” (dizi 帝子), an appellation for Cao Zhi 曹 植 (192–232). Although this design is derived from Xie Zhuang’s 謝莊 (421–466) “Fu on the Moon” (Yue fu 月賦),15 Wang Bo borrows it to stand for his relationship with Li Xian, the Tang-dynasty dizi. The fu reveals his complacence about his role in this lineage of prince-retainer relationships, which requires retainers of outstanding literary talents. This complacence developed into a thrasonical tone and became evident in his works composed before his dismissal.16 The patronage of Li Xian had a decisive impact on Wang Bo’s life and literary work. The ambitious young man was always eager to show off his talents and, when sojourning in Shu, expressed a wish to recover his lost favour. Later, in 675, he wrote his “Fu on Picking Lotus” (Cailian fu 採蓮賦) as a reminiscence of Li Xian.17 This kind of nostalgia is evident in his reference to the Liang princes in a pseudo-boudoir grievance poem, “Long is the Autumn Night” (Qiuye chang 秋夜長), in which the lone lady thinking of her campaigning husband is likened to the poet missing his political patron: 征夫萬里戍他鄉 鶴關音信斷 龍門道路長 君在天一方 寒衣徒自香

This campaigner is ten thousand li away, stationed  in strange lands! At Crane Pass, the news is cut off from us; At Dragon Gate, the road is long. You, milord, are on the other side under heaven— These winter clothes are fragrant, but in vain.18

12  Yu Zishan ji zhu (Commentary on the collected works of Yu Zishan), 2.94; trans., Graham, ‘The Lament for the South,’ 104.

13  See Yu, “Ai Jiangnan fu,” Yu Zishan ji zhu, 2.108; trans., Graham, ‘The Lament for the South,’ 60–61; Zhou shu, 42.747.

14  Wang Zian ji zhu, 1.24. Fragments of Yu’s piece are found in Yiwen leiju, 4.79; Yu Zishan ji zhu, 1.79. 15  Wen xuan, 13.12b–16a.

16  For an English translation and study of this fu, see Chan, “Renshen huihe de renjian tujing: Wang Bo ‘Qixi fu’ jiedu.” 17  Warner, “An Offering for the Prince.”

18  Wang Zian ji zhu, 2.72–73; trans., Chan, “Beyond Border and Boudoir,” in Kroll, Reading Medieval Chinese Poetry, 155.

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As I argue elsewhere, the Crane Pass is not a place name, but refers to the Liang-dynasty prince’s residence, while the Dragon Gate is Wang Bo’s hometown. These metaphorical locales are now too distant to pinpoint.19 This comparison between the Liang princeretainer relationship and the Tang counterpart is by no means accidental: there are several layers of significance, in which the literary tradition plays an important role. The poet’s recent dismissal from favour made his nostalgia especially haunting during his sojourn in Shu. The disillusioned literary retainer finds his match in the Liang court. In his exaggeration of frustration and “displacement,” Wang alludes to Zhou Yi’s 周顗 (269–322) words recorded in the Shishuo xinyu 世說新語 (A new account of tales of the world): “The scene is not dissimilar to the old days in the North; it’s just that naturally there’s a difference between these mountains and rivers and those.”20 Zhou said this at a gathering of Jin-dynasty officials who wept over their flight to the south from the capital Luoyang under capture of invaders from the north. Wang’s verbatim inclusion of Zhou’s words (preface, ll. 14–15) marks a borrowing of this kind of sentiment: the forced dislocation of Jin émigrés. In addition, Wang likely shares the nostalgia of Yu Xin, who was detained by the Northern Wei dynasty on a diplomatic visit and thereafter lost his home. Like Yu, Wang began his official life as a teenager, but has now lost his “home.” This episode is represented by different roles in his fu. He first disguises himself as a girl who learns dancing in her boudoir, but is later selected for marriage by an official (ll. 45–50). When the narrative shifts to the lone lady thinking of her campaigning husband, Wang plays the role of the latter.21 This kind of metaphorical poetics may take inspiration from Yu Xin. Yu’s poetic representation of Wang Zhaojun 王昭君 (mid- to early first century BCE), who was sent to the Xiongnu and never returned to the Han court, might have been self-referencing.22 Wang’s sentiment of displacement differs from Yu’s, as seen in his section on the tantalizing scenes in Luoyang (ll. 121–52). The young lady by the river missing her husband (ll. 159–168), again, stands for the poet missing his patron. His allusion to Sima Xiangru 司馬相如 (179–117 BCE) in the last stanza (l. 200) shifts to a different metaphor with the same “tenor” of various “vehicles” in this metaphorical circle—his talents are as unusual as Sima’s, a native of Shu, but have not been recognized.23

Liang Poets for Emulation

Wang Bo’s wish to return to the circle of retainers at the Liang court is not an isolated phenomenon, but, importantly, he took the poetic works by Liang writers as his model for emulation. Wen Yiduo’s 聞一多 (1899–1946) theory that early Tang poetry was 19  Chan, “Beyond Border and Boudoir,” 155–58; Chan, “Xunyuan lü zaokong,” 39–41.

20  Shishuo xinyu jianshu (hereafter, SSXY), 2.92 (#31); trans. Mather, Shih-shuo Hsin-yü, 47. 21  Chan, “Qitu yougong xialu, moshang sangjian,” 37–41.

22  See Yu, “Zaojun ci yingzhao” and “Wang Zhaojun,” Yu Zishan ji zhu, 5.388–90.

23  The paired terms “tenor” and “vehicle” are two components of a “metaphor.” See relevant theory in Richards, The Philosophy of Rhetoric, 96, 120.

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a continuation of the poetic style of the Six Dynasties may well explain Wang’s case.24 Previous shi poems on or related to spring by Liang poets must have inspired Wang Bo in theme and technique. The table below contains some examples showing how Wang fashions his verses by deriving them from his Liang models: Wang Bo’s “Chunsi fu”

Provenance

章臺接建章，垂柳復垂楊。 Patterned Terrace borders on the Establishing Pattern Palace─ Drooping willows, drooping poplars, one layer after another. (ll. 155–56)

巫山巫峽長，垂柳復垂楊。 The Witch Mountains and Witch Gorge are so long. Drooping willows, drooping poplars, one layer after another. (Xiao Yi 蕭繹 [508–555; posth., Emperor Yuan of Liang, r. 552–555] “Zheyangliu pian” 折楊 柳篇) 25

春色徒盈望，春悲殊未歇。(ll. 119–20) The hues of spring are, all for naught, in view; My sorrows of spring have yet to meet an end. 春江澹容與，春期無處所。(ll. 163–64) The spring river is limpid, rippling and ruffling; My spring tryst has no fixed place.

Falling blossoms themselves encircle the “mutual longing” trees. 落花自遶相思樹。(l. 194)

徒望春光新，春愁春自結。 In vain I long for the spring scene renewed. My spring sorrows are knotted up together in spring. 春人竟何在？空爽上春期。 Where has the lady of the spring gone? For no reason she fails to keep our spring promise. (Xiao Yi, “Chunri pian” 春日篇) 26

Falling blossoms still encircle the trees, Flying swiftly from the invisible void. 落花還繞樹，輕飛去隱空。 (Ji Shaoyu 紀少瑜 [Liang dyn.], “Chunri” 春日)27

Court poets of the Liang experimented much in their poetic compositions, in which “spring” assumed a significant part in the repertoire. The most refined products of these experiments were collected in the early Tang encyclopedia Yiwen leiju (Compendium of arts and letters arranged by category), and evidently played a pivotal role in demonstrating how to write about the spring season.28 Wang Bo not only borrowed diction, themes, and rhetorical devices from these Liang court poets, but most importantly incorporated the yuefu tradition, to which Liang poets were much attached and made a significant contribution. In addition to the “stanza divi24  Wen, “Leishu yu shi” 類書與詩, Tangshi zalun 唐詩雜論, in Wen Yiduo quanji, 3:3.

25  Lu , Xian Qin Han Wei Jin Nanbeichao shi, 2032. 26  Lu, Xian Qin Han Wei Jin Nanbeichao shi, 2045. 27  Lu, Xian Qin Han Wei Jin Nanbeichao shi, 2045.

28  Wen Yiduo argues that most poems of the first fifty years of the Tang were written by putting together what is found in an encyclopedia entry. See Wen, “Leishu yu shi,” 6–7. For more on how to write poetry making use of an encyclopedia, see also Ge, “Chuangzuo fanshi de tichang he chu Tang shi de puji.”

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sion” in Wang Bo’s fu as seen in the translation below, Wang Bo inherited Yu Xin’s practice of inlaying yuefu elements in his fu. Yu Xin was among the earliest to excerpt two yuefu titles in his poetry: 隴水恒冰合 關山唯月明 關山連漢月 隴水向秦城 莫不 聞隴水而掩泣 向關山而長歎

The Long River is constantly covered by ice; Amidst passes and mountains there is only the  shining moon. The passes and mountains are connected to the  Han moon; The Long River flows towards the Qin city walls.  None of them fail to Weep continuously upon hearing the Long River; Sigh extensively while facing the passes and  mountains.29

羌笛唯橫隴路風 戎衣直照關山月

The Qiang flute plays horizontally down the roads  and in the air of the Long region; Our armour directly reflects moonbeams in the  passes and mountains.

The two images of “Long River” and “passes and mountains” were originally yuefu tune titles in the “horizontal flute” (hengchui 橫吹) set, “Head of the Long River” (Longtou shui 隴頭水) and “The Moon by Passes and Mountains” (Guanshan yue 關山月). In the hands of Yu Xin and other court poets, the terms assume new, synecdochic meanings of parting sentiments through their re-creation of the lyrics.30 Wang Bo continues using the paired terms in his lines (ll. 117–18):

By adding the musical instrument and the armour, two images laden with symbolic meanings, Wang more provocatively intensifies frontier grievances in his personalized version of the separated couple. Liang poets contribute to fu with the image of the lone wife and her sojourning husband, paired personae that play two pivotal roles in frontier poetry. This motif adopted shi as a vehicle around the Eastern Han, predating fu by some three hundred years.31 In the Liang, shi remained the “native” form for this repertoire, which also found fu as another vehicle. Apart from Xiao Yi’s “Fu on the Entertainer-lady’s Autumnal Longings” (Dangfu qiusi fu), Yu Xin is a major writer in this new trend.32 Nonetheless, in his “Fu on Spring” (Chun fu 春賦) and “Fu on the Sojourner” (Dangzi fu), Yu could not abandon shi verses when writing about the sojourning, spring outing, and Luoyang. This “native” connection between form and content was inherited by Wang Bo.

29  Yu, “Dangzi fu” 蕩子賦, “Chuzi Jibeimen xing” 出自薊北門行, “Ai Jiangnan fu,” Yu Zishan ji zhu, 1.91, 5.390, and 2.162, respectively.

30  See Guo, comp., Yuefu shiji (Anthology of Music Bureau poems),, 21.311, 23.334, quoting Yuefu jieti: “‘Guanshan yue’ is about lamenting parting” 《關山月》，傷別離也. For a discussion of “Longtou shui,” see Chan, “Beyond Border and Boudoir,” 145–146, n. 54; “Xunyuan lü zaokong,” 34, n. 45. 31  The most representative are most of the “Nineteen Old Poems.” Wen xuan, 29.1b–8b.

32  See Xiao Yi, “Dangfu qiusi fu,” Jiang Yan, “Changfu zibei fu” 倡婦自悲賦, Yu Xin, “Dangzi fu,” Yiwen leiju, 32.570–71.

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Although Takagi Shigetoshi 高木重俊 identifies Wang Ji’s 王績 (ca. 589–644) “Fu on the Third Day of the Third Month” (Sanyue sanri fu 三月三日賦) as the model for early Tang poets, especially Wang Bo,33 Wang Ji in turn might have modeled his fu upon Yu Xin’s two fu just mentioned. However, Wang Bo’s overwhelming use of shi verses in his long, lyrical fu makes it stand out from its predecessors. Luo Binwang was probably the first Tang poet to write frontier fu in shi meter and techniques. His “Fu on the Sojourner on Military Campaign” (Dangzi congjun fu 蕩子從軍賦), as Hsu Tung-hai observes, is an imitation of Yu Xin’s “Dangzi fu.”34 Likewise imitating Yu, Wang surpassed Luo in length and added freshness to this new type of fu. In the disguise of a dancing girl, campaigning soldier, lone wife, and so forth, Wang’s role-play enhances the lyrical quality of his fu. It begins with a statement setting a tone of grievance: “Thereupon, I was originally a sojourner” 於是僕本浪人 (l. 21). The term langren in two Song editions of Wang’s collected works reads henren 恨人, or “a man of grievances,”35 a line found verbatim in Jiang Yan’s 江淹 (444–505) “Fu on Grievances” (Hen fu 恨賦) which juxtaposes different kinds of grievances in history. Wang “borrows” these sentiments in his work and further elaborates on his own: “With my books I departed from the Luoyang area. / Holding abreast my sword I left the Qin region” 懷書去洛，抱劍辭秦. Wang compares himself to Su Qin 蘇秦 (d. 284 BCE) who once left Luoyang with a wagonload of books, in search of a career.36 Now leaving the capital, the poet claims to have taken with him his sword, which finds nowhere to be used. Rather than juxtaposing grievances in history, Wang writes about his own frustration. Wang Bo’s fu writing underwent changes in style and form. His early works on activities in the capital are grandiose and sycophantic in style, typical of the Han fu tradition. His journey to Shu seemed to inspire the end of this style; instead, Wang turned to writing short, lyrical fu.37 The exceptionally long “Fu on Spring Longings,” unlike his other short fu, achieves two goals by putting into practice the respective functions of fu and shi, namely elaboration and lyrical expression.

Yuefu Elements in “Spring Longings”

The flourishing of long shi poems, especially heptasyllabic songs (gexing 歌行), in the early Tang has long aroused research interest, but its impetus has yet to be identified.38 33  Takagi, “Ō� Butsu ‘Harushi fu’ to Ro-Raku no shichigon chōhen shi,” 41–46. Wang Ji’s fu is in Han 韓理洲, ed., Wang Wugong wenji wujuanben huijiao, 1.33–36. Wang Ji was Bo’s granduncle.

34  Luo Linhai ji jianzhu (Commentaries on the collected works of Luo Linhai), 6.193–97; Hsu, Yu Xin shengping, 90–93. If Luo’s fu was inspired by his military life, however, the time of its composition might well be after Wang’s “Spring Longings,” because Luo’s campaign started in the autumn of 670 and ended in the winter of 671. See Tao and Fu, Tang Wudai wenxue biannain shi, 207, 217.

35  See Fu, Wenyuan yinghua jiaoji, 21.107; Wang Bo shiji 王勃詩集, in Tang sijie ji 唐四傑集 (Reportedly a Ming reprint of a Song edition; held in National Library, Taipei), 2a. 36  Zhanguo ce (Intrigues of the Warring States), 18.603.

37  See Chan, “Cong hanwu qi feng dao jiangqu gufu,” 478.

38  Ge examines the development of structure and form of gexing from the Han-Wei through

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Apart from the thematic repertoire from which early Tang poets drew for the topics and roles of spring, romantic person, love, campaigner, lone wife, and frontier discussed above, the poetic form of the yuefu tradition played a crucial role in the formation of the unconventional style of Wang’s “Spring Longings.” Wang found these elements useful in his poetic discourse on personal frustration and aspiration; therefore, yuefu became a suitable vehicle for this particular topic, as seen in “Qiuye chang,” “Lin gaotai” 臨高 臺 (Gazing from the high terrace), etc. Wang’s incorporation of these yuefu elements in the fu form brought freshness and change to the genre, which, nonetheless, falls prey to Wang Qisun’s 王芑孫 (1755–1817) criticism: “Heptasyllabic and pentasyllabic verses do the worst harm to the fu form.”39 Wang’s “Fu on Spring Longings” consists of snapshots of scenes in the form of short shi poems. But how are these scenes linked together to make a cohesive unity, a long fu? Divided by rhymes, the length of these short shi pieces (or stanzas) varies from two lines to ten; a certain number of stanzas make a section. In the text and translation of the fu in the appendix, I title each section according to this division. The use of short stanzas may avoid lengthy depiction of a given scene and enhance lyrical appeal. Thematically, the metaphorical parts on the dancing girl, the campaigning husband, and the lone wife are all derived from the yuefu tradition, an expedient source of form and diction. One would not find these elements in any early fu, such as how a girl falls in love and how she misses her campaigning husband. These themes debuted in fu in the hands of Liangdynasty court poets and were followed by Wang Bo. In addition, Wang himself adapted these scenes from the Han yuefu song, “Mulberry Trees on the Path” (Moshang sang 陌 上桑) and created a love story with the girl and the official, in order to fit his own story.40 This motive is clearly stated in the preface: “How can [the poem] be merely [about what happened in] the hidden palace, on the narrow alleys, on the path, and amidst the mulberry trees?” (ll. 31–32). These venues are typical settings of love stories in yuefu tunes such as “Mulberry Trees on the Path,” “Thoroughfares in Chang’an” (Chang’an dao 長安 道), “Thoroughfares in Luoyang” (Luoyang dao 洛陽道), and “The Beautiful Girl” (Meinü pian 美女篇). These tunes became models of adaptive imitations by Liang court poets, who were proficient at writing these themes in shi form.41 The formal features of shi not only continued playing their roles, but became more atavistic in Wang’s fu. The “default” poetic form for boudoir and frontier grievances, shi,

the early Tang. See Ge, “Chu sheng Tang qiyan gexing de fazhan.” Xue Tianwei identifies a nadir in the writing of gexing before Lu Zhaolin and Luo Binwang each wrote their tour de force, Lu’s “Chang’an guyi” 長安古意 (673) and Luo’s “Dijing pian” 帝京篇 (676). Xue observes two marked features frequently seen in these poems, namely parallel couplets and anadiplosis. He also credits them with their regulated form and lyrical appeal. See Xue, Tangdai gexing lun, 100–112. Takagi Masakatsu deems the “new” heptasyllabic form and lyrical content of Lu’s and Luo’s poems as major innovations against the dominating court poetry. See Takagi, Tōshi zen, vol. 1, 50; “Raku Hinnō no tenki to bungaku,” 880. 39  Wang, Du fu zhi yan 讀賦巵言, in Ho, ed., Fuhua liuzhong, enlarged edition, 4.

40  Yuefu shiji, 28.410–11, trans. Birrell, Popular Songs and Ballads of Han China, 169–70.

41  Yuefu shiji, 23.343–44, 339–40, 63.913.

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especially yuefu, grew and evolved into songs that were only for recitation (tu shi 徒詩) in the Southern Dynasties and gave shape to Tang frontier poetry.42 Liang poets paved this road for the new poetics. Rather than strictly following the old yuefu musical rules, they wrote in old and new yuefu titles by “regulating” the forms, which may be seen as proto-regulated verse. The most significant development is the “standardized” format of yuefu poems written by Liang poets, who, due to the loss of most Han tunes, followed Li Yannian’s 李延年 (late first century BCE) practice to write pentasyllabic octaves without music.43 The horizontal flute set of songs created by Liang poets is the most representative and became Lu Zhaolin and Yang Jiong’s 楊炯 (650–ca. 693) models of emulation. Another influence on the shi verses is the “Wu songs” (Wu ge 吴歌) and “West tunes” (Xi qu 西曲), two major sets of southern yuefu, which, according to Lin Wen-yüeh, resulted in the occurrences of pentasyllabic and heptasyllabic “quatrains” in fu.44 The vogue of writing in the pseudo-yuefu format in the Southern Dynasties period must have influenced early Tang poetry, especially the trend of writing long gexing songs and fu. Wang Bo’s yuefu poetry reveals a formal feature of enumerative narration inherited from the Liang exercise of yuefu, which made a patent contribution to the unique structure of his “Spring Longings.” In a recent study of Wang’s yuefu poetry, I observe that he not only did not follow the yuefu tunes handed down from the Han as well as those re-set by Qi-Liang poets, but most significantly he wrote longer lyrics under traditional tune titles. In addition, he changed the uneven lengths in old yuefu poems—mixtures of trisyllabic, tetrasyllabic, pentasyllabic, and heptasyllabic verses—to a more even meter comprising mainly pentasyllabic and heptasyllabic verses.45 Wang’s adoption of a yuefu technique of organizing stanzas in a suite of poems contributes to the natural flow of his long poem with a unified, coherent theme. This technique was an old tradition in Han yuefu, in which some long poems are divided in “stanzas” (jie 解).46 Each jie contributes an “episode” to a complete poem.47 Early examples of this structure include Cao Cao’s 曹操 (155–220) “Ballad on Qiuhu” (Qiuhu xing 42  Wu Dashun, Wei Jin Nanbeichao yuefu geci yanjiu, 329, 351.

43  Yuefu shiji, 25.365, quoting Shi Zhijiang 釋智匠 (Chen dyn.), Gujin yuelu 古今樂錄: “[This “Song of the Ziliu Horse” 紫騮馬歌] differs from the old tunes” 與前曲不同. These “old tunes” refer to those created by Li Yannian who followed the Hu tunes, but Li’s compositions had been lost since the Wei-Jin times. The extant eight tunes under the title of “The Moon behind the Passes and Mountains” were created retrospectively. Yuefu shiji, 21.309. Therefore, the horizontal flute tunes played in the Southern Dynasties were not Han creations. Wu Dashun argues that most of the Han tunes in different musical sets could no longer be sung in the Southern Dynasties. See Wu, Wei Jin nanbeichao yuefu geci yanjiu, 326–28. 44  Lin, Gongtishi yanjiu 宮體詩研究, quoted in Hsu Tung-hai, Yu Xin shengping, 80, 82, n. 17.

45  Chan, “Fahui xinti,” 7–19.

46  This connotation is derived from one of the basic meanings of jie, “dissect” or “take apart.” See Kangxi zidian, “You ji” 酉集, “jiao bu” 角部, 10.

47  Both Shi Zhijiang and Wang Sengqian 王僧虔 (425–485) define jie as a later form of zhang 章. Wang points out that people of the past first wrote the poem and later composed music for it. The length of a jie depended on the richness or terseness of the poem (作詩有豐約，制解有多少). See Yuefu shiji, 26.376–77.

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秋胡行), Cao Pi’s 曹丕 (187–226; posth., Emperor Wen of Wei, r. 220–226) “Ballad on Goodness” (Shanzai xing 善哉行), and Cao Zhi’s “To Cao Biao, Prince of White Horse” (Zeng Baima wang Biao 贈白馬王彪).48 When Emperor Wu of the Liang (r. 502–549) created his seven-song suite “Jiangnan nong” 江南弄, according to Zeng Zhian 曾智安, he employed this technique, which continued to thrive among Liang court poets throughout the Southern Dynasties, and down to the early Tang.49 Zeng also identifies the origin of this practice as the dancing music of “West tunes,” pointing out that the thematic continuity set in these songs in a suite is similar to the function of “acts” in a play: each features an episodic snapshot. In addition to his many other examples, Zeng argues that the “Songs of the West Island” (Xizhou qu 西洲曲) are composed of eight quatrains, each of which represents a relatively separate scene.50 Shen Deqian 沈德潛 (1673–1769) recognizes their artful achievement in elaboration and identifies this art as an important inspiration for early Tang long poems: Continuously, [each stanza] gives rise to the next one—just like linking from branch to stalk, [the stanzas] sway and swing without an end; the feelings and flavours are thereby further brought out. [These stanzas] are like a few quatrains put together and achieve [a long poem]. [This prosody] marks the advent of another yuefu form. Zhang Ruoxu’s (ca. early eighth century) and Liu Xiyi’s (b. 651) heptasyllabic ancient-style poems were derived from this. 續續相生，連跗接萼，搖曳無窮，情味愈出。似絶句數首，攢簇而成，樂府中又生一 體。初唐張若虛、劉希夷七言古，發源於此。51

Shen’s view sheds important light on the case of Wang Bo’s “Spring Longings.”52 Wang’s “Ballad on Western Long” (Longxi xing 隴西行) is most typically in this “mode,” a continuation of this technique, although “Longxi xing” does not belong to the “West tunes” tradition. Wang’s poem is comprised of ten quatrains, each focusing on a facet of the life of Li Guang 李廣 (d. 119 BCE), but making up a coherent entity.53 This treatment is likewise evident in his long songs such as “Lin gaotai,” “Qiuye chang,” etc. The most obvious imitation of Emperor Wu of the Liang’s composition is his “Song on Picking Lotus” (Cailian qu 採蓮曲), in which he adopts the music, but elaborates on the scene by employing the technique of enumerative narration. The common features of these works form a paradigm of poetic artifice, which perfectly explains the structure of “Spring Longings,” 48  Xian Qin Han Wei Jin Nanbeichao shi, 349–51, 393, 452–54.

49  Zeng, Qingshang quci yanjiu, 70–78. The “Jiangnan nong” suite by Emperor Wu of the Liang is in Yuefu shiji, 50.726–28. 50  Zeng, Qingshang quci yanjiu, 75. “Xizhou qu” is in Yuefu shiji, 72.1027.

51  Shen, Gushi yuan, 12.290.

52  Zhou Yukai 周裕鍇 groups Wang’s “Spring Longings” and Luo Binwang’s “Fu on the Sojourner on Military Campaign” in the same category of long gexing of the early Tang. See Zhou, “Dunhuang fu yu Chu Tang gexing” 敦煌賦與初唐歌行, in Xiang, ed., Dunhuang wenxue lunji, 67–68. 53  Chen Shangjun 陳尚君 points out that the poem may be read as ten quatrains. This alternative reading is inspired by the layout of these poems in a gazetteer, in which each “quatrain” occupies exactly one column. See Chen, Quan Tangshi bubian, 330, n. 1. The layout in question is in Fei Tingjin and Hu Yi (both Qing dyn.), comp., Qianlong Zhili Qinzhou xinzhi, 11.28a/b.

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a long poem comprised of different scenes outlined by short poems of four, six, or eight lines. Just like its pre-Tang predecessors, Wang’s work perfected this technique in the form of fu written mainly in shi verses. In my translation in the appendix, I divide the poem into four sections, each of which contains subsections comprised of a quatrain, sestet, or octave. Each small unit (short poem) forms an episode depicting a facet of the story and integrally contributes to the coherence of a section. Rather than breaking the “short poems” into individual units, Wang weaves them together with one main theme. By doing so, all subthemes on the lady, soldier, romantic person, etc. serve as vehicles of Wang’s articulation of his shifting emotions inspired by the spring season.

Tang Songs and Poetry

What other trends and traditions were behind Wang Bo’s writing of these smaller integral units, “short poems,” to make a long poem? One important factor is the genre “music-poems” (shengshi 聲詩). In his monumental study of “music-poems” of the Tang, Ren Bantang 任半塘 defines it as “lyrics for music and dance in verses of same length— five-, six-, or seven-syllable ‘recent-style poetry’” and divides some titles of these Tang “music-poems” into seventeen categories.54 Ren’s findings may serve as an important clue to our search for the motive behind Wang Bo’s use of short songs in his fu. Despite the different numbers of lines and different lengths of verses in these shi “poems,” Wang might have written them in the mode of “music-poems” prevalent in his time in both meter and theme. The Northern Song critic Li Qingzhao 李清照 (1084–1150s) testifies to the importance of the musical feature of “music-poems” and criticizes some Song lyricists for not paying attention to music in their works.55 Ren’s lists of titles of the “music-poems” fall into several categories, of which the most relevant to our discussion include quatrains of pentasyllabic and heptasyllabic verse, and sestets of pentasyllabic and heptasyllabic verse. Thematically, these songs make a repertoire of frontier poetry comprised of subthemes of the lone lady, battling scenes, the campaigning husband, etc. These themes play a significant role in Wang Bo’s “Spring Longings.” Here is one such example: 狂夫去去無窮已 賤妾春眠春未起 自有蘭閨數十重 安知榆塞三千里

54  Ren, Tang shengshi, 1:46, 2:1–600.

My uncouth husband has gone far and away,  without an end or halt. I, the humble wife, sleep in springtime and  have not gotten up in springtime. I myself have some thoroughwort boudoirs, in  several dozen layers. How do I know about the Elm Frontier, three  thousand li away?

55  Li, “Ci lun” 詞論, in Wang, comp. and comm., Li Qingzhao ji jiaozhu, 3.194–95. See Ronald Egan’s English translation of the piece followed by his discussion in The Burden of Female Talent, 75–90.

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One of Ren Bantang’s examples, a Dunhuang song, makes a good match for Wang’s: 五更轉 一更初夜坐調琴 欲奏相思傷妾心 每恨狂夫薄行跡 一過拋人年月深

Singing in the fifth watch-hour At the first watch in early evening I sit down  and play my zither. About to play on the theme of missing one  another, my heart is saddened. I often regret that my uncouth husband did  not let me know his whereabouts. Since he left and abandoned me the years and  months have deepened.56

昨夜祁連驛使還 征夫猶往雁門關 君度山川成白首 應知歲序歇紅顔

Last night, from Mt. Qilian the postman-com  missioner returned; Yet my campaigning husband still stays at  Wild Goose Gate Pass. My lord, crossing mountains and rivers, you’ve  become a white-headed man; You should know that years and seasons have  wilted my rosy countenance.

將軍三箭定天山 壯士長歌入漢關

Our general launched three arrows and con-  quered the Mt. Tianshan areas. Our strong men entered the Han pass with  prolonged chanting.58

This Tang music-poem carries on the yuefu tradition in both theme and form, writing about the lady and her sojourning husband, and thus forms a parallel to Wang’s composition. In the stanza that follows, albeit not by accident, but an element of the yuefu repertoire, Wang continues with the issue of lapsing time and the aging lady:

Anachronistic as it may seem, Wang’s writing of his short “songs” was descended from Qi-Liang court poetry, but in the Tang he heralded the new prevalence of the form. In Ren Bantang’s terminology, songs (ge 歌) and folk tunes (yao 謠) form a component of “music-poetry.” These folk songs, according to Ren, accepted verses of even length (qiyan 齊言) and thus produced a large number of “music-poems.” In his tracing of the origins of folk songs, which came from among common people, streets, and alleys, Ren adds one important setting, namely the army.57 This kind of “music-poetry” shares similarities with some of Wang’s “songs” in form and theme. A song from one such setting contemporaneous to Wang Bo was written in praise of Xue Rengui 薛仁貴 (614–683), a famous general of the time:

56  Ren, Tang shengshi, 2:341–45; see also Zeng, et al., Quan Tang Wudai ci, “Fubian,” juan 2, 1203.

57  Ren, Tang shengshi, 1:407–11. Zhang Zhuo 張鷟 (ca. 658–730) in his Chaoye qianzai 朝野僉載 records songs that show us the structure and style of early Tang songs. Zhang, Chaoye qianzai, 4.85, 88, 90. These songs are written in trisyllabic, pentasyllabic, and heptasyllabic verses. Zhang records these songs as satires of the current political situation; they are written in colloquial language. For other folk songs of the early Tang, see Du, ed., Gu yaoyan, 12.212–18, 57.677–82. 58  Jiu Tangshu, 83.2781; Xin Tangshu, 111.4141.

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This extant couplet may or may not be the full “song” chanted by the soldiers, but the second line hints that this was not the only triumph song. As the warriors returned, they sang Xue’s praises, which must have more substantial lyrics on the battles and victory. This practice must have been a predecessor of the “triumph songs” (kaige 凱歌) prevalent in the High Tang, of which the most complete, extant six song suite is attributed to Cen Shen 岑參 (ca. 715–770), who wrote in the form of heptasyllabic quatrains in praise of the Tang army’s victory.59 The above-quoted fragments and the reconstructed tradition of early Tang triumph songs offer important hints confirming that Wang’s “song” on the general’s recent victory (ll. 107–10) must have been a product of this contemporary genre. Based on the trend of writing songs on military life––even if the tune titles, if any, are not known to us––Wang incorporated this kind of musical writing in his fu.

Other Yuefu Formal Features

The theme and form of Wang Bo’s practice of writing fu in yuefu form, as we have seen, reveal the poet’s fondness for yuefu and his attempt to express his spring feelings in this hybrid form to add a folk song flavour to a long lyrical exposition.60 Another means by which Wang achieves this goal is to rely heavily on allusions to the yuefu tradition and some formal features that were never seen in the fu genre before Wang’s time. The theory of “songs sung in a song” just discussed is also evident in Wang Bo’s fu. As mentioned above, by inlaying two yuefu titles, “Head of the Long River” and “The Moon beyond Passes and Mountains” in “Spring Longings,” likewise, the lyrics of these two songs are automatically “sung” in the writing and reading process by poet and reader, not only the imagery, but their meter. The lines in which these yuefu titles are inlaid are also written in yuefu meter. Another example in “Spring Longings” is: 鳯移金谷舞 鶯引石城歌

Like phoenix’s movement—the dance of Gold Valley; Like oriole’s warbling—the songs of Stone City.

The two allusions introduce the singing and dancing scenes to Wang’s poem. The Gold Valley was a venue where Shi Chong 石崇 (249–300) hosted his gatherings and became a common allusion in Tang poetry. The Rock City refers to Zang Zhi’s 臧質 (400–454)

59  Yuefu shiji, 20.302. The singing of “triumph songs” had a long tradition from Wei-Jin times. In the Tang, “triumph songs” were ritually composed and sung during the victorious army’s march on the capital. The earliest and most influential example is the “Qinwang pozhen yue” 秦王破陣樂, composed by Lü Cai 呂才 (606–665), on the victory of the then King of Qin, Li Shimin 李世民 (598–649; posth., Emperor Taizong, r. 629–649). See Jiu Tangshu, 28.1053. Liu Zongyuan’s 柳宗元 (773–819) twelve “Naoge” 鐃歌 were composed in commemoration of the merits and military triumphs of Emperors Gaozu (566–635; r. 618–626) and Taizong. They are in trisyllabic and pentasyllabic meters. Yuefu shiji, 20.303–8.

60  Charles Egan argues against the folk song origin of yuefu poetry by looking into its formal features. See Egan, “Were Yüeh-fu Ever Folk Songs? Reconsidering the Relevance of Oral Theory and Balladry Analogies.” Here, by “folk song flavour,” I refer to the yuefu poetic style and formal features inherited from folk songs, a practice called “imitation of yuefu” (ni yuefu 擬樂府) among intellectuals since the Han and thriving in the Liang. See Qian, “Qi Liang ni yuefu shi futi fa chutan,” 60–61.

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composition “Music of the Rock City” (Shicheng yue 石城樂), which fits very well in Wang’s context of the reveling life in Luoyang. The first of Zang’s songs reads: 生長石城下 開窗對城樓 城中美少年 出入相依投

I was born and grew up in this Rock City. As I open the window I see the watchtower. The handsome young men of the city Come in and out in companies.61

Although the music of the dance of Gold Valley and that of the “Rock City,” which was performed by sixteen dancers, might have been lost by Wang’s time,62 his allusion/emulation reveals an effort to revitalize the scenes in history and bring them to his own poem, in which he imitates the supposed yuefu style. Like other early Tang gexing, repetition is another marked feature of songs and plays a prominent role in “Spring Longings.” Two main devices of repetition in Wang’s poem are anadiplosis and repetend. In the Chinese text appended below I have underlined all occurrences of these repeated elements. These devices are completely incompatible with the fu genre, but common in folk literature. We find as early as in the Shijing different kinds of anadiplosis.63 The device became fully fledged in yuefu and is termed dingzhen 頂針. One classic example is Cao Zhi’s “To Cao Biao, Prince of White Horse,” in which the poet repeats a phrase that ends a stanza in the beginning of the next stanza. Wang Bo’s use of anadiplosis functions not only to link together each stanza, but also lays stress on certain phrases as the focus of these scenes or feelings. The repetend of the key word “spring” was common practice among Liang court poets, who took yuefu as source and inspiration, but Wang Bo further enhanced its lyrical and aesthetic appeal. The most intensive use of the repetend “spring” is in Xiao Yi’s “On a Spring Day” (Chunri 春日). The word occurs in every single line in a rather mechanical manner, whereby the poet aims to play with the descriptive and symbolic functions of the word “spring” so as to deepen the sorrow of the lone lady.64 In their gloss on “repetition,” Karl Beckson and Arthur Ganz say, “. . . so a writer reuses various elements within his work, for, to be satisfied, the mind demands not only the revelation of the new but also the recognition of the familiar.”65 In the case of Wang Bo, by repeating the word “spring” at irregular intervals, the poet strives not only to draw a picture of the season, but most significantly to intensify his feelings of the recurring image, proactively inviting his reader to read, re-read, appreciate the spring scene, and above all, review and brood upon his state of mind. With his anticipated recipient-reader, i.e., the officials who could promote him again, the use of repetend is essential for calling attention to the poet’s vicissitudes and his eagerness to recover his political status. Throughout the fu the two devices are evenly distributed: anadiplosis is intensively used in the first two sections while repetitions of “spring” mainly occur in the preface 61  Yuefu shiji, 47.689.

62  Yuefu shiji, 47.689, quoting Gujin yue lu. 63  Mao shi, poem #247.

64  Yiwen leiju, 3.43.

65  Beckson and Ganz, Literary Terms, 231.

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and section 3. This phenomenon may be explained by the design of the fu. The first two sections mainly tell of “others,” but these “others” are all self-referencing. The last section begins with the lone wife, but gradually leads to the “epiphany” of the poet-persona. Formally, the yuefu style fades out to be superseded by a literati shi style. The arrangement of the different segments of music and themes requires prosodic skills of both fu and shi. Rather than using yuefu and gexing transitional markers,66 the sections in “Fu on Spring Longings” are marked by phrases peculiar to fu such as “as for” 若夫, “not to mention” 況……復……, “then again” 復, and “let me go back” 歸去來. This reveals Wang’s effort to structure his piece as a fu rather than a shi. The organizational skills in fu poetics offer expedience for the organization of Wang’s piece, which is divided geographically, into Chang’an, Luoyang, Jiangnan, and finally Shu. Each section comprises short shi poems in different rhymes. Wang’s ingenious use of shi verses in his fu structure relies crucially on his integration of techniques of the two genres. Working in the fu framework, within each section, Wang starts a new short shi poem based on the plot development or change of narrative angle. The two main rhetorical devices of repetition are peculiar to shi poetry, and especially common in folk songs, but are seldom found in fu. They function to link up the “short poems” featuring the main theme of “spring” while distributing different emphases in each section and stanza.

Concluding Remarks

The use of repetition in his “Spring Longings,” in addition to other features peculiar to shi, reflects Wang Bo’s novel perception of poetic genres: in this case, he treats fu as shi. Suzuki Shūji’s 鈴木修次 examples illustrating the formal features of early Tang poetry, especially the repetition devices, are mainly found in shi poems.67 The numerous examples in Wang Bo’s “Spring Longings” could have made a significant contribution to Suzuki’s paradigm. Writing on the foundation laid by Southern Dynasties poets, Wang’s intentional combining or “confounding” of the two poetic genres resulted in a novel product, a long fu written in the form of shi. This could have heralded the advent of a new poetic trend, but perhaps due to deep-rooted views of literary genres, this practice did not pass on to later generations. Just as Wang Qisun accuses heptasyllabic and pentasyllabic verses of unorthodoxy harmful to the fu form, this warning should also have been dominant in Tang times, as testified by the early Tang denunciation of Yu Xin, one of Wang Bo’s important models, as “a criminal rhapsodist” (cifu zhi zuiren 詞賦之 罪人), because he “made obscene and unrestrained style his base” and “took frivolous and unorthodox diction as his principle” 其體以淫放為本，其詞以輕險為宗.68 The fact that Wang Bo’s experiment did not attract emulation answers the question of why the practice of writing fu in shi meter did not become popular. Although writing fu in shi form is not unprecedented, Wang Bo was the first to integrate these elements so fully and to make this experiment the only success in the his66  For a list of these markers, see Ge, “Chu sheng Tang qiyan gexing de fazhan,” 385–86.

67  Suzuki, “Shotōshi ni okeru hanpuku teki hyōgen no gikō,” 126–31; and Tōdai shijin ron, 1:8–44. 68  Zhou shu, 41.744.

Wang Bo’s New Prosody for “Spring Longings”

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tory of fu. Yang Jiong relates in his preface to Wang’s collected works that the poet had numerous imitators,69 but in fact we find no other fu written in the same form by Wang himself or any other poet. Luo Binwang may be seen as Wang’s predecessor, though he does not reach the level of success of Wang’s fu. Luo wrote his “Fu on the Sojourner on Military Campaign,” in which the wayfarer and the lone wife likewise play the traditional roles in the repertoire of frontier poetry, a theme mainly reserved for shi poetry. Imitating Yu Xin’s work, as Hsu Tung-hai observes, Luo fills this fu with heptasyllabic and pentasyllabic verses, albeit for the purpose of making the best use of the shi meter, a “native” form for frontier-related topics, which serve as a foil for his own harsh army life. This short fu cannot be a match for Wang’s for a number of reasons, namely the length, the changes of scenes, the ingenious metaphorical modes, and the short shi poems linked together making a long, cohesive poem. Rather than presenting only one single scene, Wang’s “Spring Longings” unfolds a full picture of “spring,” taking the reader on a spiritual journey from Chang’an to Shu, to Luoyang, Jiangnan, and Shu again, and expresses a wish to return to Chang’an again. The choreographic design relies on the traditional fu panoramic description method, but our poet also employs the art of linking stanzas, a technique directly derived from the yuefu tradition. This innovative creation only appeared in the particular setting of Wang’s sojourn in Shu while he experienced depression. When regulated fu was flourishing, a new form to which Wang also contributed his “Fu on the Phoenix Perching on a Cold Paulownia Tree” (Hanwu qi feng fu 寒梧棲鳳賦) in his service at Li Xian’s office,70 Wang’s continuation and innovation in writing fu in shi form remained unheeded. With its transient brilliance, Wang’s “Fu on Spring Longings” marks a new development of fu. The lyrical function of shi is explored not only in shi form, but also in his prosodic experiment in fu form. In this exploration by Wang and other early Tang poets,71 shi to a certain extent sloughed off its yuefu derivation and assumed a more “intellectual” mode. It continued to bloom, eventually becoming the main poetic form of Tang literature.

69  Yang, “Wang Bo ji xu” 王勃集序, Wang Zian ji zhu, “juan shou” 卷首, 70–71. 70  See Chan, “Cong hanwu qi feng dao jiangqu gu fu,” 473–77.

71  See Chan, “Beyond Border and Boudoir,” 130–68; “Xunyuan lü zaokong,” 23–47.

Appendix: Chinese Text and English Translation

春思賦 “FU ON SPRING LONGINGS”* Wang Bo Preface 咸亨二年 余春秋二十有二 旅寓巴蜀 浮遊歲序 殷憂明時 坎壈聖代 九隴縣令 河東柳太易 英達君子也 僕從遊焉 高談胸懷 頗洩憤懣 於時春也 風光依然 古人云 風景未殊 舉目有山河之異 不其悲乎 僕不才 耿介之士也 竊 稟宇宙獨用之心 受天地不平之氣 雖 弱植一介 窮途千里

It is the second year of the Xianheng reign-period, I am twenty-two sui old─

Sojourning in the Ba and Shu regions, Sauntering for seasons and years;

Feeling anxious in an era of enlightenment, Staggering in an epoch of sages.

Liu Taiyi of Hedong, governor of Jiulong district, Is a celebrated and open-minded gentleman. I accompany him on this excursion,

Openly share with him my aspiration, And vent much of my depression. It is the season of spring:

The breezes and scenes remain the same as before. Someone in the past said: “The scene has not varied,

Yet everywhere we look rivers and mountains are different.” Is it not sad?

I am not talented,

But am a resolute and righteous man.

Undeservedly I was bestowed by the universe a uniquely functioning mind;

And granted by Heaven and Earth the vital energy against injustice. Although I am just a frail plant, and

Blocked on my thousand-li path,

*   The Chinese text is based on Jiang Qingyi, comp. and comm., Wang Zian ji zhu, 1.1–15. The translation is based partly on my early work, “In Search of Jade: Studies of Early Tang Poetry,” 292–304, with modification. The underlines mark the anadiploses and repetends.

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未嘗 下情於公侯 屈色於流俗 凜然以金石自匹 猶不能忘情於春 則知 春之所及遠矣 春之所感深矣 此僕所以 撫窮賤而惜光陰 懷功名而悲歲月也 豈徒 幽宮狹路 陌上桑間 而已哉 屈平有言 目極千里傷春心

因作《春思賦》 庶幾乎 以極春之所至 析心之去就 云爾

Never have I Lowered my temperament before dukes or marquises,

Nor subdued my demeanour on behalf of current custom. Solemnly I compare myself with metal and stone;

Yet I cannot forget my feelings in this spring season. Therefore I realize: That which spring reaches is so far-off, That which spring stirs is so deep.

This is the reason why I regret the fleeting time as I ruminate on my failure and lowliness, And feel sorry for years and months as I aspire toward deeds and fame.

How can [the poem] be merely [about what happened in] the hidden palace, on the narrow alleys, On the path, and amidst the mulberry trees?

Qu Ping had these words to say: “My sights reach to the end of a thousand li─sad is my spring heart.” Therefore I compose this “Fu on Spring Longings,” Perchance In order to reach the end to which spring arrives,

And to analyze the choice of departure or staying in my heart. So the fu reads:



春思賦 “Fu on Spring Longings”

129

Section 1: Chang’an in Reminiscence Octave (fu): “As Spring Arrives” 若夫 年臨九域 韶光四極 解宇宙之嚴氣 起亭臯之春色 况風景兮同序 復江山之異國 感大運之盈虛 見長河之紆直

In regard to─ The new year approaching the nine prefectures, and When lovely scenes reach the four borders,

It dissolves the severe airs of the universe, and

Reinvigorates the spring colours of the riverbanks.

What is more, with the same scenes in the same season,

But the rivers and mountains now in a different region— I am moved by the waxing and waning of the Great Cycle, While gazing at the twists and straights of the long river.

Quatrain: “The Seasonal Scenes” 蜀川風候隔秦川 今年節物異常年 霜前柳葉銜霜翠 雪裏梅花犯雪妍

The climate of Shu River is cut off from that of Qin River;

The seasonal scenes of this year differ from those of common years.

Willow leaves before the frost hold in them the cyan hue of frost; Plum blossoms amid the snow encroach on the beauty of snow.

Octave: “Spring and Distance” 霜前雪裏知春早 看柳看梅覺春好 (fu)

思萬里之佳期 憶三秦之遠道 澹蕩春色 悠揚懷抱 野何樹而無花 水何堤而無草

Before the frost, amid the snow, one thereby knows it is early spring; Looking at willows, looking at plums, one learns the fairness of spring. I long for the fine tryst a myriad li away;

And recall the remote roads of the Three Qin regions. Light and limpid are the spring hues;

Blithe and buoyant are my inner feelings.

In the wilderness, what tree has no flowers? On the water, what dike is without grass?

Octave (fu): “The Sojourner” 於是 僕本浪人 平生自淪 懷書去洛 抱劍辭秦 惜良會之道邁

Thereupon… I was from the beginning a vagrant,

Through my life I have remained submerged.

With my books I departed from the Luoyang area; Holding abreast my sword I left the Qin region. I despair for the passing of fair gatherings.

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厭他鄉之苦辛 忽逢邊候改 遙憶帝鄉春

And am surfeited with the harshness of strange lands.

All of a sudden, I encounter the change of the frontier’s weather; From a distance, I think of spring in the imperial domain.

Octave: “Spring in the Capital” 帝鄉迢遰關河裏 神臯欲暮風煙起 黄山半入上林園 玄灞斜分曲江水 玉臺金闕紛相望 千門萬戶遙相似 昭陽殿裏報春歸 未央臺上看春暉

The imperial domain is far away, within passes and rivers.

The divine precinct is about to grow dark, as breezes and mist arise. The Yellow Mountain half enters the Superior Forest Park;

The Dark Ba River obliquely metes out the waters of Crook River. Jade Terraces and gold pylons in profusion face one another;

Myriads of gates and households from a distance resemble each other. In the Luminous Solar Basilica is heralded the return of spring;

On the Never-Ending Terrace they gaze upon the glow of spring.

Octave: “The Dancing Girl, 1” 水精卻掛鴛鴦幔 雲母斜開翡翠幃 競道西園梅色淺 爭知北闕柳陰稀 斂態調歌扇 迴身整舞衣 銀蠶吐絲猶未暖 金燕銜泥試學飛

The “water essence” is the mandarin-duck curtain hung inside; The “cloud mother” is the kingfisher screen opened aslant.

Contending to report the light colour of the plums in the West Garden, How do we know the sparse shade of the willows by the North Pylons? Restraining our demeanour, we adjust the singing fans; Turning our bodies, we rearrange our dancing outfits.

The silver silkworms spew out silk-thread, still it is not warm yet;

The gold swallows hold mud in their beaks, beginning to learn to fly.

Octave: “The Dancing Girl, 2” 妾本幽閨學歌舞 寜知漢代多巡撫 前年齋祭謁甘泉 今歲笙簫祠后土 桃花萬騎喧長薄 蘭葉千旗照平浦 (fu)

見原野之秀芳

“I started out learning singing and dancing in my secluded boudoir. How could I know our Han dynasty has so many perambulations and placations? Last year, they performed ablution and sacrifice and excursed to Sweet Spring Palace.

This year, they play panpipes and syrinxes to worship August Terra. A myriad ‘peach blossom’ horsemen clamour through the long thickets;

A thousand ‘thoroughwort-leaf’ flags shine on the flat riverbank.

As flowers and fragrance are displayed on the wild champaign,



憶山河之邃古

春思賦 “Fu on Spring Longings”

131

I reminisce over the distant antiquity of the mountains and rivers.”

Sestet: “The Scion Roaming Chang’an, 1” 長安路狹遶長安 公子春來不厭看 杏葉裝金轡 蒲萄鏤玉鞍 聳蓋臨平樂 迴笳出上蘭

In Chang’an, roads are narrow—encircling Chang’an;

The scion, at the coming of spring, is never tired of looking. Decked with apricot leaves is his gold bridle; Carved in a grape form is his jade saddle.

The towering canopies arrive at Great Joy Belvedere;

The revolving reed-pipe sounds forth from Superior Thoroughwort Belvedere.

Quatrain: “The Scion Roaming Chang’an, 2” 上蘭經鄠杜 揮鞭日將暮 白馬新臨御溝道 青牛近出章臺路

To Superior Thoroughwort, they pass by Hu and Du districts, As they brandish their whips, the sun is about to set.

The white horses have just arrived at the road by the Imperial Moat;

The azure oxen nearby exit from the street of the Patterned Terrace.

Quatrain: “The Scion Roaming Chang’an, 3” 章臺接建章 垂柳復垂楊 草開馳馬埓 花滿鬭雞場

Patterned Terrace borders on the Establishing Pattern Palace─ Drooping willows, drooping poplars, one layer after another. Grasses spread out along the horse-racing paddock; Flowers blanket the rooster-sparring cockpit.

Sestet: “The Lady and the Scion” 南鄰少婦多妖婉 北里王孫駐行幰 乍怪前春節候遲 預道今年寒食晩 (fu)

傷紫陌之春度 惜青樓之望遠

Young lassies of the south neighbourhood are so coquettish and comely;

Noble scions at the North Quarter halt their moving curtained chariots. Suddenly, one finds strange the tardiness of last year’s signs of spring;

In advance, one foretells the lateness of this year’s cold food festival. I feel pain at spring’s passing on the purple pathways;

And regret while gazing at the distance from the green buildings.

Quatrain: “The Lone Lady, 1a” 紫陌青樓照月華 珠帷黼帳七香車 蛾眉畫來應幾樣

Purple pathways and green buildings are illuminated by lunar radiance─

Pearl curtains and embroidered screens on the seven-scent carriages. Moth eyebrows: when drawn, how many patterns should they have?

132

TIMOTHY WAI KEUNG CHAN

蟬鬢梳時髻欲斜

Cicada earlocks: when combed, the chignon seems about to droop.

Sestet (fu): “The Lone Lady, 1b” 恨雕鞍之屆晩 痛銀箭之更賖 行行避葉 步步看花 因狂夫之蕩子 成賤妾之倡家

I regret the carved saddle arriving so late;

And mourn that the silver-arrow watches move so slowly. Strolling and strolling, I avoid the leaves; Pace after pace, I appreciate the flowers.

Because of my uncouth husband, the unfettered lad,

I, this humble wife, have been made a singing entertainer.

Quatrain: “The Lone Lady, 2a” 狂夫去去無窮已 賤妾春眠春未起 自有蘭閨數十重 安知榆塞三千里

My uncouth husband has gone far and away, with no end nor halt.

I, the humble wife, sleep in spring and have not gotten up in spring. Here there are thoroughwort boudoirs, in several dozen layers.

How do I know about the Elm Forest Pass, three thousand li away?

Quatrain: “The Lone Lady, 2b” 榆塞連延玉關側 雲間沈沈不可識 葱山隱隱金河北 霧裏蒼蒼幾重色

The Elm Forest Pass lies, stretching and spreading, beside Jade Gate Pass, And amidst the dismal and dark clouds, cannot be distinguished.

The obscure and overshadowed Onion Mountains are to the north of Gold River, Greenish and gray, they are behind the fog, how many layers of colours?

Octave: “The Lone Lady, 3” 忽有驛騎出幽并 傳道春衣萬里程 龍沙春草遍 瀚海春雲生 疏勒井泉寒尚竭 燕山烽火夜應明 語道河源路遠遠 誰教夫壻苦行行

Suddenly, there comes a postal rider from You and Bing prefectures,

Who transmits words to the one in spring vestments from a myriad li away: At Dragon Sand spring grass pervades; At Desert Sea spring clouds emerge.

The spring of Kashgar is cold and still dried-up;

The beacon-fire of Mount Yan at night may be ignited.

He says: “The road to the source of the Yellow River is far, far.” Who made my husband march bitterly, on and on?



Quatrain: “The Lone Lady, 4” 君行塞外多霜露 為想春園起煙霧 遊絲生罥合歡枝 落花自遶相思樹

春思賦 “Fu on Spring Longings”

133

My milord, you travel beyond the frontier─where there is much frost and dew.

Taking your place I think of the spring garden─where arise mist and fog. Floating gossamer vividly entwines the “joy of meeting” branches; Falling blossoms themselves encircle the “mutual longing” trees.

Couplet: “The Lone Lady, 5” (coda) 春望年年絶 幽閨離緒切

Year after year, my spring wish is left unfulfilled;

In my hidden boudoir, deep are my broodings on separation.

Sestet: “The Lone Lady, 6” 春色朝朝異 邊庭羽書至 都護新封萬里侯 將軍稍定三邊地 長斾猶銜掃雲色 寶刀尚擁干星氣

Morning after morning, the spring scene differs;

From the border courtyard arrives the feathered letter, which reads: “The Protector-general is newly made Marquis outside a myriad li;

The troop-commandant has gradually subdued the lands of the three borders. The long banners still bear the hue from sweeping clouds.

The treasured sword yet possesses the star-disturbing pneuma.”

Quatrain: “The Lone Lady, 7” 昨夜祁連驛使還 征夫猶住雁門關 君度山川成白首 應知歲序歇紅顔

Last night, from Mt. Qilian the postman-commissioner returned; Yet my campaigning husband still stays at Wild Goose Gate Pass.

My milord, crossing mountains and rivers, you’ve become a whiteheaded man;

You should know that years and seasons have wilted my rosy countenance.

Sestet: “The Lone Lady, 8” (coda) 紅顔一别同胡越 夫壻連延限城闕 羌笛唯横隴路風 戎衣直照關山月 春色徒盈望 春悲殊未歇

Since that departure from my rosy countenance, we’ve become like Hu and Yue; My husband is blocked by the continuous walls and watchtowers.

The Qiang flute plays horizontally down the roads and in the air of the Long region.

Our armor directly reflects moonbeams in the passes and mountains. The hues of spring are, all for naught, in view;

My sorrows of spring have yet to meet an end.

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Section 2: Luoyang

Sestet: “The Imperial Entourage” 復聞天子幸關東 馳道煙塵萬里紅 析羽搖初日 繁笳思曉風 後騎猶分長樂館 前旌已映洛陽宮

Then again I hear that the Son of Heaven honours the East of the Pass with a visit. Mist and dust along the express roads─a myriad li of red. “Scattering feathers” wave in front of the early sun; The clustered flageolets long for dawn breezes.

When the rear horsemen of the procession are still dispatched around Long Joy Château;

The vanguard banners already emblazon Luoyang Palace.

Couplet: “Luoyang: Introduction” 洛陽宮城紛合沓 離房別殿花初匝

In Luoyang, palaces and city walls are dense, packed and piled up; Its outlying chambers and separate basilicas start to be shrouded by flowers.

Sestet: “Luoyang, 1a” 河陽別舍抵長河 丹輪紺幰相經過 戚里繁珠翠 中閨盛綺羅 鳯移金谷舞 鶯引石城歌

The separate residences of Heyang stretch to the Long River;

Cinnabar wheels and azure chariot curtains pass and stop by. Kin Alley abounds with pearls and jadeite;

The inner seraglio resplendent with filigree gauze.

Like phoenix’s movement—the dance of Gold Valley; Like oriole’s warbling—the songs of the Rock City.

Sestet: “Luoyang, 1b” 向夕天津洛橋暮 爭驅紫燕黄牛度 閒居伊水園 舊宅邙山路 武子新布金錢埒

Towards dusk, Heaven Ford Bridge and Luo Bridge become dark; They vie to drive their Purple Swallows and yellow oxen across. They dwell in leisure in the gardens by the Yi River,

By the old mansions along the roads of North Mang Mountains. There, Wuzi has newly paved the “golden-coins paddock”;1

1  Wuzi is Wang Ji 王濟 (ca. 240–ca. 285), who paved the boundaries of a horse-racing paddock with golden coins when he first moved to Mt. Mang in Luoyang. SSXY, 30.883 (#9).



季倫欲碎珊瑚樹

春思賦 “Fu on Spring Longings”

135

And Jilun is on the verge of breaking the coral tree.2

Sestet: “Luoyang, 2” 復有西墉春霧寡 更值南津春望寫 (fu)

入金市而乘羊 出銅街而試馬 葉犯露而爭密 花牽風而亂下

Thereupon, at the west enceinte spring fog is light;

Whereas by the south ford the spring scenes are like paintings. Entering Gold Market, they ride on rams;

Exiting Bronze Camel Street, they test their horses.

Encroached on by the dew, leaves contend in growing densely; Dragged by the wind, blossoms in disarray fall.

Sestet (fu): “Luoyang, 3” 錦障縈山 羅幃照野 司空令尹之博物 二陸三張之文雅 新年柏葉之樽 上巳蘭英之斝

Brocade screens encircle the mountains;

Gauzy curtains illuminate the wilderness. [There are:]

The erudition about objects of the Minister of Work and the Director-Governor,3 The literary elegance of the Two Lus and Three Zhangs,4 The New Year’s flagons with cypress leaves,

The First-si beakers with thoroughwort blossoms.

Section 3: Jiangnan Sestet: “The Lone Lady, 1” 春來併是春 何啻兩違秦 忽逢江外客 復憶江南春 羅衣乘北渚

When spring comes, spring is everywhere.

Are there two such seasons since leaving Qin?

Suddenly I meet a stranger from beyond the River;

And I recall the spring in the region South of the River: In gauzy vestment she steps on the north holm,

2  Jilun is Shi Chong. Once when Wang Kai 王愷 (W. Jin) brought a coral tree to Shi’s home to show off his wealth, Shi smashed it with his ruyi tablet and gave Wang a much bigger and nicer one as compensation. SSXY, 30.882–83 (#8). 3  Zhang Hua 張華 (232–300) was Minister of Work and authored the Bowu zhi 博物志.

4  The two Lus are the brothers Lu Ji 陸機 (261–303) and Lu Yun 雲 (262–303). The three Zhangs are the brothers Zhang Zai 載, Zhang Xie 協, and Zhang Kang 亢 (all fl. late third century). They were all writers par excellence of the time in Luoyang.

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錦袖出東鄰

In damask sleeves she exits from the neighbouring house to the east.

Quatrain: “The Lone Lady, 2” 江邊小婦無形迹 特怨狂夫事行役 鳯凰山上花無數 鸚鵡洲中草如積

The young lady beside the river has no form or trace;

Simply grieves at her uncouth husband who is on campaign marches. On Phoenix Mountain the flowers are numerous; On Parrot Island the grass seems piled up.

Sestet: “The Lone Lady, 3” 春江澹容與 春期無處所 春水春魚樂 春汀春雁舉 君道玉門關 何如金陵渚

The spring river is limpid, rippling and ruffling; My spring tryst has no fixed place.

In the spring water spring fish are joyful;

From the spring isle spring wild geese soar. Milord, tell me—“Jade Gate Pass

How does it compare with Gold Barrow island?”

Section 4: Shu Octave: “Spring Sentiments, 1” 為問逐春人 年光幾處新 何年春不至 何地不宜春 亦有當春逢遠客 亦有當春别故人 風物雖同候 悲歡各異倫

Let me ask you, pursuer of spring:

In how many places is the scene of the year new? In which year does spring not come? What place is not suited to spring?

Indeed, some meet visitors from afar during spring;

Indeed, some bid farewell to old friends during spring. Although the seasonal things share the same climate, Sorrow and joy differ according to their categories.

Quatrain: “Spring Sentiments, 2” (coda) 歸去來 春山恣閒放 蕙畹蘭臯行可望 何為悠悠坐惆悵

I should return— To the spring mountains to indulge my leisure and freedom;

Melilotus fields and thoroughwort marshes are in sight on my strolls. Why, anxiously annoyed, am I wistful and worried in vain?



Octave: “Nostalgia” 比來作客住臨邛 春風春日自相逢 石鏡巖前花屢密 玉輪江上葉頻濃 高平灞岸三千里 少道梁山一萬重 自有春花煎别思 無勞春鏡照愁容

春思賦 “Fu on Spring Longings”

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Recently, I have been a visitor, staying temporarily in Linqiong. Spring breezes and spring sunlight naturally meet each other.

In front of Stone Mirror Precipice, flowers grow densely again and again;

Alongside Jade Wheel River, leaves flourish thickly time after time. High champaigns and the Ba riverbanks—three thousand li away;

Narrow paths and the Beam Mountains—there are a myriad layers. The spring flowers here already decoct my separation longings;

No need to bother the spring mirror to reflect my rueful bearings.

Octave: “Spring Inspiration, 1” 盛年眇眇辭鄉國 長路遙遙不可極 形隨朗月驟東西 思逐浮雲幾南北 春蜨參差命儔侶 春鶯緜蠻思羽翼 余復何為此 方春長歎息

At my full age, out and away, I depart from my native state; On the long road, far far away, there is no end to reach.

My person follows the luminous moon, straying east and west; My longings pursue floating clouds, haunting south and north. Spring butterflies, swarming and sporting, beckon mates and companions;

Spring orioles, unfledged and immature, long for pinions and wings. Why, then, am I doing this—

In the midst of spring heaving a long sigh?

Octave: “Spring Inspiration, 2” (coda) 會當一舉絶風塵 翠蓋朱軒臨上春 朝升玉署調天紀 夕憩金閨奉帝綸 長卿未達終希達 曲逆長貧豈剩貧 年年送春應未盡 一旦逢春自有人

Within one swoop, I shall transcend the wind and dust—

Arriving on a kingfisher canopied vermilion chariot in early spring. In the morning I rise to the Jade Office to arrange the celestial law; In the evening I rest at the Gold Gate, obeying the emperor’s edict.

When Zhangqing had not succeeded, often did he wish to succeed;5 Although Quni had long been poor, why would he remain poor?6

Year after year, I send off the spring here and have not seen an end; In one morning, I shall certainly meet my good spring fortune.

5  Zhangqing is the byname of Sima Xiangru.

6  Marquis Quni is the title of Chen Ping 陳平 (d. 178 BCE).

Chapter 5

LI QINGZHAO’S RHAPSODY ON CAPTURE THE HORSE RONALD EGAN

Imperial China’s most celebrated woman poet, Li Qingzhao 李清照 (1084–1150s), left one fu that we have today. It is likely that she wrote several pieces in this genre, but since her literary collection was lost, all we have of her writings are those that happened to be quoted in some early source. The rhapsody on the board game Capture the Horse is the one surviving work of hers in this genre. This was not the only piece of writing that Li Qingzhao composed about this board game. She wrote several other pieces in different forms. She tells us that she was “fixated” on this game and could play it all night without thought of food or sleep. The game was lost in China not long after Li Qingzhao’s time. We cannot reconstruct it in any detail, but it is clear that it involved two or more players and was conceived as a “battle” between rival armies. The armies’ warhorses were represented by the pieces on the game board, and winning consisted of capturing the opponent’s horses, hence the game’s name.1 One might be surprised to learn that Li Qingzhao, a socially elite and learned lady, who also enjoyed acclaim for poetic talent even during her lifetime, spent leisure hours playing war games. A few points may be made by way of explanation. She character1  For more details about what is known about this and other board games in imperial China, see Joe Cribb, “Horse Coins: Pieces for Da ma, the Chinese Board Game Driving Horses,” and Andrew Lo, “An Introduction to Board Games in late Imperial China,” both contained in Ancient Board Games in Perspective: Papers from the 1990 British Museum Colloquium, with Additional Contributors, ed I. L. Finkel, pp. 116–24 and 125–32, respectively. Although there are some diagrams of Capture the Horse, showing the distribution of pieces on the board, attributed to Li Qingzhao, their provenance is uncertain since they first appear in Ming dynasty sources. Ronald Egan is Professor of Sinology in the Department of East Asian Languages and Cultures at Stanford University. He previously taught in the Department of East Asian Languages and Cultural Studies the University of California, Santa Barbara. His research focuses on Chinese literature, aesthetics, and cultural history of the Tang-Song period. His publications include books on the literary works and lives of Ouyang Xiu and Su Shi, as well as a selected translation of Qian Zhongshu’s essays in Guanzhui bian, entitled Limited Views: Essays on Ideas and Letters. He has also published a general study of innovations in Song dynasty aesthetic thought, entitled The Problem of Beauty: Aesthetic Thought and Pursuits in Northern Song Dynasty China, as well as a study of the life, work, and reception history of Li Qingzhao, entitled The Burden of Female Talent: The Poet Li Qingzhao and Her History in China (Harvard, 2013), now also available in a Chinese edition. His most recent book is a complete translation of Li Qingzhao’s writings, The Works of Li Qingzhao, published in a bilingual edition in the Library of Chinese Humanities series.

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izes the game as “an elegant pastime of the women’s inner quarters” 閨中雅戲, so it must be that other women amused themselves playing it as well, not just Li Qingzhao. Second, this particular woman was intensely competitive. This aspect of her personality shows through in many aspects of her life and writings.2 Her “fixation” on this game, on which the players wagered money, is just one example. Third, in her writings about Capture the Horse, Li Qingzhao does not write solely about the board game. She also writes, on another level, about the vexed military and political circumstances of her day. Her dynasty, the Song, had just a few years before its 165-year rule over the Chinese empire was interrupted by foreign invasion. The Song lost control of the northern half of the empire and had to reconstitute itself, after a chaotic southward flight, at a new capital (Lin’an, modern Hangzhou) with a new emperor—one of the few members of the imperial clan who evaded capture by the invading Jurchen armies. In the years immediately following the dynastic calamity, virtually anything anyone wrote about warfare, even that played out on a game board, would have rightly been perceived as having an intended application to the contemporary political and military situation. That situation, in the Southern Song, was characterized by intense disagreements among court officials about whether to mount a counteroffensive to try to retake the lost northern territories or to accept the Jurchen’s occupation of the north and negotiate a lasting peace. It was only after many more years, and several unsuccessful northern campaigns, that the court eventually settled on the latter course. Lastly, Li Qingzhao had her own personal motives for wanting to comment in a very transparent way about military and political issues debated by rival factions at the Song court. I will explain those reasons later in this chapter. I first present a translation with explanatory notes of her “Rhapsody on Capture the Horse,” followed by a discussion of the meanings and intent of her composition.

Rhapsody on Capture the Horse3

I am, by nature, fixated on board games. I can play morning and night without any thought of food. When I traveled south to Jinhua, I put up at the Chen’s house. Having spoken with my hosts about board games, I subsequently wrote this “Rhapsody on a Handbook for Capture the Horse.”

打馬賦 予性專博，晝夜每忘食事。南渡金華，僑居陳氏，講博弈之事，遂作〈依經打 馬賦〉曰： As the year draws to a close, we seize the chance to shout “Black Eyes”!4 A thousand gold is wagered on a single throw,

歲令云徂 盧或可呼 千金一擲

2  For a fuller discussion of this and other aspects of her life and works, see my The Burden of Female Talent: The Poet Li Qingzhao and Her History in China.

3  I am using the text of the rhapsody found in Li Qingzhao ji jianzhu, 3.381–82. The translation presented here is a slightly modified version of that published in my The Works of Li Qingzhao, pp. 34–45. 4  When Liu Yu 劉裕 (363–422), the future founding emperor of the (Liu) Song dynasty, was



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4 a million cash rides on ten fists of tallies. 百萬十都 Wine cups and plates have been set out, 樽俎具陳 the ceremonious greetings have been performed. 已行揖讓之禮 After the host and guests are tipsy with wine, 主賓既醉 8 isn’t there, after all, such a thing as chess?5 不有博弈者乎 Once Capture the Horse caught on, 打馬爰興 Chop dice was no longer played.6 摴蒲遂廢 This is, in fact, the most cultured of trivial pursuits, 實小道之上流 12 an elegant amusement in the women’s apartments. 乃閨房之雅戲 Powerful steeds like Ji and Lu are yoked together, 齊驅驥騄 recalling the ten thousand mile rides of Duke Mu. 疑穆王萬里之行 Black stallions and sorrels prance in tandem, 間列玄黃 16 just like the Yang clan’s five teams of mounts.7 類楊氏五家之隊 The tinkling of gem pendants— 珊珊珮響 we marvel at jade stirrups struck together. 方驚玉蹬之敲 Arrayed like a constellation of stars— 落落星羅 20 we imagine bronze coins smashed to bits. 忽見連錢之碎 When the maples turn chill along the Wu River 若乃吴江楓 leaves blow off the trees on the nomad hills. 胡山葉飛 When the border is closed at Jade Gate 玉門關閉 24 grasses are plentiful at Sandy Plain. 沙苑草肥 Approaching the waves, it will not cross the ford, 臨波不渡 for fear of ruining its mud-guards.8 似惜障泥 Troops may be deployed with surprise, 或出入用奇 28 as in the battle fought at Kunyang.9 有類昆陽之戰 Or battlefield protocol may be scrupulously maintained, 或優游仗義 as with the armies at Zhuolu. 正如涿鹿之師 There are famed riders long known as outstanding 或聞望久高 32 who fall to the ground like Master Yu, 脫復庾郎之失 There are men with no reputation for horsemanship 或聲明素昧 who perform as brilliantly as Shu the Fool!10 便同癡叔之奇

engaged in a chess match with his rival Liu Yi 劉毅, he predicted that all five dice he threw would come up black. Four of the five did so promptly, but when the last one was still spinning Liu Yu shouted at it, and it too came to a stop, showing black. Jinshu 85.2210–11.

5  The language is drawn from The Analects 17/22: “To eat to the full all day long and not apply the mind to anything, is it not depraved? Is there not such a thing as chess? To play chess is at least better than doing nothing at all.” 6  Chupu (derived from the Indian chaupar) was a traditional dice game played in China since at least the Han dynasty.

7  The references are to teams of splendid horses kept by historical figures, Duke Mu of Qin in the Warring States and the Yang clan (of Imperial Consort Yang) during Xuanzong’s reign in the Tang. 8  It was Wang Ji’s 王濟 (ca. 240–ca. 285) horse that behaved this way, and Wang Ji, a skilled horseman, discerned the reason for his mount’s refusal to cross the stream. Shishuo xinyu, 20/4. 9  Kunyang was where the armies of Guangwu (r. 25–57), founder of the Later Han, used tactics of surprise to rout Wang Mang’s troops. Zhuolu was where the legendary Yellow Emperor engaged Chiyou in battle and killed him.

10  Master Yu (Yu Yi 庾翼, 305–345) was a masterful horseman, yet once, when asked to display his skill, he wheeled his horse around and fell to the ground; Shishuo xinyu, 6/24. Shu the Fool is Wang Zhan 王湛, who had a reputation for being a half-wit. But his cousin one day was amazed to

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There are those who return home haltingly, 亦有緩緩而歸 36 having set out brimming with confidence. 昂昂而出 Some gallop over a steep trail fit only for crows, 鳥道驚馳 while others trot gingerly around an ant hill. 蟻封安步 Struggling to get through perilous terrain, 崎嶇峻坂 40 some horses have not met their Wang Liang. 未遇王良 Laboring to haul a salt cart, 跼促鹽車 11 others have yet to encounter their Zaofu. 難逢造父 Moreover, the plateaus and hills stretch distantly, 且夫邱陵云遠 44 white clouds cover the sky. 白雲在天 One nag is thinking only of its beloved bin of beans, 心存戀豆 while a fine steed yearns for the sting of the whip. 志在著鞭 Hoofs come to rest on yellow leaves, 止蹄黃葉 48 the gold coins are just as many. 何異金錢 The tiles that are used number fifty-six, 用五十六采之間 the routes that may be taken amount to ninety-one. 行九十一路之內 Rewards and punishments are meted out unambiguously 明以賞罰 52 the lowest and highest merits are properly tallied. 覈其殿最 Battlefield commands originate in the recesses of one mind, 運指麾於方寸之中 victory and defeat are decided in advance of the portents. 決勝負於幾微之外 Besides, fondness for victory is part of human nature, 且好勝者人之常情 56 though these minor arts are a gentleman’s smallest skill. 小藝者士之末技 Still, mention of the plum served to alleviate thirst, 說梅止渴 so too this game may calm a mind obsessed with winning. 稍疏奔競之心 Drawing a pancake satisfied hunger, 畫餅充饑 60 this pursuit may relieve the ambition to vanquish others.12 少謝騰驤之志 If you aspire to get real results, 將圖實效 you must face danger and not retreat; 故臨難而不廻 But sometimes to repay high honours conferred on you 欲報厚恩 64 you must interpret subtle signs and withdraw for a time. 故知機而先退 Some go forward slowly with gags in their mouths 或銜枚緩進 to penetrate the fortifications at mountain passes; 已踰關塞之運} Others peddle their valor and strive to be first 或賈勇爭先 68 only to fall into a pit they never saw. 莫悟穽塹之墜 That comes from not knowing when to stop,13 皆由不知止足 remorse was a result they gave themselves. 自貽尤悔 You must know the proper way to guide the chariot, 當知範我之馳驅 72 and not forget the warnings worn at the gentleman’s waist. 勿忘君子之箴佩

find that he was an elegant conversationalist and that he could also tame a difficult horse; Shishuo xinyu, 8/17.

11  Wang Lang and Zaofu were famous horse trainers during the Spring and Autumn and Warring States periods. The motif of a steed whose greatness goes unnoticed because it is cast in the role of a workhorse comes from Intrigues of the Warring States (Zhanguoce 戰國策).

12  It was the general Cao Cao who promised his marching troops, when they were desperate for water, that a plum tree grove lay ahead laden with sweet-sour fruit. This news made their mouths water so that they forgot their thirst; Shishuo xinyu, 27/2. The idea of drawing a pancake (on the ground) to alleviate hunger usually means to engage in a futile sham, but here Li Qingzhao uses it in the sense of having a pretend substitute (i.e., the board game for real warfare) alleviate the impulse to vanquish others on the battlefield. 13  The wisdom of “knowing when to stop” is first invoked in the Daode jing 32.



Li Qingzhao’s Rhapsody on Capture the Horse

76 80 84 88

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Is this not better than doing nothing at all 況為之賢已 as the classic itself teaches?14 事實見於正經 Each move must be rooted in utmost sincerity 用之以誠 the principles must accord with the way of Heaven. 義必合於天德 The mare conforms to the constancy of earth, 牝乃叶地類之貞 the lady of Lu exemplified correct “returning.”15 反亦記魯姬之式 We learn from the fallen hair-knots of the Woman Liang, 鑒髻墮於梁家 we follow the curving riverbank in the state of Qi. 溯滸循於岐國 Therefore, when one fellow shouted out as he circled the couch, 故遶牀大叫 all five sticks came up black; 五木皆盧 When another cried out as he sprinkled wine on the ground, 瀝酒一呼 all six dice showed red.16 六子盡赤 One man never lost at board games his whole life, 平生不負 thus his victory at Jiange was assured; 遂成劍閣之師 Someone else had not gambled away his mountain estate 別墅未輸 when invaders were already defeated at Huai and Fei.17 已破淮淝之賊 Today how could we lack a commander like Yuanzi? 今日豈無元子 Our enlightened age is not short of leaders like Anshi.18 明時不乏安石 Why must we imitate Tao Changsha, 又何必陶長沙 throwing the chessboard away? 博局之投 We should emulate Yuan Yandao 正當師袁彥道 who tossed down his cap.19 布帽之擲也

14  A second allusion to Confucius’s statement about chess, see note on line 8.

15  The description of the mare comes from the Book of Changes’ explanation of the kun hexagram (representing pure yin). The exact sense of line 78 is not clear, but the “going back” refers to the fact that the horses pulling the carriage that brought Shuji 淑姬as a bride to the state of Qi were kept for three months, in case the marriage failed and they had to take her back to her native Lu.

16  These two couplets refer to two military leaders, Liu Yu (again) and Liu Xin 劉信 of the Southern Tang (tenth century), who beat rivals at board games by staking them on a single risky throw, which turned out favourably for them. Jinshu, 85.2210–11 and Zheng, Nantang jinshi, 2.223.

17  It was observed of Jin general Huan Wen 桓溫 (312–373) that he never played a board game unless he was certain of winning, and this was taken, correctly, as an indication that he was sure to win his campaign against the Cheng-Han kingdom in 341, despite the perception that his army was outmanned and was sure to lose. Shishuo xinyu, 7/20. Right before his army engaged Fu Jian at the battle of Fei River in 383, the Jin general Xie An, with great nonchalance, played chess and did not even pause from the game when news arrived that his army had won a great victory. Jinshu, 79.2074–75 and Shishuo xinyu, 6/35. 18  Yuanzi was the courtesy name of Huan Wen, the subject of lines 85–86. Anshi was the courtesy name of Xie An, the subject of lines 87–88.

19  Tao Changsha (Tao Kan 陶侃), another Jin general, was a stickler for discipline. When he saw that his subordinates were spending their time drinking and gambling, he gathered up their cups and board games and threw them all into the river. Jinshu, 83.2170. Yuan Yandao (Yuan Dan 袁 耽), another Jin-period chess master, agreed to help a friend extricate himself from a gambling debt, and entered a chess match even though he was in mourning for a parent. Yuan first disguised himself and hid his mourning cap inside his shirt. After he won the match, he took the cap out and threw it on the floor, asking his opponent, “Now do you recognize Yuan Yandao?” Shishuo xinyu, 23/34.

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The concluding verse says: 辭曰： Foli is sure to die in the mao year,20 佛狸定見卯年死 Why are we all, high-ranking and lowly, still fleeing in chaos? 貴賤紛紛尚流徙 Great steeds like Hualiu and Lu’er fill my eyes,21 滿眼驊騮雜騄駬 96 In dangerous times where can we find real horses like these?22 時危安得真致此 Old now, who still has one thousand mile ambitions?23 老矣誰能志千里 All I want is to join with others to recross the Huai.24 但願相將過淮水

Organization of the Rhapsody This rhapsody is of moderate length, ninety-eight lines in all; one fundamental issue is the nature of its exposition or its structure. First, is there a coherent organization, by which I mean a structure of thought, a movement or progression, and does the thinking have “direction”? It might not, of course. Given the nature of the topic and the genre, we can imagine a treatment of this theme that is little more than a string of allusions to 20  The language of this line is borrowed from a children’s ditty that predicted the death in 451 of Foli, Emperor Taiwu 太武 of the Northern Wei (r. 424–451), whose armies were then threatening the (Liu) Song dynasty. Songshu, 74.1912. Foli here stands for the Jurchen ruler, Emperor Taizong. Now, Taizong did die in a mao year, 1135, just as the line predicts. Li Qingzhao’s rhapsody is usually assumed to have been written in 1134, because another of her Capture the Horse writings is explicitly dated to that year. Unless the piece was actually written one year later and Li Qingzhao is referring to a death that already happened, she either in this line accurately predicts a future event (a lucky guess) or perhaps she had heard that Taizong was already ill and had reason to believe he would die soon, so that she recalled and quoted the line about Foli. 21  Hualiu and Lu’er were the names of celebrated horses of ancient times.

22  This line is borrowed verbatim from Du Fu’s poem on Wei Yan’s painting of horses, in which Du Fu expresses the wish that in his “dangerous times” warhorses as magnificent as those Wei Yan painted could be obtained for the imperial army. Du Fu, “Ti bishang Wei Yan huama ge” 題壁上韋 偃畫馬歌, Dushi xiangzhu, 9.754. Some versions of the text have an additional line interpolated between lines 95 and 96: “Mulan holds her lance crosswise, a fine warrior woman!” 木蘭橫戈好 女子. But this line is missing from early texts of the rhapsody. It first appears only in Yu Zhengxie’s 俞正燮quotation of the rhapsody in the nineteenth century, and Zheng’s source for the line is not identified. Many modern editions of Li Qingzhao’s works now include the line, as if its presence in the rhapsody were not problematic. The more cautious scholar Wang Zhongwen 王仲聞, however, pointedly omits the line from his version of the text, noting its lack of early attestation, and I follow him here. Li Qingzhao ji jiaozhu, 151. Other points against accepting the line as authentic include these considerations: prosodically, the line is an anomaly, because it stands by itself and violates the couplet structure of the verse. In addition, the line is an intrusion of the first-person voice into the poem and, beyond that, seems out of character for this author, to say the least. One wonders if the line did not originate as some commentator’s note or marginalia that later became part of the text itself. 23  The language is taken from Cao Cao’s song: “The old steed lies in the stable / But has ambitions one thousand miles away. / The heroic man is in his twilight years, / But his virile heart is unchanged.” “Buchu xiamen xing” 步出夏門行, Weishi 魏詩, in Lu Qinli, Xian-Qin Han Wei Jin Nanbeichao shi, 354. 24  The Huai River was the boundary between the Southern Song and territory controlled by the Jin empire to the north.



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horses, historical riders, chess players, battles, etc. That is certainly one possible outcome of writing on this theme, though it might not be a very successful one. Another might be a structure of thought, but one that turns back on itself so that it is not felt to be primarily linear: one that progresses through series of contradictions or a circle of qualifications. Such is not the case with this composition. There is a clear direction in this piece’s unfolding and it is fundamentally linear. It is also dramatic in the sense that it leads more or less steadily to a climax, a culminating moment of high intensity and meaning, in which the author’s primary intent is plainly revealed. The composition has a tripartite structure: it consists of three sections. The first one is clearly a beginning or introduction, while the third is a finale or culmination. It is less obvious that the second one is a “middle” in any logical sense, but it does stand by itself, apart from what precedes and succeeds it. There is a consensus among modern editors about this three-part division, and they regularly present the work in three sections or paragraphs. The start of the new sections are marked by transitional words, conjunctions (ruonai 若乃 in line 21 and qie 且 in line 55), as is common in rhapsodies. The first section, lines 1–20, sets the social scene in which the game is played, much like the opening of a stage play. The curtain draws back, amid shouts and boasts about the amount of money wagered (all literary allusions, of course), and we witness guests arrive, a banquet conclude, and the assembled persons turn their thoughts to the amusements of the board game. Some attention is given to the history of this particular game (lines 9–10), then four lines are devoted to an analogy that will become a major theme of the piece: what the players “see” when they look at the game pieces, coloured tiles, evidently, that represent (whether the pieces actually had equine shape or had sketches of horses drawn on them, we do not know) famous horses of old, or moments of legendary or historical horse lore. The final four lines of this section focus on the aesthetics of the game. We are first presented with the game’s sound: the click-clack of the tiles knocking against each other as they are dealt out and moved across the board reminds us of the tinkling of imaginary jade stirrups knocking against each other, or other parts of the saddle, as real horses are ridden (anyone who has been within earshot of a mahjong game will understand). Then we are given a visual image: the pieces arrayed on the board are likened to stars in the night sky, an analogy that is immediately replaced by another of smashed bronze coins, the bronze functioning as synecdoche for the colour of real horses. These four lines are an apt ending to this opening section, with its attention to the actual playing of the game in a social setting, evoking its visual and audial qualities and appeal. The second section wades deep into horse lore and legend, building elaborately on the analogy, barely touched upon in the opening section, between this horsey game and real horse riding, both on and off the battlefield. The meaning of the lines is not always clear, an issue always present in this rhapsody. Since the game does not survive (and seems to have fallen into neglect shortly after Li Qingzhao’s time), many of the lines referring to specific details and strategies elude us. That is hardly surprising. We do the best we can, knowing that we will never master a detailed contemporary account of a game we cannot see. The opening four lines are an example. Commentators sensibly

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suggest that the lines must describe different ways of deploying the game’s “horses,” but exactly how the geographical and seasonal references fit with a player’s choices in the game is hard to know. Still, the overarching theme of this section is clear enough. The game is full of surprises and unpredictable outcomes. Past performance of riders (i.e., players) is no guarantee of present aptitude (lines 31–34). Horses themselves may have good or ill fortune, unrelated to their inherent ability (lines 39–42); besides, horses are not all the same in their level of commitment to their cause, and their performance is hard to know in advance (lines 25–26, 45–46). Armies that set out with confidence are likely to be defeated (lines 35–36). Military strategy likewise presents a range of options, with none intrinsically better than the other (lines 27–30). The very unpredictability of outcome is, naturally, what makes the game so intriguing. The players cannot know in advance what will transpire once the action begins. Eventually, there will be winners and losers; success and failure will be duly assessed and rewarded (with cash; lines 51–52). The attention of the closing couplet (lines 53–54) on the mind or cleverness of the players introduces an element not previously broached. It anticipates the focus of the concluding section. In the third section, together with the poem that concludes the rhapsody, the piece becomes explicitly political: it evolves into a critique of the court’s policy of appeasement toward the Jurchen conquerors, who took control of the northern heartland of the Song dynasty, and a demand that the policy be replaced with the irredentist one of launching a northern campaign against the invaders. Here is the logic of the proposition, as it unfolds in a complex way: the section begins with the thought that this game is beneficial to the players, as it serves as release for their competitive spirits (lines 55–60). The thinking then changes to matters of strategy. The theme of the next several couplets is the virtue of biding one’s time in attacks: of knowing when not to fight, of guarding against impetuous and foolish advances, of knowing when to pause, of secrecy and deception. This approach to battle may seem to contradict the call at the end of the composition for leaders to mount a northward campaign to dislodge the invaders from Song lands. But it is not necessarily so. Not if Li Qingzhao believes that unsuccessful attempts at such northern campaigns in the past have been carried out rashly, without attention to the principles she is stressing in these lines, and that is why they have all failed. Those failures have led in the present moment to the policy of pursuing peace treaties with the Jin (at least that is the author’s perception in this rhapsody). That is why she demands to know if a military policy that emphasizes caution and biding one’s time is not better than doing nothing (lines 73–74). This is the second time the piece alludes to Confucius’s statement in the Analects that is a defense of board games (see note 3). The first reference to Confucius’s statement (line 8) is merely a way to introduce Capture the Horse, effecting a transition from the banquet scene to game-playing. But this second reference carries deeper meaning: it implies that the court’s peace policy is one of “doing nothing,” and invites us to perceive the particular approach to military action this section describes as the preferable alternative. The mention in lines 75–76 of the player’s “utmost sincerity” and the Way of Heaven lead to the more abstract, even metaphysical, lines that follow. It is not clear what strategic moves lines 79–80 refer to. But it is obvious that the preceding couplet features



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the idea of the yin principle (of the mare and of earth, as presented in the discussion of the kun hexagram of the Book of Changes) as being the one that should be embraced in board game / military strategy. This is consistent with the tactical preferences specified earlier in this section. It happens also to be congruent with the gender of our author, something that is surely no accident. The next six couplets (lines 81–92) dwell on famed board game players who were also military leaders. It is the only passage in the rhapsody that sustains attention to essentially one type of topic and historical allusion for so many lines, so must be particularly important. The successes of these men as military commanders were not just matched by their skill as game players; in the stories about them, the latter is assumed to be a necessary condition for the former. It is because they were such masters of strategy in games modeled on military encounters that they were so tactically brilliant as generals. These commanders thus exemplify the connection between skill at Capture the Horse and real prowess in military planning that Li Qingzhao wants to assert. The nature of these leaders’ skills resumes the earlier motif of success gained through deferral, yielding, embracing the yin principle, etc. Thus Xie An (lines 87, 90) achieved his military victory while far removed from the battlefield and engaged in a game of chess. And Liu Yu and Liu Xin (lines 81–84) won at chess when not even touching the chess pieces; it was when they were doing something else that their decisive game winning moment occurred. The section concludes with Li Qingzhao asking rhetorically how it is possible that such men do not exist in her day. The implication is clear: such men must exist, but they are not seen because the court has given up, in no longer “playing” (like Tao Changsha), so that they are not given a chance. In the concluding verse (a heptasyllabic six-line poem), Li Qingzhao turns from the board game to the political and military humiliation of her day: the Jurchen conquest and occupation of North China. Now it becomes clear, if not earlier, that her interest in Capture the Horse has a deeper meaning and application. The game, modeled on a military battle, is seen as representing the struggle between her Song empire and its Jurchen conquerors. Now we perceive that everything she has written about the game in the foregoing lines, especially in the composition’s second section, has an additional relevance and application to the Song defeat at the hands of Jurchen invaders. She looks at the board game and “sees” great warhorses (line 95), but their presence on the board serves only to remind her of how her state has not deployed such horses in a bid to recapture its lost northern territory. Instead, the Song population continues to find itself in a humiliating condition of flight and chaos (line 94). In the midst of a great imperial crisis, four centuries before, Du Fu looked at a painting of mighty horses and wondered where real horses like them could be found to advance the imperial cause against its enemies. Now, Li Qingzhao, looking at board game “horses,” borrows Du Fu’s line to ask the same question. In the closing couplet, she makes it clear that she is not hoping for anything more than recovering territory already lost (rather than expanding beyond it northward into Jurchen lands). This makes her aspiration sound more reasonable and achievable. The overall structure, then, may be summarized as follows: section one is an introduction to the social setting of the game, and aptly gives some attention to its immediate

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associations with famous historical horses and its aesthetic features and appeal. Section two concentrates on the playing of the game: it discusses the range of strategies that may be used and stresses how unpredictable are the various outcomes that may occur. Section three dwells on game board tactics, drawing upon concepts found in ancient military strategy as well as upon metaphysical ideas, and emphasizes the virtue of caution in military undertakings. This section ends by reminding us of all the historical generals who also excelled at such board games, and pointedly asks why their counterparts in the author’s day are not being given a chance. The concluding verse assails the peace policy with the Jurchens currently ascendant at the court and looks forward to a military campaign to recapture lands the Song lost. The emphasis on the need for caution in military undertakings may seem to contradict the call at the end of the piece for a new northern campaign. But the contradiction disappears if we understand that Li Qingzhao believes that the limited northern campaigns sporadically mounted by her dynasty in preceding years, all of which ended in failure, were poorly planned and executed without regard for the circumspection she discusses in section three. The exposition of the rhapsody moves from the board game as a pleasant social diversion, to a consideration of how play is conducted, to reflections on the game as a representation of military strategy in the real world, and culminates with a critique of contemporary court policy in military matters and a call for a new northern campaign. Of course, there is much in the first two sections that is devoted to the game as a game: the movements of the pieces, various strategies that may be employed, their pitfalls, etc. (containing several lines whose meaning is opaque to us, since we do not know how the game was actually played). But the logic of the general movement from game to military strategy to policy criticism is clear and coherent. Owing to the large amount of attention given in section three to principles of military strategy that transcend the board game itself, when we reach the transition to political and military policy at the end of that section and in the verse that follows, we do not feel the transition to be awkward or out-ofplace. It reads like quite a natural progression, especially in a genre in which extended description often gives way, at the conclusion, to didactic opinion.

The Place of This Rhapsody in Li Qingzhao’s Works

Readers familiar with Li Qingzhao will not be surprised that she wrote this rhapsody. This is her only surviving rhapsody, but the board game it describes figures in more of her writings (all written at roughly the same time): in particular, a lengthy “preface” to a supplement she produced to a handbook for the game.25 The handbook with her supplement does not survive, but she says it included illustrations she had drawn of various distributions of pieces on the game board, presumably representing various strategies players might adopt. The preface she wrote consists of general remarks about the game, a description of it, a comparison with other games, and an account of her reasons for taking up residence in Jinhua 金華 in 1134, when she produced these writings. (The preface to the rhapsody, seen earlier, is pieced together from this longer preface to her 25  This composition is entitled “Dama tujing xu” 打馬圖經序, Li Qingzhao ji jianzhu 3.366–67.



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supplemented handbook, probably by someone who “edited” the rhapsody.) She also wrote a set of thirteen short pieces in parallel prose (varying from four to sixteen lines) on different moves, strategies, or outcomes of the game. These may have originally been part of Li Qingzhao’s supplement, but today they survive independently. More importantly, at different periods of her life Li Qingzhao produced several compositions with political content, even critiques of court policy, as we find in this rhapsody. These pieces include two poems on the Tang-dynasty Restoration Eulogy Stele. These poems, which match an earlier poem by Zhang Lei 張耒, must have been written when Li Qingzhao was seventeen or eighteen years old. They boldly challenge the assessment of the Restoration given in the Tang stele (and naively accepted by Zhang Lei), presenting instead a more trenchant interpretation of the An Lushan Rebellion and the blunders and duplicity among the imperial leaders that fostered it. There are poems (and surviving fragments of poems) that criticize the Song policy of withdrawing southward in the face of the Jurchen invasion and being content to stay there (as in the rhapsody), as well as a long piece (in eighty lines) addressed to two high Song officials named in 1133 as emissaries to the Jurchen court. On the eve of the emissaries’ departure to the Jin, where they were to resume the delicate matter of peace negotiations with the Jurchen, Li Qingzhao in her poem urges these officials to be wary of continuing the Song practise of appeasement and reminds them of the humiliations the Song has already suffered at Jurchen hands. We may posit a few motivating factors behind her writing of these works with a political message. One is her desire to write on the same footing as the literati of her day, virtually all of them male. Li Qingzhao was clearly very conscious of her identity as a woman writer. As a lone woman living long before women’s writing became acceptable, and before women writers joined together to encourage each other, one strategy that Li Qingzhao adopted was to produce writing that sounded like it might have been written by a man. Although she belonged by birth to the gender that was not expected to write, and thus violated social conventions when she did, if on the other hand she demonstrated that she could produce writing indistinguishable in tone and subject from that produced by men, who could fault her for engaging in this activity? Li Qingzhao’s competitiveness, mentioned earlier, must have contributed to this desire to gain a footing equal to men in the field of writing (or anything else). We see this character trait, for example, in her account of besting her husband at memory games, her professed fascination with Capture the Horse, anecdotes about her and Zhao Mingcheng, and her outspoken criticism of the “defects” she finds in the song lyrics written by the leading literati of her day (all men). Another motive we may detect in the rhapsody is her aim to repair the damage done to her reputation by her disastrous second marriage and its annulment after one hundred days. That personal catastrophe occurred in 1132, and made something of a laughingstock of her among men who were only too glad to speak ill of a woman whose literary gift outshone their own. That event also left Li Qingzhao, by her own acknowledgment, feeling that she would never circulate again in the social circle of “gentlemen of the court,” as she had previously done. But instead of pursuing a course of withdrawal and despair, in the years that followed the dissolution of her second marriage, she produced writings with a decidedly public presence and, often,

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political import. It seems that these writings were part of a method she hit upon to win back some of her former standing; that is, she chose the only option that, as a woman, was available to her: she sought to write her way back to respectability. Her rhapsody on Capture the Horse, composed in 1134, is one of the signature pieces of this stage of her life. The persona of the author it projects, that of a learned woman who assails her dynasty’s leaders for giving up the “game” and failing to adopt the bolder, more honourable course of trying to recapture the dynasty’s heartland, strikes a tone of high principle and even moralistic probity. It is a persona that would command respect from the many who must have been frustrated with the court’s timidity towards the Jurchen conquerors. The political stance Li Qingzhao adopts in the rhapsody is consistent with views she had already expressed before her personal disaster of 1132, but after that year she expresses those views more forcefully and conspicuously, as in the rhapsody.

The Gender Issue

Gender certainly plays a role in Li Qingzhao’s rhapsody, as author and readers would have realized. It does so in ways that are both internal and external to the piece. For a woman to write a rhapsody on a board game modeled on warfare is of course a kind of gender crossing on her part, one that begins with her decision to produce such a piece, before she writes the first word. Yet this manner of gender crossing is one that Li Qingzhao was accustomed to making, as discussed above. We might, indeed, say that for her to write at all was a crossing into the realm of men, yet she did that all the time. But it was doubly so when the writing she produced concerned politics and warfare; even more when it advocated a more muscular and “masculine” policy toward the northern enemy than that pursued by the men at court. This last level of gender-crossing was not lost on her contemporaries. The irony of a woman taking men to task for being weak and cowardly clearly figures in one Song critic’s remarks on a caustic stray couplet Li Qingzhao wrote about the court’s relocation to the inhospitable south.26 There is yet another way that Li Qingzhao’s rhapsody plays the gender card, internally. The advocacy in section 3 of embracing a military strategy of restraint and knowing when to pause, or of going forward by relying on stealth rather than brute force, clearly draws upon the age-old tradition of turning apparent weakness or non-aggression into military advantages. The account of this philosophy of warfare becomes explicitly linked to the “feminine” with reference to the kun hexagram and remarks there about the constancy of the mare, which Li Qingzhao invokes as a model for tactical thinking. This then leads into the section about chess-playing generals who were brilliant military strategists, the implication being that it is strategy, not physical prowess, that wins victories in battle. The further implication of that thought is that even a woman may have insight and sound advice to offer on military matters. The way of the “female” in warfare is contrasted not only with foolhardy recklessness; it is also contrasted with complete resignation and accommodation. Thus line 91, about throwing away the chessboard, recalls 26  Zhuang, Jile bian, B.4006.



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line 73: “Is this not better than doing nothing at all?” This is the other choice featured in the rhapsody’s discussion of military matters. This rhapsody, then, is built upon a series of apparent contradictions. It is elegant literary writing, but not written by a typical male literatus. It is deeply learned, but not written by a conventional male scholar. It concerns a game, but on a deeper level is not about play at all; it is about warfare, about military and political policy toward the dynasty’s primary rival and the greatest threat to its continued existence. The rhapsody contains military and policy advice, though offered by a woman. Finally, the advice it offers about battle operations is to embrace the yin principle in military strategy, proposing this as an alternative not just to unchecked bravado, but also to “doing nothing.” These several contraries bound together give the rhapsody its interest. They also carry it along, unfolding as it proceeds, until it becomes clear that what begins as a discussion of a social diversion, a harmless pastime, ends as a spirited call for the court to abandon its policy of appeasement and try to recapture its occupied northern lands and regain its honour.

Comparison with Li Qingzhao’s Emissaries Poem

In closing, it is worth reflecting on how Li Qingzhao’s rhapsody compares with a long shi 詩 poem she wrote just one year earlier, in 1133, addressed to two high officials, Han Xiaozhou 韓肖胄 and Hu Songnian 胡松年. These two men had just been selected as emissaries to be sent by the Gaozong’s court on a diplomatic mission to the enemy Jin empire. Even as hostilities continued between the two rival states, emissaries were sent back and forth between them, negotiating and proposing various treaties and settlements. Primary among the hopes of the Song in these exchanges was to secure the return of the two former emperors, Huizong and Qinzong, still held captive in the distant north (a return that never happened). Those who believed that the Song court was pursuing a policy of appeasement toward its northern conqueror must have feared that in this mission of 1134 still more concessions would be made in attempts to win the return of the two emperors and end the continued threat of more Jurchen incursions south of the Yangtze River. Li Qingzhao was among those who disapproved of the court’s way of negotiating with the Jin, and her views show in her poem. It is remarkable that Li Qingzhao, not just a woman but one recently widowed, then remarried and divorced in quick succession, to the great diminishment of her reputation, would take it upon herself to write a poem addressed to these emissaries on the eve of their departure to the Jin and in her poem broach, moreover, highly sensitive matters of interstate relations. Viewed from another perspective, however, we might say that her poem may have been calculated precisely to exhibit a kind of tenacity and integrity that might help to re-establish her reputation as a woman of principle.27 The poem is translated below: 27  See my discussion of the poem in The Burden of Female Talent, 163–90. The same pages also discuss Li’s “Rhapsody on Capture the Horse” and other related writings.

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Presented to Lord Han of the Military Affairs Bureau and Lord Hu of the Ministry of Works28 In the sixth month of the guichou year of the Shaoxing reign [1133], Military Commissioner Han and Minister Hu of the Bureau of Works were sent as emissaries to the northern barbarians, where they were to carry messages to the Two Palaces. Here is the woman Yi’an, whose father and grandfather were disciples of Lord Han’s ancestors. Their family is in decline, and she as its younger member is lowly and insignificant. She would not presume even to look upon the dust from their lordships’ carriages. Yi’an suffers, moreover, from poverty and ill health, yet her spirit and understanding are not the least bit diminished. Hearing of this august imperial commission and command, she could not fail to speak out. She has composed two poems, one each in the ancient and regulated styles, to convey her humble views, awaiting, now, the official Poetry Collector. 上樞密韓公工部尚書胡公

紹興癸丑六月，樞密韓公，工部尚書胡公使虜，通兩宮也。有易安室者，父祖皆 出韓公門下，今家世淪替，子姓寒微，不敢望公之車塵麈。又貧病，但神明未衰 落，見此大號令，不能忘言，作古、律各一章，以寄區區之意，以待採詩者云。

No. 1 of 229 In the summer, the third year, the sixth month, 三年夏六月 the Son of Heaven examined his court carefully. 天子視朝久 He gazed at southern clouds, his jade cap tassels not swaying 凝旒望南雲 4 and thought of the northern excursion, his robes hanging down.30 垂衣思北狩 It seemed that His Majesty spoke these words: 如聞帝若曰 “Titled lords, governors, and myriad officials: 岳牧與群后 A worthy man appears every five hundred years. 賢寧無半千 8 our time has witnessed calamities for an eon. 運已遇陽九 Let us not celebrate victories with a Yanran Mountain stele, 勿勒燕然銘 nor need we plant willows at Golden City.31 勿種金城柳 Is there no perfectly filial subject, 豈無純孝臣 12 who understands this frost-and-dew grief? 識此霜露悲 Why must I set meat aside from the broth?32 何必羹捨肉 let us grease the carriage axels to quicken them. 便可車載脂 Our lands, we do not cherish them, 土地非所惜 28  Li Qingzhao ji jianzhu, 2.241–43. The translation presented here is a slightly modified version of that published in my The Works of Li Qingzhao, 19–31. 29  In all, Li Qingzhao addressed two poems to the emissaries. The second poem is just a short summation of her viewpoint. The main piece is the first poem, presented here.

30  The jade cap tassels that are not swaying show the depth of his concentration. The “Northern excursion” (or “hunting expedition”) refers euphemistically to the northern captivity of the two former emperors, Huizong and Qinzong.

31  This line and the next allude to ancient northern campaigns, in which heroic Chinese generals attacked and beat back enemies. It was the Han general Dou Xian (d. 92) who erected a stele at Jiluo Mountain, celebrating his defeat of the Xiongnu. It was the Jin-period figure Huan Wen who planted willows on a northern campaign and returned years later to find them fully grown. 32  The appearance of frost in the autumn and dew in spring reminds the gentleman of the passing



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16 jade and silk are like dirt to us. 玉帛如塵泥 Who is fit to convey our message? 誰當可將命 gifts increase as our words become more humble.” 幣厚辭益卑 The feudal lords together said, “Yes, 四岳僉曰俞 20 Your Majesty knows his subjects well. 臣下帝所知 The best man in the central court, 中朝第一人 is a Han Yu among the rites officials.33 春官有昌黎 His person stands out among one hundred, 身為百夫特 24 his conduct makes him teacher to ten thousand. 行足萬人師 During the Jiayou and Jianzhong periods 嘉祐與建中 his ancestors managed policy as did Gao Tao and Kui. 為政有臯夔 The Xiongnu fear this Wang Shang, 匈奴畏王商 28 the Turfan revere this Guo Ziyi.34 吐蕃尊子儀 The barbarians have already lost their courage, 夷狄已破膽 he is the one to receive the command.” 將命公所宜 The lord made obeisance with hands and head, 公拜手稽首 32 he accepted the appointment below the white jade steps, 受命白玉墀 Saying, “How dare I shrink from hardship 曰臣敢辭難 when we live in a time like this? 此亦何等時 What thought do I have of my family? 家人安足謀 36 I need not take leave of wife and children. 妻子不必辭 I yearn to uphold the spiritual power of Heaven and Earth 願奉天地靈 I yearn to uphold the majesty of the imperial ancestral shrine.願奉宗廟威 Grasping the decree sealed with purple powder 徑持紫泥詔 40 I shall proceed straight into Yellow Dragon City.35 直入黃龍城 The Khan will kowtow in receiving me, 單于定稽顙 his hostage sons will come to welcome me. 侍子當來迎 Our benevolent ruler relies on trust, 仁君方恃信 44 hot-blooded men need not ask for ropes.36 狂生休請纓 Perhaps we shall use the blood of horse and dog, 或取犬馬血 to sign a treaty bound by an oath to the sun in the sky.” 與結天日盟 Lord Hu’s pure goodness is rare among men, 胡公清德人所難 48 of shared aim and virtue, his resolve is firm. 謀同德協必志安

of the seasons and hence the aging of his parents, that is, Gaozong’s mother and father in their northern captivity. When feasted by his duke, Ying Kaoshu 潁考叔 (d. 712 BCE) took the meat out of his soup, setting it aside for his mother, who had never had the chance to eat such a meal. 33  Han Xiaozhou is being compared to the great Tang statesman Han Yu, of the same surname.

34  Han Xiaozhou’s great-grandfather, Han Qi, and grandfather, Han Zhongyan, were grand councillors during the named reign periods of the Northern Song. Gao Tao and Kui were high officials under the legendary sage kings Yao and Shun. Wang Shang was a Han-dynasty grand councillor. His appearance and reputation intimidated the Xiongnu chieftain when he came to the Han Court. Guo Ziyi was a Tang-dynasty general famous for victories in northern campaigns. 35  The Jin capital, near modern Harbin, Jilin.

36  These lines fancifully imagine that the Jin ruler will send his sons, princes, back with Han Xiaozhou as tokens of his submission to the Song Court. The Han-dynasty general Zhong Jun boasted that he would tie up the king of the rival state Southern Yue and deliver him to the Han emperor as prisoner.

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52 56 60 64 68 72

The jacket shed, he is warmed by Han’s beneficence, 脫衣已被漢恩暖 his farewell song complains not of the Yi River’s chill.37 離歌不道易水寒 Lord Heaven has long been clouded over and Consort Earth wet, 皇天久陰后土濕 the driving rain does not abate, the wind increases. 雨勢未回風勢急 Carriage wheels creak and horses whinny sadly, 車聲轔轔馬蕭蕭 men of valor and cowards are both reduced to tears. 壯士懦夫俱感泣 A widow of the inner apartments, what do I know? 閭閻嫠婦亦何知 I write this in blood to submit to the Imperial Archives. 瀝血投書干記室 Barbarians have long had the nature of tiger and wolf, 夷虜從來性虎狼 what harm is there in preparing for the unexpected? 不虞預備庸何傷 Armor was concealed under clothing in the ancient tent of Chu, 衷甲昔時聞楚幕 we know about defending the wall at Pingliang in days of old.38 乘城前日記平凉 Aren’t Kuiqiu and Jiantu no more than ruins?39 葵丘踐土非荒城 Do not belittle advising gentlemen or reject scholars. 勿輕談士棄儒生 A victory report was written leaning against a horse, 露布詞成馬猶倚 Xiaohan Pass was left behind before the cock crowed.40 崤函關出雞未鳴 A skillful carpenter does not reject even inferior timber, 巧匠何曾棄樗櫟 kindling gatherers sometimes supply sage counsel. 芻蕘之言或有益 We do not seek Sui’s pearl or He’s jade disk,41 不乞隋珠與和璧 all we want is fresh tidings of our homeland. 只乞鄉關新消息 Lingguang Palace still stands but must be desolate, 靈光雖在應蕭蕭 how fares the stone statuary, engulfed by weeds?42 草中翁仲今何若 Do our abandoned subjects still plant mulberry and hemp? 遺氓豈尚種桑麻 Do the routed barbarians still guard the city walls? 殘虜如聞保城郭

37  The founder of the Han dynasty, Emperor Gaozu (r. 206–187 BCE), was so solicitous of his minister Han Xin that he took off his own jacket to clothe him. As he set off on his suicide mission to assassinate the First Emperor of the Qin, Jing Ke (d. 227 BCE) sang a sad farewell song that mentioned the cold waters of the Yi River, where his farewell scene took place.

38  Although they claimed they intended to sign a treaty with the Jin, men of the rival state of Chu in ancient times went to the ceremony wearing armour under their clothes, planning a surprise attack on the Jin representatives. A Turfan official treacherously ambushed the Tang official Hun Jian at Pingliang in 629, when the two met supposedly to sign a treaty.

39  Kuiqiu and Jiantu are sites of famous treaties signed during the Spring and Autumn period. Taken as a question, the line evidently means that the treaties concluded at these sites had no lasting value or effect, and the places themselves have fallen into neglect and ruin.

40  When the Jin-dynasty general Huan Wen needed someone to draft a victory report of his northern campaign, the writer Yuan Hu, though in disgrace, did the job brilliantly, filling seven pages without pausing, leaning back against his horse. When Lord of Mengchang, famed for his number of retainers, reached Xiaohan Pass (Hangu Pass), he managed to obtain passage through it before dawn, and thus elude capture by forces sent by the king of Qin, only because one of his lowliest retainers mimicked the cock’s crow and tricked the guards into thinking dawn had arrived, when travellers were allowed through the pass. This couplet urges Han Xiaozhou to accept the assistance and counsel of lowly inferiors. Possibly Li Qingzhao means herself as well as attendants who will accompany him on his mission. 41  This line names two ancient treasures.

42  Lingguang Palace, belonging to Prince Yu of Gong, of the Former Han, was said to have survived the strife at the end of the Former Han, while the imperial palaces in Chang’an did not. In this line the ruins of the palace, still identifiable though engulfed in weeds, beckon the Song leaders in the south to return northward and reclaim their lost territory.



Li Qingzhao’s Rhapsody on Capture the Horse

155

This widow’s father and grandfather were born in Qi and Lu, 嫠家父祖生齊魯 they counted men of renown among their followers. 位下名高人比數 In animated discussions at the Jixia Academy, 當年稷下縱談時 76 perspiration wiped from brows fell like rain, I still can recall.43 猶記人揮汗成雨 Their descendant crossed the river south years ago, 子孫南渡今幾年 to drift aimlessly now as a refugee. 飄流遂與流人伍 Take my blood-stained tears to those hills and rivers, 欲將血淚寄山河 80 and sprinkle them on a clod of East Mountain soil.44 去灑東山一坏土

The poem divides easily into a few sections. The opening section (lines 1–18) describes Gaozong’s devotion to his parents and older brother, who were prisoners in the north. But in doing so Li Qingzhao also suggests that Gaozong’s concern for the captives leaves him willing to make any concession at all to insure their welfare and release (lines 15–18). The next two sections (lines 19–46, 47–72) focus on the virtues and qualifications of the two emissaries, praising them as excellent choices for the weighty assignment. But here too advice is mixed with flattery. Our author worries that the emissaries, for all their wisdom, may be tricked by the devious enemy and not be sufficiently cautious in their dealings with them. The final section (lines 73–80) turns to the author herself. She may be only a widow, she tells us, but she was raised in a family with a tradition of expertise in the field of statecraft; moreover, her devotion to her homeland (in the lost territories of the north) is complete. The implication is that her words deserve a hearing. There are similarities between this long poem and Li Qingzhao’s rhapsody. Both express the author’s concern over the court’s competence in dealing militarily with the empire that defeated it in the north, and evince her worry that the Song constantly displays weakness and lack of resolve toward its foe. But there are differences as well. The poem is more formal in tone and constrained by the demands of decorum and respect towards those it addresses (and, by extension, the emperor who selected them for their assignment). We may say that these qualities are not a matter of genre but rather of the poem’s recipients and their prestigious position. Indirectly, though, they are also a matter of genre, because Li Qingzhao would not have addressed a rhapsody directly to the two officials and would only have sent them a shi poem. No other poetic form, in Li Qingzhao’s day, would have sufficient gravity or formality for the occasion. The register of the poem is so formal that it is sometimes difficult to distinguish the ironic lines from those intended as praise. The poet is anxious not to offend her highplaced recipients, and consequently keeps the irony tethered. She enjoys considerably more freedom in the rhapsody. That piece modulates easily between its various topics (the board game, military history, battlefield strategy, horse lore, game-playing generals, philosophical principles, etc.) and alternating tones of seriousness, playfulness, fantasy, irony, and admonition. The rhapsody, as we know, had a long history of use for such varied expressive purposes, with political ones often conspicuous among them. 43  The ancient state of Qi, in Li Qingzhao’s native northeast (modern Shandong), was famed for its Jixia Academy, which attracted scholars from far and wide and fostered lively debate on philosophical and political issues. 44  East Mountain is in the northeastern state of Lu (i.e., Li Qingzhao’s homeland).

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