Written at Imperial Command: Panegyric Poetry in Early Medieval China 0791473694, 9780791473696

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Written at Imperial Command

Panegyric Poetry in Early Medieval China Fusheng Wu

Written at Imperial Command

SUNY series in Chinese Philosophy and Culture

Roger T. Ames, editor

Written at Imperial Command Panenric Poetry in Early Medieval China

 Fusheng Wu

S TAT E UN I V E R S I T Y O F N E W YO R K P R E S S

Published by State University of New York Press Albany © 2008 State University of New York All rights reserved Printed in the United States of America Cover illustration is from the Hu Kejia edition of Wenxuan (1809), reprinted in 1977 by the Zhonghua Book Company in Beijing. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission. No part of this book may be stored in a retrieval system or transmitted in any form or by any means including electronic, electrostatic, magnetic tape, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise without the prior permission in writing of the publisher. For information, contact State University of New York Press, Albany, NY www.sunypress.edu Production by Diane Ganeles Marketing by Michael Campochiaro Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data Wu, Fusheng, 1959– Written at imperial command : panegyric poetry in early medieval China / Fusheng Wu. p. cm. — (SUNY series in Chinese philosophy and culture) Includes bibliographical references and index. ISBN 978-0-7914-7369-6 (alk. paper) 1. Chinese poetry—206 B.C.–618 A.D.—History and criticism. 2. Laudatory poetry— History and criticism. I. Title. II. Title: Panegyric poetry in early medieval China. PL2313.W82 2008 895.1'1209—dc22

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To my parents, who first taught me how to read Chinese poetry

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Contents



1 2 3 4 5 6 7

Acknowledgments

ix

Introduction

1

Han Epideictic Rhapsody: The Prototype of Panegyric Poetry

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Self-Foregrounding in the Panegyric Poetry of the Jian’an Era

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Archaic Elegance in the Panegyric Poetry of the Jin Dynasty

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Addressing the Best and Worst of Rulers: Panegyric Poetry of the Liu Song Dynasty

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Praising Rulers throughout Calm and Conspiracy: The Southern Qi Dynasty

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The Flourishing of Panegyric Poetry during the Liang Dynasty

123

Poetry’s Embarrassment: Panegyric Poetry of the Chen Dynasty

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Becoming Chinese: Panegyric Poetry during the Northern Dynasties

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Matching Poems with a Cruel but Talented Ruler: The Sui Dynasty

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Conclusion

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Notes

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Bibliography

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Index

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Acknowledgments



I want to express my gratitude to friends and colleagues who have read various parts of this book and who have offered their invaluable suggestions: David Lattimore, Dore J. Levy, Brian Kern, Deborah Porter, Margaret Wan, and Eric Hutton. I was the recipient of a Faculty Fellow Award from the University Research Committee of the University of Utah. The College of Humanities of the university also granted me a sabbatical leave in the 2004-05 academic year. I would like to thank them for their generous support. The two anonymous readers of SUNY Press offered their helpful comments and suggestions. Jane Kepp’s editorial expertise helped me to prepare a polished book. The excellent advice from Diane Ganeles, senior production editor at SUNY Press, has made the production process painless and enjoyable. Finally, I would like to thank Nancy Ellegate, senior acquisition editor at SUNY Press, for her astonishing efficiency—the entire reviewing process took only three months. It has been truly a pleasure to have had the opportunity to work with her again. The writing of this book coincided with the birth and growth of Adrian, our second child, who is now six years old. Adrian and his brother, Jeremy, helped me to place this project in a fitting place in my life. In doing so, they have taught me an important lesson about life and work in general. My wife, Xiaolian, has never failed to offer me her love, understanding, and appreciation. Without them, this otherwise strictly academic undertaking would never have been so fulfilling. I must thank Wu Yun and Ji Yu, my parents, and Carl and Margaret Engelhart, my teachers and friends, for whatever I achieve in my life. They provide me with their affection and wisdom that I will always need in trying to lead a meaningful, balanced life in this increasingly uncertain world.

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Introduction



The poems I discuss in this book have two things in common: They were all presented to reigning monarchs, and they were all composed during the period known as Wei-Jin Nanbeichao 魏晉南北朝 (220–618), which is usually referred to as China’s early medieval time.1 Many of them bear the title yingzhao 應詔 or yingzhi 應制, “written at imperial command.” Their significance is twofold. First, they help us understand imperial Chinese bureaucracy and court culture by revealing a great deal about relations between the monarchs addressed and the intellectuals they patronized. Second, they compel us to reexamine the Chinese poetic tradition, because their formal and official nature challenges the canonical notion of poetic production as personal, spontaneous expression. Writing under imperial command could be a matter of grave consequences. The poet’s work could determine the rise and fall of his career; it could even cost him his life. Although poetry written for imperial rulers has its distinct features, in the Chinese poetic tradition it is not regarded as a separate genre, in contrast to the Western literary tradition, which regards panegyric poetry as a genre by itself. Chinese poetic criticism does not even include a term to demarcate such poetry. It is simply called shi 詩, or poetry, although it is a special kind because of its unique audience. In Wenxuan 文選 (Selections of Refined Literature), edited by Xiao Tong 蕭統 (501–31), for example, there is a section called “Presented Poetry” (xianshi 獻詩) that includes a few poems studied in this book.2 Xiao Tong, however, made no attempt to spell out the distinction between presented poetry and other categories, such as the poetry of “Tour” (youlan 遊覽) and “Heartfelt Expression” (yonghuai 詠懷).3 In fact, many panegyric poems written at the command of imperial rulers were included

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in the aforementioned “Tour” and other categories. But the special nature of presented poetry, especially poems presented to imperial rulers, is such that many general conventions of poetry cannot be mechanically applied to it. Therefore, I want to sketch at the outset of this book the main characteristics of poetry that were presented to imperial rulers. I borrow the word “panegyric” from the Western tradition and use it to refer to the poems studied in this book. Indeed, the two genres share many similarities in function and style. In the “Great Preface” to the classic Shijing 詩經, or The Book of Poetry, the author, having stated at the beginning that “poetry is where one’s intent goes,” listed “four beginnings” (sishi 四始), or groups, of poetry. These were the airs (feng 風), the greater odes (daya 大雅), the lesser odes (xiaoya 小雅), and hymns (song 頌). He defined them as follows: Thus the affairs of a single state, rooted in [the experience of] a single person, are called Feng [Airs]. To speak of the affairs of the whole world and to describe customs common to all places is called Ya [Ode]. Ya means “proper.” These show the source of either flourishing or ruin in the royal government. Government has greater and lesser aspects; thus we have a “greater Ya” and a “lesser Ya.” The “Hymns” (Song) give the outward shapes of praising full virtue, and they inform the spirits about the accomplishment of great deeds. These are the “Four Beginnings” and are the ultimate perfection of the poems. 4

Among these Four Beginnings, the last one, “hymn,” or song, best describes the nature and function of panegyric poetry. When a poet presented a poem to an imperial ruler, his first and foremost duty was to praise the “great deeds” (chenggong 成功) of His Majesty. Like hymns performed in religious rituals, poetry addressed to imperial rulers was often written during formal and public occasions. The “Beginning” to which panegyric poetry corresponds next best is the “greater ode.” It portrays the “flourishing” (xing 興) of the royal government, which is apparently related to the “great deeds” of rulers. For this reason, the hymns and the greater odes of The Book of Poetry form the fountainhead of the poems I examine in this book. The air group, with its emphasis on personal reaction to affairs of state, is the least relevant model for a poet presenting a work to an imperial ruler, for often His Majesty was interested mainly in hearing eulogies. To illustrate the main characteristics of hymns and the greater odes, let us take a brief look at the following piece: 清廟 於穆清廟

The Pure Temple Ah! solemn is the ancestral temple in its pure stillness,

Introduction 肅雝顯相 濟濟多士 秉文之徳 對越在天 駿奔走在廟 不顯不承 無射於人斯

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Reverent and harmonious were the distinguished assistants. Great was the number of the officials, All assiduous followers of King Wen’s virtue. 4 To respond and glorify [his spirit] in heaven, Grandly they hurried about in the temple. His illustriousness is continued in honor, And will never be wearied of among men.5 8

This is the first poem of the hymn section in the Shijing. It is a temple song performed in honor of King Wen of the Zhou 周文王, the founding monarch of the Zhou dynasty (1066–256 bce).6 The first two lines set a solemn tone for the highly formal occasion. The middle four lines portray the attending officials’ reverent activities, and the concluding two lines praise King Wen’s illustrious virtue. The author of the piece remains anonymous both in the text and in its performance, allowing its ritualistic function to dominate. This relatively short piece is representative in both content and style of other works in the hymn and greater ode sections of the Shijing. During later periods, a single panegyric poem might contain all of the elements of the Four Beginnings. Depending on the poem’s topic and occasion, as well as on the nature of the patronage relationship between the poet and the ruler in question, the poet might choose to foreground one particular dimension. Although most of the poems I examine may be characterized as formal because they rely more on the features of the hymns and greater odes, there are also those that draw heavily from the conventions of “air” poems and are highly expressive and personal. This fluid situation allowed the poet to apply to his work devices and conventions that functioned at different levels. In the hand of a great poet, this often resulted in a poem rich in texture, with multiple dimensions and layers. In his Wenxin diaolong 文心雕龍 (Literary Mind and Carving of Dragons), Liu Xie 劉勰 (?–520 c.e.) attempted to redefine the hymn. In the “Great Preface” to the Shijing, the hymn was designated as a type of shi, or “poetry.” Liu Xie, however, separated it from the shi and assigned it to a different chapter for a separate treatise. In the chapter “Hymn and Pronouncement” (songzan 頌 贊), he traced the evolution of the hymn from its origin in the Shijing to its “corrupt style” (eti 訛體) during the Wei and Jin dynasties. In addition to repeating what was stated in the “Great Preface,” Liu Xie aimed to normatively identify the hymn’s distinct formal qualities.7 He wrote that the “hymn must possess the qualities of elegance and grace, and its language must be clear and bright.” But for Liu Xie, the hymn had come to designate a genre different from that of shi poetry, as is indicated by his separate treatment of shi and the hymn.8 In his chapter on the hymn, he further stated that the hymns in the Shijing were

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“songs proper for temple rites, but they are not ordinary pieces [recited] during banquets.”9 This statement excludes from the category “hymn” the poems that are not in the “hymn,” or song, section of the Shijing. It is thus no surprise that the works of hymns that Liu Xie critiqued in this chapter included no shi poetry produced during periods subsequent to the time of the Shijing. His redefinition of the hymn thus limited it to the category of ritual songs in religious ceremonies.10 By separating it from the broader category of shi poetry, Liu Xie cut it off from its life source. For this reason, his redefinition is not helpful to the present study. The poems I examine are of a broader range, encompassing the entire Four Beginnings enunciated in the “Great Preface.” The comments on hymns in the “Great Preface” and in Literary Mind and Carving of Dragons can be summarized as follows: Hymns praise the great deeds of great people, are presented to the spirits at temple ceremonies, and are written in a style that is elegant and graceful. While these comments help us understand the general features of hymns, they are short on details regarding the poems’ rhetorical characteristics. A brief look at the Western theory of panegyric poetry, the hymn’s counterpart, will facilitate my discussion throughout this book. In the Western tradition, a panegyric is considered a special type of rhetoric. The word is derived from the Greek panegyris, which means “a general assembly.”11 As a type of writing, a panegyric was defined by an eighteenthcentury English dictionary as “a Speech delivered before a solemn and general Assembly of People, especially in Praise of a great Prince.”12 This definition echoes the Chinese definition of song, or hymn: Both emphasize the praise of “great” leaders, and both are products of solemn and public occasions. One of the best-known panegyric writers is Isocrates (436–338 bce) of ancient Greece. In the famous panegyric he delivered at the Panathenaic festival in 380 bce, he declared: Now the founders of our great festivals are justly praised for handing down to us a custom by which, having proclaimed a truce and resolved our pending quarrels, we come together in one place, where, as we make our prayers and sacrifices in common, we are reminded of the kingship which exists among us and are made to feel more kindly towards each other for the future, reviving old friendships and establishing new ties.13

As James D. Garrison pointed out, “the impulse behind both the festival and the festival oration, or panegyric, is the desire to promote domestic peace and national unity.”14 This is the same theme that was expressed in “The Pure Temple” from the Shijing, although it was stated less explicitly in that poem than in Isocrates’ panegyric.

Introduction

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The study of panegyric rhetoric in the West can be traced to Aristotle’s Rhetoric. According to Aristotle, rhetoric was divided into three kinds corresponding to different audiences. The first was political or deliberative rhetoric, addressed to “private counselors” and “public assemblies.” The purpose of deliberative rhetoric was to urge someone “to do or not to do something.” The second was judicial or forensic rhetoric, addressed to a jury. The purpose of forensic rhetoric was to “attack or defend someone.” The last kind was demonstrative rhetoric, or “the ceremonial oratory of display,” which “either praises or censures somebody.”15 Because panegyric poetry aims to praise, it is in the third category, that of demonstrative rhetoric, where it belongs. In book I, chapter 9, of his Rhetoric, Aristotle discussed the “many useful ways of heightening the effect of praise.” He remarked: “To praise a man is in one respect akin to urging a course of action,” adding that suggestions which would be made in the latter case become encomiums when differently expressed. When we know what action or character is required, then, in order to express these facts as suggestions for action, we have to change and reverse our form of words. Thus the statement “A man should be proud not of what he owes to fortune but of what he owes to himself,” if put like this, amounts to a suggestion; to make it into praise we must put it thus, “Since he is proud not of what he owes to fortune but of what he owes to himself.”16

In other words, praise may contain advice to the object of praise, and demonstrative rhetoric helps render the advice indirect. Instead of stating directly that one should do a certain thing, we may claim that he has already done or is doing it. The relationship between deliberative and demonstrative rhetoric is thus fluid, and the two can be switched around and commingled. This enables the poet of panegyric verse to integrate them in his work in order to “kill two birds with one stone.” As we shall see, this is similar to feng 諷, or “indirect criticism,” in the genre of epideictic rhapsody in the Chinese tradition.17 It helps us to view the often-hyperbolic praise in panegyric poetry from another perspective—not merely as a form of sycophancy but also as a means to convey the poet’s advice to his ruler. Indeed, this notion of praise as a double-edged tool has frequently been utilized by Western critics to defend panegyric poetry. Erasmus (1466–1536), the great humanist of the Renaissance, once wrote: Those persons who think Panegyrics are nothing but flattery, appear not to know with what design this kind of writing was invented by men of great sagacity, whose object it was, that by having the image of virtue put before

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The defensive tone of this passage nevertheless suggests that there are those who are not convinced by this positive notion of panegyric poetry. At this juncture, it is helpful to consider briefly the skepticism that some Chinese critics expressed about the efficacy of feng, or “indirect criticism,” in the epideictic rhapsody. The best-known objection to poets’ ability to admonish imperial rulers through epideictic rhapsody was voiced by Yang Xiong 揚雄 (53 bce–18 ce), himself a practitioner of this genre before he abandoned it in disappointment. According to Yang Xiong, the purpose of epideictic rhapsody was to advise. Because its audience was the poet’s imperial patron, however, it had to do so through the disguise of praise. The poet had to adopt “extremely beautiful and extravagant diction” and to amplify it until “none can add more to it.” In the end, though, he would “return to the norm.” The hope was that the gap between the “norm” and the extravagance that preceded it was such that the poet’s imperial patron would recognize the message. But as Yang Xiong found out, often the reader of such writing was simply fascinated by the beautiful and extravagant language and entirely overlooked the poet’s indirect advice.19 Yang Xiong’s conclusion was that epideictic rhapsody was nothing but “a skill of insect carving, unworthy of the effort of a gentleman.”20 There is one crucial point about panegyric rhetoric that both Yang Xiong and Aristotle missed. In writing this type of poem, a poet may be more interested in the internal value of his writing than in its purported external function of praising/advising its audience. Viewed from this perspective, a panegyric is a celebration of itself, and whether or not it is a form of sycophancy or advice becomes secondary. As I show throughout this book, the language of panegyric poetry is often self-reflexive. A hyperbolic eulogy of an incompetent imperial ruler sounds absurd and empty only when we choose to interpret it not as primarily self-reflexive but as rhetoric that serves an external purpose. Because the poems examined in this book were presented to imperial rulers, they represent a good source of information about relationships between intellectuals and their monarchs, relationships that formed the special context for the composition of panegyric poetry. To better understand this issue for early medieval times, we need to go farther back and to consider the situation in antiquity. During the Warring States period (403–227 bce), Chinese intellectuals enjoyed considerable respect from the rulers of feudal states. The great

Introduction

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influence that many “wandering scholars” (youshi 遊士) and “persuaders” (shuike 說客) had on these rulers is ample proof of the respect they earned. In the Mengzi 孟子 (Book of Mencius), a man named Jingchun 景春 comments on the influence of Gongsun Yan 公孫衍 and Zhang Yi 張儀, two famous persuaders of the time: “Are not Gongsun Yan and Zhang Yi really great men? Let them be angry, [and] all the princes are afraid. Let them live quietly, and the flames of trouble are extinguished throughout the kingdom.”21 The Zhanguo ce 戰國策 (Intrigues of Warring States) contains many accounts that demonstrate the respect shown to intellectuals by feudal rulers. One of them concerns the meeting between King Xuan of Qi 齊宣公 and Yan Chu 顏斶. At the start of the meeting, King Xuan orders Yan Chu to “come forward,” but Yan Chu, instead of obeying the king’s command, orders his highness to “come forward.” The king is infuriated and asks: “Who is nobler, a king, or a scholar?” Yan Chu answers, “A scholar is nobler, and a king is not noble at all.” Then, at the king’s request, Yan Chu gives a long lecture about the importance of honoring scholars and how the sage rulers of the past succeeded by relying on scholars’ advice. The king in the end is persuaded and cries: “Alas! How can a gentleman be insulted? I have merely sought after mistake myself!” He then asks Yan Chu to be his teacher, promising him a magnificent lifestyle for his entire family. But Yan Chu declines, citing his wish to lead a simple life in his own “house in the town” (yiwu 邑屋).22 Yan Chu represents the best qualities of a scholar at his time. In his pursuit of dao 道, or the “Way,” he holds in contempt all power and glory. Such a scholar, however, would still regard advising his monarch on matters of governance as his noble responsibility. Yan Chu, for example, in declining King Xuan’s offer, stated that “to give [an] order is the duty of the king, and Chu’s duty is to do his best in presenting bluntly his loyal advice [to the king].” In Yan Chu’s opinion, the best way for him to carry out this duty was to maintain his independence and integrity. He compared a scholar to a piece of jade in the mountain: “Once it is taken from there, it is broken.” Similarly, once “a scholar is selected for official career and fortune, even though he has power and prosperity, his body and spirit are no longer complete.”23 Just as a broken jade would lose its value, a broken scholar would see his ability and wisdom greatly diminished. The Qin reunification of China in 221 bce, near the end of the Warring States period, brought drastic changes in the status of intellectuals. Qin Shihuang’s 秦始皇 (r. 221–210 bce) harsh persecution of them, culminating in the infamous “burning of books and burying [alive] of scholars” (fenshu kengru 焚書坑儒),24 is well-known in Chinese history. During the subsequent Han dynasty (206 bce–220 ce), the state encouraged intellectuals to serve in its bureaucracy, and the intellectuals who chose to become part of

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the state machine gave up their intellectual freedom and independence. During the Warring States era, the elevated status of intellectuals had instilled in them a sense of pride and dignity. To Mencius, for example, a “great man” (da zhangfu 大丈夫) was one who, in his pursuit of the “great path under the heaven,” would not “bend to the power [of the authorities],” just as he would not “be swerved [from his principles] by poverty.”25 Yan Chu’s conduct is a good example of this. The circumstances of later periods made it much harder for intellectuals to maintain this standard. The reunification eliminated competition among feudal states, thereby also eliminating the need for wandering scholars and persuaders. Faced with the necessity to survive, some intellectuals were understandably willing to join the state bureaucracy, which provided for many the only means of livelihood in a centralized government and society, even though this meant giving up their independence. Others did so out of sincere belief that a career in the government offered them the best means to fulfill their personal and social ambitions. This bureaucratization of intellectuals was particularly intense under the reign of Emperor Wu of the Han 漢武帝 (r. 140–87 bce), who repeatedly issued decrees to enlist the service of intellectuals in the government. With the enshrinement of Confucianism as the state orthodoxy,26 the state was able to set up unified curricula and standards for training and recruiting government officials. Thus, just as Confucius’ thought became part and parcel of a political culture and system, intellectuals were transformed from independent thinkers into state bureaucrats.27 This transformation redefined the intellectuals’ relations with the state and with its head, the emperor. As Liu Zehua pointed out, it was in the early Han dynasty that intellectuals began to emphasize the deification of the emperor, elevating him above the rest of humanity.28 It should be noted that the concept of social hierarchy had always existed in Chinese culture, but at this time the emperor’s dominance over the state and his people began to be portrayed as unquestionable and absolute. Dong Zhongshu 董仲舒 (179–104 bce), whose important role in this process is discussed in chapter 1, wrote in his Chunqiu fanlu 春秋繁露 (The Abundant Dew of Spring and Autumn) that “the Son of Heaven receives his mandate from heaven, all under heaven receive their mandate from the Son of Heaven, and a state receives its mandate from its monarch.”29 The authority of the monarch was unquestionable because it was mandated by heaven, and all the monarch’s subjects, like the state, were to obey his will absolutely. It is therefore no surprise that during the reign of Emperor Wu, intellectuals, especially court poets and officials, came to be likened to “entertainers” (changyou 倡優) of the emperor. And just as the Han dynasty exerted tremendous influence on subsequent Chinese imperial history, so this notion of court poets and their function became conventional wisdom in the Chinese

Introduction

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literary tradition. It is crucial to the interpretation of both the patronage relationship between the emperor and his court poets and the poetry produced therein. This was the general framework in which the poets of early medieval China presented their poems to imperial patrons. The role of an entertainer, however, is not always lighthearted, especially in the context of absolute power and authority. The entertainment that Chinese court poets were asked to provide sometimes concerned highly sensitive and political issues, and providing it could be a matter of grave consequence. One anecdote, involving perfunctory praise of an imperial concubine, illustrates the stakes. The anecdote involves Xie Zhuang 謝莊 (421–66), who served in various important posts during the Liu Song dynasty (420–79).30 When Noble Concubine Yin 殷貴妃, a favorite of Emperor Xiaowu’s 孝武帝 (r. 454–64), died, Xie Zhuang wrote a dirge in which he compared her to Lady Zhao 趙婕妤 of the Han Emperor Wu. The problem was that Lady Zhao’s son later became Emperor Zhao 漢昭帝 (r. 86–74 bce) of the Han, but Noble Concubine Yin was not the mother of Emperor Xiaowu’s successor, Emperor Fei 廢帝 (r. 465), or the “Deposed Emperor.” This made Emperor Fei, who was then the heir apparent, unhappy. When he succeeded to the throne, he sent someone to “ask Xie Zhuang accusingly: ‘In the past, when you wrote the elegy for Noble Concubine Yin, did you have in mind [the heir apparent at] the Eastern Palace?’” He wanted to have Xie Zhuang put to death but relented when an official suggested that it would be better to first let Xie Zhuang “know the harshest pain under heaven” by sending him to work in the “imperial workshop.”31 Whereas some of the poets I look at seem to have dutifully carried out their roles as entertainers, others attempted to transcend it. In their effort to do so, they were inspired not only by the scholars of ancient times but also by the canonical notion of poetry as a form of intense self-expression. The latter is a major complicating factor in understanding Chinese panegyric poetry. As is well known, self-expression is the most essential quality of poetry in the Chinese tradition. This is illustrated by the ancient dictum of shi yanzhi 詩言志, “poetry expresses [the poet’s] intent,” which was first announced in the classic Shangshu 尚書, or The Book of Historical Documents, 32 and later elaborated by the “Great Preface” to the Shijing. Throughout the Chinese poetic tradition, a poem’s ability to convey its author’s feelings and thoughts has been regarded as the defining characteristic of good poetry.33 This expectation of expressiveness, however, may pose a dilemma to a poet writing for his imperial patron, because his personal sentiment may be irrelevant to the poetic occasion he is asked to address. Earlier I pointed out that panegyric poetry most closely resembles the categories “hymn” and “greater ode” in the

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Shijing. But because the “Great Preface” uses the dictum of “expressing intent” to define all types of poetry, and because this definition was accepted by the majority of poets and critics throughout the classical tradition, one may presume that the definition applies to panegyric poetry as well. This dictum has been revered throughout the history of Chinese poetry, so much so that a poem is often considered jejune and incomplete if it does not contain at least a superficial attempt or gesture at self-expression. This conventional expectation poses a great challenge to a panegyric poet, but it may also be regarded as a source of inspiration. Furthermore, the widespread and deeply rooted understanding of this convention may provide him with some excuse if he chooses to write a poem to his ruler that is somewhat expressive and personal. After all, this is what he is expected to do, according to the poetic tradition, just as he is expected to praise his patron. Indeed, as many of the poems in this book demonstrate, the act of presenting a panegyric verse to an imperial ruler did not preclude the possibility of the poet expressing some personal feeling and thought; it just made the task more challenging, complex, and sometimes dangerous. Occasionally the nature of the poetic event coincided with the poet’s subjective world, so that self-expression and celebration of the event could go hand in hand. More often, the occasion that a poet was asked to celebrate had no connection to his personal sentiment. Under such circumstances, the sacrifice of self-expression was the price the poet had to pay—although some poets seem to have been determined to inject personal elements into even the most formal and ceremonial poetic events. What makes panegyric poetry interesting is the tension and fluidity created by all of these uncertainties. In short, the main factors involved in the production of poetry presented to imperial rulers in early medieval China were the poetry’s function, its formal and stylistic features, the social status of its authors, and their relationships with imperial patrons. Together these factors determined the methodology used in this study, which may be characterized as formal and historical. My main interest is in exploring the generic features and conventions of panegyric poetry in the Chinese tradition, and so most of this book is devoted to close formal analysis of poems. But because these poems were inextricably connected with particular rulers at particular historical moments, they must be placed in particular contexts. The conditions of their production must be described, especially the political and intellectual conditions of their composition. Some background information about the monarch involved must also be provided, because his personality, literary interest (or lack thereof), and attitude toward and policy regarding intellectuals all directly affected the composition of a poem presented to him. It is not my intention, however, to provide a thorough account of the Chinese patronage

Introduction

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system. The historical information I offer is meant only to help contextualize the poems and to facilitate my interpretation of them. This book includes most of the poems presented to imperial rulers during the Weijin Nanbeichao period. In some cases, the pieces examined are the only extant panegyric poems of a particular dynasty. In the cases of dynasties for which many such poems are extant, I have chosen those that I deem to be most typical and representative of the genre. My decision to study the Weijin Nanbeichao period—one of several periods into which Chinese literary history is divided—was entirely conventional. The poetic works of this period are often grouped together and studied separately, presumably because they share qualities distinct from those of other periods. The chronological organization of my study, too, is conventional and has been adopted in numerous other studies of the literature of this period. I employed it because I, too, find it expedient and effective in delineating the evolution of Chinese panegyric poetry from its earliest stage to the era before the Tang dynasty (618–907), when Chinese poetry is thought to have reached its ultimate state. Poetry presented to imperial rulers garnered respect during the classical period. As I stated at the beginning of this introduction, the Wenxuan contains a section of “Presented Poetry,” which includes a number of panegyric poems composed in early medieval period. From the Tang dynasty forward, poets continued to write a vast amount of poems at imperial command. The Wenyuan yinghua 文苑英華 (Outstanding Blossoms from the Literary Garden), compiled during the Song dynasty (960–1279), has an extensive selection of poems under the category yingzhi, or “written at imperial command.”34 But because panegyric poetry is generally perceived in the Chinese tradition as impersonal, perfunctory, and sometimes deceptive, scholarly attention to it has been scarce. I hope my study will generate more interest in this type of poetry.

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1 Han Epideictic Rhapsody The Protoype of Panenric Potry



In the Chinese tradition, no study of panegyric poetry can proceed without first examining the fu 賦, or “rhapsody,” of the Former Han dynasty (206 bce–8 ce). Although fu had its distinct generic conventions,1 the Han epideictic rhapsody (dafu 大賦),2 as panegyric literature par excellence, had great influence, in both style and content, on the panegyric poetry of later periods. One of the most famous and representative works of epideictic rhapsody, “Rhapsody on an Imperial Excursion and Hunt” 天子遊獵賦,3 illustrates the major features of the genre. Sima Xiangru 司馬相如 (179–118 bce), the greatest writer in this genre, wrote it for Emperor Wu. This work, like the other epideictic rhapsodies of the Han dynasty, was primarily a product of imperial patronage. The relationship between Emperor Wu and his court officials-writers had a direct effect on its characteristics. By all accounts, Emperor Wu’s half-century reign was fateful for Chinese history and culture. He consolidated the power of the central government by carving up the feudal kingdoms among the princes and among their relatives in order to weaken them.4 He limited their authority to that of collecting taxes for essential needs, and he forbade them to participate in state affairs.5 In an event of special significance for this study, he executed Liu An 劉安 (179–122 bce), the Prince of Huainan 淮南王, for allegedly plotting against the central government. Liu An was well-known for his patronage of learning and literature. His death, together with the executions of “tens of thousands” in his court, marked the eradication of the feudal system established during the Western Zhou period (eleventh century to 771 bce).6 The intellectual

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freedom enjoyed by writers and persuaders during the Warring States era, which had already been severely limited and threatened since the Qin reunification in 221 bce, came to an end. Emperor Wu’s measures to maintain control and to repress dissent were unprecedentedly harsh. He reinstated the crime of defamation, which had been removed from the penal code in the early Han dynasty. He furthermore set up a law regarding the “crime of inner dissent” (fufei zui 腹非罪, literally, the “crime of criticizing [the government] in the stomach”),7 which allowed the government to prosecute and execute people who were only presumed to disagree with its policies. The result was that during Emperor Wu’s reign, outspoken criticism of the government, which had been treasured in antiquity as an important part of intellectuals’ responsibility and identity, was rarely heard. The Hanshu 漢書 (History of the Han Dynasty) notes that at that time “ministers and government officials all aimed to flatter [the monarch] in order to secure their safety.”8 The severity of such laws was fully matched by Emperor Wu’s own cruelty and vanity. He was a reasonably good poet and liked to show off his literary ability whenever he could.9 But above all he was an unpredictable and cruel tyrant. During his reign he executed four “counselors-in-chief ” (chengxiang 丞相) and four “censors-in-chief ” (yushi dafu 御史大夫). Those positions, together with that of “defender-in-chief ” (taiwei 太尉), made up the revered “three dukes” (sangong 三公), the highest government officials during the Han dynasty.10 He ordered Sima Qian castrated for defending a defeated general, Li Ling 李陵.11 The Zizhi tongjian 資治通鑒 (Comprehensive Mirror for Aid in Governance) by Sima Guang (1019–86) notes an occasion that might best illustrate Emperor Wu’s attitude toward intellectuals. It states that despite his repeated orders that intellectuals be recruited to court positions, he often executed them for insignificant offenses. When one minister, Ji An 汲黯 (d. 112 bce), tried to persuade His Majesty to stop this, Emperor Wu laughed and derided him: “In every generation there are talented people. I am only concerned that one may not be able to recognize them. If one is able to recognize them, why should he be concerned that there won’t be enough of them? The so-called ‘talented people’ are like useful tools. If they refuse to dedicate their use, they are no different from people without talent. What do I do with them if I do not execute them?”12

Small wonder that later in his life, Sima Xiangru “showed no interest in affairs of state and often stayed home under the pretext of illness.”13 He must have been acutely aware of the dangers awaiting an official at Emperor Wu’s

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court and deliberately distanced himself from it in order to protect himself and his family.14 This effort to centralize political power was paralleled on the intellectual front by Emperor Wu’s cultural policy. He adopted the advice of Dong Zhongshu “to abolish the hundred schools and enshrine Confucianism alone” (廢黜百家, 獨尊儒術). Dong Zhongshu’s memorial to the emperor on this issue sheds light on the intellectual atmosphere at Emperor Wu’s court: The grand union embodied in the Chunqiu 春秋 (Annals of Spring and Autumn) is a constant of heaven and earth, an eternal principle of past and present. Nowadays, however, teachers pursue different ways, people have different theories, and the hundred schools adopt different methods and promote different arguments. This makes it impossible for Your Majesty to have unity. Laws and regulations often change, so people below do not know what to abide by. I, your humble subject, believe that anything that is not included in the Six Classics and contradicts the theory of Confucius should be eliminated, so that it will not compete [with Confucius’ theory]. Only when those vile and misguided theories are eliminated can principles be unified and laws clarified; only after this can people know what to follow.15

The “grand union” (dayitong 大一統) that Dong Zhongshu envisioned was evidently the theoretical equivalent of an authoritarian monarchy. It placed the monarch at the center of the universe and society because he was seen as the only means whereby all elements, natural and social, were unified. Emperor Wu was reportedly so pleased with this memorial that he immediately assigned Dong Zhongshu a position in the court of his brother, Prince Yi.16 The canonization of Confucianism entailed embracing the Confucian view of literature, which was manifested in Confucius’ remarks about the Shijing. This view can best be characterized as moral, political, and pragmatic, as summarized in Confucius’ famous comment that the poems in the Shijing could teach people to “stimulate [will], observe [social customs], hold together [members of a community], and voice grievance [about social injustice] (興觀 群怨).”17 Dong Zhongshu thus wrote in his Chunqiu fanlu: “Gentlemen know that those in power cannot convince people by evil, so they have put together the Six Classics to nourish them. The books of Poetry and History express their will, Rites and Music purify their cultivation, The Book of Changes and Annals of Spring and Autumn clarify their wisdom. Grand indeed are the entire Six Disciplines, but each has its own strength.”18 Poetry was viewed as an integral part of a political and social agenda. During the early Han this concept was also applied to rhapsody.19 This created a

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tension that was to profoundly affect the production and interpretation of this genre. On the one hand, as a form of court literature, epideictic rhapsody was written to entertain imperial rulers, but on the other hand, according to the Confucian tradition it had to have a moral and political function. These two demands often clashed, producing a great deal of tension and discordance in the texts. Emperor Wu enjoyed patronizing rhapsody writers. The Hanshu records that he often commissioned them to write on occasions ranging from solemn state ceremonies to lighthearted recreational activities.20 This encouragement led to the flourishing of epideictic rhapsodies, but it also severely limited their scope and content. During the reign of Emperor Wu, the phrase changyou 倡優, “entertainer” (also written paiyou 俳優) came to be associated with court poets. Mei Gao 枚皋 (fl. 128 bce), a well-known rhapsody writer,21 lamented that at Emperor Wu’s court “writing rhapsody was nothing but to entertain, like a jester. [The poet] was treated as an entertainer.”22 In the court of Emperor Wu, where the “grand unity” ruled, epideictic rhapsodies could at most serve as “decoration of the grand cause” of the empire, as Ban Gu 班 固 (32–92) noted later.23 Glorification of the empire and its ruler became the only legitimate topic for epideictic rhapsody during this time. This was the milieu that produced Sima Xiangru’s epideictic rhapsodies, including “Rhapsody on an Imperial Excursion and Hunt.” The Shiji 史記 (Record of the Grand Historian) by Sima Qian 司馬遷 (ca. 145–86 bce) notes that Emperor Wu summoned Sima Xiangru after reading and being greatly impressed by his “Rhapsody of Sir Vacuous” 子虛賦, which Sima Xiangru had composed earlier at the court of the Filial Prince of Liang 梁孝 王. Sima Xiangru told Emperor Wu that the “Rhapsody of Sir Vacuous” was unremarkable because it dealt with the “matters of feudal lords.” To delight His Majesty even more, he proposed to compose a rhapsody about an “imperial excursion and hunt.”24 “Rhapsody on an Imperial Excursion and Hunt” is cast in the form of a dialogue. It takes place in the kingdom of Qi, among three personae, Sir Vacuous 子虛, an envoy sent to Qi by the king of Chu, Master Improbable 烏有先生, a resident of Qi, and Lord No-such 亡是公, a spokesman for the Son of Heaven. The first part of the rhapsody, “Rhapsody of Sir Vacuous,” consists mainly of Sir Vacuous’s boastful description of the Chu king’s hunt at Yunmeng. It aims to provide a panoramic view of the place and of the activities carried out there, in order to impress and overwhelm his audience.25 One passage reads: 其石則 赤玉玫瑰

Of stones there are: Red jade, rose stone,

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Han Epideictic Rhapsody 琳琘 昆 吾 瑊玏玄厲 碝石碔砆 其東 則 有 蕙 圃 衡蘭芷若 芎藭 菖 蒲 茳蘺蘪蕪 諸柘巴苴

Orbed jades, vulcan stone Aculith, dark polishing stone. Quartz, and the warrior rock. To the east there is Basil Garden, With wild ginger, thoroughwort, angelica, pollia, Hemlock parsley, sweet flag, Lovage, selinum, Sugar cane, and mioga. 26

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This passage enumerates some stones and plants at Yunmeng. As the enumerative word qi 其 (“of ”) suggests, the text lists objects in every direction. This rhetorical device was modeled after the usage of the persuaders of the Warring States period, who aimed to dazzle their audience with their rhetorical sweep.27 The rhapsody then goes on to describe in extravagant terms and minute detail the Chu king’s hunting excursion at Yunmeng and the entertainment that accompanied it. Master Improbable, however, is unimpressed. He gives another, shorter description of the vastness and abundance of Qi, claiming hyperbolically that Qi “could swallow eight or nine parks like Yunmeng, / And they would not even be a splinter or straw in its throat” (吞若雲夢者八九, 於其胸中曾不 蔕芥). He accuses Sir Vacuous of “extravagantly speaking of dissolute pleasures and vaunting wasteful ostentation” (奢言淫樂而顯侈糜).28 In addition to refusing to admit that Qi’s territory is less vast and majestic than Chu’s, Master Improbable wants to claim moral superiority for his Qi. It is at this moment in the tug-of-war between Sir Vacuous and Master Improbable, the representatives of two feudal kingdoms, that Lord No-such, the spokesman for the Son of Heaven, joins the debate. The second part of the rhapsody, “Rhapsody on the Imperial Park,” opens with a contemptuous grin by Lord No-such. In the voice of an authoritative judge, he dismisses the words of both Sir Vacuous and Master Improbable and accuses them of “wishing to overwhelm each other with wasteful ostentation and surpass one another in wild excesses” (欲以奢侈相勝, 荒淫相越). He warns them that “these things cannot serve to spread fame or enhance a reputation, but are enough to defame your rulers and do injury to yourselves” (此不可以揚名發譽, 而適足以貶君自損也).29 Having passed such judgment on his two opponents and thereby proclaimed his moral authority over them, Lord No-such, in a remarkably ironic turn, derides them for being provincial but goes on to give a much more extravagant description of what is “truly great and beautiful” (juli 巨麗), the Shanglin or Imperial Park of the Son of Heaven. This description is clearly designed to “overwhelm” his opponents with precisely the same “wasteful ostentation” and “wild excess” of which he

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has just accused them. It constitutes the bulk of the much lengthier “Rhapsody on the Imperial Park” and is written in a language that in its elaboration, sophistication, magnificence, and abstruseness surpasses by far that of “Rhapsody of Sir Vacuous.” Indeed, this rhapsody has become the locus classicus of many conventional features of the genre, including the tendency to use “excessively ornate words and amplify them to the extent that it is impossible to add more to them.”30 The following description of birds in the Imperial Park provides a taste of this extravagance: 鴻鷫鵠鴇 鴐鵝屬玉 交精旋目 煩鶩庸渠 箴疵鵁盧 群浮乎其上 汎淫泛濫 隨風澹淡

Geese, kingfishers, swans, bustards, Wild honkers, white egrets, Squacco herons, revolving eyes, Hornbills, dike ducks, Needle beaks, and cormorants, Swim in flocks on the surface, Freely floating, wandering at will, Tossed and tumbled with the wind. 31

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In this passage we see the characteristic deployment of enumeration and cataloging in the naming of birds.32 About a dozen different birds are enumerated in this short passage, some directly and others via synecdoches. In portraying their movements, the poet adopts numerous alliterative and binomial phrases such as phienjiem phienlam, ziwąpiΩm damdam 汎淫泛濫, 隨風澹淡 (“freely floating, wandering at will / Tossed and tumbled with the wind”),33 to enhance the musical quality of his language. Because this rhetorical device is deployed consistently to cover many categories, it creates a dazzling effect. The audience only gets a general and overwhelming impression; the details become blurred as the senses are flooded with data in quick succession. The result is the near elimination of the referential quality of language as the audience is forced to focus its attention on the material aspects of the poet’s medium.34 Yves Hervouet has used the term impressifs to characterize the diction in this and others of Sima Xiangru’s rhapsodies. They aim to create a general effect rather than provide accurate, specific descriptions of objects.35 The following description of the movements of rivers in the Imperial Park provides further illustration of this rhetorical style: 洶湧彭湃 滭弗宓汩 偪側泌瀄 橫流逆折 轉騰潎洌

Soaring and leaping, surging and swelling, Spurting and spouting, rushing and racing Pressing and pushing, clashing and colliding, Flowing uncontrolled, bending back, Wheeling and rearing, beating and battering,

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Han Epideictic Rhapsody 滂濞沆溉 穹隆雲橈 宛潬膠盭 逾波趨浥 蒞蒞下瀨 批巖衝擁 奔揚滯沛 臨坻注壑 瀺灂霣墜

Swelling and surging, troublous and turbulent. Loftily arching, billowing like clouds, Sinuously snaking, curling and coiling, Outracing their own waves, rushing to the chasms, Lap, lap, they descend to the shoals. Striking the bluffs, hurtling against the dikes, Racing and swelling, spraying and spuming. Nearing the sandbars, they pour into gullies, Plashing and splashing as they tumble downward.

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In most parts of the “Rhapsody on an Imperial Excursion and Hunt,” the Son of Heaven is a mute observer. At its end, however, His Majesty is given the chance to make the final judgment. But this is done only indirectly. The emperor is not presented as participating in person in the dialogue among these three personae; rather, his speech is reported by his spokesman, Lord No-such. Immediately after a passage describing dancing women performing at a banquet (lines 405–24), just as the audience’s “spirit” (hun 魂) and “heart” (xin 心) are becoming enthralled by the poet’s portrayal of the dancers’ beauty and charm, the emperor, in an abrupt revelation, declares that what he has seen “is too extravagant.” He “dissolves the feast, ends the hunt,” and decrees: “Let all land that can be reclaimed and opened up: / Be made into farmland / In order to provide for the common people!” (地可墾闢, 悉為農郊, 以贍萌隸).36 He then issues numerous policies of the sort that one expects only from the most enlightened rulers in antiquity. After this, the text switches back to Lord No-such, who describes in considerable detail how the emperor is already engaged in carrying out these policies. Finally, Lord No-such gives yet another lecture to Sir Vacuous and Master Improbable. This time he stresses the hubristic nature of their lords’ behavior: “If someone of the insignificance of a vassal lord enjoys the extravagance fit only for an Emperor, I fear the common people will suffer the ill effects” (夫以諸侯之細, 而樂萬乘 之侈, 僕恐百姓被其尤也). The rhapsody ends with a portrayal of the utterly dazed and humbled Sir Vacuous and Master Improbable: Thereupon, the two gentlemen paled, changed expressions, and seemed dispirited and lost in thought. As they retreated and backed away from the mat, they said, “Your humble servants have been stubborn and uncouth, and ignorant of the prohibitions. Now this day we have received your instruction. We respectfully accept your command. 於 是 二 子 愀 然 改 容, 超 若 自 失, 逡 巡 避 廗, 曰, 鄙 人固 陋, 不 知 忌 諱, 乃 今 日 見 教, 謹 受 命 矣.37

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The political character of this ending is blatantly apparent. Lord Nosuch’s victory over his opponents is symbolic of the central government’s triumph over the feudal kingdoms, and his grandiose description of the Imperial Park can be seen as a glorification of the empire and its monarch. Many critics have pointed out the discrepancy between this section of the text and its main body. In comparison with the magnificent rhetoric in the bulk of the rhapsody, the political message at the end seems so jejune and abrupt that it is both unconvincing and awkward. But however abrupt and incongruent it might be on the textual and structural levels, it is in fact most appropriate when we consider this rhapsody as a product of imperial patronage. Emperor Wu’s love of “refined words” (wenci 文詞) was well-known. The Shiji records that he once summoned Master Shen 申公, a famous scholar of the Shijing, to his court. When the emperor asked him how to govern the nation, Master Shen, who was already in his eighties, merely replied that “to govern a nation one does not need a great deal of words. One just tries hard to do it, that is all.” Emperor Wu, who was expecting to hear “refined words” from him, was very disappointed.38 This episode suggests that there were occasions when Emperor Wu was interested only in beautiful rhetoric, and Sima Xiangru knew this well. But he was also aware of Emperor Wu’s policies to encourage Confucian learning, which mandated that literature be assigned a political function. Sima Xiangru did what was expected of him, providing both “refined words” and a perfunctory nod at Confucianism. Because it is nearly impossible to harmonize these two aspects, tensions and incongruities are the inevitable results. This seemingly incongruent part of the text nevertheless represents an enduring feature of epideictic rhapsody, namely, its feng, or “indirect criticism.” Because it was dangerous to directly admonish the Son of Heaven, Sima Xiangru put his political advice in the mouth of His Majesty to create the impression that it came spontaneously from Emperor Wu himself. He turned his political vision into actual practices of the emperor. In Aristotelian terms, Sima Xiangru purposefully conflated deliberative and demonstrative rhetoric. This strategy might have failed to convince readers of later generations, but it certainly pleased Emperor Wu, for he immediately appointed Sima Xiangru a court attendant. In reality, Sima Xiangru’s strategy exerted no positive influence on Emperor Wu, who went on to expand the Imperial Park.39 But this did not stop Sima Qian and others from believing that the strategy served a didactic purpose. Sima Qian was the first critic to use the term fengjian 諷諫, “indirect criticism/admonishment,” to characterize the didactic function of this rhapsody. According to him, even though the poem lavishly portrayed the parks of feudal lords and the emperor, “at its end it returns to frugality.”40

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Other critics, however, have tended to regard the criticism embedded in the rhapsody as perfunctory. Burton Watson, for example, considered the gesture to be “merely a bow to the didactic convention.”41 But however ineffective and perfunctory it might be as moral persuasion, this strategy nonetheless provided Sima Xiangru with an effective pretext to pursue his literary interest and to obtain patronage from an emperor enamored with “refined words.” Hervouet observed that Sima Xiangru was the first Chinese writer to regard literary production as a matter of primary importance in his life.42 Given the milieu at Emperor Wu’s court, epideictic rhapsody, with its emphasis on artistry and grandeur, seemed to be the best literary form with which to pursue his goal. On the surface such writing glorified a powerful empire and its monarch, but in doing so it also celebrated the literary creativity of the poet, because the former could be done only through his writing. In his study of poetic subjectivity in Shakespeare’s sonnets, Shakespeare’s Perjured Eye, Joel Fineman examined in detail the panegyric conventions in Renaissance lyric. He demonstrated convincingly that because of its deployment of epideictic rhetoric, which by nature and function aims at self-display, the discourse of praise poetry is always reflexive, pointing back to itself and its producer. “Such poetry is thereby involved in the circular dynamics by means of which the poetry of praise becomes a praise of poetry itself.”43 The same can be said of Sima Xiangru’s epideictic rhapsody and to some extent of the poems to be considered later in this book. “Rhapsody on an Imperial Excursion and Hunt” is cast in a tripartite format. The first part is the introduction of the occasion, and the last part is the poet’s indirect admonishment to the emperor. The main body of the rhapsody is the detailed presentation of the occasion, and it is in this part that we find the most poetic section of the entire piece. As we shall see, the writers of panegyric poetry in later periods adopted this structure. The other most noticeable formal influence of this rhapsody and of other Han rhapsodies on later panegyric poetry is their epideictic rhetoric. In praising their imperial patrons, later poets frequently resorted to hyperbolic expressions intended to please and impress. Like the greater odes and hymns of the Shijing, the Han epideictic rhapsody was a major source of convention for later panegyric poetry.

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2 Self-Foregrounding in the Panegyric Poetry of the Jian’an Era



The patronage that Cao Cao 曹操 (155–220) and his sons Cao Pi 曹丕 (187–226) and Cao Zhi 曹植 (192–232) bestowed on the poets around them has been celebrated throughout the classical tradition. Critics have even attributed the florescence of poetic production during the Jian’an 建安 era (190–220) to this patronage. Cao Cao was the de facto ruler of the north at the time and attracted many famous intellectuals to his side. Because he was often engaged in military campaigns, however, the patron of the celebrated literary circle at the city of Ye 鄴 was in fact Cao Pi, whose status as crown prince was made clear when he was appointed “central commander of five guards” 五官中郎將 in the sixteenth year of Jian’an (212). After Cao Cao died, Cao Pi succeeded him and eventually replaced the Han dynasty with the Wei, thereby becoming Emperor Wen of the Wei dynasty 魏文帝 (r. 220–26). In their different ways, father and son helped to shape the poetic productions of this period. Liu Xie wrote a classic eulogy of the Caos’ patronage of letters in his Wenxin diaolong: During the reign of Emperor Xian [190–220], who was constantly forced to move from one place to another, the fate of literary men was like that of tumbleweeds tossed about by a furious wind. Only at the end of the Jian’an period was there any semblance of peace. Emperor Wu of Wei 魏 武 [Cao Cao], who was then a prince and prime minister, had a deep love of poetry; Emperor Wen 魏文 [Cao Pi], who was then the heir apparent,

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| writ ten at imperial command was himself versed in poetry; and Chensi 陳思 [Cao Zhi], in his princely elegance, wielded a brush whose style was as brilliant as the sonorous jade. These three, important as their positions were, all showed great respect for others who had outstanding literary talent. Hence many talented writers gathered around them like vapors and clouds. . . . Goblets in hand, they proudly showed their elegant style and, moving with leisurely grace while they feasted, composed songs with a swing of the brush, and out of the well-ground ink created witty pieces that served as subjects of talk and laughter.1

This passage, with its romantic tone and language, has made a myth of a complex situation. The congregation of writers around Cao Cao is indeed a historical fact, and it had much to do with his policy of “promoting talents alone” (維才是舉).2 But relations between Cao Cao and the writers under his patronage were complicated, and the circumstances under which those writers produced their works were by no means marked by “leisurely grace” (yongrun 雍容) as Liu Xie’s passage claims. This description may be relatively accurate only for the milieu of Cao Pi’s literary circle at Ye. In fact Cao Cao’s efforts to summon intellectuals to serve his cause were often tempered by his tight control of them once they arrived. His suspicious personality and erratic behavior further complicated the situation.3 It was true that when up to the occasion, Cao Cao was capable of exhibiting extraordinary magnanimity toward intellectuals. His treatment of Chen Lin 陳琳 (160–217) is a good example. Before coming to Cao Cao, Chen Lin had served under Yuan Shao 袁紹 (d. 202), Cao Cao’s archenemy before he reunited the north. There he once penned a war proclamation against Cao Cao in which he enumerated, in the most vehement language, crimes committed not just by Cao Cao himself but also by his father and grandfather, the latter having been a eunuch during the Latter Han.4 After Cao Cao defeated Yuan Shao, Chen Lin came to join Cao Cao. Cao Cao not only “loved his talent and pardoned him” but also appointed him to the post of “libationer to the military adviser of the minister of works” 司空軍謀祭酒. All Cao Cao said about Chen Lin’s proclamation was that “In the past, when you wrote that proclamation for Benchu [Yuan Shao], you could have just listed my own crimes and stopped there. Why did you have to go back to my father and grandfather?”5 Liu Xie’s romantic description of Cao Cao’s attitude toward the writers around him might have been inspired by the example of Chen Lin. But in most historians’ accounts Cao Cao is remembered more for his ruthless executions of intellectuals, the most famous of which was that of Kong Rong 孔融 (153–208), a renowned figure of his time who was also Confucius’ twentieth-generation

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descendant.6 This incident is well-known in Chinese history, so I focus instead on the lesser-known death of Cui Yan 崔琰 (fl. ca. 216). His execution is one of the earliest examples of Chinese rulers’ persecution of intellectuals on the basis of their writings (wenzi yu 文字獄). According to the Sanguo zhi 三國志 (History of the Three Kingdoms) Cui Yan was a renowned scholar admired and respected by many people, including Cao Cao himself. But because Cui Yan had once contradicted Cao Cao’s opinion in court, Cao Cao held a deep grudge against him.7 When Cao Cao was made king of Wei 魏王 in the twenty-first year of Jian’an (216), a man named Yang Xun 楊訓 wrote a eulogy to celebrate the occasion. For this Yang Xun was accused of being hypocritical, and because he had been recommended to Cao Cao by Cui Yan, some also blamed Cui Yan for the inappropriate recommendation. After reading Yang Xun’s writing, Cui Yan wrote him the following words: “I have read your memorial; the occasion was good, that’s it. Time, time, there will be a time of change” (省表, 事佳耳. 時乎時乎, 會當有 變時). The Sanguo zhi notes that Cui Yan’s intention was to “mock the unreasonableness of those accusers [of him].” But when his letter reached Cao Cao, he “angrily said: ‘There is a slang that goes, “You had a girl, that’s it.” Thus “that’s it” is not a positive expression. “There will be a time of change” has a disrespectful intention’” (怒曰: “諺言, ‘生女耳.’‘耳’ 非佳語.‘會當有變時’ 意 指不遜”). Cao Cao then had Cui Yan put to death.8 This incident must have served as a warning to the intellectuals who served under Cao Cao. They had to be very cautious with their words, since their patron had little tolerance for those whom he regarded as “disrespectful.” But whether or not a certain expression was disrespectful depended entirely on the interpretation of their patron. Writers had no control over the meaning and interpretation of their writings, which might cost them their lives. Another myth has to do with Cao Cao’s official assignments of intellectuals. Wang Can 王粲 (177–217) claimed that unlike Liu Biao 劉表 (142– 208), who treated him with no respect, Cao Cao was able to assign virtuous and talented intellectuals to various posts.9 Cao Cao did offer positions to those who served under him. Wang Can himself was later appointed “court attendant” (侍中), but this was entirely a sinecure and carried no significant power. The same can be said of the appointments of other members of the “Seven Masters” of Jian’an literature 建安七子.10 It must be emphasized that Cao Cao’s habit of encouraging intellectuals to join him was, like many of his other policies, motivated by pragmatic need. As Lu Xun 魯迅 (1881– 1936) once pointed out, his aim was to gather intellectuals around him so that they would have no chance to create problems for him.11 Or to use the words of his own son Cao Zhi, his goal was to “set up a heavenly web in order to cover them.”12 This was an intelligent strategy because at the end of

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the Han dynasty, the “pure comments” (qingyi 清議) of scholars still carried considerable influence in public opinion.13 By assigning scholars to minor and nominal posts in his court, he was able to effectively control them and to stifle their voices. In sum, contrary to some conventional perceptions, Cao Cao’s treatment of intellectuals was essentially similar to that of the Han Emperor Wu. The two had another thing in common: Both were genuinely interested in poetry, and both were good poets in their own rights. Cao Pi wrote that Cao Cao “loved poetry and writing and never put them down during military campaigns.”14 Pei Songzhi 裴松之 (372–451) stated that Cao Cao would “compose poems whenever he ascended a high spot, and when a piece was finished, he would have it set to music.”15 Such interest, however, did not translate into an elevated view of poets as Liu Xie and other critics claimed.16 To him they were mere entertainers and clerks, whose works provided a diversion in his busy, Spartan life and whose official duties formed the necessary mechanism of government.17 Furthermore, they could help demonstrate his “cultural refinement” (wen 文), which, together with “military might” (wu 武), constituted the sine qua non for any enlightened ruler in ancient Chinese history.18 This attitude, unsurprisingly, caused profound disappointment in those who had hoped to play an active role in Cao Cao’s cause. Chen Lin’s ambition was to establish virtue and to achieve fame (立德垂功名) with the help of his patron, but the idle life at Cao Cao’s court made him dejected (閑居心不 娛), and the grand parties described nostalgically by Liu Xie only made him feel that he was a “confined guest” (高會時不娛, 羈客難為心).19 The repeated statements by some Jian’an poets about their futility and the shame they felt can be read as manifestations of their frustration.20 Liu Zhen’s “Unclassified Poem” 雜詩, for example, vividly portrays the tediousness of his job as a “lesser subordinate” (yuanshu 掾屬) in Cao Cao’s court.21 Critics have noted a shift in the writings of some of the Seven Masters after they came to Cao Cao. Their early works demonstrated a deep engagement with social reality. After they joined Cao Cao, their writings became more formal and detached, concerned mostly with praising Cao Cao and describing recreational activities at Ye.22 This view is mostly correct, but I want to elaborate on it by detailing the challenges that Jian’an poets faced in writing their poetry. The first group of poems I examine is Wang Can’s “Following Military Campaigns: Five Poems” 從軍詩五首. These poems were addressed to Cao Cao on two different occasions. Cao Cao’s treatment of intellectuals was the first factor Wang Can had to reckon with when writing a poem for him. He also had to take into consideration Cao Cao’s interest in poetry. Therefore, before examining Wang Can’s poems, let us look at a piece by Cao Cao. It, too, deals with a military campaign:

Self-Foregrounding in the Panenric Potry of the Jian’an Era 蒿里 關東有義士 興兵討群凶 初期會盟津 乃心在咸陽 軍合力不齊 躊躇而雁行 勢力使人爭 嗣還自相戕 淮南弟稱號 刻璽於北方 鎧甲生虮虱 萬姓以死亡 白骨露於野 千里無雞鳴 生民百遺一 念之斷人腸

A Haoli Song 23 Guandong had many righteous people, Who rose in arms to fight gangs of criminals. When they first converged at Mengjin, Their hearts were set at Xianyang. Troops gathered, but their strength scattered, They hesitated like geese in flight. People are prone to struggle for power, Soon they began to slaughter each other. Yuan Shu claimed the throne at the south, Yuan Shao carved the imperial seal at the north.24 Fleas grow inside the soldiers’ armor, Common folk die by the tens of thousands. White bones are exposed in the wilderness, Within a thousand li no cock crow is heard. Survivors number one out of a hundred, Thinking of this breaks one’s heart.25

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Cao Cao’s poetry is said to represent the “heroic melancholy” (kangkai beiliang 慷慨悲涼) that became a much-admired quality of Jian’an poetry.26 The preceding piece is an example. The first part, lines 1–10, describes the civil wars that broke out after the collapse of the Former Han dynasty. The stark portrayal of human suffering and social destruction in lines 11–15 endows the poem with a social realism that was greatly to influence later poetry of social unrest. The last line presents a direct emotional response: “Thinking of this breaks one’s heart” (念之斷人腸). This rhetorical gesture immediately personalizes what has been described in the poem. A remarkable feature of this poem is its simple diction and straightforward syntax. This is partly conventional, because Cao Cao’s poem was cast in the mode of yuefu, or “music bureau” poetry.27 But this stylistic device was also an important means by which to foreground the presence of the poet. It helped him create a situation that was “natural” and nearly transparent. In the absence of the distance and obstacles that ornate diction and involved syntax might have produced, we stand face-to-face with the poet and with what he sees and perceives. The affective power for which Jian’an poetry is famous stems partly from this rhetorical strategy.28 The other factor Wang Can had to reckon with before presenting his poems to Cao Cao was his personal reaction to the topical event. For a similar straightforward, intense response to war and its destruction, I turn to his “Seven Sorrows” 七哀, written before he came to Cao Cao. The following is the often-anthologized first verse:

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| writ ten at imperial command 西京亂無象 豺虎方遘患 復棄中國去 遠身適荊蠻 親戚對我悲 朋友相追攀 出門無所見 白骨蔽平原 路有飢婦人 抱子棄草間 顧聞號泣聲 揮涕獨不還 未知身死處 何能兩相完 驅馬棄之去 不忍聽此言 南登霸陵岸 迴首望長安 悟彼下泉人 喟然傷心肝

The western capital is in complete chaos, Leopards and tigers are creating disasters. Once again I leave the Middle Kingdom, And escape to Jing, the distant barbaric land. Relatives grieve in my face, Friends cling and run after me. As I walk outdoors I see nothing, White bones cover the flat land. By the road there is a hungry woman, Who abandons her infant in the brush. She looks back and hears the baby’s cries, But wipes her tears without returning. “I don’t even know where I will die, How can I look after both of us?” I ride my horse to leave them behind, For I can’t bear to hear such words. Southward I ascend the height of Baling, Turning my head back, I gaze at Chang’an. I long for the man in underground springs, 29 And alas, how it breaks my heart.30

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Like Cao Cao’s poem, Wang Can’s portrays a firsthand experience of the suffering and destruction caused by war. After a brief introduction to the nation’s chaotic situation in the first two lines, the poet turns to his own encounter with it and to his response. As he is forced to leave the heartland of the country, he observes grieving relatives and friends, large-scale killing, and a woman’s heartbreaking abandonment of her infant. The last event in particular dramatizes the utter destruction and breakdown of society, already indicated by the image of exposed white bones in line 8 (白骨蔽平原). All of this evokes the poet’s emotional response in the last part of the poem, where he longs for the prosperous past and laments the catastrophes of his own era. The quoted poems by Cao Cao and Wang Can have only one concern: to describe the devastation that wars bring to human life. Their audiences were the poets themselves; there is no discrepancy between the concerns of addresser and addressee because the two were one. Self-expression was the sole purpose of both of these poems, and so the poets’ feelings were conveyed freely and emphatically. As we begin to analyze Wang Can’s “Following Military Campaigns,” however, we must remember that the poems were addressed to a patron who was also the leader of the military campaign in question. Wang Can therefore had to treat the topic differently. The context demanded that these poems be not merely lyrical expressions but encomiastic adulations

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as well. First and foremost, they had to aim to please. The opening verse fulfilled this demand: 從軍有苦樂 但問所從誰 所從神且武 焉得久勞師 相公征關右 赫怒震天威 一舉滅獯虜 再舉服羌夷 西收邊地賊 忽若俯拾遺 陳賞越丘山 酒肉踰川坻 軍中多飫饒 人馬皆溢肥 徒行兼乘還 空出有餘資 拓地三千里 往返速若飛 歌舞入鄴城 所願獲無違 晝日處大朝 日暮薄言歸 外參時明政 內不廢家私 禽獸憚為犧 良苗實已揮 竊慕負鼎翁 願厲朽鈍姿 不能效沮溺 相隨把鋤犁 孰覽夫子詩 信知所言非

Following a military campaign has pains and joys, Just ask who is the leader that one follows. If the one we follow is divine and martial, How can the troops strive for a long time? 4 The Chancellor marches to the west of Hangu Pass, 31 His mighty wrath thunders with heavenly power. In one stroke he wipes out the Xun enemies, In another he subdues the Qiang barbarians.32 8 He rounds up the bandits in the west, Swiftly and easily, as if picking up an object. Piles of his awards are higher than mountains, Wine and meat stretch to rivers and islets. 12 Bounties of all kinds abound for the troops, Soldiers and horses are all full and robust. They leave barefoot but come back on horseback, Departing empty-handed, they return with surplus supplies. 16 They take three-thousand li of land, Leaving and returning, as swift as flying. Singing and dancing we enter Ye City, All our wishes are fulfilled. 20 We spend our day at our lord’s grand reception, At sunset we return to our homes. Outside we participate in his enlightened rule, Inside we do not neglect our familial duties. 24 Animals are afraid of being sacrificed, Fine crops are loaded with shining grains. I envy the old man bearing the tripod,33 And would like to sharpen my blunted wit.34 28 35 I cannot follow the footsteps of Ju and Ni, Who plowed the field with each other. I have read attentively Master Confucius’ verse, And truly believe that his words are mistaken.36 32

According to Pei Songzhi’s note to the Sanguo zhi, this poem was composed in the twentieth year of Jian’an (215), when Cao Cao launched a campaign against Zhang Lu 張魯. “During this campaign, Court Attendant Wang Can wrote a pentasyllabic poem to celebrate the event.”37 Of the five poems in

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the “Following Military Campaigns” group, this piece is the most formal. Its tone is panegyric, and its focus is on the military might of the poet’s patron. The destruction of war described at length in his “Seven Sorrows” is merely mentioned abstractly in the first line and then quickly brushed aside in the second line, on the grounds that a mighty and wise leader like Cao Cao can make it irrelevant. The result is that the graphic scenes of devastation and suffering in his and in Cao Cao’s previously quoted poems are replaced by “Bounties of all kinds abound for the troops, / Soldiers and horses are all full and robust” (軍中多飫饒, 人馬皆溢肥). The main body of this verse (lines 5–26) concentrates on glorifying the achievements, both military and civil, of Cao Cao. The poet’s reaction is introduced in the last six lines. It is that of a loyal courtier, who, inspired by his patron’s might, wisdom, and virtue, longs for an active part in his grand cause of reuniting the nation. Of the three allusions used in this section, the last one is the most remarkable. It places rhetorical emphasis on the panegyric theme of the poem: The patron’s virtue is such that it compels the poet to reject anything that contradicts the patron’s cause, even the authority of Confucius. This is a very straightforward verse. Wang Can’s other poems in this group, however, adopt different approaches. They reintroduce the social and human cost of war and contain tensions and subtleties that are absent in the preceding piece. In these poems we can feel the presence not just of Wang Can the court attendant but also of the poet who wrote the “Seven Sorrows.” Poems 2–5 of “Following Military Campaigns” were written in the twentyfirst year of Jian’an (216), when Wang Can accompanied Cao Cao in his campaign against Sun Quan 孫權.38 The following is poem 2: 涼風厲秋節 司典告詳刑 我君順時發 桓桓東南征 泛舟蓋長川 陳卒被隰坰 征夫懷親戚 誰能無戀情 拊襟倚舟檣 眷眷思鄴城 哀彼東山人 喟然感鸛鳴 日月不安處 人誰獲常寧 昔人從公旦

A cold wind chills in the autumn season, The judge announces his prudent punishments. Our lord makes his move at the appropriate time, In martial array the troops march to the southeast. Floating boats cover the long river, Lined-up soldiers spread over the marshes. Man on the road longs for his relatives, Who can avoid such deep longings? Holding my lapel I lean against the mast, Deeply I miss [the loved ones] in Ye City. I grieve for those soldiers of “Eastern Mountain,” How I am moved by the crane’s crying. The sun and moon never stay still, Who among humankind can rest forever? In ancient times people followed Duke Zhou,

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Self-Foregrounding in the Panenric Potry of the Jian’an Era 一徂輒三齡 今我神武師 暫往必速平 棄余親睦恩 輸力竭忠貞 懼無一夫用 報我素餐誠 夙夜自恲性 思逝若抽縈 將秉先登羽 豈敢聽金聲

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One campaign took them three years from home. 16 Today, with our magnificent troops such as this, This momentary departure will bring swift victory. So I give up my thoughts of the loved ones, And try my utmost to devote my loyalty. 20 I fear that I will be a man of no use, Unable to repay my undeserved meal. Night and day I strengthen my resolve, Wandering thought haunts me like coils. 24 I will hold aloft the banner of the vanguard, How dare I listen to the sound of the [retreating] gong?39

In sharp contrast to the unifying encomiastic tone of the preceding poem, the sentiments expressed in this piece are mixed, but emphasis is placed on the poet’s acute awareness of the human cost incurred by the military campaign that he is required to celebrate. Indeed, the military campaign and its leader have been relegated to the margin, for Wang Can uses them as a means to stimulate and to articulate his own feelings and thoughts. In this poem of 26 lines, only 8 lines (lines 3–6 and 15–18) describe the troops and their leader, Cao Cao. This allows Wang Can to turn his poem into a lyrical expression in which the subject is the poet rather than his patron and his activities. Let us examine in detail how Wang Can achieves this. The first two lines of the poem establish the appropriate time for a military campaign, namely, autumn, the season of killing, sacrifice, and military maneuvers.40 The implication is that Cao Cao is acting according to the laws of nature and society. Then in lines 3–6 the poet directs our attention to Cao Cao and his troops. Their martial splendor is portrayed through parallelism in lines 5 and 6, where the carefully chosen antithesis between navy (fanzhou 泛舟, “floating boats”) and army (chenzu 陳卒, “lined-up soldiers”), river (changchuan 長 川, “long river”) and land (xijiong 隰坰, “marshes”) creates an orderly, magnificent scene. But after this brief description, the poem turns inward, to the reflections of the poet in lines 7–12. Significantly, what is in his mind at this moment is not martial might and glory but the human suffering that accompanies them. In this context, however, exposed bones and other stark images of devastation are inappropriate. Wang Can therefore adopts an indirect and subtle strategy: He uses two allusions to the Shijing. The persona of a lonely traveler or soldier (zhengfu 征夫, “man on the road”) in line 7 had by now been conventionalized since its first appearance in the Shijing’s “Hecao buhuang” 何 草不黃 (“Every Plant is Yellow”), in which an anonymous poet laments the soldiers’ hardships in the endless expeditions: “Alas for us employed on these

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expeditions! / Morning and night we have no leisure” (哀我征夫, 朝夕不暇). “Eastern Mountain” (dongshan 東山) and “crane’s crying” (guanming 鸛鳴) in lines 11 and 12 allude to “Dongshan” 東山 (“Eastern Mountain”), another poem in the Shijing, which expresses soldiers’ homesickness while on a military campaign: “We went to the hills of the east, / And long were we there without returning” (我徂東山, 慆慆不歸).41 This strategy enables Wang Can to articulate his concerns in a displaced manner via a text that by his time had become a revered classic. Cao Cao is still reminded of the human sacrifice that his campaign incurs, but the conventional and canonical nature of the reminder renders it acceptable. The strong emotive verb ai 哀 (“grieve”) in line 11 nevertheless conveys a personal reaction that is too intense and negative for this formal context. Thus, in lines 13–14 Wang Can softens his reaction by finding a reason—this time from nature—for his patron’s military campaign. If the sun and moon cannot stay still, how can human beings be expected to do so? He then adopts the conventional surpass topos that compares favorably the current ruler or event with historical precedents: Because Cao Cao is more capable than Duke Zhou, the exemplary statesman in antiquity whose campaign lasted “three years” (sanling 三 齡), the current mission will be only “momentary” (zan 暫), and its victory will be “swift” (su 速).42 This makes him “give up” (qi 棄) his “thoughts of family” (親睦恩). Significantly, this personal sacrifice is described as a condition of his returning his patron’s favor, because only after this can he “try [his] utmost to devote [his] loyalty” (輸力竭忠貞). The last couplet stresses this determination in military terms: He would like to lead the charge against the enemy. At the end of the poem, though, the reader is still made acutely aware of the gap between the poem’s personal and public dimensions. While the former dimension is conveyed intimately through emotive verbs such as huai 懷 (“long for”), si 思 (“miss”), ai 哀 (“grieve), and gan 感 (“moved by”) (lines 7–12), the latter is forced out of the poet by words that require asserting one’s will, such as qi 棄 (“give up”), jie 竭 (“devote”), bao 報 (“repay”), and qigan 豈敢 (“how dare”) (lines 19–26). The use of generic conventions in this poem is also worthy of attention. The poetry of military campaigns was already an established genre by Wang Can’s time, thanks to the numerous examples dealing with this topic in the classic Shijing. In fact, “Following Military Campaigns” is a yuefu song title. According to Yuefu guti yaojie 樂府古題要解 (Concise Explanations of Ancient Titles of Music Bureau Poetry) compiled by Wu Jing 吳競 (fl. 715–30), poems bearing the “Following Military Campaigns” title “all deal with the hardship of military campaigns.”43 Such poems treat military campaigns mostly in negative terms, concentrating on the human suffering, particularly separation

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and loneliness, brought about by war. When Cao Cao and Wang Can treated this topic in their “Haoli Song” and “Seven Sorrows,” respectively, they naturally turned to the earlier examples for inspiration. The connection of those poems with Wang Can’s poems in “Following Military Campaigns,” however, is by no means natural. Even though his also deal with war, they must celebrate it because they are addressed to the leader of this particular campaign. The generic conventions thus pose tensions in their new context. They are adopted by the poet to criticize the activity he is expected to praise. Although the classical aura makes this usage less awkward and strained, it is still discordant and has to be smoothed over. The poet does this by rejecting in line 19 the very conventions invoked earlier in the poem. The next piece continues to demonstrate the poet’s efforts to resolve the tensions between his personal feelings and his official duties: 從軍征遐路 討彼東南夷 方舟順廣川 薄暮未安坻 白日半西山 桑梓有餘暉 蟋蟀夾岸鳴 孤鳥翩翩飛 征夫心多懷 惻愴令吾悲 下船登高防 草露沾我衣 迴身赴床寢 此愁當告誰 身服干戈事 豈得念所私 即戎有授命 茲理不可違

I follow the military campaign to distant roads, To strike those barbarians in the southeast. Side by side the boats move along the wide river, When dusk comes we still have not moored. 4 The white sun has half set below the western mountains, Afterglow lingers among mulberry and catalpa trees. Crickets are chirping along the banks, A lonely bird is flying in the sky. 8 Man on the road is filled with longing, Such sorrows sadden my heart. I get off the boat to ascend a tall dam, Dew on grass dampens my clothes. 12 I turn back and go to sleep in my bed, In whom can I confide this sadness? Now that I am shouldering a military task, How can I worry about personal concerns? 16 We go to the war by our lord’s command, Such principle can never be disobeyed. 44

This verse completely ignores the martial splendor of the campaign. Instead, it focuses on the pain and loneliness that it causes in the poet and in the soldiers. To achieve this, Wang Can draws heavily on conventions established by the Shijing. After a brief description of the troops’ movement in lines 1–4, the poem turns around to portray an emotionally charged setting in lines 5–8. “Mulberry and catalpa trees” (sangzi 桑梓), a metaphor for one’s home, alludes to a melancholy piece in the Shijing in which an abandoned son laments his fate.45 The chirping “cricket” (xishuai 蟋蟀), a conventional

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symbol of autumn and decline, refers to another poem in the Shijing; it also echoes poem 12 of “Nineteen Old Poems,” a group of influential poems believed to be composed by anonymous authors during the latter part of the Han dynasty.46 The “lonely bird” (guniao 孤鳥) in line 8 further accentuates the melancholy tone. The poem’s sorrowful note is so far only implied by these evocative images. It is stated explicitly in the next section of the poem, lines 9–14, in which the poet again introduces the persona of zhengfu, “man on the road,” who is described as being “filled with longing” (xin duohua 心多懷). This causes the poet to empathize and even to identify with him in the next line, wherein Wang Can states his own grief via the first-person pronoun wu 吾: “Such sorrows make me sad” (惻愴令吾悲). This rhetorical gesture is strengthened in line 12 by the use of another first-person pronoun, wo, referring to the agent of a series of conventional acts: ascending a high place, lying sleepless in bed, and longing in vain for a friend who can understand him.47 Up to this point the poem portrays a disoriented, lonely individual in an alienating environment. This is hardly what one expects from a court poet addressing his ruler. To bring his poem back on track, in the last two couplets Wang Can again abruptly brushes aside these personal emotions and reflections. He states that now that he has embarked on this military expedition, he must not (qide 豈得) have personal concerns, and he cannot disobey (bukewei 不可違) the order of his commander, who in this case is also the audience of his poem. By this Wang Can aims to resolve the tensions between his personal feelings and his official duty. Ironically, it serves instead to highlight them, because it indicates that the “military task” (gangeshi 干戈事) and “personal concerns” (suosi 所私) are two different things that must be reconciled by force, and he is giving up the latter for the sake of the former out of his will, not out of his heart. As if to avert such strong personal tendencies so that he might not arouse his patron’s ire, Wang Can resumes the encomiastic tone in the fourth poem of the group: 朝發鄴都橋 暮濟白馬津 逍遙河堤上 左右望我軍 連舫逾萬艘 帶甲千萬人 率彼東南路 將定一舉勛 籌策運帷幄

In the morning we left from the bridge at the capital Ye, By dusk we had crossed the Baima Ford. I roam along the dam by the river, And gaze at our troops on both sides. 4 Ships, one after another, exceed the tens of thousands, Soldiers, in their armor, number even more. Marching along that southeast road We would surely strike a complete victory. 8 Strategies are planned in the command tent,

Self-Foregrounding in the Panenric Potry of the Jian’an Era 一由我圣君 恨我無時謀 譬諸具官臣 鞠躬中堅內 微畫無所陳 許歷為完士 一言猶敗秦 我有素餐責 誠愧伐檀人 雖無鉛刀用 庶幾奮薄身

Solely and entirely by our sage lord. How I regret that I have no timely advice, Like one of those nominal officials. I serve devotedly within the central command, But have not even a small plan to offer. Xu Li was an ordinary gentleman, Still his words helped defeat the troops of Qin. 48 I bear the blame of taking undeserved meals, And am ashamed to face the sandal-tree cutter. 49 Although I am not so useful as a lead knife, I would still like to dedicate my humble life.50

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In content this poem may be divided into three parts. The first, lines 1–8, describes the movement of the troops. The second, consisting merely of lines 9 and 10, is praise of Cao Cao, whom Wang Can refers to as “sage lord” (shengjun 圣君), a term normally used to address a monarch.51 The longest section of the poem, lines 11–20, expresses the poet’s guilt over having failed to make any contribution to his patron’s cause. It is significant that the commonly absent first-person pronoun wo 我 (“I”) is used four times in this poem, three of them in the last section. They add a personal dimension to an otherwise very formal verse. Even though the sentiment expressed is highly formal and perfunctory, it is presented as being intimate. This device inevitably foregrounds the poet’s subjectivity vis-à-vis his official duty and results in a marginalization of his patron similar to that already seen in poems 2 and 3. Wang Can employs irony in articulating his presumed guilt over being unable to help his “sage lord.” If, as he states in lines 9 and 10, the strategy of the campaign is designed entirely by Cao Cao himself, then how could Wang Can possibly offer any “timely advice” (shimou 時謀)? Small wonder that even though he serves “devotedly within the central command,” he still finds himself without “even a small plan to offer” (鞠躬中堅內, 微畫無所陳). This ostensible self-criticism is in fact a subtle complaint about the treatment he has received at the hand of his patron. Therefore, his wish to dedicate himself to his patron’s cause in spite of all this can be read as a self-justification. He has done his best, and the rest is beyond his control. The last poem of “Following Military Campaigns” once more exhibits tensions between the personal and the official dimensions: 悠悠涉荒路 靡靡我心愁 四望無煙火 但見林與丘

Endlessly we trudge the desolate roads, Forlornly my heart is full of sorrow. I look around, no smoke and fire in sight, I see only forest and hills.

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| writ ten at imperial command 城郭生榛棘 蹊徑無所由 雚蒲竟廣澤 葭葦夾長流 日夕涼風發 翩翩漂吾舟 寒蟬在樹鳴 鸛鵠摩天遊 客子多悲傷 淚下不可收 朝入譙郡界 曠然消人憂 雞鳴達四境 黍稷盈原疇 館宅充廛里 士女滿庄馗 自非聖賢國 誰能享此休 詩人美樂土 雖客猶願留

Thorns and brambles grow over city walls, Paths and lanes are all cut off. Reeds and rushes reach the broad water, Sedges and duckweed line the long river. By day’s end a cool wind arises, Gently, gently it wafts my boat. Cold cicadas quaver in the trees, Swans glide in the sky. The traveler has many a sadness, Tears stream down without end. In the morning we enter Qiao District; At once my worries are dispelled. Cock crow is heard in all four directions, Millet and grain cover the level fields. Houses and inns fill the streets, Men and women throng the wide roads. If this were not a wise and virtuous state, Who could enjoy such bliss? [In the past] a poet celebrated a happy land; Though a guest here, I’d love to stay.52

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The first part of this poem, lines 1–14, describes a desolate, war-torn land; the second part, lines 15–24, portrays a paradise untouched by devastation. Because this paradise happens to be Cao Cao’s hometown, in Qiao District in present-day Anhui Province, it is clearly meant to be a compliment to him. But the gesture is undercut by the structure of the poem: The paradise is presented as an escape from, rather than a solution to, social destruction, because the two are placed parallel to each other. This structure can only remind the reader of the fragility of this paradise, especially since the first part of the poem is longer, occupying fourteen of the poem’s twenty-four lines, and is presented in a more effective and engaged manner. The opening couplet once more situates the poem within the conventions of the Shijing. Both youyou 悠悠 (“endlessly”) and mimi 靡靡 (“forlornly”) are taken from the “Shuli” 黍離 (“The Millet Is Drooping Its Head”) in the Shijing.53 According to the Mao preface, that poem was written by an “officer [who] expresses his sadness on seeing the desolation of the old capital of Zhou.”54 It is generally regarded as the locus classicus of poetry lamenting the destruction and decline of the nation. It is significant that Wang Can invokes this piece here. As a result, the subject presented in poem 5 is not a proud member of the “magnificent troops” (shenwu shi 神武師) of his patron (poem 1), but rather a solitary, disoriented individual.

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The next section of the poem, lines 3–12, consolidates and objectifies this melancholy tone through a series of images. The absence of smoke and fire and the city overgrown with thorns present a scene of destruction. The “cold cicadas” (hanchan 寒蟬) quavering in the trees are a conventional symbol of sadness.55 “Swans” (guanhu 鸛鵠) gliding in the heavens, however, are usually associated with freedom and ambition.56 Whereas the cold cicadas lament their approaching death, the swans are able to fly above death in the sky. Of the two contrasting creatures, the poet seems to have identified himself with the cicadas, because like them he is grounded on the earth. This elicits another emotional response from him in the subsequent two lines (13–14). Figured as another conventional persona, the sorrow-stricken “traveler” (kezi 客子),57 he finds himself unable to stop his streaming tears. Such intense sorrow and loneliness are clearly out of harmony with the poem, so the poet again dismisses them abruptly in its second part. In an effort to bring the poem back to the panegyric mode, he introduces a paradise to celebrate, instantly changing the tone of the poem. Lines 15–16 state that his sorrows disappear as soon he steps into his patron’s hometown in Qiao District. The description of this place, especially line 17, “Cock crow is heard in all four directions” (雞鳴達四境), echoes Laozi’s 老子 (fl. ca. fifth century bce) portrayal of his political utopia: “The neighboring states could see one another, and hear their dogs bark and roosters crow.”58 As if to further emphasize the utopian quality of this paradise, Wang Can refers it as “a happy land” (letu 樂土), an imaginary promised land described in the “Shuoshu” 碩 鼠 (“Large Rats”) of the Shijing.59 This cannot but remind the reader that the “wise and virtuous state” (shengxian guo 聖賢國) portrayed here is an imaginary escape from reality. It also reduces the credibility of this section and makes weak and perfunctory the poet’s declaration in the last line, that even “though a guest here, I’d love to stay” (雖客猶願留). The result of this textual strategy is that the ostensible intention and function of the poem are surreptitiously usurped by a hidden agenda: the poet’s expression of his grief at the human cost of military campaigns, on the one hand, and of his dream for an ideal society, on the other hand. Another remarkable characteristic of the poem is its bracketing out of the military campaign and its leader, the purported topic. Wang Can’s poem in fact evolves entirely around the poet. His vision, imagination, and thought remain dominant. Thus, as “Following Military Campaigns: Five Poems” approaches its end, the poet has quietly moved himself to the forefront. Of the few poems by the Seven Masters that have survived,60 those addressed to Cao Cao are even fewer. They include several banquet poems by Ying Yang, Ruan Yu, and Wang Can. The following poem, “At a Court Banquet” 公讌詩, is by Wang Can:

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| writ ten at imperial command 昊天降豐澤 百卉挺葳蕤 涼風撤蒸暑 青雲卻炎暉 高會君子堂 並坐陰華榱 嘉餚充圓方 旨酒盈金罍 管弦發徽音 曲度清且悲 合坐同所歡 但訴杯行遲 常聞詩人語 不醉且無歸 今日不極歡 含情欲待誰 見眷良不翅 守分豈能違 古人有遺言 君子福所綏 願我賢主人 與天享巍巍 克符周公業 奕世不可追

The summer sky sends down nourishing rain, Hundreds of plants spread in their lushness. Cool wind clears the sultry heat, Dark clouds dispel the fiery sunshine. We gather in grandeur at his lordship’s hall, And sit together beneath the shady inlaid eaves. Fine food fills the round and square bowls, Tasty wine overflows the bronze goblets. Strings and pipes send out beautiful music, Its rhythms and tunes are clear and moving. 61 Everyone here shares the same pleasure, Except we find the cups move too slowly. Often I hear these words of a poet: “Never leave till you are intoxicated.”62 If we don’t try our best to enjoy ourselves today, Whom do we await with our reserved joy? Favored by [our lord], I must not be overweening, How can I ever disobey my duty? The ancients have left us with this advice: A gentleman is content with his fate. 63 I wish that you, our virtuous host, Share with heaven its magnificence; That you achieve the same deeds as Duke Zhou, And that posterity will never surpass you. 64

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In addressing Cao Cao, Wang Can and other poets faced a dilemma. In the first year of the Jian’an era (196), Cao Cao had Emperor Xian under his control. Since then he had gradually established himself as the de facto ruler of the north. But officially at least he was just a chancellor. To address him as a monarch was clearly out of line, but not to do so might anger him and therefore was dangerous. Wang Can, like other poets of the time, chose the former route. In poem 4 of “Following Military Campaigns,” he calls Cao Cao “sage lord” (sheng jun 圣君). In the poem “At a Court Banquet,” the last four lines perform the same function. Although “virtuous host” (賢主人) is unobjectionable, “Share with heaven its magnificence” (與天享巍巍) is clearly appropriate only for a Son of Heaven, or monarch. This choice earned Wang Can some of the harshest criticisms from traditional commentators.65 “At a Court Banquet” is a very formal verse. The poet’s sentiment, expressed in lines 15–20, is that of a dutiful, grateful, adulating courtier. Wang Can also conveys to the reader his feeling of trepidation at serving at Cao Cao’s court. He says in lines 17–18 that although favored, “I must not

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be overweening, / How can I ever disobey my duty?” (見眷良不翅, 守分豈 能違). His patron demands total loyalty from him, and he must try his best to control his personal aspirations. The poets of the Jian’an era produced a number of banquet poems. Because of this, some critics have charged them with starting a “vile poetry of sycophancy” (應酬惡派).66 In fact, banquet poems already existed in the Shijing.67 Wang Can’s formal treatment of this very formal occasion was conventional,68 though not inevitable. In the context of a different patronage relationship, the same topic might be treated differently. The banquet poems addressed to Cao Pi, for example, demonstrate greater latitude for self-expression. Before examining these poems, let me first consider Cao Pi’s relations with the writers under his patronage. Cao Pi was named “central commander of five guards” by his father in the sixteenth year of Jian’an (211). From then until the twenty-second year of Jian’an (217), when Wang Can, Xu Gang, Chen Lin, Ying Yang, and Liu Zhen all died during an epidemic,69 the north enjoyed a brief period of relative peace. In the year 204, Cao Cao captured Ye from his archenemy Yuan Shao. After a few years’ construction and renovation, the city became the political and cultural headquarters of the Cao family. Because Cao Cao was often on the move to battle his enemies, Cao Pi became leader of the literary circle at Ye. At different times Liu Zhen, Xu Gan, and Ying Yang each served as his “instructor” (wenxue 文學), a low-ranking educational position in the establishment of the heir apparent.70 In many ways Cao Pi’s relationship with these writers was different from his father’s. First, the position of “central commander of five guards,” although important because it embodied Cao Cao’s intention to name Cao Pi crown prince in the future,71 was essentially ceremonial. This freed Cao Pi from the responsibilities of actually running the state and made him less prone to the suspicion and cruelty that often besieged reigning monarchs. This freedom in turn made his relations with the writers around him less tense and consequently less formal. Second, Cao Pi took a genuine interest in literature. He wrote the first essay on literature in China, “Lunwen” 論文 (“Essay on Writing”), in which he eulogized literature as “a grand cause of state governance” and reiterated emphatically the ancient belief that writing was a means to achieve immortality because, contrary to our transient human existence, writing was “immortal” and “eternal.” 72 This elevated view of writing might have instilled in him greater respect for writers. His treatment of Kong Rong is particularly noteworthy, because when he singled out Kong Rong’s writing for praise in his aforementioned essay, the latter had already been executed by his father for political reasons.73 This might further suggest that in his view, one’s writing could be

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valued on its own merit, independent of one’s political or moral stance. This was a radical step at the time, for since antiquity writing had been regarded as a manifestation of one’s moral character.74 Cao Pi’s discussion of the characteristics of the Seven Masters’ writings demonstrates his belief in the independent merit of one’s writing, because it focuses on the formal, individuating qualities (qi 氣) of the masters’ styles. This, coupled with his emphasis on the aesthetic aspect of poetry and rhapsody,75 prompted Lu Xun to claim that “Cao Pi’s time was one of literary self-consciousness; or to use a modern expression, it represented the school of ‘art for art’s sake.’” 76 Although the second part of this statement is clearly exaggerated, it nonetheless calls our attention to Cao Pi’s intense interest in the unique value of literature. All of this affected his attitude toward the writers in his literary circle. He might still have regarded them as writing and partying companions, but unlike his father and other monarchs, who viewed court writers as mere entertainers, Cao Pi established a mutually respectful relationship with them. In a letter to his literary friend Wu Zhi 吳質 (177–230) in the twenty-third year of Jian’an (218), Cao Pi wrote: During the plague last year, many of our relatives and friends succumbed. Xu [Gan], Chen [Lin], Ying [Yang], and Liu [Zhen] all passed away at the same time. How pained I am to speak of this! During those old days we would go outing together. As we traveled, our carriages went side by side, and as we sat, our mats touched one another; we were never separated even for a moment. We passed around goblets, listened to music; when our ears became hot from deep drinking, we would look up and write poetry.77

The nostalgic tone of this moving passage suggests a deep personal and emotional engagement on Cao Pi’s part. Sentences such as “as we traveled, our carriages went side by side” (xingze jieyu 行則接輿) and “as we sat, out mats touched one another (zhize jiexi 止則接席) indicate a mutual respect that transcended the normal relationship between writers and their royal patron. When Wang Can died, Cao Pi led his literary friends in imitating the cries of a donkey at his funeral, because Wang Can was fond of the sound during his life.78 Indeed, the unconventionality of this relationship disturbed Cao Cao, who was also known for his contempt for Confucian rituals.79 According to an anecdote provided by Pei Songzhi’s note to the Sanguo zhi, during a banquet hosted by Cao Pi for his instructors, Cao Pi asked his wife to come out to meet his guests. While all the others bowed their heads in greeting her, Liu Zhen kept his up and looked straight at her. When Cao Cao heard of this, he ordered Liu Zhen arrested and spared his life only after having sent him to do physical labor as punishment. 80

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This unique patron-writer relationship created a less rigid and less formal environment for poetic composition. Moreover, Cao Pi, like his father, was a poet in his own right. His poetry played an important role in establishing a congenial atmosphere for the celebrated poetic activities of his literary circle. The following piece serves as an example: 芙蓉池作 乘輦夜行遊 逍遙步西園 雙渠相溉灌 嘉木繞通川 卑枝拂羽蓋 修條摩蒼天 惊風扶輪轂 飛鳥翔我前 丹霞夾明月 華星出雲間 上天垂光彩 五色一何鮮 壽命非松喬 誰能得神仙 遨遊快心意 保己終百年

Composed by the Hibiscus Pond We take our carriages to roam at night, Carefree, we walk the Western Garden. Double canals cross each other, Fine trees meander along the broad river. Low stems touch the feathered canopies, Tall branches reach the blue sky. A sudden wind blows on the wheels, Flying birds hover in my front. Crimson sunset surrounds the bright moon, Brilliant stars emerge from the clouds. Heaven sends down gleaming light, How luminous are its numerous colors! Our life span is not like that of Song and Qiao, 81 Who can turn himself into an immortal? So let us roam around to enjoy our time, and Treasure ourselves to finish our hundred years. 82

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The focused description of the scenes in the Western Garden produces the impression that the poet is completely enthralled by the beautiful setting, oblivious to the others who accompany him. This personal tendency is consummated at the end of the poem. Moved by his engaged observation of the beautiful night, Cao Pi meditates on the transience of human existence and concludes that we must try to make the most of our short life span. The intense personal nature of this public poem can be explained partly by the fact that its poet was the patron and host of the banquet. After all, he was not required to pay tribute to his guests. One would expect that when other poets addressed a similar event, they had to make adjustments according to their status. Yet a poem by Liu Zhen demonstrates similar qualities:83 公讌詩 永日行遊戲 歡樂猶未央 遺思在玄夜 相與復翱翔

At a Court Banquet Throughout the day we have been sauntering, Our pleasure still has not come to an end. We direct our thought to the dark night, So we may continue to soar and hover.

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| writ ten at imperial command 輦車飛素蓋 從者盈路旁 月出照園中 珍木鬱蒼蒼 清川過石渠 流波為魚防 芙蓉散其華 菡萏溢金塘 靈鳥宿水裔 仁獸遊飛梁 華館寄流波 豁達來風涼 生平未始聞 歌之安能詳 投翰長嘆息 綺麗不可忘

Carriages fly with their white canopies, Followers crowd the sides of the road. The moon comes out to shine on the garden, Precious trees are lush and green. The clear river passes the stone-paved canal, Flowing streams are stopped by the fishing dam. Hibiscuses spread their blossoms, Lotuses brim over the banks of the golden pond. Phoenixes reside by the waterside, Unicorns gallop over the flying bridge. Colorful houses stand by the flowing waves, Their spacious rooms bring in cool breeze. All my life I have never heard of [such joy], How can it be fully conveyed in my song? I lay aside my brush in a long sigh, This exquisite beauty will never be forgotten. 84

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In both structure and descriptive detail, Liu Zhen’s piece resembles the poem by Cao Pi. The first four lines present a general introduction to the occasion. Then, after a brief mention of the poet’s patron via a synecdoche (nianche 輦車, “carriages”), the focus of the poem shifts to his observation of the Western Garden. The engaged description in this part again causes the poet to be oblivious of others who are present, but in this case these include Cao Pi, the poet’s patron, who is also the host of the occasion. In this moonlit garden, trees and flowers extend their blossoms and fragrance, exotic birds and animals sport on flowing streams, 85 and a cool breeze gently wafts. Cao Pi used xiaoyao 逍遙 (“carefree, we walk”) in his poem to convey his feelings. Liu Zhen corresponds with an avian metaphor, aoxiang 翱翔 (“soar and hover,” line 4), which conveys the same meaning. The extensive and focused description of the enchanting scene in the main body of the poem leads to its final, summative section. Liu Zhen, too, uses it to state his response to the present event. Instead of following Cao Pi’s lead by commenting on the transience of human life, he thanks his patron for an event the likes of which he has “never heard of ” (weishiwen 未 始聞) and that he, regrettably, cannot celebrate fully with his poem (歌之 安能詳). Because the poem concentrates on portraying the beautiful setting of the Western Garden, the reader is led to interpret the poet’s chagrin as being caused by his professed inability to evoke it more vividly. This is confirmed by the last couplet, where the poet “lay aside my brush in a long sigh” (投翰長嘆息) because he simply cannot forget this “exquisite beauty” (qili 綺麗).

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Traditional commentators reacted positively to Liu Zhen’s poem. Wang Fuzhi 王夫之 (1619–92) noted that “but for Gonggan [Liu Zhen], other banquet poems would be merely [about] public drinking, full of meat and alcohol flavor, having no depth at all.”86 Liu Zhen’s poem demonstrates that even in a formal poem to one’s royal patron, self-expression did not always have to be sacrificed. This was possible, however, only when the patron-poet relationship allowed the poet a certain amount of freedom and independence. Cao Pi’s succession to Cao Cao and his eventual ascent to the throne seem to have drastically changed his perception of himself and of people around him. He became arrogant, willful, suspicious, and often cruel. In the first year of Yankang (220), for example—the same year Cao Cao died—Cao Pi launched a military expedition to the south. Huo Xing 霍性, leader of the court gentlemen at the Ministry of Revenue 度支中郎將, wrote a petition to Cao Pi to dissuade him from this. In his view, a newly established regime should aim first to pacify its people, and not to engage in dangerous warfare. Cao Pi was angered by Huo Xing’s petition and soon ordered his execution.87 In his persecution of his brother Cao Zhi, Cao Pi executed Cao Zhi’s friends Ding Yi 丁儀 and Ding Yi 丁廙 and all of the male members of their families.88 Even his closest family members did not escape his wrath. In the second year of Huangchu (221), only the second year after he became emperor, Cao Pi put to death his wife, Zhenshi 甄氏, merely because she complained about Cao Pi favoring his new concubines.89 Although other members of the literary circle at Ye died before Cao Pi’s ascent to the throne, Cao Zhi lived for more than a decade under the suspicion and persecution of Cao Pi.90 He was repeatedly moved to different and remote fiefs and for some time was even barred from meeting with his relatives. A few years later, after Cao Pi had consolidated his power, he loosened somewhat his control over Cao Zhi and other family members. In the fourth year of Huangchu (223) he allowed Cao Zhi and other princes to visit the capital, having earlier sent them away to separate regions in order to prevent them from conspiring against him. Upon his arrival, Cao Zhi was put up in a room at the “isolated western wall” and was not given permission for a court audience. There, he wrote two poems to Emperor Wen, his brother, Cao Pi. In his preface to these two poems, Cao Zhi wrote of the fear and guilt he felt over his previous “crime” (zuili 罪戾) and about his joy at being summoned back to the capital.91 The preface ends with these words of trepidation: “Zhi, your subject, in sincere fear makes his kowtows. [Forgive my] capital crimes” (臣植誠惶誠恐, 頓首頓首, 死罪死罪).92 The first piece, entitled “Self-blaming” 責躬, is by far the more formal and even obsequious. Cao Zhi first eulogizes Cao Cao’s achievement in laying the foundation for the Wei dynasty, thereby reminding his brother, the current Emperor Wen, of their common

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parenthood. He then narrates the “crime” he committed against the state, setting the stage for his praise of Cao Pi’s magnanimity and lenience toward him. At the end, Cao Zhi expresses his anxiety while waiting to see the emperor (“I await to admire your sagely look, / As if in thirst and in hunger” 遲奉聖顔, 如渇如飢) and his wish that the emperor would soon grant him an audience (“Heaven is high, but listens to those down below, / Your Highness will shine on humble folk” 天高聴卑, 皇肯照微). The second poem that Cao Zhi wrote to his imperial brother bears the title yingzhao 應詔, “at the [imperial] command.” This is the first poem with this type of title in the history of Chinese poetry, although poets had written poetry at the command of their imperial rulers at earlier times. The “command” (zhao 詔) in this particular context refers to Cao Pi summoning Cao Zhi and other princes to the capital. In later poetry it came to refer specifically to imperial command for poetic composition. Many of the poems I discuss later specify yingzhao in their titles. They all hark back to this verse by Cao Zhi. To examine this long work in detail, I break it down into several sections, starting with the first six lines: 應詔 肅承明詔 應會皇都 星陳夙駕 秣馬脂車 命彼掌徒 肅我征旅

At the Imperial Command Solemnly I received the enlightened command To come for an audience in the imperial capital. By starlight I had the carriage yoked early,93 Fed the horses, and greased the wheels. I ordered the clerks in charge To make provision for my journey.

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In this opening section, Cao Zhi introduces the emperor’s “enlightened command” (mingzhao 明詔) and describes his own immediate and earnest preparations for the journey. He continues: 朝發鸞臺 夕宿蘭渚 芒芒原隰 祁祁士女 經彼公田 樂我稷黍 爰有樛木 重陰匪息 雖有餱糧 飢不遑食 望城不過

In the morning we depart from the crane terrace, By dusk we rested next to the orchid marsh. Vast indeed were the plains and wetlands, And thriving were the men and women. We passed those government lands, And were pleased to see our crops. There were trees with bending branches; Despite their shade, we did not rest. Although we brought food for the road, We had no time to eat, despite our hunger. Seeing cities, we chose not to go through them,

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Self-Foregrounding in the Panenric Potry of the Jian’an Era 面邑不遊 僕夫警策 平路是由 玄駟藹藹 揚鑣漂沫 流風翼衡 輕雲承蓋 渉澗之濵 縁山之隈 遵彼河滸 黄坂是階 西濟關谷 或降或升 騑驂倦路 載寢載興 將朝聖皇 匪敢晏寧 弭節長騖 指日遄征 前驅舉燧 後乗抗旌 輪不輟運 鸞無廢聲

Facing towns, we chose not to visit them. My drivers whipped up the horses, They took only the level roads. The four black horses galloped in line, Raising their bits and blowing out their froth. Wafting wind pressed the carriage forward, Light clouds hung above its canopy. We journeyed along valley streams, And trailed along mountain nooks. We followed the banks of the River, And climbed along those yellow slopes. Westward we crossed passes and ravines, Down and up as we pressed onward. When the horses became too tired to go on, We rested, and again were on the road. I was going to pay respects to the sage emperor, I did not dare to rest with ease. After short stops, we raced along, Aiming to cover more miles in the day. The vanguards lifted their beacons, While those in the rear raised their banners. The wheels of our carriage never stopped moving, The simurgh bells never ceased to make their sound.

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This long section describes Cao Zh’s journey to the capital. Except for lines 9–12, which depict a scene of prospering society and are clearly meant to praise the emperor’s rule, this section presents details of the journey in a way that conjures up for the reader the poet’s excitement and anxiety as he looks forward to his audience with the emperor. So eager is he to reach the capital that he and his crew “had no time to eat, despite [their] hunger” (飢不遑食). And “seeing cities, [they] chose not to go through them, / Facing towns, [they] chose not to visit them” (望城不過, 面邑不游). This evocation of haste and eagerness helps to dramatize the poet’s disappointment and anxiety in the final section of the poem: 爰暨帝室 稅此西墉 嘉詔未賜 朝覲莫從 仰瞻城閾 俯惟闕庭

When we reached the imperial palace, I was put up at this western wall. The auspicious summon has not come, I cannot pay my respects at court. Looking up, I see the palace gate, Looking down, I think of the court.

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| writ ten at imperial command 長懐永慕 憂心如酲

Forever I cherish my eternal longing, I am anxious, as if my heart is sick with drinking.94

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The poet’s excitement is met merely with indifference in the end. Instead of being allowed a quick audience with the emperor who has summoned him, Cao Zhi is “put up at this western wall” (稅此西墉). He cannot but be “anxious” (youxin 憂心) as he is left to wonder about the emperor’s intentions. Given the earlier treatment Cao Zhi received from his brother, his anxiety is well understood. One cannot help being struck by the intense expressiveness of this poem. Despite its formal, archaic, and impersonal tetrasyllabic format, the poet’s emotional and mental states are conveyed forcefully and directly, thanks to the poem’s straightforward style. For the most part, Cao Zhi avoids using the allusion and archaic diction that are trademarks of Chinese tetrasyllabic poetry.95 This enables him to create a firsthand narrative of his journey and an uncluttered expression of his emotional agitation. Although the title of the poem points to the emperor’s command, its focus is in fact on the poet’s own experience brought about by the command. This is most vividly summed up in the last two couplets of the poem. Cao Zhi first describes his physical state as he looks out anxiously at the imperial palace from his temporary residence at the western wall (“Looking up, I see the palace gate, / Looking down I think of the court” 仰瞻城閾, 俯惟闕庭); then he states emphatically the intoxicating uncertainty and apprehension he feels in his heart (“Forever I cherish my eternal longing, / I am anxious, as if my heart is sick with drinking” 長懐永慕, 憂心如酲). Cao Pi’s reaction to Cao Zhi’s poems was appreciative. The Sanguo zhi notes that Cao Pi was impressed with their “words and meaning” (ciyi 辭 義) and that he issued a decree “to encourage him.”96 This indicates that he did not allow his personal grudge against his brother to dictate his literary judgment and that he found the strongly personal and expressive qualities in Cao Zhi’s poems commendable, although they appeared in a formal and panegyric context. The tendency in Jian’an poetry to foreground self and self-expression has been noticed by critics since its own time. Cao Pi’s discussion of qi 氣, a unique quality that informs an individual’s writing, is perhaps the earliest example of this line of criticism.97 Later critics linked this new emphasis with the intellectual trend of the time, which has been called “an era when people awoke [to the values of humanity]” 人的覺醒的時代.98 Disillusioned with the Confucian order that had ruled during the Han dynasty, and faced with increasingly brutal social conditions as the country disintegrated into chaos, intellectuals were forced to reexamine their commitment to Confucianism,

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which was largely rendered irrelevant by the sociopolitical reality of the time. As a contemporary critic has pointed out, at that time Confucianism was “no longer a stepping stone to official career and fortune; neither was it a means of nourishing one’s life.”99 This reality forced intellectuals to search for alternative philosophies, especially ones more attuned to individual well-being. This in turn fostered a new literary self-consciousness. The writers of the Jian’an era no longer regarded their writings simply as sociopolitical tools; for them, self-expression became another main goal in literary production. In Cao Pi’s view and terminology, a crucial value of poetry or literature in general was its ability to convey its author’s individuality, the qi, or “natural endowment,” which is unique and cannot be shared even by members of the same family.100 The poems considered in this chapter demonstrate that this new emphasis on self and self-expression informed the writing even of panegyric poetry, which by definition was usually more formal and ceremonious. This was an important legacy that Jian’an poets bequeathed to the writers of later periods.

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3 Archaic Elegance in the Panegyric Poetry of the Jin Dynasty



Under the reign of Sima Yan 司馬炎, Emperor Wu of the Jin dynasty 晉武 帝 (r. 265–90), China enjoyed a brief period of unification. Unlike his forebears such as Sima Yi 司馬懿 (178–251), Sima Shi 司馬師 (205–57), and Sima Zhao 司馬昭 (211–65), who had been ruthless in persecuting and executing renowned intellectuals, Emperor Wu adopted a much more tolerant attitude. He repeatedly issued decrees encouraging blunt criticism of his policies,1 but unlike the Han Emperor Wu, who turned around to execute those who offered criticism under his encouragement, his gestures seemed to have been genuine. Once he was discussing current affairs of state with the “right general” 右將軍, Huangfu Tao 皇甫陶 (fl. ca. 282), who argued with him. Later, “cavalier attendant-in-ordinary” 散騎常侍 Zheng Hui 鄭徽 (fl. ca. 282) submitted a memorial to punish Huangfu Tao, but Emperor Wu reportedly said: “Blunt criticism and direct argument are what I expect from those around me. As a monarch I always worry about flattering remarks, so how can I regard a questioning minister as undermining [my authority]?” He then dismissed Zheng Hui from his office for “exceeding his duties in submitting a wrongful memorial.”2 On another occasion, Emperor Wu asked Liu Yi 劉毅 (d. 285), his “remonstrance official” 諫官, to compare him with the emperors of the Han dynasty. Liu Yi replied: “[Your Majesty] may be compared to Emperors Huan 桓帝 [r. 147–68] and Ling 靈帝 [r. 168–84].” Liu’s comparison was hardly a compliment, because these two emperors were generally regarded as weak rulers, and their reigns marked the beginning of the end of the Latter Han.

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Unsurprisingly, Emperor Wu was not amused by Liu Yi’s words and said: “Even though my virtue cannot match those of the ancients, I try my very best to cultivate myself and govern the state. In addition to this, I conquered the Wu and reunited the country. Isn’t it too harsh to compare me to Emperors Huan and Ling?” Liu Yi replied: “When Emperors Huan and Ling sold government posts, the money went to the state treasury. When Your Majesty sells government posts, however, the money goes to private pockets. In this regard Your Majesty is not even as good as they were.” Upon this Emperor Wu laughed loudly and said: “Such words were not heard during the times of Emperors Huan and Ling. Now [under my reign] there is a blunt official [like you], so it is different.”3 There are indications that Emperor Wu’s “broad-mindedness” (yikuang 夷曠) and tolerance of intellectuals affected the poetry presented to him.4 In some of them we find blunt words of criticism that are rare in poems written to a reigning monarch. The Jinshu 晉書 (History of the Jin Dynasty) records an episode involving a man named Li Mi 李密 (fl. ca. 265), who “was talented and often hoped to gain an appointment inside the capital. But he had no connections in the court and was sent away to become the magistrate of Hanzhong.” Li Mi was unhappy with this appointment, and when he was asked by Emperor Wu to write a poem at a court banquet, he wrote one that ended with the following words: 人亦有言 有因有緣 官無中人 不如歸田 明明在上 斯語豈然

People often like to say [Everything] has a reason. If an official does not have an insider, He’d better return to farm fields. “Enlightenment reigns above,” How can this saying be true?5

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Apparently, Li Mi attributed his lack of opportunity to serve in the capital to court corruption. He directly blamed the emperor for this, and in the poem he openly questioned the emperor’s wisdom and judgment in distributing offices in his court. The candidness of this criticism would probably have cost him his life had he been addressing a different monarch. But a display of anger was all Emperor Wu served up on this occasion, and it resulted merely in Li Mi’s dismissal from office later.6 The panegyric poems of the Jin dynasty are marked by a tendency toward archaic elegance. Nearly all of them were cast in the tetrasyllabic format, which was the dominant format of the Shijing. The employment of this conservative style might be partly related to the lack of interest in poetic composition among the Jin rulers. Liu Xie observed in his Wenxin diaolong that the

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Jin dynasty was “not literary” (buwen 不文).7 Indeed, unlike the Han Emperor Wu, Cao Cao, and Cao Pi, the Jin Emperor Wu was not a poet.8 This might have led the poets at his court to presume that in addressing him it would be more appropriate to adopt a solemn and conservative form for their poems. By the time of the Jin dynasty, imperial patronage of poetry had become a sine qua non of court culture and ritual, and few monarchs could afford to do without it. They had at least to pay lip service to it, if only because they wanted to avoid being called boorish. In comparison with the three aforementioned monarchs, Emperor Wu’s patronage of poetry was very limited. His only patronage on record was for one of the first major female poets in Chinese history, Zuo Fen 左芬 (?–300), the sister of Zuo Si 左思 (?–?), another well-known poet of the time. According to the Jinshu, Zuo Fen was plain, but Emperor Wu heard of her literary talent and summoned her to be a court lady. In the court she was mostly left alone in her “humble boudoir” (boshi 薄室), but “whenever the emperor traveled to the Hualin Garden, he would turn his carriage back and pay her a visit. There he would discuss the content and significance of certain writings.”9 Emperor Wu is said to have “greatly valued [Zuo] Feng’s refined writings” and asked her to write on various occasions.10 In one case the emperor asked her to compose a “sorrowful writing” (chousi zhiwen 愁思之文). In response, Zuo Fen produced the following “Rhapsody on Thought of Separation” (“Lisi fu” 離思 賦). This work is unique because it is the only piece in this chapter that was not written in the tetrasyllabic format. Zuo Fen adopted the chuci meter for her poem, probably due to its “sorrowful” content: 生蓬戶之側陋兮 不閑習於文符 不見圖書之妙像兮 不聞先哲之典謨 既愚陋而寡識兮 謬忝厠於紫廬 非草苗之所處兮 恆怵惕以憂懼 懷思慕之忉怛兮 兼始終之萬慮 嗟隱憂之沉積兮 獨鬱結而靡訴 意慘憒而無聊兮 思纏綿以增慕 夜耿耿而不寐兮

I was born in a humble, isolated, thatched house, And was never well versed in writing. I never saw the marvelous pictures of books, Nor had I heard of the classics of ancient sages. 4 I am dim-witted, humble, and ignorant, But was mistakenly placed in the Purple Palace. This is no place to live for young grass, Day and night I am in fear and worry. 8 I long for loved ones and am full of grief, Infinite thoughts of beginning and end besiege me. Alas, deep anguish sinks and accumulates in my heart, In loneliness it knots up, having no one to confide in. 12 My feelings are in chaos, with nothing to rely on, My thoughts are tangled up, making me more anxious. Deep into bright night I cannot sleep,

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| writ ten at imperial command 魂憧憧以至曙 風騷騷而四起兮 霜皚皚而依庭 日晻曖而無光兮 氣懰慄以洌清 懷愁戚之多感兮 患涕淚之自零 昔伯瑜之婉孌兮 每綵衣以娛親 悼今日之乖隔兮 奄與家為參辰 豈相去之云遠兮 曾不盈乎數旬 何宮禁之清切兮 欲瞻覩而莫因 仰行雲而歔欷兮 涕流射而沾巾 惟屈原之哀感兮 嗟悲傷于離別 彼城闕之作詩兮 亦以日而喻月 況骨肉之相於兮 永緬邈而兩絕 長含哀而抱戚兮 仰蒼天而泣血 亂曰 骨肉至親 化爲他人 長永辭兮 慘愴愁悲 夢想魂歸 見所思兮 驚寤號咷 心不自聊 涕漣洏兮 援筆舒情 涕淚增零 訴斯詩兮

With an agitated soul I await the coming of dawn. Soughing wind arises in all directions, Glistening frost clings to the courtyard. The sun is dim, giving out no light, The air is sorrowful, clear and cold. Fuming sadness makes me sentimental, Tears fall down all on their own. That thoughtful Boyu in the past Often wore colorful clothes to please his mother.11 Today I lament the separation That suddenly puts me and my family at distant ends. Not that I have left home for a long time: It has been no more than a few dozen days. How strict are the rules of inner palaces, I wish to see my loved ones but am denied the means. I raise my head at the traveling clouds and sigh, Tears shoot down to dampen my kerchief. Qu Yuan once was grieved, And mourned over his forced departure. He wrote a poem by the gate of his city, There he too used day to signify month. How much more so for those of the same flesh and bone, Who are forever divided in distant places? Forever I will live with such sadness, I raise my head to the blue sky, weeping blood. Coda: I, who share your flesh and bone, Have become a person of others. Farewell forever! I am saddened, grieved, And dream of returning in soul To see my beloved. I wake up crying, And can’t control my heart. Tears flow like a stream, I take up a brush to express my feelings. But more tears come out, All this I convey with this poem.12

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The most remarkable feature of this work is that it completely ignores the emperor. Zuo Fen focuses exclusively on her own experiences and her reactions to them, turning her poem into an intense personal reflection on her fate as a confined court lady. The emperor’s command gave Zuo Fen a great deal of license in treating the topic, because asking someone to produce a “sorrowful writing” was not only rare but also freed the poet from the customary obligation of praising the patron. After all, it would be strange to attribute one’s sorrow to the patron who has commanded one to write, even though this is precisely what Zuo Fen does in part of her poem. In other words, thanks to the unique context, the panegyric quality that characterizes most poems presented to imperial patrons is conspicuously missing in Zuo Fen’s piece. Quite the contrary, it teems with emotive verbs that convey a downcast mood, verbs such as shuti 怵惕 and youju 憂懼 (be “in fear and worry”), daoda 忉怛 (be “full of grief ”), and yujie 鬱結 (“knots up”), to name a few examples from lines 8–14. Zuo Fen makes it clear that being a court lady is the source of her suffering. Thus the emperor, who has required her to be at court, appears indirectly, not as the object of the poet’s praise but as the target of her lamentation and criticism. This becomes more apparent in lines 29–30, “How strict are the rules of inner palaces, / I wish to see my loved ones but am denied the means” (何宮禁之清切兮, 欲瞻覩而莫因). Here Zuo Fen blames the palace rules directly, but indirectly the emperor, for her isolation and loneliness. The allusion to Qu Yuan in lines 33–36 is striking. As is well known, Qu Yuan was exiled by his king and after his death became idolized in Chinese culture. On the surface, Zuo Fen’s reference to Qu Yuan seems mistaken, because whereas she was summoned in, Qu Yuan was ordered out. But on a closer look, what matters is the similarity between the emotional states of the two. Like Zuo Fen, Qu Yuan was “grieved” (aigan 哀感) and “mourned” (beishang 悲傷) his unfortunate experience. According to historical and conventional wisdom, Qu Yuan’s exile was unjustified, the result of personal and political persecution by a foolish monarch. By comparing her experience to Qu Yuan’s, Zuo Fen begs her readers, the first among them being the emperor who has ordered her to write the poem, to understand it in a similar light. As if to reinforce this point, she ends the main part of her poem with the line, “Forever I will live with such sadness” (長含哀而抱戚兮), which echoes a famous line in Qu Yuan’s “Lisao” 離騷 (“Encountering Trouble”): “Forever I sigh and wipe my tears” (長太息以掩涕兮).13 In the coda Zuo Fen repeats, more concisely, her lament over the suffering caused by Emperor Wu’s patronage. Here she describes her separation from her relatives as a form of abduction in which she was forced to “become a person of others” (化爲他人). She ends her poem with a statement of its purpose, which

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is to “express [her] feelings” (shuqing 舒情). She specifically calls her work sishi 斯詩 (“this poem”), making it clear that despite the word fu, or “rhapsody,” in its title, it is in fact intended to be a shi, or lyric “poem.” Of all the poems presented to imperial monarchs examined in this book, this is one of the most personal and unflattering. The poet makes no attempt to praise her patron and his patronage but rather treats them as the cause of her sorrow. Zuo Fen skillfully manipulates this unique poetic occasion and turns a poem written at the command of Emperor Wu into a personal lamentation of the very patronage provided by His Majesty. This is rare in the Chinese tradition, where criticisms of imperial patrons are usually subtle, often hidden and sandwiched between flattering remarks and hyperboles. In Zuo Fen’s poem we find no such subterfuge.14 The Jinshu contains no record of Emperor Wu’s reaction to Zuo Fen’s poem, but apparently she suffered no reprisal because of it. She was later promoted to “noble concubine” (guipin 貴嬪). Zuo Fen’s poem was an exception in the panegyric poetry of the Jin dynasty. The poems that other poets presented to Emperor Wu were more formal. The following is a piece by Ying Zhen 應貞 (d. 269). He was a “palace steward” 給事中 when he presented his poem to Emperor Wu at a public banquet. Cast in the archaic tetrasyllabic format, the poem is divided into nine sections, which I examine one at a time. 晉武帝華林園 集詩 其一 悠悠太上 民之厥初 皇極肇建 彝倫攸敷 五德更運 應籙受符 陶唐既謝 天歷在虞

A Poem Written at a Banquet Hosted by Emperor Wu of Jin at Hualin Garden 1 In distant antiquity, At the beginning of human history, Imperial rule was first established, And universal laws were laid out. Five virtues replace each other in turn, 15 All are blessed by heaven. When Yao abdicated his power, The heavenly mandate was with Shun.16

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Ying Zhen begins his poem by harking back to the beginning of human civilization, when “imperial rule” (huangji 皇極) was first created. He does so by invoking the opening stanza of “Sheng Min” 生民 (“The Birth of People”) in the Shijing.17 “Sheng Min” narrates the legendary birth of Hou Ji 后稷, a much celebrated ancestor of the Chinese people. By this reference, Ying Zhen draws a parallel between Emperor Wu and Hou Ji: Emperor Wu is the founder of the Jin, just as Hou Ji was the father of the Chinese people. He then moves from the human realm to nature, quoting the ancient theory that the universe

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is powered by five elements, each taking its turn at certain moments. After this he switches back to the human world and cites the exemplary succession from Yao 堯 to Shun 舜, two legendary rulers of the past. All of this is meant to introduce and legitimate, in the next section, the Jin dynasty’s replacement of the Wei, which took place under the reign of Emperor Wu in 265. 其二 於時上帝 乃顧惟眷 光我晉祚 應期納禪 位以龍飛 文以虎變 玄澤滂流 仁風潛扇 區内宅心 方隅回面

2 Therefore, the god above Looked back [at us] with affection. [He] issued blessings to our Jin, Accordingly, we accepted the abdication [of the Wei]. 12 [He] gave [Emperor Wu] a flying-dragon [throne], And decorated it with tiger patterns.18 [The emperor’s] benedictions flow in all directions, Everywhere a virtuous wind gently wafts. 16 Within the nation all hearts turn to him, So do the people of distant lands.

Ying Zhen describes Emperor Wu’s succession to the throne, and with it the founding of the Jin dynasty. The previous section indicated that this succession, like that from Yao to Shun, was justified by both human history and natural law. The poet seems to regard this an important issue,19 because at the beginning of section 2 he again asserts that the succession was blessed with the mandate of heaven: It was ordered by “the god above” (shangdi 上 帝), and it was timely, auspicious (yingqi 應期, “accordingly”). The poet then praises the emperor’s virtue and grace and mentions the positive reaction to them from people both “within the nation” (qunei 區内) and in “distant lands” ( fangyu 方隅). 其三 天垂其象 地耀其文 鳳鳴朝陽 龍翔景雲 嘉禾重穎 蓂莢載芬 率土咸序 人胥悅欣

3 Heaven sends down its signs, Earth shines forth its patterns. Phoenixes sing with the rising sun, Dragons hover above the rosy clouds. Felicitous crops are loaded with grain-ears, Legendary legumes send out fragrance. The entire country is in order, And everyone is jubilant.

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This section offers further examples of nature’s blessings on the founding of the Jin dynasty and of people’s positive reactions. It is loaded with

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references to ancient texts. Line 19, “Heaven sends down its signs” 天垂其 象, for instance, refers to the following words from the Zhouyi 周易 (The Book of Changes): “When heaven sends down signs, the sage follows them” (天垂象, 聖人則之). 20 Line 21, “Phoenixes sing with the rising sun” (鳳鳴 朝陽), alludes to “Juan’e” 卷阿 (“Into the Recess of the Large Mound”), a poem in the Shijing. 21 The auspicious plants mentioned in lines 23–24, jiahe 嘉禾 (“felicitous crops”) and mingjia 蓂莢 (“legendary legumes”), both have their origins in ancient texts. The former refers to a passage in Shangshu 尚 書 (The Book of Historical Documents) in which the Duke of Zhou is said to have composed a writing entitled “Jiahe” 嘉禾, 22 and the latter is associated with the sage ruler Yao, who is said to have used it to mark days. 23 Even the seemingly simple phrase shuaitu 率土 (“entire country”) in line 25 is a reference to 率土之濱, 莫非王臣 (“In the entire land, / None is not Your Majesty’s subject”) in the Shijing. 24 This heavy concentration of references to classical texts is meant to confer legitimacy and authority on Emperor Wu’s succession. It also adds solemnity and elegance to the occasion and to the poem. 其四 恢恢王度 穆穆聖容 言思其順 貌思其恭 在視則明 在聽斯聰 登庸以德 明試以功

4 Vast is His Majesty’s kingly magnanimity,25 Magnificent is his sagely manner.26 In words he thinks of fluency, In comportment he thinks of reverence; In vision he is bright, In hearing he is clear.27 He selects his officials by virtue, And tests them by merit.28

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From this section on, the poet shifts his focus to celebrating Emperor Wu, but the heavy reference to classical texts continues. Indeed, in this otherwise very readable passage, each line contains an allusion. The qualities that are celebrated are those that constitute an enlightened monarch, ranging from personal conduct (wangdu 王度, “kingly magnanimity,” shengrong 聖容 (“sagely manner”) to state governance in lines 33–34 (“He selects his officials by virtue, / And tests them by merit” 登庸以德, 明試以功). The middle part of this section, lines 29–32, is an extended allusion to the Analects of Confucius, who once said: The superior man has nine things which are subjects with him of thoughtful consideration. In regard to the use of his eyes, he is anxious to see clearly. In regard to the use of his ears, he is anxious to hear distinctly. . . . In regard

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to his demeanor, he is anxious that it should be respectful. In regard to his speech, he is anxious that it should be sincere. 君子有九思，視思明，聽思聰 . . . 貌思恭，言思忠.29

To use the words of Confucius to praise a monarch is both appropriate and forceful. The implication is that Emperor Wu is precisely the type of ruler of whom the ancient sage once dreamed. Ying Zhen is careful to slightly alter Confucius’ words for the present context. Confucius had said that in speech, a “superior man” should aim at zhong 忠, which, according to Xu Shen’s 許慎 (30–124) Shuowen jiezi 說文解字 (Explanations of Simple and Compound Graphs) meant “being respectful and being sincere in one’s heart.”30 It is apparent that the first meaning of the word, “being respectful,” while proper in describing the speech of a superior man, is inappropriate when applied to the speech of a monarch. Ying Zhen replaces it with shun 順, which the Shuowen jiezi defines as “being well sorted out and administered.”31 This word, which can be rendered as “fluency” in the present context, describes only the emperor’s speech and makes no presumption about his attitude toward his audience. 其五 其恭惟何 昧旦丕顯 無理不經 無義不踐 行捨其華 言去其辯 遊心至虛 同規易簡 六府孔修 九有斯靖

5 How is his graciousness? It shines brightly through day and night. There is no principle by which he does not abide, And no justice that he does not follow. In deeds he abandons the superfluous show,32 In words he disregards excessive rhetoric. He lets his mind roam in the ultimate void,33 So it may return to simplicity. 34 The six houses of the treasury are in order, 35 The nine lands are enjoying peace.

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In continuing his praise for Emperor Wu in this passage, Ying Zhen shifts his attention away from Confucian qualities to those that might be called Daoist. The overt references to the Laozi 老子 in lines 39–42 highlight this. Line 41, in particular, contains one of the most recognizable Daoist phrases, zhixu 至虛 (“the ultimate void”). It leads to a “return to simplicity” (同規易簡), which in turn results in all things being “in order” (xiu 修) and “peace” (jing 靖) in the nation. 其六 澤靡不被

6 His benedictions cover every place,

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| writ ten at imperial command 化罔不加 聲教南暨 西漸流沙 幽人肆險 遠國忘遐 越裳重譯 充我皇家

His grace visits all people. His fame and influence reach the southern borders, To the west they reach as far as the deserts.36 People in distant lands give up their threats, Remote states forget their distances. Via translations Yueshang sends its tribute, It fills our royal house.

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This section praises Emperor Wu’s achievement in reuniting China after centuries of wars and disintegration. Line 51 refers to a passage in the Shangshu. It says that during the time when the Duke of Zhou was assisting King Cheng 成王, the state of Yueshang sent people and goods in tribute to Zhou. Because Yueshang was so far away, the people there could reach Zhou only through several language translations—that is, they had to traverse areas in which several different languages were spoken.37 This, together with another reference to the Shangshu in lines 47–48, is an attempt to put Emperor Wu on the same footing with the Duke of Zhou, the exemplary statesman. 其七 峩峩列辟 赫赫虎臣 内和五品 外威四賓 修時貢職 入覲天人 備言錫命 羽蓋朱輪

7 Outstanding are his ministers, Mighty are his generals. Within they harmonize the five elements, Without they awe the four borders. At the proper time they come to pay their respects, And receive an audience from the Son of Heaven. In great detail His Majesty gives his orders, And awards them red-wheeled, feather-canopied chariots.

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To demonstrate Emperor Wu’s able governance, the poet shifts his attention in this passage to the ministers and generals of the country. He praises their virtues and powers and commends their achievements in making the country peaceful and prosperous. This section can also be read as an indirect tribute to the emperor, who is, after all, responsible for selecting and appointing his officials. 其八 貽宴好會 不常厥數 神心所受

8 In offering banquets and parties There are no constant rituals. What is received in spirit

Archaic Elegance in the Panenric Potry of the Jin Dynasy 不言而喻 於時肄射 弓矢斯御 發彼五的 有酒斯饫

Cannot be articulated in words. When it comes time to practice archery, Bows and arrows are served. When five targets are hit, There is wine to enjoy.

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The poet’s attention now shifts to the banquet. After stating that the many festivities at the banquet stir up joys he cannot fully convey in his poem, Ying Zhen describes the archery competition that was a major part of festivities on such occasions. He singles out this activity because it leads to a message given in the last section of the poem. 其九 文武之道 厥猷未墜 在昔先王 射御兹器 示武懼荒 過亦為失 凡厥群后 無懈于位

9 The civil and martial ways Have not been abandoned.38 In the past the ancient monarchs Have shot with these weapons. They display martial power to awe distant lands, But too much of it is also a mistake. May all of you, lords and ministers, Not neglect your official duty.

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Although the first line of this section mentions both “civil and martial ways” (文武之道), the spotlight is on the “martial,” of which archery was an important component. The poet reminds the lords and ministers who are present at the banquet that ancient monarchs used archery to “display martial power to awe distant lands” (示武懼荒), but it would be “a mistake” to use “too much of it” (過亦為失). Although this didactic message is addressed to the guests at the banquet, it is impossible for Emperor Wu not to hear it, especially since the mention of “ancient monarchs” (xianwang 先王) draws a parallel between them and the present monarch. The poet thus ends the poem with a nod to his official duty as a court poet, that of admonishing his imperial patron on governance. This is a very formal poem. It is difficult to perceive the poet’s sentiment, because Ying Zhen chose to write in a style that simply refuses to reveal his mental state. Throughout the entire poem, not a single emotive verb indicates his feeling or thought. The only possible such verb in all seventy-six lines is yuexin 悅欣 (“ jubilant”), in the last line of section 3, but it is neutralized by its general, vague subject, ren 人 (“everyone”). The poet consistently adheres to words and phrases that are formal and conventional. The numerous references to classical texts only intensify this tendency.

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The other element contributing to this elegant but impersonal style is the poem’s tetrasyllabic format. Because of its antiquity, and because of the canonization and extensive study of the Shijing since the Han dynasty, tetrasyllabic format—the dominant format in the Shijing—had become archaic by the time of the Jin dynasty. With a few exceptions, poets used it mostly for poems composed on solemn occasions. 39 Furthermore, the exhaustive interpretation of the Shijing by later scholars made its language dense and allusive, which in turn made it more difficult for later poets to effectively express their private feelings and thoughts in this format. This is perhaps what Zhong Rong meant when he claimed that tetrasyllabic poetry “has a lot of words, but little meaning” (文繁而意少).40 Ying Zhen aimed to achieve the solemnity and archaism of the Shijing because he frequently alluded to poems in its greater ode and hymn sections. Critics applauded his effort. The Jinshu and other historical sources state that of all the pieces composed for this event, Ying Zhen’s “was the most beautiful.”41 Xiao Tong agreed, because he selected it for his Wenxuan. For the aforementioned reasons, it is difficult to know whether or not the public sentiment in Ying Zhen’s poem also represents or incorporates his own feelings. Zhang Hua 張華 (232–300), a well-known scholar, statesman, and poet of the time, made his personal sentiment clear in a poem that was also addressed to Emperor Wu at a similar public banquet. It is divided into four sections:42 太康六年三月 三日後園會詩 其一 暮春元日 陽氣清明 祁祁甘雨 膏澤流盈 習習祥風 啟滯導生 禽鳥翔逸 卉木滋榮 纖條被綠 翠華含英

A Poem Composed at a Banquet at the Rear Garden on the Third Day of the Third Month, in the Sixth Year of Taikang 1 On this felicitous day of late spring, The sunny air is clear and bright. Abundantly the sweet rain pours, 43 Its balmy ointment flows. 4 Gently the warm wind wafts, 44 It awakens stagnant things to life. Birds are flying about with ease, Plants and flowers are burgeoning. 8 Tender boughs display their green, Amber leaves hold their blossoms.

The third day of the third month, also know as “Shangsi Festival” 上 巳節, was a day when ancient Chinese went out to wash themselves by the river in the belief that this would expel bad omens. The washing was usually

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accompanied by drinking.45 The poem’s title indicates that it was written to celebrate this event. Although Zhang Hua’s poem, too, is cast in the tetrasyllabic format, in comparison with Ying Zhen’s it is both lively and refreshing. In straightforward and simple language that is rare in tetrasyllabic poetry, the poet portrays a natural scene full of beauty, harmony, and vitality. There are two references to the Shijing, in lines 3 and 5, but the poems referred to belong to the less formal, more personal and emotional “air” category, and the phrases alluded to, qinqi 祁祁 (“abundantly”) and xixi 習習 (“gently”), are descriptive terms that function independently in the current context. Indeed, this stanza seems to be setting a background for a carefree outing. But the appearance of Emperor Wu in the next section brings with it a change in style: 其二 於皇我后 欽若昊乾 順時省物 言觀中園 讌及群辟 乃命乃延 合樂華池 祓濯清川 泛彼龍舟 泝游洪源

2 Grand indeed is our monarch, Magnificent as sun and heaven. He inspects things at the appropriate time, And comes to observe [the ritual] in the garden. He holds a banquet for his ministers and lords, Issuing orders and feasting with them. He rejoices with us at Hualin Pond, And washes himself by the clear stream. He takes a ride in his dragon boat, And travels back to the stream’s head.

14

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The grandiose and conventional diction in the first two lines form a sharp contrast to that of the first section. “Grand indeed is our monarch” (於皇我后) is a reference to a hymn in the Shijing in which King Wu of the Zhou is described as “grand” (wuhuang 於皇).46 “Magnificent as sun and heaven” (欽若昊乾) is taken directly from a description of the sage ruler Yao in the Shangshu.47 This shift to the most elegant style is demanded by the subject matter of this section because it describes the arrival and acts of Emperor Wu. His Majesty is seen engaged in the activities that form the core of the ritual, such as washing himself by the stream, boating, and feasting with his officials. The poet emphasizes that all of this is performed by His Majesty “at the appropriate time” (shunshi 順時), which is regarded as a virtue that a ruler must possess. 其三 朱幕雲覆 列坐文茵

3 The red canopy is like covering clouds, We sit around on patterned mats.

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| writ ten at imperial command 羽觴波騰 品物備珍 管弦繁會 變用奏新 穆穆我皇 臨下渥仁 訓以慈惠 詢納廣神 好樂無荒 化達無垠

Feather-cups float with the waves, Treasures of all kinds are on display. Orchestra instruments are in full gear, In their different ways they make new tunes. Magnificent is our emperor, He humbles himself to show his grace. He instructs us to be kind, To be attentive to spirits, To enjoy, but not in excess, And to extend virtue to the remotest lands.

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The first part of this section, lines 25–30, briefly portrays the banquet scene. Then, with the elegant, conventional sentence “Magnificent is our emperor” (穆穆我皇), which is a reference to a description of King Wen of the Zhou in the Shijing, 48 the focus of the poem switches back to Emperor Wu. He is seen giving moral instruction to his officials and ministers present at the banquet (lines 33–36). These lines portray the emperor as a ruler with humility, morality, and deep concern for the well-being of his people. 其四 咨予微臣 荷寵明時 忝恩于外 攸攸三期 犬馬惟慕 天實為之 靈啟其願 遐願在兹 于以表情 爰著斯詩

4 I am a humble subject, Fortunate to live at this enlightened time. Undeservedly I was favored while serving outside, By now it has been three long years. Dogs and horses admire [their owners], It is their nature that makes them so. Spirits inspire people’s hopes, My long-cherished wish is on hand. Thus, to express my feelings I composed this poem.

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In this last section the poet shifts to his reaction to the event. Zhang Hua speaks of his humble origin and of his gratitude to the emperor for His Majesty’s favor, who helped him to get positions such as those of “secretariat director” 中書令 and “marquis of Guang-nei” 關内侯. The self-deprecating comparison of himself to “dogs and horses” (quanma 犬馬) in line 41, although common in memorials to monarchs, is rare in poetry and sounds excessive and obsequious. The most remarkable feature of this section, however, is its ending. Zhang Hua says that the purpose of his poem is “to express my feelings” (biaoqing 表情), not the least of which, we are made to understand, is his gratitude to the emperor.

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Zhang Hua’s poem is distinct from Ying Zhen’s in two aspects: its straightforward style (especially in the opening and concluding sections) and its attempt to personalize the poetic occasion. Zhang Hua was a prolific poet, and by far most of his poetry was in the pentasyllabic format. He chose the tetrasyllabic form for the present piece most likely because he felt it was more appropriate for a poem addressed to an imperial patron at a state banquet.49 During the Western Jin there was a revival of tetrasyllabic poetry.50 Earlier, the Jian’an poets had felt comfortable enough to use the nascent pentasyllabic poetry to address a wide range of occasions, including the very formal. Since then, pentasyllabic poetry had become more sophisticated and versatile,51 but apparently in the Western Jin a perception existed that it was still not elegant enough for the most formal occasions. Zhi Yu 摯虞 (?–311), for example, claimed that tetrasyllabic format was the only model to use in writing poetry with “elegant tones” (yayin 雅音) and that other formats, even though they might “include different styles,” were not the correct forms for such poetry.52 Next I consider a poem by Pan Yue 潘岳 (247–300), courtesy name Anren 安 仁, who was also a major poet of pentasyllabic poetry but who chose to write this piece in the archaic tetrasyllabic format. The poem in question, “The Guanzhong Poem” 關中詩, was written by the order of Emperor Hui 惠帝 (r. 290–306). Pan Yue was then “gentleman attendant at the palace gate” 黃門侍郎. Emperor Hui was an entirely different monarch from his father, Emperor Wu. He was essentially a weakling, and it was generally believed that Emperor Wu’s decision to choose him as the crown prince was the biggest mistake he ever made, a mistake that sent China back into chaos and disintegration soon after his death. The Jinshu notes that Emperor Hui “was not up to the task of running the nation.”53 During his reign, imperial power was in fact in the hands of Empress Jia 賈后, who launched a series of ruthless executions of ministers and of other members of the royal family. This led to the “Chaos of Eight Princes” 八王之亂, which pitted the princes of the Sima clan against one another. The brutal fighting and power struggle that ensued claimed the lives of numerous intellectuals, including Zhang Hua and Pan Yue,54 and made the country weak and vulnerable to outside invasions. In a short period of time the northern section of the country was overrun by different groups of minority people, who pushed the Chinese government south of the Yangze River in the year 317. The reunification brought by Emperor Wu’s reign was thus quickly replaced by another period of division. Pan Yue composed “The Guanzhong Poem” during this chaotic and brutal period. Feng Weina 馮惟訥 (fl. ca. 1522), the editor of the Shiji 詩 紀 (Collection of Poetry), noted that after a rebellion by the di people in the Guanzhong area was put down in 297, Emperor Hui asked his ministers and

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officials to write poems, presumably to celebrate the victory.55 In presenting his poem, Pan Yue also wrote a short memorial stating that “[Your Majesty] ordered me to write a ‘Guanzhong Poem.’ I thus exhausted my humble ability and wrote this verse.”56 This is a long piece consisting of sixteen eight-line stanzas. I examine them one by one. 關中詩 其一 於皇時晉 受命既固 三祖在天 聖皇紹祚 德博化光 刑簡枉錯 微火不戒 延我寶庫

The Guanzhong Poem 1 Grand indeed is the Jin,57 Its accorded mandate is firm.58 The three forebears are now in heaven, 59 Our sage emperor succeeded to their fortune. His immense virtue makes [the nation] bright, 60 Penalties are simplified and mistakes corrected. The small fire was not guarded against, It extended to our treasure house. 61

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In order to set a solemn tone for his poem, Pan Yue begins with the conventional panegyric rhetoric taken from the greater ode and hymn sections of the Shijing. His praise of Emperor Hui, who is called the “sage emperor” (shenghuang 聖皇) and whose “immense virtue” (debo 德博) is said to make “[the nation] bright” (huaguang 化光), even though conventional and ritualistic, is ironic in this context because of the great discrepancy between reality and rhetoric. To continue this ironic device, Pan Yue introduces in the last two lines of the stanza an incident that is acutely discordant on this celebratory occasion. In the fifth year of Yuankang (296), during Emperor Hui’s reign, a fire broke out in the palace and burned many treasures accumulated over a long period of time.62 This abrupt shift from celebrating imperial virtue and power to narrating an ominous event is duplicated on the linguistic level. The simple diction of the last two lines stands in sharp contrast to the archaism and grandiloquence of the preceding part of this stanza. This “small fire” (weihuo 微火) is meant to be a metaphor for a much larger disaster, because, as we see in the next section, it opened the nation up to potential threats from outside. 其二 蠢爾戎狄 狡焉思肆 虞我國眚 窺我利器 岳牧慮殊

2 Those foolish people of rong and di, 63 Insidiously thought of unleashing their violence. They watched the misfortunes in our land, And secretly lusted for our “sharp weapon.”64 The lords of border regions had different thoughts,

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Archaic Elegance in the Panenric Potry of the Jin Dynasy 威懷理二 將無專策 兵不素肄

They disagreed on whether to attack or pacify. Their generals had no particular strategies, Their soldiers were poorly trained.

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Pan Yue makes it clear that what caused the minority people to rebel were the “misfortunes in our land” (guosheng 國眚), which were brought about by the careless “small fire” (weihuo 微火). Moreover, the power struggle among the lords and generals of border regions and the lack of training of their soldiers further weakened the nation and made it ill-prepared for the turmoil that would soon engulf it. 其三 翹翹趙王 請徒三萬 朝議惟疑 未逞斯願 桓桓梁征 高牙乃建 旗蓋相望 偏師作援

3 The heroic Prince of Zhao Asked for a troop of thirty thousand. But the court was doubtful, Thus his wish was not fulfilled. Prince Liang launched his valiant expedition, Which finally set up a marshal banner. Flags and canopies followed one another, Supporting troops came to lend their hands.

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With this stanza Pan Yue begins to narrate the events that followed the rebellion of the di tribe. The poem’s change from panegyric to narrative mode, a change that was initiated as early as the first stanza, in which a eulogy of the Jin and Emperor Hui was the dominant theme, deserves our attention. Such a shift is not unusual in a long poetic sequence in which sustaining a single style and perspective might be difficult and monotonous. What is unusual is the content of the narrative. Instead of letting Emperor Hui respond to the turmoil, Pan Yue introduces other people as the heroes who rise to put down the rebellion. This indicates Pan Yue’s awareness of the precarious position of the emperor; it also marks his effort to endear himself to Prince Zhao, Sima Lun 司馬倫, and Prince Liang, Sima Rong 司馬肜, two major players in the power struggle during Emperor Hui’s reign, whom Pan Yue describes them as “heroic” (qiaoqiao 翹翹) and “valiant” (huanhuan 桓桓). Thus, the poem’s change from the panegyric to the narrative serves both poetic and political purposes. 其四 虎視眈眈 威彼好畤 素甲日曜 玄幕雲起

4 [Like] tigers looking threateningly on, [Prince Rong’s troops] controlled Haozhi. Bright armor was shining in the sun, Dark curtains were rising to the clouds.

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| writ ten at imperial command 誰其繼之 夏侯 卿 士 惟 系惟 處 列營棋跱

Who was there to follow him? General Xiahou Jun. And there were [Xie] Ji and [Zhou] Chu, Who deployed their troops as in a chess game.

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This stanza offers more details of the military maneuvers during the government’s attempt to put down the rebellion. In addition to Prince Rong, the others named in this passage, Xiahou Jun 夏侯駿, Xie Ji 解系, and Zhou Chu 周處, were all actual players in this historical event.65 This extensive inclusion of contemporary people in a poem presented to a reigning monarch is uncommon. It transfers our attention away from the poet’s imperial patron and thus dilutes his importance on this poetic occasion. 其五 夫豈無謀 戎士承平 守有完郛 戰無全兵 鋒交卒奔 孰免孟明 飛檄秦郊 告敗上京

5 It was not that there were no strategies, But the troops had lived in a peaceful age. There were good trenches for defense, But no ready soldiers to battle. 36 They fled as soon as they clashed with enemies, Who was there to prevent the capture of Meng Ming?66 A letter was sent in flight from the outskirts of Qin To inform the capital of their defeat. 40

Pan Yue describes briefly the defeat suffered by the government troops. He attributes this to their lack of training and readiness during the peace and prosperity of Emperor Wu’s reign. But as we shall see, there were more reasons for this fiasco. 其六 周殉師令 身膏氐斧 人之 云 亡 貞節克舉 盧播違命 投畀朔土 為法受惡 誰謂荼苦

6 Zhou Chu martyred himself according to ancient teachings, His body greased the axes of the di. A gentleman uses his death To uphold his virtue and integrity. Lu Bo disobeyed the court’s order, He was banished to the north. This punishment was given by law, Who could say that it was harsh?

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Pan Yue here gives an account of two government officials. Indeed, stanzas 3–6 narrate a series of related events that took place during the battle to

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put down the rebellion. A brief look at these events and their protagonists is helpful in understanding the entire poem. According to the Jinshu, Zhou Chu, who was “palace aide to the censorin-chief ” 御史中丞, had offended numerous ministers by his integrity and his courage in criticizing and indicting the wrongdoings of government officials. Once he even presented an indictment against Prince Liang, who had broken the law. When the di rebellion broke out, many ministers recommended sending Zhou Chu to the western front, and he was dispatched to serve under Xiahou Jun. Sun Xiu 孫秀, the “wave-quelling general” 伏波將軍, knowing that Zhou would certainly die in the expedition, said to him, “You have an old mother, so you may go to bid her farewell.” Upon this Zhou replied: “One cannot expect to be perfect in fulfilling his filial piety [to parents] and loyalty [to the nation] at the same time. Since I have already left my parents to serve the monarch, how can my parents expect to get me back as their son? Today is the time I must die.” Soon Prince Liang was appointed “general to lead the western expedition” 征西大將軍. Zhou Chu realized that he would harm him but went ahead with the assignment anyway, out of loyalty to the nation. While at the front, Xiahou Jun ordered Zhou Chu to lead five thousand soldiers against an enemy numbering seventy thousand. Zhou Chu said: “Since my troops have no backup support, we will surely be defeated. This will not merely cause our deaths but will bring shame to our nation.” But Prince Liang again pressured him to attack, so Zhou Chu, together with Lu Bo and Jie Xi, went ahead. Before the battle began, Prince Liang ordered Zhou Chu to push forward rapidly and then ordered his support cut off. Zhou Chu fought bravely, but when his troops ran out of bows and arrows, Lu Bo and Xie Ji refused to help them. When asked to withdraw, Zhou Chu said, “I am a minister of the nation. To die for our nation, isn’t that proper?” He indeed fought to his death.67 This was a shameful episode in the Jin history. It suggests that the disaster brought by the di rebellion not only was initiated from within but also was aggravated by the lack of justice in the court and by the wicked persecution of honest and upright people. The extended account of such an incident in a panegyric poem is very unusual. It suggests that the poet was more concerned with righting the historical record than with celebrating the victory. 其七 哀此黎元 無罪無辜 肝腦塗地 白骨交衢 夫行妻寡

7 I grieve for those common folk, Who are entirely innocent. Their livers and brains smear the ground, Their white bones lie across the roads. Husbands leave, wives remain widowed,

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| writ ten at imperial command 父 出 子孤 俾我晉民 化為狄俘

Fathers depart, children are left unattended. [All this] made the people of our Jin Become the captives of di.

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The stark portrayal of people’s suffering during the rebellion reminds us of the poems by Cao Cao and Wang Can considered in chapter 2. The poet’s sorrow, conveyed by the emotive verb ai 哀 (“grieve”), which begins this section, signals a deep personal engagement and is extraordinary in a panegyric context. Furthermore, the graphic images in lines 51–52, “Their livers and brains smear the ground, / Their white bones lie across the roads” (肝 腦 塗 地, 白骨交衢), convey a moral outrage at the brutal killings of people who “are entirely innocent” (無罪無辜). The poet then provides more details of the devastation to common people: destroyed families and their capture by the rebels. 其八 亂離斯瘼 日月其稔 天子是矜 旰食晏寢 主憂臣勞 孰不祗懍 愧無獻納 尸素以甚

8 This turmoil has caused so much pain, 68 The sun and the moon have their time of fruition. The Son of Heaven was saddened by this, He could not eat or sleep normally. When the monarch worries, his ministers labor, Who will not be in awe and fear? I was ashamed that I had nothing to present, An utterly useless official sitting at his post.

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This stanza draws to an end the catastrophe that has plagued the country. After a long absence, Emperor Hui finally returns to the scene. He is portrayed as being deeply concerned with the situation, so much so that he is unable to lead a normal life. The second part of this section expresses the poet’s guilt over his inability to offer any help at this critical moment. This, as we have seen earlier, is a conventional gesture in panegyric poetry. 其九 皇赫斯怒 爰 整 其旅 命彼上谷 指日遄逝 親奉成規 稜威遐厲 首陷中亭 揚聲萬計

9 Our emperor let out his great anger, And gathered together our troops. 69 He ordered [Meng Guan] to Shanggu,70 Who rushed there on the same day. He faithfully followed the planned strategy, And brought under his control the distant enemies. He first took Zhongting, And claimed to have killed tens of thousands.

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The turning point comes when Meng Guan 孟觀, the “general to establish authority “建威將軍, is sent to crush the rebellion. Pan Yue makes an effort to connect this action with Emperor Hui, who in all likelihood had nothing to do with the plan but whose anger is nevertheless said to have helped put together the nation’s troops. 71 Meng rushes to the front and immediately wins victories. 其十 兵固詭道 先聲後實 聞之有司 以萬為一 紂之不善 我未之必 虛皛湳德 謬彰甲吉

10 In the art of war there is always deception, First you make a claim, and then verify. When the authorities heard this news, They took “tens of thousands” to be but one.72 Zhou [the tyrant] is indeed without virtue, But I disagree with [comparing him to Meng].73 [Meng] made false assertions over Nan and De, And exaggerated his victories over Jia and Ji.74

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In this stanza, Pan Yue seems to be defending Meng Guan against accusations that he falsified victories over the rebels. This is a strange section because it has nothing to do with the theme of the poem, which is to celebrate the victory over the di rebellion. It reveals the inner struggle and mistrust among officials in the Chinese government at that critical moment. This is significant. It endows Pan Yue’s poem with a quality that is rarely seen in other panegyric poetry. 其十一 雍 門不 啟 陳汧危逼 觀遂虎奮 感恩輸力 重圍克解 危城載色 豈曰無過 功亦不測

11 The gate of Yong remained unopened, Chen and Qian were besieged. Meng Guan fought like a tiger To show his loyalty and exert his strength. The siege was broken, The endangered cities teemed with joy. Who could say he was without fault? But his merit could not be estimated.

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Pan Yue continues to recount Meng Guan’s bravery in crushing the rebellion. The last two lines again indicate his defense of the general against his accusers. 其十二 情固萬端

12 Human feelings are varied,

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| writ ten at imperial command 于何不有 紛紜齊萬 亦孔之醜 曰納其降 曰梟其首 疇真可掩 孰 偽 可久

Which one do they not include? Qi Wannian was captured in chaos, What a wicked man he was! [Meng Guan] wanted to accept his surrender, [Xiahao Jun] wanted to have him beheaded. Who could hide the truth? How could deception last long?

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Qi Wannian 齊萬年 was the leader of the di rebellion. This section concentrates on the argument between Meng Guan and Xiahou Jun concerning how to deal with him after his capture. Once more, in the last two lines Pan Yue seems to be engaged in the argument between the two generals. According to Li Shan, he was taking the side of Meng Guan,75 which is consistent with his defense of Meng in the last few sections. 其十三 既徵爾辭 既蔽爾訟 當乃明實 否則證空 好爵既靡 顯戮亦從 不 見竇 林 伏尸漢邦

13 [The authorities] examined your words, [They] judged your case. What was proper they proved with truth, What was wrong they showed to be baseless. For the former they assigned noble rank, For the latter they meted out punishment. Don’t you see Baolin, Whose body was thrown in the land of China?

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Here Pan Yue describes a court suit that apparently involved Meng Guan and Xiahou Jun after the rebellion was put down. The details of the case were not recorded in historical sources. Meng Guan’s biography in the Jinshu notes that he was later promoted to “right general” 右將軍.76 As for Xiahou Jun, the Jinshu contains no entry on him. From this information we may surmise that Meng prevailed in court. Baolin 竇林 was an envoy to the qiang minority region during the Han dynasty. He falsified his achievement in controlling the people there and later was put to death in prison.77 Toward the end of this long poem, Pan Yue is still recounting the power struggle within the Chinese government. 其十四 周人之詩 寔曰采薇 北難獫狁 西患昆夷 以古況今

14 That poem by a poet during the Zhou Is called “Picking Thorn-Ferns.” In the north were troubles caused by the Xianyun, In the west were concerns over the Kunyi.78 If we compare antiquity with the present,

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Archaic Elegance in the Panenric Potry of the Jin Dynasy 何足曜威 徒愍斯民 我心傷悲

How could the ancients boast of their glory? But I pity those common folk, My heart is saddened and grieved.

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With this stanza the poet at last shifts his attention away from the court struggle that has been the dominant theme of the poem. He attempts to celebrate the victory in putting down the di rebellion by using the “surpass topos.” The present victory is said to surpass those of ancient Chinese in their battles against similar enemies during the golden age of the Zhou under King Wen.79 But this celebratory tone does not last long; the poet immediately states that he cannot help being “saddened and grieved” (shangbei 傷悲) by the suffering that ordinary people endured in the winning of this victory. This marks another strong emotional engagement of the poet and leads to a topic that is further elaborated in the next section. 其十 五 斯民如何 荼毒于秦 師旅既加 饑饉是因 疫癘淫行 荊棘成榛 絳陽之粟 浮于渭濱

15 How are these common folk? They were brutalized in the Qin region. Armies and troops were forced on them, After which followed starvation. Plagues ran rampant everywhere, Thorns grew into bushes. The crops and grains of Jiangyang Were transported along the Wei River.

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The devastation of war and the hardship it caused to “common folk” are narrated forcefully in plain language. Having escaped slaughter, people had to endure hunger and disease, and their land was reduced to ruins. The last two lines indicate an abrupt transition to the last stanza of the poem. They describe the government’s effort to help the people in the war-torn Qin area by transporting food there along the Wei River. 其十 六 明明天子 視民如傷 申命群司 保 爾 封疆 靡暴于眾 無陵于強 惴惴 寡 弱 如熙春陽

16 Enlightened is the Son of Heaven, He regards people’s suffering as his own wound. He gives orders to his officials To protect the frontier regions, Not to be harsh on the masses, And not to bully them with force. Those who were fearful, widowed, and weak Are now happy as in the spring sun.

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At long last, Emperor Hui is returned to center stage in the last stanza of this long poem. Accordingly, the poem resumes its panegyric mode. The poet addresses Emperor Hui as the “Enlightened Son of Heaven” 明明天子 and attempts to create the impression that he is in charge: He is seen giving orders to his officials to protect their lands and love their people. The poem ends with a description of the “fearful, widowed, and weak” (guaruo 惴惴寡 弱) now basking happily in the spring sun, a conventional metaphor of imperial grace. This brief change in content and tone is by far too weak to reverse the poem’s general tendency. Indeed, the beginning and closing stanzas are the weakest sections in the entire verse. Conventional and perfunctory, they indicate the poet’s reluctant compliance with the demand of the poetic occasion and its conventions. What is remarkable about this poem is its unconventional inclusion of minute details of current events in which the imperial patron plays no significant role. Pan Yue’s lengthy, detailed account of the intrigue and power struggle within the Chinese government and the suffering of ordinary people effectively transforms the bulk of “The Guangzhong Poem” into an historical narrative. Because the content of this narrative is essentially at odds with the poem’s celebratory context and its purported panegyric function, Pan Yue’s poem is in fact a reminder of the corruption and injustice in the court, which had caused and aggravated the di rebellion, rather than a celebration of the victory over it. The historical dimension of Pan Yue’s “Guangzhong Poem” makes it unique in the repertoire of panegyric poetry in the Chinese tradition. In most such poetry the details, especially when they involve current events and are uncomplimentary, are kept general and vague or are avoided altogether. In “The Guangzhong Poem,” however, Pan Yue aims to be specific. The names of people and places and the acts in which they are involved are all taken from a real, contemporary event. They are anything but complimentary; they reveal injustice and conspiracy surrounding the poet’s imperial patron. This poem offers valuable information about an episode of Chinese history. It helps to dispel the conventional notion that panegyric poetry contains nothing but flattery and rhetoric, full of sound and fury, signifying nothing.80 In Chinese history, Pan Yue is notorious for his sycophancy toward the powerful. He was one of the “Twenty-four Friends” who often gathered around Jia Mi 賈謐 (fl. 296), the son of Empress Jia. It is said that whenever Jia Mi went out, Pan Yue and Shi Chong 石崇 (249–300) would wait outside and bow “toward the dust” stirred up by Jia’s entourage.81 Pan Yue wrote a few exceedingly adulating poems to Jia Mi and to his grandfather Jia Chong 賈 充 (d. 282);82 for this he has been scorned throughout history.83 He was deeply involved in the power struggle in the court during Emperor Hui’s short reign

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and eventually lost his life to it. We would expect such a person to have written a highly flattering piece when ordered to do so by the emperor. That he did not do so on this occasion reflects a lack of respect for the emperor, who was after all nothing but a figurehead. This in turn suggests Pan Yue’s grasp of the political situation during Emperor Hui’s reign and the special nature of the patronage relationship between him and the emperor. In commenting on the general characteristics of Jin poetry, Liu Xie wrote that it was “frivolous and ornate” (qingqi 輕綺).84 The poems analyzed in this chapter raise questions about the accuracy of Liu Xie’s remark. In fact these poems can be described as serious and even solemn because they deal with important state events. The tetrasyllabic format—the form adopted by all but one poet studied in this chapter—is an important factor contributing to this solemnity. As the previously quoted remark by Zhi Yu indicates, during the Jin dynasty a perception existed that the best or “correct” type of poetry should be “elegant” (ya 雅) and that the tetrasyllabic format was the best medium for achieving this goal.85 Its archaism, formality, and solemnity all help to emphasize the elegance of these poems.

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4 Addressing the Best and Worst of Rulers Panenric Potry of the Liu Song Dynasy



The Chinese government was driven south of the Yangtze River by the northern minorities in the year 317, and with this China entered the era of northern and southern dynasties. Despite the continual and often brutal power struggle that consumed the reigns of many monarchs of the southern dynasties, they managed to retain their patronage of literature. The rulers of the Liu Song dynasty (420–79), Emperors Wu 武帝 (r. 420–23), Wen 文 帝 (r. 424–53), and Xiaowu 孝武帝 (r. 454–64) were very different monarchs. The first two were tolerant, but the third was noted for his cruelty and vanity. All of them, however, exhibited an interest in poetry. Liu Xie observed in his Wenxin diaolong that “Emperor Wu loved literature, and Emperor Wen was cultured and graceful: Both were endowed with literary virtues. Emperor Xiaowu was talented [in writing] and his works are like brilliant clouds.”1 The different relations between them and their court officials-poets provided different dynamics for the composition of panegyric poetry. Like Cao Cao, Emperor Wu (Liu Yu 劉裕) began his rise to power as a military commander, but in 420 he forced Emperor Gong of the Jin 晉恭 帝 (r. 419) to abdicate and so became the founding monarch of the Song. According to historical sources, he “was from a common family and [at the beginning] did not command people’s respect.”2 The combination of military prowess and literary taste was essential to the image of an ideal ruler in

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Chinese culture. It is tempting to speculate that Emperor Wu’s interest in poetry was a conscientious effort to cultivate such an image. Unlike Cao Cao, Emperor Wu was not a poet. The Nanshi 南史 (History of the Southern Dynasties) records that he was going to write a poem at a banquet, but Xie Hui 謝晦 (d. 427), a member of the renowned Xie clan and one of his close aides, feared he “might make mistakes,” so he rose to dissuade him from this attempt and composed a poem for him instead.3 Another incident in the Nanshi suggests that Emperor Wu was not even a very cultured person. It notes that his calligraphy was “clumsy,” and that he was unable to improve it because of his “natural endowments” (bing fen 秉 分). Liu Muzhi 劉穆之 (d. 417), one of Emperor Wu’s most trusted aides, advised that he “write only big characters, and it does not matter if one character is as big as one foot. If a character is big it can encompass many qualities; moreover, it will also look good.” Emperor Wu followed this advice and from then on wrote characters so large that “one sheet of paper contained only six or seven words.”4 If these anecdotes reveal Emperor Wu to have been short on literary qualities, they also indicate his receptivity toward his officials and their suggestions. This was particularly evident in his treatment of several members of the Xie clan, a prominent aristocratic family during the southern dynasties. As many scholars have pointed out, some aristocratic families enjoyed great power and influence during this period.5 They were often envied for their cultural sophistication. Their support was crucial in Liu Yu’s pursuit of his ambition, for not only could they help him consolidate his grip on power, but they also added cultural grace to his regime. He went out of his way to endear himself to the Xies. Xie Hui was one of his key aides. His uncle, Xie Yu 謝裕 (d. 416), was greatly respected by Liu Yu. He arranged a marriage between his son, the Prince of Luling 盧陵王, who later became Emperor Wen, and Xie Yu’s daughter.6 Another uncle of Xie Hui’s, Xie Dan 謝澹 (fl. ca. 420), was once passed over for important positions in the government because of his unruly behavior at court. As a result he openly criticized Liu Yu for promoting only “obedient and servile” people. Such harsh words would have enraged most monarchs, but Liu Yu merely “laughed loudly” and meted out no punishment.7 This background is important because the first two poems I examine were presented to Liu Yu by two members of the Xie clan, Xie Zhan 謝瞻 (d. 421) and Xie Lingyun 謝靈運 (385–433). They were written at a farewell party for Kong Jing 孔靖 (fl. ca. 416), who had declined a position at Liu Yu’s court soon after Liu Yu was appointed the Duke of Song 宋公 in 416, the first step in his eventual usurpation of the imperial throne.8 As the titles of the poems make clear, Liu Yu was the host of the party. At that time both

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Xie Zhan and Xie Lingyun were serving as “gentlemen-in-attendance for the counselor-in-chief ” 相國從事中郎, a ceremonial position, under Liu Yu.9 The first poem to be considered is by Xie Zhan: 九日從宋公 戲馬臺集 送孔令詩 風至授寒服 霜降休百工 繁林收陽彩 密苑解華叢 巢幕無留鷰 遵渚有來鴻 輕霞冠秋日 迅商薄清穹 聖心眷嘉節 揚鑾戾行宮 四筵霑芳醴 中堂起絲桐 扶光迫西汜 歡餘讌有窮 逝矣將歸客 養素克有終 臨流怨莫從 歡心歎飛蓬

A Valediction for Director Kong of the Imperial Secretariat, Written at the Command of the Duke of Song on the Ninth Day at a Gathering at Xima Terrace When wind arrives, winter clothes are passed out; When frost falls, workers of all trades cease to work. Dense forests withdraw their brilliant hues, Lush gardens shed their colorful foliage. 4 No swallows remain in their nests by the curtains, There are swans arriving at the waterfront. Light sunset caps this autumn day, Swift western wind reaches the clear sky. 8 His Majesty’s heart is touched by the fine season, Riding the imperial carriage he came to the traveling palace. The side mats are spread with fragrant wines, The central court rings with beautiful music. 12 The waning sun approaches the western edge, As we wind up, our pleasures still await to be consumed. The departing guest is taking his leave, His cultivation remains constant to the end. 16 By the flowing river I regret I am unable to follow him, In admiration I sigh over the windblown grass.10

According to the Songshu 宋書 (History of the Song Dynasty) Kong Jing 孔 靖, “director of the imperial secretariat” (shangshu ling 尚書令), was a longtime friend of Liu Yu’s and had served in various important posts in the government. Soon after Liu Yu was named the Duke of Song, Kong Jing declined to continue to serve and decided to “return to the east [to his hometown].” Liu Yu arranged a farewell banquet for him at Xima Terrace and asked the officials present to “write poems to praise his [Kong Jing’s] virtue.”11 Of the poems produced on this occasion, only those by Xie Zhan and Xie Lingyun survive, and both were selected by Xiao Tong for his Wenxuan. Xie Zhan’s poem falls roughly into three parts. The first part, lines 1–8, describes the setting; the second, lines 9–14, focuses on the banquet; and the last part, lines 15–18, addresses the “departing guest” and the poet’s reaction to his departure.

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The description of the setting begins conventionally. Autumn is a melancholy season in Chinese poetry because it is a harbinger of winter, the season of decline.12 Xie Zhan introduces autumn by showing its effects on human society: People have taken out their winter clothes and stopped working. Then he portrays autumn’s effects on nature: Trees and bushes shed their colorful foliage, swallows have left their nests to winter in the south, and cold-resistant swans are beginning to arrive at the river. As the sun descends on this autumn day, the western wind makes the sky crisply clear and refreshing. This is the most graceful part of the poem. It reveals the poet’s sensitivity to the beauty of nature and is a conscientious effort at poetic craftsmanship. All eight lines of this section are cast in parallelism. Although the first two couplets might be faulted for repeating the same content (zhengdui 正對 or hezhang 合掌), the third couplet, “No swallows remain in their nests by the curtains, / There are swans arriving at the waterfront” (巢幕無留鷰, 遵渚有來鴻), is an excellent example of the “parallelism of contrast” ( fandui 反對) that Liu Xie recommended in his Wenxin diaolong.13 It directs our attention from inside (chaomu 巢幕, “their nests by the curtains”) to outside (zunzhu 遵渚, “at the waterfront”) and vividly presents autumn’s effects on two different environments and two kinds of birds. Xie Zhan caps this descriptive section by switching perspective once more. This time our attention is directed to the “light sunset” (qingxia 輕霞) in the “clear sky” (qingqiong 清穹). The tone of this section is not melancholy, as is often the case in farewell poems that take place in autumn. Rather, it may be characterized as carefree, on the basis of images such as “light sunset” and “clear sky.” This presentation might have been determined by the nature of the poetic occasion. A gloomy sentiment would not have been in keeping with the merry atmosphere of an official banquet, even though it was a farewell banquet. When poetic conventions collided with the needs of a specific context, the poet had to adjust accordingly. Autumn is no longer a season of sadness and decline but a “fine season” (jiajie 嘉節), as he puts it in line 9, where his patron is first introduced. This introduction serves as a transition from the banquet’s setting to the banquet itself. Xie Zhan is confronted with a delicate issue when addressing his patron. At this time Liu Yu was merely the Duke of Song, even though everyone knew he was the de facto ruler of the county. To address him as a monarch would be inappropriate, but not to do so might cause offense. Xie Zhan, like Wang Can before him, chooses the first and safer option. He calls Liu Yu “His Majesty” (sheng 聖) and refers to his carriage as luan 鑾 (“imperial carriage”) and his palace outside the capital as xinggong 行宮 (“traveling palace”), terms applicable only to a monarch.14

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The banquet scene is both brief and general. The four lines that describe it fail to provide any details. All we learn from them is that drinking and music are part of the festivities and that by the end of the day the guests are still in high spirits. This passage contrasts with the first section, where the description is both longer and more specific. Its generality suggests that although the poet was captivated by the beauty and seasonal change in nature, his interest in the banquet was at most perfunctory. His sensitivity shines through in his observation of nature but is dulled when he turns his attention to the public event. In the last section Xie Zhan addresses the topic of his poem. Following the command of his patron, Xie Zhan praises the moral quality of Director Kong, the departing guest. He then expresses his regret at being unable to follow Director Kong’s example and ends his verse with concern over the difficulties that Director Kong, represented by the metaphor “the windblown grass” (feipeng 飛蓬), will encounter during his journey. The expression of regret might be formal in the present context. The poetic occasion and the command of the poet’s patron require it: Director Kong’s return to seclusion is viewed as a virtue that Xie Zhan and other poets are ordered to praise. It might, however, have been a genuine expression of the poet’s feeling. According to Xie Zhan’s biography in the Songshu, he was greatly alarmed by the swift rise in power of his brother, Xie Hui, and repeatedly tried to warn him of the potential dangers ahead. On his deathbed he told Xie Hui: “I am fortunate enough to keep my body together and return my bones to the foothills. What regret do I have? For the sake of the state and of our family, you must try your utmost to cultivate yourself.”15 This suggests that Xie Zhan was aware of the traps and dangers of an official career at his time, and he was proved right, for Xie Hui was later executed by Emperor Wen. Thus, his expression of envy for Director Kong’s escape from such dangers was most likely heartfelt. The farewell banquet provided the poet with an opportunity for self-expression, and he took full advantage of it. Next is the poem written on the same occasion by Xie Lingyun, a cousin of Xie Zhan’s: 九日從宋公 戲馬臺集 送孔令詩 季秋邊朔苦 旅鴈違霜雪 淒淒陽卉腓 皎皎寒潭絜

A Valediction for Director Kong of the Imperial Secretariat, Written at the Command of the Duke of Song on the Ninth Day at a Gathering at Xima Terrace In the autumn season the border region is bitter, Traveling geese are escaping frost and snow. Bright plants are fading in the chill, Cold ponds are clear in sunshine. 4

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| writ ten at imperial command 良辰感聖心 雲旗興暮節 鳴葭戾朱宮 蘭卮獻時哲 餞宴光有孚 和樂隆所缺 在宥天下理 吹萬群方悅 歸客遂海嵎 脫冠謝朝列 弭棹薄枉渚 指景待樂闋 河流有急瀾 浮驂無緩轍 豈伊川途念 宿心愧將別 彼美丘園道 喟焉傷薄劣

This fine time touches His Majesty’s heart, Cloud banners flutter in the late season. With singing pipes we arrive at the crimson palace, To offer balmy wines to the sage of our time. 8 Banqueting enhances the trust among us, In harmony and delight we restore the past loss. Noninterference is the law under heaven, The wind wafts on myriad things, making them content. 12 The returning guest is leaving for a corner by the sea, Taking off his hat he bids farewell to his colleagues. Halting its oars, the boat is moored by a meandering bank, Pointing at the sun, he waits for the music to stop. 16 In the flowing river there are rapid currents, With our marching horses there are no slow gallops. Not that I am concerned with journeys by river and land, Your departure makes my heart full of shame. 20 Your love lies with mountains and gardens, With deep sighs I lament my inferiority.16

In structure, Xie Lingyun’s poem is similar to Xie Zhan’s. It, too, may be divided into three parts: presentation of the setting, description of the banquet, and the poet’s reaction to the guest’s departure. The details in Xie Lingyun’s poem, however, are very different. His portrayal of autumn at the beginning is more in line with convention. Words and phrases such as ku 苦 (“bitter”) and qiqi 淒淒 (“in the chill”) do seem to emphasize the gloomy aspect of the season. Therefore, when the poet states in line 5 that this “Fine time touches His Majesty’s heart” (良辰感聖心), it sounds rather abrupt and strained, unlike a similar line in Xie Zhan’s poem, “His Majesty’s heart is touched by the fine season” (聖心眷嘉節), which fits smoothly in that context. Perhaps Xie Lingyun intended to say that the presence of the emperor transformed this chilly season into a “fine time,” but textually he has not prepared the reader for this. The appearance of Liu Yu, the poet’s patron, is likewise brief in this poem. After stating in lines 5 and 6 that the sensitive heart of His Majesty is what has caused this poetic occasion to take place, the poet swiftly moves on to describe the banquet. In dealing with the delicate issue of addressing Liu Yu, Xie Lingyun, too, chooses to call him sheng 聖 (“His Majesty”). In comparison with Xie Zhan’s treatment of the banquet scene, however, Xie Lingyun’s is not only much more formal but also very complex, because he

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adopts several allusions to classical texts. “Banqueting enhances the trust among us” (餞宴光有孚) is a reference to the Zhouyi, where it is said that “if one drinks wine with trust, there is no fault” (有孚於飲酒, 無咎).17 The next line, “In harmony and delight we restore the past loss” (和樂隆所缺), alludes to the Mao preface to “Liuyue” 六月 (“The Sixth Month”) in the Shijing: “When ‘Luming’ is abandoned, harmony and delight will be in want” (鹿鳴廢則和樂缺矣). “Luming” 鹿鳴 (“The Deer Call One Another”) is a banquet poem in the Shijing. According to the Mao preface, it describes how the Zhou king entertains his ministers and noble guests as to insure their loyalty.18 It is a celebration of the harmony between the ruler and his ministers. Xie Lingyun’s line thus alludes to two texts, first to the Mao preface to “Liuyue,” which mentions “Luming,” and then to “Luming” itself. He has to twist the Mao preface in order to fit it into the present context: While the Mao preface states that there is lack of harmony because of the abandonment of “Luming,” Xie Lingyun states that such harmony is restored in the present banquet, presumably by Liu Yu’s patronage and by the poems that he and other poets write. These poems are implicitly compared to “Luming,” just as Liu Yu is compared to the ancient rulers. This rhetorical strategy adds formality and solemnity to the occasion, but in doing so it sacrifices the banquet scene itself, which gets blurred, if not eliminated, in the complex intertextuality of the two lines. It seems that this section is meant to prepare the poet’s patron for the subsequent message. In lines 11 and 12, “Noninterference is the law under heaven, / The wind wafts on myriad things, making them happy” (在宥天下理, 吹萬群方悅), Xie Lingyun uses quotations from the Zhuangzi to preach the Daoist philosophy of wuwei 無為, or noninterference, and suggests to Liu Yu that this is the best way of running a country.19 This gesture of admonishment was a conventional practice in panegyric poetry. Whereas Xie Zhan chose not to avail himself of it, Xie Lingyun opted to pay it at least lip service. Despite the lofty rhetoric of this section, the focus of Xie Lingyun’s poem is apparently on the guest’s departure and his emotional response to it. This is the longest segment of the text, ten lines out of twenty-two, and the style of this part also marks a clear shift from allusiveness to more straightforward expression. As Director Kong bids farewell to his colleagues and embarks on his river journey, the poet imagines the different paths that he and the “returning guest” will take. Lines 17 and 18, “In the flowing river there are rapid currents, / With our marching horses there are no slow gallops” (河流有急瀾, 浮驂無緩轍), are another fine example of the “parallelism of contrast.” They effectively convey the widening gap the poet feels between himself and the guest: Whereas on the river “there are” (you 有) rapid currents to take Director Kong to his life in “mountains and

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gardens” (qiuyuan 丘園), on land “there are no” (wu 無) slow gallops to delay the poet’s return to his public service. Each movement only marks a further separation between them. This brings out a sense of “shame” (kui 愧) in Xie Lingyun. His admission of “inferiority” (bolie 薄劣) at the end of the poem is both implicit praise of the departing guest and a comment on his own inability to follow his will in life. As in the case of Xie Zhan, this expression of shame and regret, demanded by the poetic occasion, might have been genuinely felt. One of the most recurrent themes of Xie Lingyun’s works is the desire to escape the troubles of society and to live in nature. His greatest regret, according to his final poem, written before he was executed during the reign of Emperor Wen, was that “my gentleman’s resolve / Will not end itself on mountain rocks” (恨我君子志, 不獲岩上泯). 20 The sentiment expressed at the end of the present poem squares with the dominant motif of his entire oeuvre. Xie Lingyun, too, has used the specific requirements of this poetic occasion to his own advantage. In both poems, the role of Liu Yu is limited to that of the occasion maker. In terms of poetics, he serves as an “evocative cause” (xing 興) that is laid aside soon after it is introduced. The focus of these poems is on the poets’ observations and reactions, and the sections in which those reactions appear are the most developed. The parts that deal with Liu Yu and the banquet are comparatively brief and perfunctory. In sum, these two poems demonstrate a remarkable expressive freedom that was possible only when the patron’s presence was not overwhelmingly intimidating. Emperor Wu died three years after he came to the throne. He was succeeded by his eldest son, Liu Yifu 劉義符, the Young Emperor 少帝 (r. 423– 24), who was killed only a year later by a group of powerful ministers and generals, including Xu Xianzhi 徐羡之 (fl. 424), Fu Liang 傅亮 (fl. 424), and the previously mentioned Xie Hui. They enthroned the third son of Emperor Wu, Liu Yilong 劉義隆, who became Emperor Wen. His three-decade reign, the “Yuanjia” era, marked the peak of the Liu Song dynasty. In literary history this was a period that produced major writers such as Xie Lingyun, Yan Yenzhi 顔延之 (384–456), and Bao Zhao 鮑照 (?–466). The Songshu notes that Emperor Wen “cared about arts” and ordered the establishment of the academies of Confucian Studies 儒學, Deep Learning 玄學, Historiography 史學, and Literature 文學.21 Emperor Wen was also a poet.22 In the preface to his “Poem on a Northern Expedition” 北伐詩, he claimed: “ I read widely when I was young. I particularly love literature.” He further stated that this poem was written at the spur of strong emotions, and he urged his ministers and officials to follow suit.23 All of this must have helped to promote poetic production among the literati at the time.

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Emperor Wen was a complex man. Soon after ascending the throne, in order to consolidate his position and to avoid the same fate as his older brother, he executed the people who had put him in power, among them Xu Xianzhi, Fu Liang, and Xie Hui. In his treatment of intellectuals, however, he was more lenient. Unlike the powerful ministers, intellectuals posed no imminent threat to his rule, and he needed them for cultural embellishment. Although he eventually ordered the executions of Xie Lingyun and Fan Ye 范 曄 (298–445), he did so only when they were accused of plotting rebellions. According to the Nanshi, after getting rid of Xu Xianzhi and the others, Emperor Wen repeatedly summoned Xie Lingyun to serve in his court. When Xie Lingyun finally agreed, he was given the post of “director of the palace library” 秘書監. Later he was promoted to “court attendant” 侍中, a potentially powerful position because of its proximity to the emperor. What Emperor Wen cared about, however, was only Xie Lingyun’s poetry and calligraphy, which he referred to as “two treasures.” He honored Xie Lingyun “only for his literary significance” (wenyi 文義), and whenever Xie Lingyun “was accompanying the emperor in banquets, His Majesty merely chatted with him for pleasure.” Xie Lingyun, who thought he should be given the chance to “participate in state affairs” because he was a “renowned person,” was greatly disappointed. He began to refuse to attend court sessions on the excuse of illness and spent his time building his gardens at government expense. At first Emperor Wen “did not want to harm his ministers” and ordered that Xie Lingyun be allowed to leave the capital and to return to his homestead at Kuaiji. At Kuaiji and at his other posts at Yongjia and Linchuan, Xie Lingyun managed to offend local officials and to get himself into trouble. Emperor Wen intervened on his behalf a number of times. But when Xie Lingyun was accused of organizing a revolt, Emperor Wen finally gave in to pressure from officials and ordered his execution.24 Emperor Wen’s interactions with Fan Ye, known mostly as the author of Hou Hanshu 後漢書 (History of the Latter Han Dynasty), further illustrates the emperor’s forbearance. According to the Songshu, Fan Ye was an undisciplined person. When his mother died, he was late for her funeral. What was more outrageous was that when he finally came, he brought with him his concubines and singing girls. Because of this he was indicted, but “Emperor Wen loved his talent and pardoned him.” When the mourning period was over, Emperor Wen first promoted him to “general of the left guards 左衛將軍 and then to “supervisor of the household of the heir apparent” 太子詹事. Fan Ye “was good at playing the pipa and making new music. Emperor Wen wanted to hear him play and repeatedly conveyed this [desire] to him in subtle ways. [Fan] Ye, however, pretended that he did not get the message and never played

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for His Majesty.” At one banquet, when Emperor Wen “was in high spirit, he said to [Fan] Ye, ‘I will sing, and you can play.’ [Fan] Ye consented. When His Majesty finished singing, [Fan] Ye also stopped playing.”25 These anecdotes suggest a patronage relationship characterized by a certain amount of mutual respect. They demonstrate the more tolerant, less rigid, and less suspicious aspects of Emperor Wen. They also show Fan Ye’s assertion of his dignity and his unwillingness to be treated as a mere entertainer. Such a relationship, however, could last only as long as Fan Ye remained what Emperor Wen wanted him to be, a refined courtier who kept out of the power struggle at court. When Fan Ye was later caught plotting against the government, Emperor Wen did not hesitate to order his execution.26 Among the poems presented to Emperor Wen that survive are pieces by some of the most prominent literary figures of the time, Xie Lingyun, Fan Ye, and Yan Yanzhi. The following is a piece by Xie Lingyun: 從遊京口 北固應詔 玉璽戒誠信 黃屋示崇高 事為名教用 道以神理超 昔聞汾水游 今見塵外鑣 鳴笳發春渚 稅鑾登山椒 張組眺倒景 列筵矚歸潮 遠巖映蘭薄 白日麗江皋 原隰荑綠柳 墟囿散紅桃 皇心美陽澤 萬象咸光昭 顧己枉維縶 撫志慚場苗 工拙各所宜 終以反林巢

Accompanying His Majesty during a Tour to Beigu Mountain at Jingkou, Written at Imperial Command The jade seal is to urge loyalty and trust, The yellow canopy is to show nobility. Things find their uses in doctrines, The Way is transcendent in spirit. 4 In the past I heard of the journey to the Fen River, At present I see these steeds galloping beyond dust. Singing pipes arise from spring isles, The carriage halts, and [His Majesty] ascends the hilltop. 8 Tents are set up as I look at the scenes reflected [in the river], Guests sit along mats as I gaze at the receding tides. Distant rocks mirror the fine shrubbery, White sun beautifies the riverbanks. 12 On the swamps green willows are budding, Over the villages red peaches are spreading. The imperial heart is as beautiful as the sun’s grace, All things bathe in its brilliant light. 16 Looking at myself, I am ashamed for being vainly tethered, Reflecting on my will, I am embarrassed by the field crops. Each individual has his aptitude and awkwardness, My destiny is to return to my nest in the woods. 20

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Such old thought has been haunting me all the time, Observing the scenery, I present this long song.27

According to Gu Shaobo, the editor of Xie Lingyun ji jiaozhu, this poem was most likely composed in the fourth year of Yuanjia (427), when Xie Lingyun was “director of the palace library.”28 As we have seen earlier, imperial outings and excursions were conventional poetic occasions. Sometimes the purpose of the trip is specified, but the present poem provides no information on this. Xie Lingyun’s poem begins on a very formal note. The first two lines introduce Emperor Wen via two synecdoches, the “ jade seal” (yuxi玉璽) and the “yellow canopy” (huangwu 黃屋), symbols of imperial power and pomp. The poet comments on these two imperial objects and points out their different symbolic functions. The former encourages loyalty and trust between the monarch and his people (jie chengxin 戒誠信), and the latter demonstrates the grandeur of His Majesty (shi chonggao 示崇高). This rhetorical gesture works both ways: It praises the significance and importance of the throne and at the same time reminds the emperor of his responsibilities. The next two lines compare and contrast “Things” (shi 事) and “Way” (dao 道). They state that while “things” are valued for their pragmatic “uses” (yong 用) in “doctrines” (mingjiao 名教), the ultimate Way transcends all of this because it resides in “spirit” (shengli 神理). This is a rephrasing of the old “Deep Learning” argument that wu 無 (“non-being”), the spirit, is superior to you 有 (“being”), often represented by the “doctrines.”29 The poet seems to suggest that the “things” of the preceding two lines—the imperial jade seal and the yellow canopy—are merely the surface of monarchy, and its true values and significance lie in the “spirit” that transcends them. Lines 5 and 6 compare Emperor Wen to ancient sage rulers. They allude to two passages in the Zhuangzi. In the “Xiaoyao you” 逍遙遊 (“Free Roaming”) chapter, Yao, the legendary ruler, is said to have traveled to the Fen River after bringing peace and prosperity to his country. There he experienced a trance in which he felt as if he had left the world. In the “Dazongshi” (“Great Master”) 大宗師 chapter, one of the “great masters” is described as “wandering in trance beyond dust.”30 These allusions also have two functions: They flatter Emperor Wen and at the same time subtly preach the wuwei, or “noninterference,” philosophy of Daoism that is clearly advocated in these passages. After a brief description of the imperial retinue’s arrival on the scene in lines 7 and 8, the poem’s perspective shifts to the poet’s personal observation of the scene. With this shift, its style changes as well; it becomes uncluttered and intimate. In this section we find the finest of Xie Lingyun’s poetry. Surrounded by other officials as “tents are set up” (zhangzu 張組) and guests “sit

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along mats” (lieyan 列筵), the poet turns his attention to the landscape before him. The result is the following beautiful section: 遠巖映蘭薄 白日麗江皋 原隰荑綠柳 墟囿散紅桃

Distant rocks mirror the fine shrubbery, White sun beautifies the riverbanks. On the swamps green willows are budding, Over the villages red peaches are spreading.

Once more the adroit use of parallelism increases the depth and charm of the description. As our view alternates between mountains and rivers, we see not only objects of different kinds and colors but also the different roles they play in this vital spring scene. This section produces a lively, warm, quiet environment in which all elements, both natural and human, are connected and in harmony. It forms a sharp contrast to the noisy, pompous activities described earlier. This brief but intense moment gives the poet a chance to indulge in his own mood and observation, oblivious to his public role as court poet and official. To avoid sounding too egocentric, in the next two lines Xie Lingyun brings his attention back to Emperor Wen, whom he refers to synecdochically as “the imperial heart” (huangxin 皇心). Xie Lingyun offers the conventional eulogy to Emperor Wen by using the metaphor of “sun’s grace” (yangze 陽 澤). As the poem progresses toward its end, however, he shifts entirely to his personal thoughts and feelings. This shift is marked by the phrase guji 顧己 (“looking at myself ”) in line 17, which signals an inward turn. Xie Lingyun blames himself for his inability to contribute to his monarch’s cause. This sentiment is conveyed in lines 17 and 18 via an allusion to the “Baiju” 白駒 (“The White Colt”) in the Shijing.31 According to the Mao preface, this poem was a satire on King Xuan of Zhou, who was unable to keep worthy people in his court.32 By alluding to this classical text, Xie Lingyun subtly transforms his self-criticism into a complaint against his patron. He is unable to serve Emperor Wen effectively not because of his own inability but because the emperor has turned him away. Having thus voiced his complaint couched as self-criticism, Xie Lingyun says that since he is not good at public service, he must eventually return to where he belongs, his “nest in the woods” (linchao 林巢). In the last two lines he sums up the theme of his poem, addressing both himself and his imperial patron. He makes it clear that this “old thought” (jiuxiang 舊想) of returning to nature has been “haunting” (ying 縈) him for a long time. The opportunity of “observing the scenery” (lanwu 覽物) provided by the imperial tour has stirred it up again and produced this poem, which he now “presents” (zou 奏) to Emperor Wen.

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Longing for a simple life in nature is a perennial theme in Chinese literature. Before the southern dynasties period, however, this theme was seldom articulated in works presented to monarchs. In the panegyric poetry of Xie Lingyun and other southern dynasties poets, it became a recurrent motif. This may sound odd at first, because longing for nature entails rejection of society and thus implies dissatisfaction with the status quo, which the poets’ imperial patrons represent. This issue needs to be considered before I proceed to other poets. In Chinese culture, glorification of eremitic life goes back to high antiquity. The Zhouyi contains the often-quoted statement that one may choose “not to serve kings and lords in order to follow his own noble cause” (不事王 侯，高尚其事).33 Two poems in the Shijing, the “Kaopan” 考槃 (“Putting up a Hut”) and “Hengmen” 衡門 (“Beneath My Door”), are believed to be in praise of recluses.34 The Daoism of Zhuangzi was most passionate in promoting the pursuit of freedom and a simple life in nature.35 Even Confucius, whose social commitment was staunch, expressed sympathy toward this attitude.36 Often the choice of nature over society was both personal and political. This was particularly true for Confucius and Zhuangzi, who turned to nature out of disillusionment with the sociopolitical conditions of their times. In Confucius’ words, his desire to “take a raft to the ocean” was contingent on one important condition, that there was “no justice in the world.”37 As time went on, this longing for the simple life in nature was neutralized. It not only became apolitical but was also perceived as a demonstration of graceful taste. If, as the ancient legend alleged, Xu You 許由 declined Yao’s request to succeed him and his decision was respected by Yao,38 then there was no reason for later rulers to be upset by someone’s expressed love of nature. After all, Yao’s time was supposed to have been the golden age of Chinese civilization, and even then there were recluses. Thus, the two sides in the issue, the monarchs and the recluses-to-be, seem to have reached a mutual understanding: The expression of longing for a simple life in nature and the acceptance of this expression spoke well of both sides, because both were regarded as exhibiting graceful tastes and personalities. As Fan Ye noted in his preface to “Yimin liezhuan” 逸民列傳 (“Biographies of Recluses”) in the Hou Hanshu, “Yao ruled the world, but he did not humiliate the wills of Chao Fu and Xu You. King Wu of Zhou was perfect, and he respected the integrity of Bo Yi and Shu Qi.”39 The result is that by the Wei-Jin Nanbeichao period, with additional encouragement from the Deep Learning on the intellectual front,40 the desire for a reclusive life in nature had to a large extent lost its original political and protest character. As a scholar has pointed out, during this time “recluses had become ornaments of peace and prosperity.” They were welcomed by the ruling

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class because “when there were so many pure and lofty recluses, it showed the all-embracing virtue of the rulers.”41 Politically, such recluses posed no threat to their interests and power. This brief overview may help to explain why even in poems presented to imperial rulers we often find expressions of longing for seclusion. Some of that longing might have been genuine, and some might simply have been feigned in order to sound elegant and fashionable. This ambiguity provided a sanctioned outlet for some poets to articulate their frustrations with their official careers and to express their desires to leave society for a simple life in nature. Xie Lingyun’s poem, which was just examined, may fall into the category of genuine longing. The next poem I consider is by Fan Ye. This poem, too, was presented to Emperor Wen during an outing: 樂遊應詔詩 崇盛歸朝闕 虛寂在川岑 山梁協孔性 黃屋非堯心 軒駕時未肅 文囿降照臨 流雲起行蓋 晨風引鑾音 原薄信平蔚 臺澗備曾深 蘭池清夏氣 脩帳含秋陰 遵渚攀蒙密 隨山上嶇嶔 睇目有極覽 遊情無近尋 聞道雖已積 年力互頹侵 探己謝丹黻 感事懷長林

Written at Imperial Command during an Outing at Leyou Park Grandeur belongs to capital and court, Tranquillity is with rivers and hills. Mountain ridges suited Confucius’ personality, Yellow canopy accorded not with Yao’s heart. 4 No vehicles were cleared for the imperial retinue, The beautiful park was graced by the emperor’s visit. Flowing clouds arise from traveling canopies, Morning wind sings with the carriage bells. 8 The plains and trees are indeed level and lush, The terraces and streams are truly high and deep. Orchid ponds send out the summer air, Long tents take in the autumn shade. 12 Dense plants cling along the marshes, Tall rocks climb up the mountains. My eyes gaze at those superb views, My thought roams with no immediate aim. 16 Though I learned the Way rather late, When age and strength fall on each other, In search of myself, I would forgo the red knee-cover, Moved by the occasion, I long for the wide forest. 42 20

The Leyou Park (樂遊園) mentioned here was built by Emperor Wen’s father, Emperor Wu.43 Earlier, the Han dynasty had a park of the same name. The purpose of building parks such as this was to create places “for the ancient monarchs to go for sightseeing and exercising.”44 Sima Xiangru’s

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“Rhapsody on an Imperial Excursion and Hunt,” it will be recalled, celebrated the grandeur of one such park, the Shanglin. Fan Ye’s poem provides no specific information about Emperor Wen’s outing. Throughout the poem he makes no direct reference to Emperor Wen. The focus of the poem is on his personal observations of the scene and on his reactions. The opening couplet, written in parallelism, contrasts two lifestyles, the pomp of court and the tranquillity of nature. Because the topic of the poem is the latter, the poet goes out of his way to praise its value and significance. In the next two lines he uses legends about two ancient sages, Confucius and Yao, to legitimate this topic. In the Analects, Confucius said that “the pheasants on mountain ridges, how timely they are!”45 One of Yao’s legends alleges that he once considered abdicating his kingship (represented in Fan Ye’s poem by a “yellow canopy” 黃屋) to Xu You, who rejected the offer.46 The other function of these references is to introduce Emperor Wen in the next two lines. The poet is suggesting, flatteringly, that Emperor Wen is following the examples of these ancient sages in leaving the capital and its pomp at court to enjoy some “tranquillity” (xuji 虛寂) in “rivers and hills” (chuancen 川岑). Fan Ye specifically states in line 5 that unlike most rulers, Emperor Wen did not issue an order to clear the roads leading to Leyou Park. This is meant to further praise the virtue of his imperial patron. After a brief description of the imperial retinue’s traveling fanfare in lines 7 and 8, the poet turns his attention away from the public scene. He gazes at the landscape before him, and his intense interest in it completely obscures what is taking place around him. The descriptive section that follows, lines 9– 14, is the longest and most focused part of the poem. It is cast in parallelism but lacks the allusiveness and mannerism found in the earlier section.47 Consequently, the landscape Fan Ye presents is well structured but uncluttered. He first directs our attention to the distant view, where the flat plains (原薄 信平蔚) form a vivid contrast with towering terraces and deep streams (臺澗 備曾深). The poem’s perspective then shifts to the scene nearby, the “orchid ponds” (lanchi 蘭池) and “long tents” (xiuzhang 脩帳), which respectively provide “summer air” (xiaqi 夏氣) and “autumn shade” (qiuyin 秋陰). After this, it moves again to the scene in the distance. Here we have the familiar alternate views of “river” (represented here by “marshes” zhu 渚) and “mountains” (shan 山), a beloved visual construction central to the aesthetics of this period. Through these shifts in perspective and focus, the poet presents his audience with a landscape that is layered and kinetic. These “superb views” (jilan 極覽), Fan Ye, states, cause his “thought to roam” (youqing 遊情). Lines 15–16 mark the poem’s transition from external observation to internal reflection. Even though the poet is no longer young, it is still not too late that he “learned the Way” (wendao 聞道) and engaged

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“in search of myself ” (tanji 探己). To this end, he concludes, he must forgo his official position (symbolized by the “red knee-cover,” danfu 丹黻) in pursuit of a life in the “wide forest” (changli 長林).48 Moreover, Fan Ye makes it clear in the last line that the imperial outing is the “occasion” (shi 事) that “moved” (gan 感) him to these personal reflections. Once more, the role of the monarch is presented as a “stimulus,” or xing, for the poem. During the Liu Song dynasty, the poet who wrote the greatest number of panegyric poems was Yan Yanzhi. His biography in the Nanshi records that Emperor Wen once ordered him and Xie Lingyun to write a yuefu 樂 府, or “music bureau”–style poem. Yan Yanzhi completed his right away, but it took Xie Lingyun a long time to finish.49 This anecdote reveals the skill or knack that Yan must have had in composing poetry upon imperial command. Wenxuan includes four such poems by Yan Yanzhi, which were all presented to Emperor Wen. Historical sources note that Emperor Wen admired Yan Yanzhi’s “literary talent and knowledge” (caixue 才學) and offered him posts such as those of ‘attendant gentleman to the secretariat’ 中書侍郎 and ‘palace cadet of the heir apparent’ 太子中庶子, both sinecures with only ceremonial functions. Yan Yanzhi, however, was unhappy with these appointments. The Nanshi further notes that Emperor Wen was also appreciative of the “literary talent and knowledge” of a Buddhist monk named Huilin 釋慧琳. His Majesty seems to have shown more interest in this person, because he often “consulted him on various issues regarding the administration of the nation,” and “whenever His Majesty summoned him, he [Huilin] would ascend to sit next to him.” This fueled deep jealousy in Yan Yanzhi and led him to criticize the emperor for allowing “a castrated person to sit on the [seat of] one of Three Communicating Agencies.” Emperor Wen was reportedly “very angered” by his words. On another occasion, Yan Yanzhi repeatedly refused to answer Emperor Wen’s summons because he was drunk. He finally went to see His Majesty only when he became sober a few days later.50 These incidents indicate that Yan Yanzhi enjoyed special patronage from Emperor Wen. They also reveal Yan Yanzhi’s blunt, albeit vain, character and Emperor Wen’s willingness to tolerate it. Most of the panegyric poems that Yan Yanzhi presented to Emperor Wen deal with conventional occasions such as imperial banquets and outings, but one of them is about crop harvesting, a topic that had not hitherto been treated in shi or “poetry” written at imperial command, although it had already been dealt with in fu, or “rhapsody.”51 I begin my discussion of Yan Yanzhi’s poems with this piece: 應詔 觀北湖田收

Observing Crop Harvesting at the Fields by North Lake: Written at Imperial Command

Addressing the Best and Worst of Rulers 周御窮轍跡 夏載歷山川 蓄軫豈明懋 善遊皆聖仙 帝暉膺順動 清蹕巡廣廛 樓觀眺豐穎 金駕映松山 飛奔互流綴 緹彀代迴環 神行埒浮景 爭光溢中天 開冬眷徂物 殘悴盈化先 陽陸團精氣 陰谷曳寒煙 攢素既森藹 積翠亦蔥仟 息饗報嘉歲 通急戒無年 溫渥浹輿隸 和惠屬後筵 觀風久有作 陳詩愧未妍 疲弱謝淩遽 取累非纆牽

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The carriages of Zhou covered every track, The chariots of Xia crossed all mountains and rivers. Storing vehicles away is not enlightened, Enjoying traveling pertains to sages and gods. 4 The emperor’s sunlight moves with the season, As the roads are cleared he tours the vast farm fields. From the towers we gaze at the rich crops, Golden chariots shine against the pine-covered hills. 8 Flying carriages move and stop, Horsemen gallop back and forth. The divine entourage equals the moving sun, Their rivaling brilliances fill the entire sky. 12 As winter comes the emperor thinks of fallen crops, Which wither till they come to life again. Vital energy gathers on sunny lands, Cold mist drifts along shady ravines. 16 Colorless thickets are lushly abundant, Green copses are luxuriantly dense. To reward the harvest, farmers are given rest and feast, To prepare for famine, emergency crops are stored. 20 The emperor’s beneficence reaches the lowest folk, His grace encompasses the attendants in the back. Since antiquity poems were presented to observe customs, I am ashamed that mine is not so fine. 24 Tired and weak, I am no longer quick-witted, Whatever blame I receive is not due to the “long rein.”52

Imperial participation in agricultural activities, known as jitian 籍 (or 藉) 田, was an ancient ritual.53 Its purpose was to encourage agricultural production. Yan Yanzhi’s poem, however, does not portray the emperor’s personal participation in the “crop harvesting” (tianshou 田收). Indeed, the poet makes no mention of this activity at all. His focus is instead on praising Emperor Wen’s virtue, describing the pomp of the imperial entourage, and, to a lesser degree, depicting the beauty of the surrounding landscape. Yan Yanzhi begins his poem with one of the most conventional strategies in panegyric poetry, which is to compare his imperial patron to the enlightened rulers of antiquity. The brief mention of the travel-loving monarchs of Xia and Zhou, who are called “sages and gods” (shengxian 聖仙) in line 4, is meant to introduce Emperor Wen in line 5, who likewise “moves with the season” (yingshun dong 膺順動) to observe the harvesting. The next section, lines 7–12, depicts the views from the “towers” (louguan 樓觀) from which the poet

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and his imperial patron are looking out. What comes to the poet’s attention, however, is not “the rich crops” (fengying 豐穎) the two are said to “gaze at” (tiao 眺) but the surrounding scenery and, most of all, the movements of the imperial retinue. As is made clear in line 8, “the pine-covered hills” (songshan 松山) serve as background for “golden chariots” (jinjia 金駕). The dazzling progression of vehicles, horses, and their riders in the next two lines is said to constitute a “divine entourage” (shengxing 神行) that “equals the moving sun” (lie fujing 埒浮景). The conventional surpass topos has been moved from history—to which it was applied in the first section of the poem—to nature. Yan Yanzhi next praises Emperor Wen’s concern with agriculture. Then follows another descriptive section, but this time the focus is exclusively on the lush surroundings, the “sunny lands” (yangly 陽陸) and “shady ravines” (yingu 陰谷). Lines 19–20 are ambiguous: “To reward the harvest, farmers are given rest and feast, / To prepare for famine, emergency crops are stored” (息饗報 嘉歲, 通急戒無年). They can be read both as a tribute to Emperor Wen for what he has already done and as advice for what he should do. This ambiguity enables Yan Yanzhi to perform his dual duty of praising and admonishing. The couplet that follows is meant to accentuate the praise aspect of this double-edged message, going out of its way to eulogize the universal beneficence of the emperor. To give his poem a conventional ending, Yan Yanzhi belittles it at the end. He first situates his poem in the ancient tradition where people used poetry to “observe customs” (guanfeng 觀風),54 and then apologizes for its alleged inferiority. The dominant characteristic of this poem is its public dimension. Its personal aspect is mostly submerged. The description of landscape, for example, is not only brief but also general and vague. Passages such as “Colorless thickets are lushly abundant, / Green copses are luxuriantly dense” (攢素既森藹, 積翠亦蔥仟) sound unenthusiastic because they lack the specificity and attentiveness that indicate emotional engagement on the part of the poet. They therefore reveal little of his sensitivity. Even the last portion of the poem, the personal dimension of which is sanctioned by poetic convention, is sacrificed because Yan Yanzhi elects to use it to make a perfunctory comment on his official duty as a court poet. Most of Yan Yanzhi’s panegyric poems follow this pattern. “Banquet by the Meandering Stream: Written at Imperial Command” 應詔讌曲水作詩, which was cast in the archaic tetrasyllabic format, is the most formal.55 But I want next to consider another piece by him in which his personality is still visible. The biographies of Yan Yanzhi in the Nanshi and Songshu portray him as “undisciplined” (shudan 疏誕) and often “offending the powerful with his sharp words.”56 His “Poems on Five Gentlemen” 五君詠, written in defiance when he was sent by his political enemies to be magistrate of Yongjia,

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contains lines such as “The crane’s wings may sometimes be damaged, / But who can tame the will of a dragon?” (鸞翮有時鎩，龍性誰能馴).57 It is understandable that when addressing the emperor, Yan Yanzhi had to keep his “dragon-ness” in check, but he still could refuse to have it completely “tamed.” This is a fine line to walk. In the following poem we can see at least some traces of this effort: 車駕幸京口 侍遊蒜山作 元天高北列 日觀臨東溟 入河起陽峽 踐華因削成 巖險去漢宇 衿衛徙吳京 流池自化造 山關固神營 園縣極方望 邑社摠地靈 宅道炳星緯 誕曜應神明 睿思纏故里 巡駕帀舊坰 陟峰騰輦路 尋雲抗瑤甍 春江壯風濤 蘭野茂稊英 宣遊弘下濟 窮遠凝聖情 嶽濱有和會 祥習在卜征 周南悲昔老 留滯感遺氓 空食疲廊肆 反稅事巖耕

Poem Composed while Attending the Emperor Traveling to Mount Suan, When His Majesty’s Entourage Graced Jingkou Yuantian [Primordial Heaven] soars high in the north, Riguan [Sun Observation] faces the sea in the east. [Mount Suan] enters the river to rise by Mount Yang, And is cut into shape along Mount Hua. 4 Its precipitous landscape reaches the Han region And meanders about, protecting the Wu capital. Its streams and ponds are made by natural forces, Its mountains and passes are formed by divine hands. 8 The mausoleum town is ideal for rituals and sacrifices, Shrines of worship gather the spirits of the earth. Within this residential area stars shine, Brightly they correspond to divine light. 12 [The Emperor’s] wise thought turns to his homestead, His entourage has frequented each of its sections. They ascend peaks and ride on royal roads, They follow clouds and rise to jade columns. 16 Wind and waves rage in the spring river, Budding flowers cover the beautiful wildlands. The imperial visits spread grace to all below, His Majesty’s affection fills the impoverished corners. 20 By the hills and along the river, harmony pervades, Auspicious is the prediction for each imperial journey. Once in Zhounan an old man lamented his fate, Left behind too, my heart goes out to him. 24 Rather than being an idle eater at the exhausting court, I would return to farm and to pay my taxes.58

Some scholars have remarked that the grand diction in the beginning section of this poem (lines 1–6) “has no connection with Mount Suan, which is rather low. This shows that it is entirely a perfunctory writing.”59 It is certainly true that this section sounds hyperbolic, but whether or not

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the effect of hyperbole is always perfunctoriness is another issue. Recall that in the Han epideictic rhapsodies, hyperbole was used for special purposes because it could create irony, and irony could be subversive. I believe this is also true in Yan Yanzhi’s poem. The enormous gap between Mount Suan and the poet’s language in depicting it can only draw attention to the absurdity of the depiction. This creates a comical effect that undermines the event in question. Mount Suan is located at Jingko (present-day Jiangsu Province), the birthplace of Emperor Wen along the Yangtze River. It is not only small but also relatively unknown. The first section of the poem (lines 1–12) is meant to make Mount Suan and its surrounding area a worthy place for Emperor Wen and his visit. To achieve this goal, in the opening couplet Yan Yanzhi compares Mount Suan to Yuantian 元天 (“Primordial Heaven”), a legendary mountain from which one is said to be able to “view stars from all four directions,” and to Riguan 日觀 (“Sun Observation”), a peak on the famous Mount Tai 泰山.60 The hyperbolic effect lies both in the comparison and in the names of the mountains compared, which contain the characters tian 天 (“heaven”) and ri 日 (“sun”), familiar metaphors for the universe at large. This grandiose tone continues throughout the rest of the section as the poet describes the geographic features of Mount Suan and its adjacent areas. Yan Yanzhi repeats the character shen 神 (“divine”) in lines 8 and 12, thereby emphasizing these places’ quasi-divine qualities. This is clearly meant to be a tribute to Emperor Wen, who as the Son of Heaven is presumably endowed with similar attributes. The next section, lines 13–23, describes the arrival of Emperor Wen. Two lines stand out in this part of the poem. After a brief depiction of the movement of the imperial entourage along the mountain roads in lines 15 and 16, the poet directs our attention to a different scene in the next couplet: “Wind and waves rage in the spring river, / Budding flowers cover the beautiful wildlands” (春江壯風濤, 蘭野茂稊英). This couplet is refreshing because it presents the landscape directly as the poet views it, rather than couching it in rhetorical tropes that exaggerate it for ritual and political purposes. It provides a momentary break from the poet’s pressing public duties. In what remains of this section Yan Yanzhi resumes his focus on these duties. He praises Emperor Wen’s virtue and its widespread influence. The poem’s final section, however, is different in tone and content. As though to draw attention to the difference between this part and the main body of the poem, the transition is noticeably abrupt. Having stated in line 20 that “His Majesty’s affection fills the impoverished corners” (窮遠凝聖情), the poet introduces himself as one who is left out. He compares himself to Sima Tan 司馬談 (?–110 bce), father of Sima Qian, who was once left behind at Zhounan 周南

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by the Han Emperor Wu on his way to worship at Mount Tai.61 “Lamented” (bei 悲), the word used to describe the actions of Sima Tan and Yan Yanzhi himself, is jarring in this context. It cancels, or at least brings into question, his eulogy of Emperor Wen in the main body of the poem. As if this were still not adequate in voicing his frustrations, Yan Yanzhi ends his poem with the blunt, cynical statement that because he is not getting the respect he deserves, but is treated as an “idle eater” (kongshi 空食) in an “exhausting court” (pi langsi 疲廊 肆), he would rather lead a more meaningful life as an ordinary person, farming and paying his share of taxes (反稅事巖耕). The Wenxuan notes that this poem was written in the twenty-sixth year of Yuanjia (420). The Zizhi tongjian records that in the second month of that year, Emperor Wen paid a visit to the imperial tombs at Jingkou.62 From the poem we can infer that Yan Yanzhi was not allowed to accompany Emperor Wen to the ceremonies after the initial reception held upon arrival. Yan Yanzhi was sixty-six that year. Two years later, he was to present a memorial to Emperor Wen asking to be relieved of his official posts, and a year later he was allowed to resign.63 Given this information, we may conclude that the wish he expresses at the end of the poem, despite its cynicism, is sincere. The forthrightness with which it is articulated demonstrates the anger and frustration of an old court official-poet who, after lifelong service in government, bluntly informs his monarch that he has had enough of it. A significant point to be made about this poem is that Yan Yanzhi had the audacity to present it to an imperial patron. Unlike poems written for occasions that called for eremitic sentiment, such as the poems of Xie Zhan, Xie Lingyun, and Fan Ye that were considered earlier, Yan Yanzhi’s deals with a topic that has no connection with this motif. There is thus no contextual basis on which to explain away his bold attempt at spoiling a celebratory occasion for personal reasons. Historical sources did not record Emperor Wen’s reaction to Yan Yanzhi’s poem, but apparently he meted out no punishment, for three years later he allowed Yan Yanzhi to resign from his offices. Not all monarchs possessed such humor and tolerance. Emperor Xiaowu, the third son of Emperor Wen, was ruthless in executing his ministers and officials. The notorious slaughter he ordered in Guanling after putting down a rebellion led by his brother, the Prince of Jingling, Liu Dan 竟陵王誕, in which all adult males were killed and all women were given to government troops as presents, is enough to demonstrate his cruelty.64 And this cruelty was not limited to those who posed a direct threat to his power. The fate of Yan Jun 顔竣 (d. 457), the son of Yan Yanzhi, is a case in point. Yan Jun was instrumental in helping Emperor Xiaowu consolidate his position early in his reign. He held crucial posts such as “chief of the ministry of personnel” 吏部尚 書, “calvary general” 驃騎將軍, and “secretariat director” 中書令. At one time

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Yan Jun enjoyed “great favor and trust. None of his memorials and requests was declined [by Emperor Xiaowu].”65 Later, emboldened by his success and by his close relationship with the emperor, Yan Jun became more outspoken in his opinions. This irritated Emperor Xiaowu, who began to ignore his advice. Yan Jun suspected that he had fallen out of favor with the emperor and asked to be sent out of the capital. When Emperor Xiaowu granted his request and appointed him a local magistrate, Yan Jun became more fearful. He voiced his frustrations during conversations with friends and relatives. This apparently reached the capital, so when Yan Jun, like his father before, asked to be allowed to resign from his official posts and to return to his homestead, Emperor Xiaowu ordered the execution of both Yan Jun and his son.66 Emperor Xiaowu’s habit of deliberately insulting his ministers was notorious and well documented. Both the Songshu and the Nanshi note that he amused himself by giving humiliating nicknames to them according to their physical defacts. He employed a slave boy from the western region and often ordered him to cane ministers in court.67 People’s fear and hatred of this monarch were such that his death caused open celebration among his relatives and ministers, who felt that “from now on [they] would no longer have to fear wrongful death.”68 In addition to Emperor Xiaowu’s cruelty and contempt toward his ministers and officials, another factor complicates the poems presented to him. As Liu Xie noted, Emperor Xiaowu was also a poet.69 Historical sources inform us that he “loved composing literary writings and claimed that they were superior to the writings of everyone else.” 70 Consequently, those who addressed their poems to Emperor Xiaowu had not only to flatter him but also to be careful not to offend his literary pride. This unique circumstance had a direct effect on poets such as Bao Zhao. According to historical sources, Bao Zhao “understood the intent [of Emperor Xiaowu’s claim]” and deliberately produced “low-quality, clumsy” writings in front of His Majesty.71 The Nanshi contains an episode that reveals a great deal about the atmosphere in which poets produced their works at the command of Emperor Xiaowu. At a court banquet, the emperor ordered everyone present to write a poem. One elderly military commander, Shen Qingzhi 沈慶之, was illiterate, even though he was “somewhat eloquent in speaking.” The emperor insisted that he also write a poem. So Shen Qingzhi “was forced” to compose a verse orally and asked Yan Shibo 顔師伯 to write it down. The following is the poem: 微生遇多幸 得逢時運昌 朽老筋力盡

This humble life has seen many fortunate things, I am lucky to live at this prosperous time. The strength of my old muscles is at its end,

Addressing the Best and Worst of Rulers 徒步還南崗 辭榮此聖世 何愧張子房

I would return on foot to the southern hill. Leaving behind in glory this sagely era, How can I feel ashamed before Zhang Zifang?72

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As expected, Shen Qingzhi praises Emperor Xiaowu’s reign in the first two lines. He then expresses the desire to retire from his office, comparing himself to the renowned Han dynasty minister and strategist Zhang Liang 張良 (?–189 bce), courtesy name Zifang 子房. According to the Shiji, having helped Liu Bang 劉邦, Emperor Gaozu 漢高祖 (r. 206–194 bce), found the Han dynasty, Zhang Liang retired from office to study the Daoist techniques of attaining immortality.73 By comparing himself to Zhang Liang, Shen implicitly compares Emperor Xiaowu to Emperor Gaozu, and the Liu Song dynasty to the Han dynasty. Emperor Xiaowu was reportedly “greatly pleased” by Shen Qingzhi’s poem.74 In comparison with other panegyric poems, Shen Qingzhi’s is refreshingly unassuming. It uses no lofty rhetoric, and more importantly, it deploys none of the parallelism that was in vogue at the time. The allusion to Zhang Liang serves several purposes, all of them pertinent to the poetic occasion. Shen Qingzhi’s lack of training in literary conventions turned out to be an advantage. Few poems addressed to Emperor Xiaowu survive. In the works of Bao Zhao, for example, only two poems have been identified as having been presented to Emperor Xiaowu. This is noteworthy because Bao Zhao’s biographical sketches in the Nanshi and Songshu clearly indicate that he must have composed more such verses. As early as the Southern Qi dynasty (479–501), Crown Prince Wenhui 文惠太子 (d. 493) asked his Cavalier Attendant-inordinary 散騎常侍 Yu Yan 虞炎 (fl. ca. 483–493) to put together a collection of Bao Zhao’s writings. According to Yu Yan, many of Bao Zhao’s writings had been lost by then, and he was able to find only about half of them.75 Still, the fact that only two of Bao Zhao’s poems for Emperor Xiaowu survived suggests that in the eyes of collectors, those “low-quality, clumsy” works that Bao Zhao was forced to produce showed that he was “at the end of his talent,” 76 and that the poems were not worth keeping. The two extant poems are not entirely without merit, although in comparison with Bao Zhao’s other works they indeed sound weak: 侍宴覆舟山 二首 一 息雨清上郊 雲開照中縣

Two Poems Composed while Attending on His Majesty at a Banquet at Mount Fuzhou 1 The rain stopped, the upper outskirts cleared, The clouds opened, [the sun] shone on the middle lands.

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| writ ten at imperial command 遊軒越丹居 暉燭集涼殿 淩高躋飛楹 追焱起流宴 枑苑含靈群 嵒庭藏物變 明輝爍神州 麗氣冠華甸 目遠幽情周 醴洽深恩徧

Traveling carriages pass crimson palaces, Bright candles gather in the cool halls. 4 Flying eaves rise into the high sky, Swift flames begin the carefree banquet. Sealed courtyards hold outstanding people, Rocky enclosures hide various objects. 8 Brilliant light illuminates the divine nation, Luminous air caps the beautiful countryside. Gazing at the distance, my deep feelings roam far and wide, Wines are passed around, the imperial grace reaches 12 everyone.77

The subtitle of the poem states that it was “written at imperial command on behalf of Liu Yuanjing.” Liu served several high-ranking posts under Emperor Xiaowu, one of which was “court attendant” 侍中.78 Bao Zhao’s position at that time was “secretariat drafter” 中書舍人, a menial position with the primary responsibility of handling government documents. Bao Zhao was probably ordered to write this poem for Liu Yuanjing because the latter was a military person and lacked the skill to write one himself. This is a very formal and perfunctory poem. The presentation of the landscape, which occupies ten of the poem’s twelve lines, is done in broad strokes in order to create a grandiose setting appropriate for the occasion. The opening couplet, written in parallelism, sets the tone. It portrays a vast view bathed in the nourishing rain and warm sunshine, symbolizing the universal beneficence of the monarch. Even as the poet provides details in the next six lines, all we see are the carriages of the imperial entourage and palaces. The concluding couplet of this section, “Brilliant light illuminates the divine nation, / Luminous air caps the beautiful countryside” (明輝爍神州, 麗氣冠 華甸), repeats in similar structure and imagery what was said in the opening couplet, to further emphasize the encomiastic tone. The poet makes a brief appearance at the poem’s end, in line 11, where he is seen gazing “at the distance” (muyuan 目遠). This conventional act usually signals a personal reaction from the poet, and for an instant this seems to be the case, because we are told that as the result of this gazing, his “deep feelings roam far and wide” (youqing zhou 幽情周). Immediately following this, however, Bao Zhao downplays the personal dimension of his “deep feelings” and connects them with the “grace” (en 恩) of the emperor. Through this gesture he seems to be assuring His Majesty that while his eyes wander far, his heart remains focused on the occasion. The second verse shows similar features, with only small variations:

Addressing the Best and Worst of Rulers 二 繁霜飛玉闥 愛景麗皇州 清蹕戒馳路 羽蓋佇宣游 神居竟崇盛 嵒嶮信環周 禮俗陶德聲 昌會濫民謳 慙無勝化質 謬從雲雨遊

2 Dense frost flies through jade palace doors, Warm sun shines on the imperial capital. Roads are cleared for royal passage, Feathered canopies stand on His Majesty’s carriage. The divine residence is truly magnificent, Steep mountains rise along its surroundings. Social mores ring out virtuous sounds, Grand gatherings teem with folk odes. I am ashamed for having no worthy qualities, And embarrassed to travel with the cloud and rain.79

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The first couplet indicates that the banquet lasts well into dawn. It directs our attention from the inner palace, where “dense frost” (fanshuang 繁霜) is still in the air, to the outside, where the “warm sun” (aijing 愛景) is already in the sky. The second line, “Warm sun shines on the imperial capital” (愛景麗皇 州), differs only slightly from another line in the previous verse, “Brilliant light illuminates the divine nation” (明輝爍神州). Whereas the first poem provides some information about the imperial entourage’s arrival at the banquet site, this one describes its departure. As the concluding verse of the pair, though, this piece focuses more on a eulogy of the emperor. Thanks to his broad and virtuous influence, already described symbolically via natural images earlier in the poem, the country is prosperous and peaceful, and its people are happy. Bao Zhao then ends his poem with a conventional apology for his inability to serve the emperor better and for his unworthiness of His Majesty’s patronage. These two poems do seem to lack the “outstanding eloquence” (junyi 俊 逸) of Bao Zhao’s yuefu poetry that Du Fu and others admired.80 The overwhelmingly formal tone has completely drowned out the poet’s voice. The presentation of the landscape, however, is noteworthy. The landscape here is not a scene for personal reflection but rather a formal stage for public display. The broad strokes that Bao Zhao applies in portraying the banquet’s surroundings are effective in creating an atmosphere of pomp and grandeur, although even these lines have their limitations, not the least of which is their apparent repetitiousness. This may illustrate, as critics have claimed, that Bao Zhao was “at the end of his talent” while writing poems such as this. It may also demonstrate the very limited space a poet had in presenting his work to a jealous and unpredictable ruler such as Emperor Xiaowu. Similar effects can be seen in the following poem to Emperor Xiaowu written by Xie Zhuang 謝莊 (421–66), another member of the renowned Xie clan. Soon after Emperor Xiaowu ascended the throne, Xie Zhuang was named “court attendant” 侍中 and “general of left guards” 左衛將軍,

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powerful positions with intimate access to the emperor. Previously, a number of Xie family members, such as Xie Hui and Xie Lingyun, had lost their lives in the power struggles at court, and Xie Zhuang apparently learned his lessons from their fates. The Songshu notes that while he was “secretary of the ministry of personnel” 吏部尚書, in the face of people’s “noisy appeals and requests” he would only “smile” and decline to make any important decisions.81 He once advised Shen Huaiwen 沈懷文, another high-ranking, outspoken official under Emperor Xiaowu, not to contradict the emperor often. He warned Shen that “you always behave differently. How can you last long this way?”82 Later, Shen paid the ultimate price for ignoring Xie Zhuang’s advice. In the collection of Xie Zhuang’s poetry, several panegyric verses are extant, although some of them are fragments.83 One has been identified as a presentation to Emperor Xiaowu: 和元日雪花 應詔詩 從候昭神世 息燧應頌道 玄化盡天秘 凝功畢地寶 笙鏞流七始 玉帛承三造 委霰下璇蕤 疊雪飜瓊藻 積曙境寓明 聯萼千里杲 掩映順雲懸 搖裔從風掃 發貺燭侄前 騰瑞光圖表 澤厚見身末 恩踰悟生眇

Snowflakes on New Year’s Day: A Matching Poem Written at Imperial Command Following the season, they manifest this divine era, Quenching the beacons, they tally with the praiseworthy Way. Their subtle transformations hold heavenly secrets, Their solid merits contain earthly treasures. 4 Pipes and bells ring out “Seven Beginnings,”84 Jade and silk hold up “Three Creations.”85 Falling droplets come down [like] jade beads, Layered flakes fly [like] jade petals. 8 The prolonged dawn brightens the land, Linked blossoms whiten a thousand li. Flickering they hang from the clouds, Fluttering they dance with the wind. 12 They send out blessings before the candles, And hurl out boons on the bright pictures. [His Majesty’s] deep grace humbles me, His far-reaching favor makes me feel small. 86 16

The “Furui zhi” 符瑞志 (“Records of Auspicious Sightings”) in the Songshu provides some information about the composition of this poem. On New Year’s Day of the fifth year of Daming (461), “snowflakes fell on the palace courtyards. As Right General Xie Zhuang descended the palace, snow gathered on his clothes. When he returned he was all white. His Majesty considered this to be auspicious. All ministers and officials present thus wrote poems on snowflakes.”87 Xie Zhuang’s piece is the only one that survives.

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In addition to the difficult patronage relationship between Emperor Xiaowu and his court poets-cum-officials, the context in which this poem was written further constrained Xie Zhuang by specifying its content and scope. Snowflakes were to be treated as auspicious symbols of Emperor Wu’s grace, and the theme of the poem was to be the celebration of that grace. Thus, the snow in Xie Zhuang’s poem is said to be “following the season” (conghou 從候), illustrating a “divine era” (shenshi 神世) and “the praiseworthy Way” (songdao 頌道). “Quenching the beacons” (xisui 息燧) is what snow does on the literal level, but on the symbolic level this is clearly meant to praise the peace that Emperor Xiaowu’s reign allegedly brought to the nation. “Beacon fire” is a metaphor for war because it was used in ancient times to alert troops of approaching enemies. The second couplet consolidates this approach. It describes snowflakes as having “subtle transformations” (xuanhua 玄化) and “solid merits” (ninggong 凝功) that encompass the spirit of the entire universe, the “heavenly secrets” (tianmi 天秘) and “earthly treasures” (dibao 地寶). After a brief description of the ritual ceremonies inside (lines 5–6), the poet directs our attention outside to the falling snow. The snowflakes are portrayed as “hanging from the clouds” (shuyun xuan 順雲懸) and “dancing with the wind” (congfeng sao 從風掃). They “brighten the land” (jingyu ming 境寓 明) and “whiten a thousand li” (qianli hao 千里杲). These broad strokes aim to turn the snow into a metaphor for the broad grace and beneficence of the emperor. Then the poem shifts perspective inside again, to the ritual ceremonies, and ends with a conventional self-deprecating statement, not about the poet’s inability to serve the monarch better but about how “smal” (miao 眇) his life is in contrast to the “far-reaching favor” (enyu 恩踰) of the monarch. It is difficult to find any trace of personal expression in this poem. Such expression, which occurs only once, in line 15, has been completely turned into a conventional and ritualistic statement about the poet’s role as a court official and subject of the monarch. The description of the landscape, which might have offered a chance for personal observation, is likewise used solely for symbolic and ritualistic purposes. This reflects a deliberate strategy demanded by the occasion. Xie Zhuang’s other works reveal that he could be very straightforward in expressing his personal desires, and his landscape descriptions could be refreshingly engaged and simple.88 But in front of the jealous and tyrannical Emperor Xiaowu, Xie Zhuang, like Bao Hao, has chosen to forgo entirely any attempt at self-expression. The discrepancy among the poems considered in this chapter demonstrates the great effect that different patronage relations could have on panegyric poetry. We find a similar situation in the panegyric poems of the Southern Qi dynasty, the topic of our discussion in chapter 5.

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5 Praising Rulers throughout Calm and Conspiracy The Southern Qi Dynasy



Of the short-lived southern dynasties, the reign of the Southern Qi was the shortest, only twenty-three years (479–501). Its first half was relatively peaceful, but its second half was marked by intense power struggle and political murders among the ruling class. For poetic composition, this was both a productive and dangerous period. Xiao Daocheng 蕭道成, Emperor Gao 高帝 (r. 479–83), the founding ruler of the Qi, seems to have learned a lesson from the fall of the previous Song dynasty. He once remarked that “if the members of the Song house had not killed one another, how could other clans have been able to take advantage of their weakness?”1 Although he must have had a hand in the killing of the deposed last emperor of the Song dynasty and his family,2 his short reign was largely spared the brutal killings, most of them fratricidal, which would soon be repeated in his own dynasty under the reign of Xiao Luan 蕭鸞, Emperor Ming 明帝 (r. 494–98). Emperor Gao was described by historians as “broad-minded . . . knowledgeable, and good at writing.”3 Only a few of his writings survive, including several imperial decrees and two poems.4 The Nanqi shu 南齊書 (History of the Southern Qi Dynasty) records only one occasion when court officials were asked to compose poems while attending Emperor Gao at a banquet during an excursion,5 but none of the poems survived. He had a strong interest in Confucianism and once described it as being able to “help secure [a reign] of

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ten thousand generations.”6 He ordered his court officials to compile a compendium similar to the Huanglan 皇覽 (Compendium for Imperial Browse) that Cao Pi once commissioned.7 All of this is said to have influenced the intellectual milieu of the time and helped pave the way for vigorous literary activity during the “Yongming” 永明 era, which was the reign of Emperor Gao’s successor, Xiao Ze 蕭賾, Emperor Wu 武帝 (r. 483–94), and one of the most productive eras in the history of Chinese poetry. 8 Historical sources make no mention of Emperor Wu’s interest in writing or in other arts. A short yuefu quatrain and a few imperial decrees are his only extant writings.9 He was contemptuous of intellectuals, regarding them merely as bookworms who were incapable of running the state.10 Nevertheless, under his reign, government support of scholarship and learning increased dramatically. Cynthia L. Chennault has pointed out that one of the important factors that produced the “cultural renaissance” of the time was Emperor Wu’s reluctance “to put his sons in functional control of armies” for fear of fratricidal killings like those that had brought down the previous Song dynasty. This helped channel “royal energies into civil pursuits.” 11 As a result, the vigorous poetic and scholarly activities of his reign were concentrated in the courts of the princes, particularly the court of the Prince of Jingling 竟陵 王, Xiao Ziliang 蕭子良 (d. 494), where the best-known writers of the time once converged. Known as the “Eight Friends of Jingling,” they included Xie Tiao 謝朓 (464–99), Wang Rong 王融 (468–94), and Shen Yue 沈約 (441– 513).12 With so much writing centered in the princely courts, “many of the poems praising the beneficence of the Yongming reign were directed to them [the princes] rather than to the emperor.”13 As a ruler Emperor Wu seems to have had little patience with blunt admonition and criticism. Upon succession to the throne, he issued decrees to encourage criticism of the government, but the Nanshi records two executions of officials who followed his encouragement.14 His interference in Shen Yue’s compilation of the Songshu may further indicate this aspect of his personality. The Zizhi tongjian notes that Emperor Wu commissioned Shen Yue, who was then the “supervisor of the crown prince’s residence 太子家令, to write the Songshu. In the sections on Song Emperors Ming and Xiaowu, Shen Yue included “many ignoble events” involving them. After reviewing the manuscript, Emperor Wu said to Shen Yue, “The things about Emperor Xiaowu may not be edited. I once served under Emperor Ming, so you should take into consideration the principle of ‘avoiding [mentioning] damning deeds.’” Shen Yue subsequently “deleted many materials [from his work].”15 There are no extant poems addressed to Emperor Gao, but a few poems presented to Emperor Wu survive. On the third day of the third month in the ninth year of Yongming (492), Emperor Wu went to the Fanglin Garden

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for the traditional spring purification ritual. There, forty-five court officials were commanded to write poems to celebrate the occasion, and the emperor asked Wang Rong to write a preface to the poems. The preface, which became instantly famous, is the only work still existing.16 On another occasion, Emperor Wu came to the Langye Fortress for a military review. Again, court officials were ordered to write poems; two of them, those by Wang Rong and Shen Yue, survive. The following is the piece by Wang Rong: 從武帝瑯邪城 講武應詔 治兵聞魯策 訓旅見周篇 教民良不棄 任智理恆全 白日映丹羽 赬霞文翠旃 淩山炫組甲 帶水被戎船 凝葭鬱摧愴 清管乍聯綿 早逢文化洽 復屬武功宣 願陪玉鑾右 一舉掃燕然

Accompanying Emperor Wu to Langye Fortress for a Military Review: Written at Imperial Command In marshaling the troops, I’ve heard of the Stratagems of Lu,17 For training the divisions, I’ve seen the chapters from the Zhou.18 Training men [for battle] is indeed not to abandon them,19 Entrusting the command to the wise should always ensure victory. 4 The bright sun gleams on the scarlet plumes, And rosy mists make patterns on the feathered banners. Armored soldiers glimmer over the hills, Battle boats moor along the river. 8 Shrill notes of flageolets are mournfully valiant, Clear piping suddenly sends out unbroken sound. Since early times we have enjoyed the blessings of civilization, Now we add the display of martial prowess. 12 I would ride next to the emperor’s jade carriage, In one stroke we would sweep away the [state of] Yan.20

Wang Rong’s poem situates the occasion in a historical context. The references to ancient texts establish continuity with the past, which is regarded as the source of authority in Chinese culture. This is meant to praise Emperor Wu, who is presented as following the examples of the ancients.21 The longest part of the poem, lines 5–10, paints the scene in very broad strokes. “Bright sun” (bairi 白日) and “rosy mists” (chengxia 赬霞) create a brilliant halo that envelops the richly clad troops. The poet shifts from “hills” (shan 山) to “river” (shui 水) to create a panoramic vista. The music of instruments such as “flageolets” (jia 葭) and “pipes” (guan 管) brings in the auditory dimension of the experience, making it all the more appealing.

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The last section of a panegyric poem usually contains open praise of the imperial patron. Depending on the particular patronage relationship and the poetic occasion, the poet might or might not insert an admonition to the monarch or a personal expression. Wang Rong attempts to do both. He praises both the cultural (wen 文, “civilization”) and “martial” (wu 武) achievements of the current dynasty and its monarch. Then, in the final couplet, Wang Rong voices his ambition to lead an expedition to defeat the northern state of Yan and to recover the territory controlled by it. The Nanqi shu notes that Wang Rong “loved achievements and fame” and often lamented the circumstances into which his renowned family had fallen.22 Longing for a chance to reestablish his family’s position, he repeatedly presented memorials to Emperor Wu requesting permission to lead a northern expedition. For this purpose he even formed his own private army.23 The official event celebrated in this poem offered him a chance once again to express this personal desire. In comparison with Wang Rong’s poem, Shen Yue’s is more formal and detached: 從武帝瑯邪城 講武應詔 九功播祧墠 七德陳武懸 展事昌國圖 息兵由重戰 皇情咨閱典 出車迨辰選 飾徒映寒隰 翻綏臨廣甸 颯杳佩吳戈 參差腰夏劍 風旆舒復卷 雲霞清似轉 輕舞信徘徊 前歌且遙衍 秋原嘶代馬 朱光浮楚練

Accompanying Emperor Wu to Langye Fortress for a Military Review: Written at Imperial Command The Ninefold Services are spread abroad in ancestral temples,24 The Seven Virtues are set forth in the martial proclamations.25 Improving affairs promotes the plans of state, Suppressing wars comes from honoring battle. 4 The emperor wishes to review the practice, He dispatches the chariots at a chosen time. 26 The adorned troops gleam on the chilly lowlands, Shaking the reins, [the emperor] looks down the broad plain. 8 In dense array, Wu halberds cling to [the soldiers’] belts, Bristling long and short, Xia arrows quiver at their waists.27 The windblown pennants are unfurled and furled again, The clouds and roseate mists have cleared and seem to swirl. 12 Light-hearted dancing wavers back and forth, The “first singing,” furthermore, is unrestrained.28 Upon the autumn plain the Dai horses neigh, Across the crimson sunset the Chu silk drifts. 16

Praising Rulers throughout Calm and Conspiracy 虹壑寫飛文 巖阿藻餘絢 發震岳靈從 楊旌水華變 憑高訓武則 中天起遐眷 鳳蓋捲洪河 珠旗掃長汧 方待翠華舉 遠適瑤池宴

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Flying patterns pour down the rainbow-colored ravine, 29 Overflowing brilliance adorns the cliff-wall inlets.30 As [the soldiers] beat the thunderous drums, the mountain spirits echo, When they lift their banners, the river’s colors change. 20 High on his perch [the emperor] expounds the rules of war, Under central heaven far-reaching yearnings rise in him. From beneath his phoenix canopy he would roll up the great rivers, And with his pearl-sewn banners sweep away the lengthy marshes. 24 Now [the emperor] awaits the raising of the halcyonplume [banner],31 To pursue his distant journey to a feast at Jasper Pool.32

Like Wang Rong, Shen Yue begins his poem by situating the poetic occasion in history. Then, after introducing the emperor in lines 5 and 6, he begins the longest section of the poem (lines 7–20), the description of the scene. In company with the emperor, who “looks down the broad plain” (lin guandian 臨廣甸), the poet focuses his attention on the richly clad troops maneuvering in the distance. This distant view enables him to present a broad picture of the ceremony, which in turn helps to convey a sense of pageantry. To emphasize this effect, the poet adopts the familiar “mountain and river” trope in the last couplet of this section: Even the “mountain spirits” (yueling 岳靈) and “river’s colors” (shuihua 水華), synecdoches for the entire world, are affected by this show of grandeur and power, as they “echo” (cong 從) and “change” (bian 變) in answer to the soldiers’ display. This grand portrayal of pomp seems to prepare the way for the reintroduction of the emperor in lines 21–22. The display of military prowess inspires “far-reaching yearnings” (xiajuan 遐眷) in His Majesty. In the next two lines, Shen Yue attempts to link these yearnings to a vaguely described, imaginary victory of the royal army in a battle against the north: “From beneath his phoenix canopy he would roll up the great rivers, / And with his pearl-sewn banners sweep away the lengthy marshes” (鳳蓋捲洪河, 珠旗掃 長汧). Here the emperor, described synecdochically through his vehicle and paraphernalia, the “phoenix canopy” (fenggai 鳳蓋) and “pearl-sewn banners” (zhuqi 珠旗), is seen presiding over a complete and easy victory over the enemies in the north. But unlike Wang Rong, who makes it clear that he “would accompany” (yuanpei 願陪) the emperor in such a northern expedition, Shen Yue leaves his lines visionary and impersonal. The ending of Shen Yue’s poem

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further illustrates the perfunctoriness of this couplet. Unlike Wang Rong, who ends his poem with a strongly worded hope for the use of the martial prowess on display, Shen Yue turns his attention to the ensuing “feast at Jasper Pool” (yaochi yan 瑤池宴). Apparently, he is more interested in the ceremonial aspect of the military review. Wang Rong was often portrayed by historians as ambitious and aggressive. He lost his life in a power struggle at the Qi court at the age of twentysix.33 Shen Yue was more cautious, as is amply proved by the fact that he served under the Song, Qi, and Liang dynasties and managed to survive the intrigues and killings of the time. Later, when he urged Emperor Wu of the Liang dynasty to seize power from the fading Qi, Emperor Wu was surprised and remarked, “I have known Shen Xiuwen [Shen Yue] all my life and have never noticed any distinctive quality in him. Only today did he show his great wisdom and talent. He can really be called a wise man.”34 The different tones of the two poems just considered may be viewed as reflections of their writers’ different characters. Wang Rong saw the imperial military review as a chance to advance his personal ambition, but for Shen Yue it was merely a courtly event. Wang Rong and Shen Yue presented poems to Emperor Wu on another occasion, an excursion to the mountains. Again, I look at the piece by Wang Rong first: 侍遊方山 應詔 巡躅望登年 帳飲臨秋縣 日羽鏡霜潯 雲旗落風甸 四瀛良在目 八宇婉如見 小臣竊自嘉 預奉柏梁讌

In Attendance on the Emperor during an Excursion to Mount Fang: Written at Imperial Command On an inspection tour we gaze at the abundant harvest, Drinking in the tent we look down at autumn prefectures. Sunlit feathered-banners are mirrored in the frosty waters, Cloudlike streamers float above the windblown suburbs. 4 The Four Seas are well within our vision,35 The Eightfold Lands meander in our view.36 Your petty official ventures to congratulate himself That he is in attendance at a Cypress Beams Feast.37 8

The Nanqi shu records a trip that Emperor Wu took to Mount Fang. During the trip the emperor said to Xu Xiaosi 徐孝嗣 (d. 499), the “supervisor of the heir apparent’ residence” 太子詹事, that he wanted to build a palace south of the mountain. Xu Xiaosi advised against such a plan, saying that such an elaborate construction project “was what the Han dynasty did at its peak. Right now the territory to the south of [the Yangze] River is not vast,

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and the common folk are exhausted. I hope Your Majesty will think about it carefully.”38 It is tempting to speculate that Wang Rong had Xu Xiaosi’s words in mind when he wrote this poem, for the reference to the “Cypress Beams Feast” is an allusion to Emperor Wu of the Han dynasty, who built a “Terrace of Cypress Beams” where he allegedly held a poetry-writing banquet. It seems designed to rebut Xu Xiaosi’s claim that the Southern Qi was not to be compared to the Han in its scope and power. Not so, Wang Rong seems to suggest when he compares the present monarch to the Han Emperor Wu, who reigned during that dynasty’s “peak.” This poem is much shorter than other poems considered so far in this book, and its brevity represents an important trend in poetic production at the time.39 As one critic has observed, the eight-line format in which Wang Rong’s poem was written increasingly became the “mainstream” of poetic forms after the Yongming period.40 Indeed, the structure of this eight-line poem already resembles that of the “regulated verse” (lüshi 律詩) of later periods. The opening couplet introduces the occasion, the middle two couplets provide some of its details, and the closing couplet states the poet’s response. This tripartite structure was to become a hallmark of regulated verse in the early and high Tang years.41 Also noteworthy is Wang Rong’s simple and straightforward language. Except for the reference to the Han Emperor Wu and his poetry party in the last line, this verse is free of the allusiveness and bookishness that characterize much of the poetry produced in the earlier Jin and Song dynasties and, to a lesser extent, some of the poetry of his own time.42 Even with the allusion in the last line the poem is almost transparent, because the “Banquet at Terrace of Cypress Beams” (boliang yan 柏梁讌) had by Wang Rong’s time become a familiar metaphor and part and parcel of poetic diction. Wang Rong’s poem is a good example of the “three easies” (sanyi 三易) theory that Shen Yue once expounded. According to Shen Yue, in a poem “first, it should be easy to see the occasion [in it]; second, it should be easy to recognize its words; and third, it should be easy to read it aloud” (易見事, 易識字, 易誦讀).43 The purpose of this theory was to create poetry that was simple and straightforward in its use of allusion, diction, and syntax, so that it might be “easily” read and understood by the reader. Unlike the piece by Wang Rong, Shen Yue’s poem written on this occasion is not a good illustration of his own theory: 侍遊方山 應詔 清漢夜昭皙 扶桑曉陸離 發歌樅陽下

In Attendance on the Emperor during an Excursion to Mount Fang: Written at Imperial Command The clear Milky Way shimmers overhead at night, Fusang is spreading its leaves and boughs at dawn. 44 [The emperor] began his song below Congyang, 45

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And planted feathered banners by the Evening-Morning Tide Pond. 46 4 The metal-gong beating makes the god of waters come to the surface, 47 The commanded mountain sprites shiver in awe on the cleared pathway. 48 Once moistened by dew from the Ninth Heaven, 49 Goosefoot and bean leaves will forever remember the 8 favor.50

In structure, Shen Yue’s poem is similar to Wang Rong’s, but it is more specific in its time frame, indicating not just the season of the tour but also the hours of the day. In the middle two couplets, Shen Yue focuses on the rituals and proceedings, rather than on the surrounding scene as Wang Rong does in his poem. Shen Yue, too, uses an allusion to the Han Emperor Wu as a means to eulogize the present monarch. But instead of using the well-known poetry party at “Terrace of Cypress Beams,” he selects a less famous inspection tour that the Han monarch once took, when he stopped at a place called Congyang.51 The “god of waters” made to “come to the surface” (fu shuiruo 浮水若) and “commanded mountain sprites” (zhao shangqi 詔山祇) in lines 5 and 6 stress the pomp of the ceremony and the power and influence of the emperor. This leads to a self-deprecating expression at the poem’s end similar to Wang Rong’s but employing a much more demeaning metaphor. Wang Rong calls himself a “petty official” (xiaochen 小臣), but his allusion to the poetry party at the “Terrace of Cypress Beams” also suggests a relationship with the emperor that is interactive because, according to legend, the Han Emperor Wu and his court officials-poets composed poems together. Shen Yue’s image of “goosefoot and bean leaves” (lihuo 藜藿), representing himself, “moistened” (zhan 霑) by “dew from the Ninth Heaven” (jiuxiao lu 九霄露), or the emperor’s beneficence, not only dehumanizes him but also suggests total passivity. Judged by Shen Yue’s own theory, this poem falls short in nearly every aspect. That both Wang Rong and Shen Yue chose to write in the eightline format for this occasion suggests that it must have been stipulated or agreed upon by them, since the poems they wrote at the imperial military review are different in length. Except for its brevity and tight structure, Shen Yue’s poem betrays the same bookishness and awkwardness we find in his poem written on that occasion, although to a much lesser extent because of its length. The allusion to the Han Emperor Wu’s tour at Congyang is not self-evident, for this is not an often-used reference. The syntax of the poem is certainly not “easy.” Line 6, for example, is so involved that it verges

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on incomprehensibility. The poem may be easy to “read aloud,” but it cannot be understood right away. Emperor Wu’s eldest son, the crown prince Xiao Changmao 蕭長懋, died early in 493. On his own deathbed Emperor Wu entrusted his chosen successor, his grandson Zhaoye 昭業 (d. 494), to Xiao Ziliang, the Prince of Jingling, and Xiao Luan, Emperor Wu’s nephew, who later became Emperor Ming. In the ensuing power struggle Xiao Luan, with the help of Xiao Yan (who later became Emperor Wu of the Liang dynasty) and others, outmaneuvered Xiao Ziliang and his supporters. After killing first Zhaoye and then his brother Zhaowen 昭文 (d. 494), whom he had briefly put on the throne, Xiao Luan within a year usurped the throne and became Emperor Ming.52 The five-year reign of Emperor Ming was perhaps the bloodiest in Chinese history. He was noted in historical sources as being “suspicious and jealous by nature, and [he] carried out killings to the extreme.”53 Within his short reign he managed to kill all of the male offspring of Emperor Wu and staged an exact repeat of the fratricide of the previous dynasty that had worried Emperors Gao and Wu. The brutal power struggle at court inevitably spilled out of the Xiao clan to involve other people. Among the numerous victims were Wang Rong and Xie Tiao, two of the best-known poets of the time. Wang Rong was killed in the failed attempt to enthrone Xiao Ziliang, the Prince of Jingling.54 Xie Tiao was not directly involved in the succession struggle after Emperor Wu’s death. Indeed, he seems to have won the trust of Xiao Luan, who appointed him to several important positions both before and after his enthronement. Xie Tiao apparently took to heart Emperor Ming’s trust. When another succession struggle broke out after the death of Emperor Ming in 498, Xie Tiao refused to participate in the conspiracy to oust Emperor Ming’s son, and for this he paid the ultimate price.55 Xie Tiao is a major figure in the history of Chinese poetry. Even during his own time, his pentasyllabic poetry was praised by Shen Yue as “unprecedented in the last two hundred years.”56 Later, his poetry was an inspiration for many great Tang dynasty poets, especially for Li Bai.57 Soon after Emperor Ming’s coronation, Xie Tiao was commanded by His Majesty to write two poems, one on behalf of the heir apparent and the other on behalf of someone else, during the traditional spring purification ceremony on the third day of the third month. These poems, written in the archaic tetrasyllabic format, mark a dramatic departure from his other, better-known works. They are, in Richard B. Mather’s words, “sententious” and “almost unintelligibly elliptical.”58 Significantly, in Xie Tiao’s entire oeuvre there are only three tetrasyllabic poems, all written at the command of Emperor Ming. This indicates the extreme caution Xie Tiao took in composing these works. The archaic

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tetrasyllabic format brings with it an aura of solemnity and authority, and its conventionally opaque style offered him a means to conceal his thoughts and thereby protect himself. Emperor Ming’s brutal killings of his relatives and officials must have been still fresh in Xie Tiao’s mind. Another reason for caution was the emperor’s execution of Qiu Juyuan 丘巨源 (d. 484) on the basis of His Majesty’s interpretation of a poem by Qiu. According to the Nanqi shu, while Emperor Ming was still magistrate of Wuxing in the second year of Yongming (484), he put Qiu Juyuan to death because he found some “satiric words” (fengci yu 諷刺語 ) in a poem he had written.59 The first of the two poems the emperor commanded Xie Tiao to write is a long piece consisting of ten sections. I examine them one at a time. 三日侍華光殿 曲水宴 代人應詔 一 群分未辯 類聚茲式 天睠休明 且求至德 御繁實簡 治動惟默 官府百王 衣裳萬國

On the Third Day [of the Third Month] in Attendance at a Banquet by the Curving Waters of the Huaguang Hall: Written on Behalf of Someone at Imperial Command 1 The “separation [of all creatures] into flocks” is not yet distinct, But “gathering [the four quadrants] by their kinds” is here exemplified. 60 Heaven looks with favor on the enlightened, 61 And searches everywhere for the highest virtue. 62 4 Simplicity is the way to confront complexity, And silence is the method to control commotion. He assigns to offices numerous princes, [Letting fall] his robes, he [pacifies] myriad states. 63 8

These couplets are dense with allusions to the Zhouyi and to the Shangshu. In addition to lending a solemn tone to the occasion, the allusions are meant to establish a much-needed “heavenly mandate” and legitimacy for the questionable reign of Emperor Ming. This conventional practice is all the more urgent in the present case, so Xie Tiao goes out of his way to address the newly enthroned emperor as “enlightened” (xiuming 休明), as possessing “the highest virtue” (zhide 至德), and on whom “heaven looks with favor” (tianjuan 天睠).64 The second half of this section contains Xie Tiao’s subtle admonition to the emperor. He suggests to His Majesty that he follow the example set by ancient sage rulers such as the Yellow Emperor, Yao, and Shun and that he put into practice the Daoist philosophy of “noninterference” (wuwei 無為), using “simplicity to confront complexity” and letting “silence” be “the method to control commotion” (御繁實簡, 治動惟默). After the turmoil and slaughter that

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led to Emperor Ming’s ascent to power, this appears to be what the country needs the most. This seems to be valuable and courageous advice, but again the loose grammar of classical Chinese helps to soften and conceal the edge of this part of the text, because it can be read as a description of the emperor’s policies and practices that are already in place. 二 中葉遭閔 副內多違 悠悠靈貺 爰有適歸 於昭睿后 撫運天飛 凝居中縣 神動外畿

2 During the middle reign [the state] encountered trouble, In the crown prince’s quarters many things went wrong. Heaven’s numinous blessing, which is vast and far, Finally returned to its rightful place. 4 How brightly shines the sagelike lord, 65 According to the times, he made his heavenly flight. 66 Serenely he occupies the central region, While his spirit moves abroad to the outlying realms. 8

In this section Xie Tiao dwells further on the recent events that caused the country to “encounter trouble” (zaomin 遭閔) and brought Emperor Ming to the throne. He mentions in particular the things that “went wrong” (duowei 多違) in “the crown prince’s quarters” (funei 副內). This seems to refer to the two brief successors to Emperor Wu whom Emperor Ming killed in quick succession, Zhaoye, Prince Yulin 鬱林王, the first grandson of Emperor Wu, and Zhaowen, Prince Hailing 海陵王, Emperor Wu’s second grandson.67 Xie Tiao’s aim may have been to justify Emperor Ming’s acts, but his allusion to these gruesome events also reminds his audience of them. In the present context this seems to be discordant. Small wonder that after this brief account Xie Tiao immediately moves to a positive picture of Emperor Ming’s enthronement. The reference to King Wen of the Zhou in the Shijing—the “sagelike lord” (ruihou 睿后) of line 5—draws a parallel between Emperor Ming and this exemplary ruler. Emperor Ming’s succession is once again portrayed as timely, in accordance with the mandate of heaven (撫運天飛, “According to the times, he made his heavenly flight”). The last couplet presents Emperor Ming as being in firm control of the country after the bloody events of earlier days. 三 縣象著明 離光乃位 我有儲德 徽猷淵備 長壽察書

3 The suspended images shine so brightly, How brilliant is the position of the throne! 68 We have the virtue-in-reserve [of the crown prince], His beautiful counsels are deep and broad. 4 He scrutinized the writing found on Longevity Street,

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And turned back his carriage-reins at Dragon Tower Gate. 69 He honors the ways at upper schools, And follows the norms of the literati lodges.70

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Xie Tiao now turns his attention to the crown prince, Xiao Baojuan 蕭 寶卷 (d. 501), who, according to historical accounts, was notoriously cruel and dissolute.71 After he was deposed and killed he received the posthumous title 東昏侯, which may be rendered as “Benighted Marquis of the East.” On this occasion Xie Tiao is obliged to praise the crown prince, but his excessively flattering language sounds acutely ironic. Not only does Xie Tiao portray Xiao Baojuan as perceptive and cautious, by comparing him to two Han crown princes via the allusions in lines 5 and 6, but he also praises him as a patron of learning. The Nanshi notes that when Xiao Baojuan was crown prince, “he liked mischief and showed no interest whatsoever in books and learning.” 72 The use of the first-person pronoun wo 我 (“we”) in line 3 also suggests an ingratiating tone. 四 朝陽有幹 布葉萋萋 思皇威矣 鵷羽高棲 出馳先輅 入秉介圭 瞻秦望井 建魯分奎

4 [Upon yon] eastern slope is a [paulownia] tree That spreads its leaves, luxuriant and dense.73 Awesome indeed is his august power, Phoenixes perch loftily on their nests.74 4 When he rides abroad, scouts go before the imperial carriage, As he steps inside [the palace], he takes up the mighty scepter. Looking toward Qin, he gazes at Jing the Well-star, Established in Lu, his portion is Kui the Straddler.75 8

This section praises Emperor Ming’s beneficence and authority, under which virtuous and talented people, symbolized by “luxuriant leaves” that “spread about” (布葉萋萋) and phoenixes that “perch loftily on their nests” (鵷羽高棲), gather around the court and thrive. The last two lines assign Emperor Ming an ambition to retake the northern land. Again, this is done under the guise of praise. 五 求賢每勞 得士方逸 有覺斯順

5 “In seeking worthies he is always working hard,” “Once having got his officers, he is at ease.”76 Because he is “with rectitude, he is obeyed,”77

Praising Rulers throughout Calm and Conspiracy 無文咸秩 萬箱惟重 百鍰載卹 屈草戒諛 階蓂紀日

Because they are “without embellishment, all things are in good order.”78 The myriad wagon-loads [of grain] are heavy, But the hundred huan [in fines] carry compassion.79 The “bending herb” warns him of sycophants, 80 The “step-side mystic [legume]” keeps a record of the days. 81

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This section relies almost exclusively on allusions to passages in classical texts. In comparison with the previous section, this one is more specific. Xie Tiao singles out for praise two qualities that all enlightened rulers must possess: the ability to “seek worthies” (qiuxian 求賢) to fill court positions, and moral “rectitude” (youjue 有覺). The former leaves the ruler “at ease” (fangyi 方逸), and the latter makes him “obeyed” (sishun 斯順) by his people. The combination of these two qualities produces a nation that is simple, prosperous, and in good order. In line 7, with its reference to the mystic “bending herb” (qucao 屈草) that could “warn [the ruler] of sycophants” (jieyu 戒諛) at the court of the sage ruler Yao, Xie Tiao compares Emperor Ming to Yao, whose reign was said to have received supernatural blessings. This line is particularly ironic because the reader is acutely aware of the sycophantic elements in Xie Tiao’s own poem. 六 文教已肅 武節既馳 榮光可照 合壁如歸 載懷姑射 尚想瑤池 濯龍乃飾 天淵在斯

6 The civil teachings have been stringently upheld, Martial measures have already been set in motion. A glorious radiance is shining at this time, 82 The paired jade discs are [perfect], as if [drawn by] compasses. 83 Our thought is with Guye Mountain, 84 While we still think of the Jasper Pool. The Glossy Dragon [Park] has been refurbished, 85 The [Lake of] Heaven’s Abyss is in this place. 86

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Here we have the conventional eulogy of both the “civil” (wen) and “martial” (wu) merits of a monarch. The main goal of this section, however, is to invoke a supernatural blessing for Emperor Ming’s reign. The “glorious radiance” (rongguang 榮光) and the perfectly drawn “paired jade discs” (hebi 合璧) in lines 3 and 4 are evidence of this attempt. Of the two, the second phenomenon, which refers to the correct alignment of the sun and moon (jade discs), is especially important because, as Richard B. Mather has noted, “calendrical precision . . . was an urgent necessity for any regime claiming to hold the

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Mandate of Heaven.”87 The repeated claims to a heavenly mandate in this poem betray the poet’s anxiety and misgivings about the new regime, which after all was established on illegitimate grounds. The allusions to the Daoist paradise of “Guye Mountain” (guye 姑射) and the “Jasper Pool” (yaochi 瑤池) further emphasize the supernatural aura of the poem. Then the poet brings our attention to the present setting, which is compared to the “Glossy Dragon [Park]” (zhuolong 濯龍) of the Han dynasty. With the phrase “in this place” (zaisi 在斯), Xie Tiao suggests that the “[Lake of] Heaven’s Abyss” (tianyuan 天淵), where the present celebration is being held, is a worthy counterpart to the supernatural abodes mentioned earlier. This also serves as a transition to the banquet scenes in the next few sections. 七 作樂順動 實符時義 上春初吉 亦留淵寄 紅樹巖舒 青莎水被 雕梁虹拖 雲甍鳥跂

7 [The former kings] made music and [the heavens and earth] moved accordingly, It indeed tallied with the principles of the times. 88 On this auspicious day of early spring, We, too, maintain our deepest sentiments. Crimson trees spread on the cliffs, Azure sedges cover the waters. On chiseled beams the rainbows arch above, Atop cloud-soaring ridges the birds are poised.

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The merriment at the banquet, represented here by music that is said to have been created by former kings for moral purposes, is traced to the practices of ancient rulers noted in the classic Shangshu. The poet emphasizes that the emperor is acting in accordance with ancient rituals, and not only that, but that he is acting in accordance with the laws of nature, “the principles of the times” (shiyi 時義). Then, after telling us that he is filled with the “deepest sentiments” (yuanji 淵寄) on this early spring day, Xie Tiao gives us a descriptive passage which, in its simplicity and transparency, stands in sharp contrast to the rest of this convoluted and opaque poem. For a moment he directs our attention to the natural surroundings, where spring’s freshness and vitality are seen in the lush, colorful trees and sedges that spread from the high cliffs above and cover the waters below. Lines 5 and 6, “Crimson trees spread on the cliffs, / Azure sedges cover the waters (紅樹巖舒, 青莎水被), with its careful use of colors, parallel syntax, and shift between mountain and river scenes, reminds us of the best of Xie Tiao’s poetry. It provides momentary relief from this oppressively formal occasion and allows the poet (and the reader) to taste momentarily the beauty and freedom that Xie Tiao so longingly described in many of his beloved poems.

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As the poem’s perspective arrives at the palace buildings (“chiseled beams,” diaoliang 雕梁, and “cloud-soaring ridges,” yunmeng 雲甍), our attention is brought back to the banquet: 八 高懸甲帳 周褰黼帷 長筵列陛 激水旋墀 浮醪聚蟻 靈蔡呈姿 河宗躍踢 海介夔跜

8 High suspended is the “A” tent, 89 Lifted on all sides, the curtains with ax patterns. Lengthy rows of banquet mats are set before the steps, While dashing waters wind about the courtyard. 4 Lees gather on the floating wine, Numinous cai [tortoise shells] display [words about] the occasion.90 The Lord of the River leaps in alarm, The God of the Ocean writhes in terror.91 8

The focus of this section is the banquet scene at the festival, which takes place in the tall tents set up along the river. The emperor and his attendants drink from cups that have been floated along the river and perform a divination using tortoise shells. The result, described hyperbolically in the last two lines, suggests that “even the powers of nature all acknowledge the supremacy of Qi.”92 九 弱腕纖腰 遷延妙舞 秦箏趙瑟 殷勤促柱 降席連緌 稱觴接武 稽首萬年 獻茲多祜

9 With supple wrists and slender waists, [The dancers] gently prolong their subtle dance. Zither players of Qin and harpists from Zhao With earnestness pluck their fretted strings. Descending from their mats in close succession [Officials] perform their toasts with mincing steps.93 Kowtowing, [we cry out] “Long live [the emperor]!” Who then offers his abundant blessings.

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In the midst of dance and music performed by the best dancers and singers of the nation, the banquet is drawing to a close. The officials present are seen “descending from their mats in close succession” (降席連緌) to offer toasts to the emperor. As the allusion to the banquet rituals prescribed in the classic Yili 儀禮 (The Book of Etiquette) indicates (lines 5–6), all of this is done in strict compliance with the ancient rituals. 十 天地既成 泉流既清

10 [The Way of] heaven and earth has been completed,94 Springs and rivers are already running clear.95

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At day’s end we bask in his favor, We gather here to celebrate his civilizing light.96 We are about to elevate the Qi [forebears] to parity [with heaven],97 And at any moment sweep away the capital of Qin.98 I would gallop past the desert of Dragon Dunes,99 To water our horses and hoist our banners!100

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In order to end this long and difficult poem on a grand note, Xie Tiao once more resorts to the classic Zhouyi. Emperor Ming’s bloody succession is presented as “[the Way of] heaven and earth has been completed” (天地 既成), and his new reign is described as bringing a rare sign of auspiciousness because “Springs and rivers are already running clear” (泉流既清). Then, after acknowledging the emperor’s benevolent and “civilizing light” (wenming 文明), Xie Tiao unexpectedly concludes his poem with a heroic call to “sweep away” (kesao 刻掃) the enemy and retake the northern land, represented by the “capital of Qin” (qinjing 秦京). Xie Tiao is best known for portraying the often-painful conflict between the obligation to public service and the longing for personal freedom. Unlike Wang Rong, Xie Tiao never showed strong worldly ambitions. After Emperor Ming seized the throne, Xie Tiao was assigned the post of “gentleman-attendant of the central secretariat” (zhongshu lang 中書郎), one rank above his earlier position of “gentleman-attendant in the imperial secretariat” (shangshu lang 尚書郎). In his new post, he was responsible for drafting orders and documents for the secretariat. He also had the opportunity to get close to the emperor. This was a post many would have yearned for.101 But in a poem composed shortly after he received this assignment, “On Duty at the Central Secretariat” 直中書省, Xie Tiao declared that this imposing center of power, “although truly beautiful, is not my place” (信美非吾室); instead, he longs for “wings that allow [me] to fly above the wind, / And to enjoy fully the mountains and streams” (安得凌風翰, 聊恣山泉賞).102 The boastful tone that ends the preceding verse is therefore unusual in Xie Tiao’s poetry. It might have been inspired, as Mather humorously suggested, by the wine and the air of festivity at the banquet.103 Images of soldiers galloping on the western deserts, watering war horses and hoisting banners in lines 7–8 (願馳龍漠, 飲馬懸旌), might conjure up real martial spirit in a different context (e.g., in the poetry of Wang Can or Wang Rong), but in Xie Tiao’s poetry they are so rare that they sound almost exotic. They also contradict the political reality of the time, because it was simply impossible for the much-weakened Qi to retake the heartland of China, not to mention to extend its reign to the far western deserts. Hyperbolic rhetoric, however, is conventional in panegyric

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poetry. Instead of inspiring the audience to rise in arms, Xie Tiao’s “reckless boast” must have elicited merely an amused smile.104 Regarding the other poem that Xie Tiao wrote on this occasion—“In Attendance at a Banquet by the Curving Waters of Hualin Hall: Written at Imperial Command on Behalf of the Crown Prince” 侍宴華光殿曲水奉敕為 皇太子作105—suffice it to say that it, too, was written in the tetrasyllabic format and shows similar tendencies toward archaism, opaqueness, allusiveness, and complexity. The contrast between these and the majority of his poems is striking. The “clear” (qing 清) quality that Li Bai admired is assiduously avoided here. 106 This is understandable, because the transparency created by such a style could have exposed Xie Tiao to danger in front of his “ jealous and suspicious” monarch. Besides the three tetrasyllabic poems by Xie Tiao, no other poems addressed to Emperor Ming survive. Emperor Ming’s death in 498 brought to the throne his benighted son Xiao Baojuan, who ruled with utter cruelty, dissolution, and irresponsibility for three years before he was deposed and killed. The Nanshi records seven executions of high-ranking officials in the first year of his reign, including Xu Xiaosi 徐孝嗣, “director of the imperial secretariat” 尚書令.107 According to historical sources, Xiao Baojuan liked to go out on very short notice. Whenever he did so, roads and houses on his way had to be cleared immediately, even if it was late at night. Those who did not have time to run away would be promptly executed. In one instance, a pregnant woman could not leave. “The emperor went into her home and asked: ‘Why are you home alone?’ [The woman] answered: ‘I cannot leave because I am going to give birth.’ [The emperor] then cut open her stomach to see [whether the baby] was male or female.”108 In complete neglect of his responsibilities as a monarch, he indulged himself in outlandish activities. For example, he opened a shop on a dam that he just ordered built and there “slaughtered [animals to sell their] meat.”109 It is difficult to imagine that such a ruler would have had anything to do with poetry. Yet in 499, the first year of Xiao Baojuan’s reign, a poet named Qiu Chi 丘遲 (d. 508) wrote a poem at imperial command at a farewell banquet for a man named Zhang Su 張謖, who was leaving to take up the post of “magistrate of Xuzhou” 徐州刺史.110 This piece is one of the better-known panegyric poems of the period because it was selected by Xiao Tong for inclusion in his Wenxuan. Qui Chi’s poem reads as follows: 侍讌樂遊苑 送張徐州應詔詩 詰旦閶闔開 馳道聞鳳吹

In Attendance at a Farewell Banquet for the Magistrate of Xuzhou, Mr. Zhang: Written at Imperial Command At dawn the heavenly gates open, On the imperial highway phoenix piping is heard.

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| writ ten at imperial command 輕 荑 承玉 輦 細草藉龍騎 風遲山尚響 雨息雲猶積 巢空初鳥飛 荇亂新魚戲 寔惟北門重 匪親孰為寄 參差別念舉 肅穆恩波被 小臣信多幸 投生豈酬義

Tender sprouts shore up the jade carriage, Fine grass upholds the dragon steeds. 4 The wind has slowed down, but the mountains still echo, The rain has ceased, yet the clouds are still gathering. Nests emptied, the young birds are flying, Duckweeds ruffled, new fish are playing. 8 The northern gateway is truly important, Except for someone intimate, to whom can it be entrusted? Long and short our thoughts of separation arise, In awe and respect we bask in imperial favor. 12 This petty official is indeed fortunate, Even with my life, how can I repay [His Majesty’s] grace?111

This is a straightforward work. The only allusion in the entire poem is that of the “heavenly gates” (changhe 閶闔) in the first line, which, although it alludes to the “Lisao” (“Encountering Trouble”) by Qu Yuan,112 had by this time become a common metaphor for palace gates. The most remarkable feature of the poem is its description of the setting. Indeed, the customary pomp of the imperial entourage is portrayed as a destructive force on the delicate beauty of early spring. We see that “tender sprouts shore up the jade carriage” (輕荑承玉輦), and that the “fine grass upholds the dragon steeds” (細草藉 龍騎). The destruction to these “tender” (qing 輕) and “fine” (xi 細) objects by the imperial entourage is unstated, but no careful and sensitive reader can fail to notice it; the disparity between the two is simply too great. The syntax of this couplet is also noteworthy. Instead of having “ jade carriage” and “dragon steeds” as subjects, which would convey more normally what is taking place, we have the “tender sprouts” and “fine grass” as the grammatical subjects. The verbs that describe their actions, cheng 承 (“shore up”) and ji 藉 (“uphold”), portray vividly the destruction that is taking place. The personification implied by these verbs helps to anthropomorphize the scene: Readers may conjure up tiny human figures trying heroically but futilely to take up a task that will surely crush them. After this unusual introduction of the emperor and his entourage, the poet turns his attention to the surrounding landscape. The two couplets that follow (lines 5–8) take us to a world untouched by the present pomp. They first direct our view to the mountains and clouds in the distance. Then we are led to see the birds and fish that are near us. To achieve maximum effect

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the poet uses two verbs in each of the four lines, making each five-character line into two syntactic units. The two verbs designate two acts that are connected to each other by a departure from cause-and-effect relationship and by an emphasis of such relationship. As the “wind has slowed down” (fengchi 風 遲), one normally expects the mountains to become serene, but in this case we “still” (shang 尚) hear them “echo” (xiang 響). Similarly, as the “rain has ceased” (yuxi 雨息), the clouds, instead of dispersing as under normal circumstances, are “still” (you 猶) “gathering” (ji 積). The carefully chosen adverbs, shang and you, both of which can be rendered as “still,” link the two normally unrelated acts. Here the departure from the normal cause-and-effect relationship is manipulated to produce a special result: The wind and rain must have been very strong because their effects linger after they have stopped. The next couplet, “Nests emptied, the young birds are flying, / Duckweeds ruffled, new fish are playing (巢空初鳥飛, 荇亂新魚戲), is clearly indebted to a couplet by Xie Tiao, “Fish playing, the new lotuses move, / Birds dispersing, the remaining flowers fall” (魚戲新荷動, 鳥散余花落).113 The similarities between the two pairs are not only in their syntax but also in the images they employ. Both describe the movements of birds on land and fish in water, although Qiu Chi has inverted their sequence. Like Xie Tiao’s couplet, Qiu Chi’s depicts a lively, carefree moment in nature. The actions in each line are connected by a relationship of cause and effect: The birds fly away, which causes their nests to be emptied; the fish play among themselves, which causes the remaining flowers to fall. The naturalness of this sequence suggests a harmonious relationship among things in nature, and their lively actions reveal its dramatic vitality. The verb “playing” (xi 戲) further stresses the freedom that exists in this carefree realm. All this forms a sharp contrast to the poet’s own world, where power and decorum rule. As expected, this escape from the poet’s official duty is brief. In the next line, his perspective switches back to the event he has been ordered to celebrate. He first commends the magistrate of Xuzhou for earning the trust of the emperor and then praises the emperor’s “favor” (enbo 恩波) bestowed on all of them. The poem ends with a conventional expression of the poet’s gratitude and of his desire to dedicate his life to serve His Majesty. Despite its short span, the Qi dynasty holds an important place in the history of Chinese poetry. The Yongming era has come to be associated with a new poetic style named after it, and poetic activities and production increased during this longest and relatively peaceful period of the dynasty. However, for the reasons recounted at the beginning of this chapter, poems written for imperial rulers constitute only a fraction of the poetic output of the time. This would change during the Liang dynasty, thanks to the sustained patronage of Emperor Wu during his long and mostly peaceful reign.

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6 The Flourishing of Panegyric Poetry during the Liang Dynasty



Xiao Yan 蕭衍, Emperor Wu of the Liang dynasty 梁武帝 (r. 502–49), was one of the most literary rulers in Chinese history. A great patron of literature, he was himself a poet and a prolific writer. When he died he left behind more than two hundred volumes of writings, and about ninety of his poems survive today.1 Except for the last three years of his life, when he was put under house arrest by Hou Jing 侯景 (d. 551), the defected Wei general who betrayed his trust, his forty-six year reign, spanning nearly the entire period of the Liang dynasty, was the longest, the most peaceful, and the most prosperous since the Wei and Jin dynasties.2 Under his encouragement, learning and literature flourished, to such an extent that “within the four boundaries [of the Liang], each family owned [some books of] literature and history.”3 Xiao Yan, it will be recalled, was one of the “Eight Friends” who gathered around Xiao Ziliang, Prince Jingling of the Qi. Even then he gained a reputation as one of the best poets of the time. Once he ascended the throne, his passion for poetry only increased. The Liangshu 梁書 (History of the Liang Dynasty) notes that “whenever he graced his ministers and officials with his presence, he would ask them to compose poems. He would give gold and silk to those whose works stood out.”4 His reward for poetic talent was not simply material and financial. Historical sources mention a few instances in which he offered important positions to those who impressed him with their poems. In the year 507, for example, at a farewell party for Yuan Jinglong 元景隆, who was about to take up his post as magistrate of Guangzhou, Emperor Wu asked his ministers and officials to write poems “using the same fifty

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rhymes.” One of them, Wang Gui 王規, “dashed out his poem immediately and presented [it to the emperor]. The poem’s style was beautiful. Emperor Wu thought very highly of it and on the same day issued a decree appointing [Wang Gui] “court attendant” (shizhong 侍中),” a confidential adviser to the emperor. Later Wang rose to the position of “minister of five armies” 五兵 尚書.5 At another banquet in 533, Emperor Wu asked two of his officials to “write a poem of twenty rhymes within three kes” 刻, or about forty-five minutes.6 One of them, Chu Xiang 褚翔, “immediately completed his poem and presented it [to the emperor]. Emperor Wu was amazed, and on the same day appointed him the “instructor” 文學 of Prince Xuancheng.7 As a ruler, Emperor Wu was often praised for his broadmindedness. Unlike the founding rulers of the previous Song and Qi dynasties, who eliminated the members of earlier dynasties’ ruling families, Emperor Wu retained them and placed them in positions at court. Because of this, Yao Cha 姚察 (d. 606), one of the authors of the Liangshu, noted that his “broadmindedness surpassed [that of the rulers of] earlier times.”8 Historical sources indicate that throughout his long reign he issued not a single order to execute his officials. Even during his later years, when he became increasingly confused and dogmatic, he was still a tolerant ruler. The Liangshu notes that “at this time, the people appointed by Emperor Wu to government positions were all good at flattery and slandering [others]. This had caused deep harm to the state.” He Chen 賀琛, the “palace aide to the censor-in-chief ” 御史中丞, wrote a scathing memorial to the emperor, portraying the country as one in which “common people cannot bear the burden of life,” whereas “magistrates and officials all vie in greed and cruelty.” He warned the emperor that if nothing was done to “immediately pacify the people in the four directions . . . [then] if anything unexpected should happen in the borders, the passes and rivers [of our country] will be swept away [by enemies].” Upon hearing this, Emperor Wu “was enraged,” but all he did was dictate a long and detailed rebuttal. As for He Chen, he merely “apologized” for his offense and received no punishment.9 Emperor Wu’s passion for poetry, however, caused him to be uncharacteristically jealous, defensive, and even spiteful when dealing with other poets. His relationship with Shen Yue best illustrates the point. Shen Yue, too, was one of the “Eight Friends” during the Qi dynasty. He played an important role in Xiao Yan’s usurpation of the throne. After the founding of the Liang dynasty, Shen Yue hoped to be appointed to one of the highest posts in the government, such as the powerful position of “censor-in-chief,” but Emperor Wu declined to appoint him. Once, during a banquet at which Shen Yue was in attendance, the emperor was presented with “chestnuts from Yuzhou that were half an inch in diameter. The emperor was amazed and asked, ‘How many anecdotes about chestnuts can you think of?’” This activity, called ceshi 策事 (“testing [one’s

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knowledge] on an object/anecdote”), was a popular literary game among the scholars-officials at the time. The goal was to see who could name the most anecdotes and allusions related to a particular object or topic, and the game was a good opportunity to show off one’s learning. It also tested one’s poetic ability, because skillful deployment of allusions was considered important in poetry at the time. Shen Yue did not come up with as many anecdotes as Emperor Wu, and “as he walked out, he said to others: ‘This old man is jealous. If I did not let him win, he would be shamed to death.’” When Emperor Wu heard this, he wanted to “charge [Shen Yue] with a crime” because he considered his words to be “irreverent.” But he allowed Shen Yue to go free after Xu Mian 徐勉, his “director of the secretariat” 中書令, “persistently admonished [against it].”10 Later, when Shen Yue died, someone suggested that he should be posthumously named Wen 文 (“cultural” or “literary”), but the emperor said: “‘Hiding feelings and not revealing them should be called yin 隱 (“conceal”).’ Consequently, his posthumous name was changed to Yin.”11 Emperor Wu’s involvement in the poetic activities of his time was vigorous and pervasive, and because of this the number of poems presented to him or written at his command was considerable. These poems cover a wide range of topics. The occasions that produced them were no longer limited to solemn state banquets, rituals, imperial excursions, and other formal events but included some lighthearted and recreational activities as well. This change is reflected in the poems’ titles, such as “Listening to the Singing Cicada: Written at Imperial Command” 聽鳴蟬應詔 and “On the Pear: Written at Imperial Command” 詠梨應詔.12 To begin the discussion of these poems, I examine a linked verse that Emperor Wu wrote with several of his officials. At the end of each line, its author is identified in parentheses: 清暑殿 効柏梁體

Written at the Heat-Relieving Palace: In Imitation of the Cypress-Beams Terrace Style 居中負扆寄纓紱 (帝) Residing in the center by curtains and screens, I entrust [the nation] to [those wearing] tassels and ribbons, (the emperor) 言慙輻凑政無術 (新安太守任昉) I am ashamed to say that [we who came in] vehicles lack the skills of governance. (Ren Fang, magistrate of Xin’an) 至德無垠愧違弼 (侍中徐勉) [Your Majesty’s] perfect virtue is limitless, but regretfully I have not offered my advice, (Xu Mian, court attendant) 燮贊京河豈微物 (丹陽丞劉汎) Assisting [in governing] the broad-river [region] is not a trivial thing. (Liu Fan, aide to the magistrate of Danyang) 4

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| writ ten at imperial command Serving the two palaces,13 I am humbled by my confidential tasks, (Liu Cheng, gentleman attendant at the palace gate) 清通簡要臣豈汩 (吏部郎中謝覽) Carrying out my duties, I am not at all thorough and precise. (Xie Lan, director of the Ministry of Personnel) 出入帷扆濫榮秩 (侍中張卷 ) In and out of the imperial curtains and screens, I pretend to be a member of the honored ranks, (Zhang Juan, court attendant) 復道龍樓歌楙實 (太子中庶子王峻) The airy paths to the Dragon Palace are ringing with songs.14 (Wang Jun, palace cadet for the heir apparent) 8 空班獨坐慚羊質 (御史中丞陸杲) Sitting idly at my post, I am ashamed of my “sheep inside,”15 (Lu Gao, palace aide to the Censor-in-chief) 嗣以書記臣敢匹 (右軍主簿陸倕) As a recorder, how dare I not work hard to fulfill my obligations? (Lu Chui, recorder for the Right Army) 謬參和鼎講畫一 (司徒主簿劉洽) Mistakenly [I was chosen to] help mix the salt and plums in the cauldron,16 (Liu Qia, recorder for the Minister of Education) 鼎味參和臣多匱 (司徒左西屬江葺) I lack the skills to mix in the cauldron the flavor of salt and plums. (Jiang Qi, left 12 aide to the Minister of Education)17 竊侍兩宮慙樞密 (黃門侍郎柳憕)

By the Liang dynasty, the legend about the poetic composition of Han Emperor Wu and his courtiers at the Cypress-Beams Terrace had become a conventional trope for “letter-loving” (aiwen 愛文) monarchs. It also carried political overtones, because the Han Emperor Wu reigned at the peak of the Han dynasty, one of the longest and most powerful in Chinese history. Wang Rong, as we saw in chapter 5, used it to flatter the Qi Emperor Wu in one of his poems. Xiao Yan’s participation in this “linked-verse” (lianju 聯句) composition served literary as well as political purposes. It showed off his poetic sensitivity and talent, on the one hand, and enabled him to boast about his reign, on the other hand. The officials involved in this composition included some of the most powerful men of the time, as well as some famous writers. Xu Mian, one of the two court attendants present, for example, was one of Emperor Wu’s most trusted advisers. It was his admonition that prevented the emperor from punishing Shen Yue for his irreverent remarks.18 Ren Fang, the magistrate of Xian’an, was the most admired prose writer of the time. The Liangshu notes

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that “whenever princes and lords had memorials to write, they all sought help from him.”19 Also included were some low-ranking officials such as Liu Qia, the recorder for the Minister of Education. Together they represented different aspects of the state bureaucracy. The poem begins with the line by Emperor Wu. It states his principle and method of governance, which is to “entrust” (ji 寄) specific responsibilities to his officials, represented synecdochically by the “tassels” and “ribbons” (yingfu 纓紱) they wear at court. By this the emperor informs the officials of his trust in them. He also indirectly urges them to be diligent in carrying out their duties. In the rest of the poem, each participant uses his line to answer the emperor’s call and to describe the way in which he carries out his specific duty. Nearly all of the eleven participants choose to deprecate themselves. This is to be expected, because it was required by courtly decorum and by the conventions of panegyric poetry, but one can only imagine how the emperor must have felt. He urges his officials to work hard, but all he receives is their confession of incompetence. Poetically speaking, this work shows little merit. It is repetitive in both content and language. The last line, by Jiang Qi, “I lack the skills to mix in the cauldron the flavor of salt and plums” (鼎味參和臣多匱), for example, repeats the main words and allusion of the previous line, by Liu Qia, “Mistakenly [I was chosen to] help mix the salt and plums in the cauldron” (謬參和鼎講畫 一). All Jiang Qi does is to put the words in a different order. The composition of linked verses, although allegedly begun during the early Han dynasty,20 was seldom practiced until the time of the southern dynasties. Even then this format showed immaturity in comparison with poems of other kinds. This piece, for example, exhibits little cooperation and correspondence among the participants, particularly between the two poets contributing to the same couplet. Each writer seems to have been lost in his own thoughts about his own line. The attention to parallelism and antithesis that is otherwise so prominent in the poetry of the time is entirely missing in this piece. The result is a poem made up of lines loosely strung together. Its only unifying element is its content. The significance of this poem lies mostly in the information it provides about poetic activities at Emperor Wu’s court. Among those activities, banquets were still the occasions that produced the greatest number of panegyric poetry. The following is a banquet poem by Shen Yue: 應詔樂遊苑 餞呂僧珍詩

In Attendance at a Banquet in Leyou Park to Send Off Lü Senzhen: Written at Imperial Command

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| writ ten at imperial command 丹浦非樂戰 負重切君臨 我皇秉至德 忘己用堯心 愍茲區宇內 魚鳥失飛沈 推轂二崤岨 揚旆九河陰 超乘盡三屬 選士皆百金 戎車出細柳 餞席樽上林 命師誅後服 授律緩前禽 函轘方解帶 嶢武稍披襟 伐罪芒山曲 弔民伊水潯 將陪告成禮 待此未抽簪

By the shores of the Cinnabar River [Yao] found no joy in battle,21 Shouldering a heavy burden he earnestly ruled the 4 state.22 Our emperor is endowed with perfect virtue, Applying Yao’s heart, he forgets his own self. With compassion he thinks of those within the nation, Who are like fish and birds unable to fly and dive. 8 [He sends] his rolling war wagons to the Twin Xiao Pass,23 And to wave their banners on the Nine Rivers’ south bank.24 Those leaping on the wagons are all clad in three armors,25 Each of the selected troops is a “hundred-gold” 12 warrior.26 War chariots are rolling out of Slender Willow [Camp],27 As we now honor them with a feast at Upper Grove [Park].28 He orders troops to execute those who are last to yield, And issues rules to spare the animals fleeing at the 16 front.29 Only at the Hangu and Huanyuan Passes will they loose their belts, And at the Yao and Wu Defiles they’ll open slightly their lapels.30 He will punish the offenders by Beimang Mountain, And console the people on the banks of the Yi River.31 20 We’ll attend the ceremony of “announcing the completion,”32 Awaiting this I will not remove my hatpin.33

The occasion for this poem was the send-off banquet in the fourth year of Tianjian (506) for Lü Senzhen (d. 511), who was being dispatched by Emperor Wu to fend off an invasion by the Northern Wei’s troops at Liancheng, south of the Huai River. This situation made the banquet different from other, carefree occasions. The task assigned to Shen Yue by the emperor thus had some solemnity and urgency. Following the conventions of panegyric poetry, Shen Yue opens his verse with references to ancient sage rulers. Like Yao, Shen Yue asserts, Emperor

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Wu sends his troops to the battlefield not because he enjoyed waging wars on his enemies but out of his responsibility as a monarch and out of compassion for his people, who are described as being in deep trouble, like “fish and birds unable to fly and dive (魚鳥失飛沈). Turning his attention to the troops and to their mission, Shen Yue then portrays an imaginary victory over the Wei troops far deeper into their territory. The Liang army is imagined to have pushed to the “Twin Xiao Pass” and “Nine Rivers’ south bank” (推轂二崤岨, 揚旆九河陰), two places near the Northern Wei capital, Luoyang. After this brief visionary flight, the poet returns to what is taking place at the moment. He pays another compliment to the troops in lines 11 and 12 and then portrays a series of acts by the emperor, who comes to visit the departing troops, hosts a banquet in honor of them, and issues orders and encouragement. The references to “Slender Willow [Camp]” (xiaoliu 細柳) and “Upper Grove [Park]” (shangli 上林), places associated with two strong Han dynasty rulers, Emperors Wen and Wu, are meant to praise the current monarch by drawing a parallel between him and them. Then begins another section depicting the imaginary victory by the Liang troops over their enemies, at the end of which the emperor is to “punish the offenders” (fazui 伐罪) and “console people” (diaomin 弔民) near the Wei capital, by “Beimang Mountain” (mangshang qu 芒山曲) and “the banks of the Yi River” (yishui xun 伊水 潯). Shen Yue ends his poem with yet another imagined scene, a banquet or “ceremony” (li 禮) of “announcing the completion” (gaocheng 告成) of the military expedition. For this, he informs the emperor, he “will not remove [his] hatpin” (weichou zan 未抽簪), or will dutifully wait in his official post. One noticeable feature of this poem is how much of it is written in the future tense. Shen Yue’s task here is to give a pep talk to the troops on behalf of the emperor. To do so he must find a way to raise their morale, and it seems that the best way to do this, besides assuring them of their outstanding qualities, is to present them with an optimistic scenario. Shen Yue’s optimism, though, proved fruitless, for this expedition ended in total defeat, not of the Northern Wei troops but of the Liang army.34 The numerous allusions make this yet another dense and difficult poem. Intimidating allusiveness, however, was not an indispensable quality of panegyric poetry, particularly when the poet was an outsider to the elites and to their poetic conventions. In chapter 4 I commented on a poem that Emperor Xiaowu of the Song dynasty forced General Shen Qingzhi to compose orally. The Nanshi records yet another incident concerning a poetic composition by a military general, but this one reveals the different milieu at the Liang Emperor Wu’s court. In the sixth year of Tianjian (508), General Cao Jingzong 曹景宗 (d. 508) led a successful mission to defend Zhongli, a town south of the Huai River,

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against the Northern Wei troops. Upon his return, Emperor Wu hosted a banquet in honor of him. At the banquet, the emperor asked his courtiers and officials to compose a linked poem. Shen Yue was given the task of “apportioning rhyming words” (fuyun 賦韻) to the participants, who would then write their verses extemporaneously according to the words they received. For some reason, Shen Yue did not “apportion” rhyming words to Cao Jingzong. Cao Jingzong, who was already a bit tipsy, was upset and repeatedly asked the emperor to give him a chance to write his verse. Emperor Wu, probably for fear that Cao Jingzong’s lack of training in poetry would cause him embarrassment, said to him: “You possess many talents and an outstanding character. Why do you have to show them in a poem?” But General Cao was unappeased, so the emperor ordered Shen Yue to give him some rhyming words. Nearly all of the words were already given out, and the only remaining ones were jing 競 (“to compete”) and bing 病 (“ill” or “illness”). Presumably, these were difficult words to use in a poem because of their restrictive meanings and lack of poetic associations. But General Cao took a brush and immediately composed the following quatrain: 去時ㄦ女悲 歸來笳鼓競 借問行路人 何如霍去病

When I left, sons and daughters were all sad, When I returned, flageolets and drums competed to ring. Ask those travelers on the road, How do I compare with Huo Qubing?35

Huo Qubing 霍去病 (140–117 bce.) was a well-known general of the Han dynasty. He led several successful campaigns against the Xiongnu minorities in the northwestern border regions.36 The last character of his name, bing, happens to be the second rhyming word “apportioned” to Cao Jingzong. Cao Jingzong skillfully inserted the name of this Han general into his poem, and the result is startling. Not only did he manage to create a line with this difficult word, he also was able to draw a parallel between himself and a much admired historical figure. Cao Jingzong was not ignorant of the poetic fashions of the time, as his use of parallelism in the first couplet indicates, but he was able to make this stylistic fad look natural by using simple, colloquial phrases such as qushi 去時 (“when I left”) and guilai 歸來 (“when I returned”). The last two lines consolidate this effect with colloquial phrases (jiewen 借問, “ask,” and heru 何如, “how about”) and straightforward syntax. Indeed, this is a poem that can be “easily” understood. The most remarkable quality of this short verse is its expressiveness. Thanks to its lack of poetic diction, the poem is able to convey directly and vividly General Cao Jingzong’s overweening pride. Every detail of the poem is meant to serve this purpose: The contrast between the sadness of the

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sons and daughters (ernü bei ㄦ女悲) when he left and the scene of celebration upon his return (jiagu jing 笳鼓競), together with the rhetorical question at the end, conjures up an image of someone striding and strutting in front of the audience. Cao Jingzong’s biography in the Nanshi notes that “as a person he was self-assured and overbearing.”37 This poem, his only extant piece, is a good reflection of this. It thus achieved one of the most cherished goals in the Chinese poetic tradition, namely to reveal the inner world of the poet. Small wonder that upon hearing it, “Emperor Wu could not stop sighing [in amazement], and throughout the day Shen Yue and other worthies at the court could not get over their astonishment and wonder.”38 They all knew that the poem they had just heard contained qualities that had proved to be elusive for them, despite their mastery of poetic conventions and techniques. Cao Jingzong’s verse was supposed to be part of a much longer linked poem. In both content and structure, however, it stands on its own as a complete and coherent work. The only other part of this linked poem that still exists is the one by Shen Yue.39 In comparison, it reads more like part of a longer piece: 侍宴樂遊苑餞 徐州刺史應詔 沃若動龍驂 參差凝鳳管 金塘草未合 玉池泉將滿

In Attendance at a Farewell Banquet for the Magistrate of Xuzhou: Written at Imperial Command Sleek and glossy move the three dragon-steeds, 40 High and low flows [the music of] phoenix pipes. By the golden pond the grass has not yet grown together, In the jade pool the springs are just about to overflow. 41

Shen Yue’s quatrain seems to describe the pomp of the imperial entourage, as is indicated by the phrase longcan 龍驂 (“[carriage pulled by] three dragon-steeds”), which refers to the emperor’s carriage. It is filled with poetic diction and clichés, such as the just-mentioned longcan and the fengguan 鳳 管 (“[music of] phoenix pipes”), jintang 金塘 (“golden pond”), and yuchi 玉 池 (“ jade pool”) in the following lines. These phrases form the framework of Shen Yue’s quatrain and make it impersonal. Yet for panegyric poetry, Shen Yue’s poem is the norm. It is Cao Jingzong’s piece that is the exception, just as he was an exception among court poets. The extraordinary individuality and freedom in Cao Jingzong’s piece might also have had something to do with Emperor Wu’s unusually informal relationship with him. The Nanshi notes that when attending banquets with the emperor, “[Cao] Jingzong, when drunk, often became unprincipled and audacious. Sometimes he would mistakenly address [the emperor] as ‘humble

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official’ (xiaguan 下官). The emperor deliberately encouraged him and treated this as a joke.”42 Before moving to poems written on other occasions, one more banquet poem is worth examining. It was written by Liu Xiaochuo 劉孝綽 (481–539), one of the best-known poets of the time, at an imperial farewell banquet for Yu Yuling 庾於陵 (fl. ca. 502): 侍宴餞庾於陵 應詔詩 皇心眷將遠 帳餞靈芝側 是日青春獻 林塘多秀色 芳卉疑綸組 嘉樹似雕飾 遊絲綴鶯領 光風送綺翼 下輦朝既盈 留宴景將昃 高辯競談端 奇文爭筆力 伊臣獨無伎 何用奉吹息

In Attendance at a Farewell Banquet for Yu Yuling: Written at Imperial Command The emperor is moved that [you] will be far away, He holds a tent banquet by the magic fungus. 43 The day displays its spring beauty, Forests and ponds are filled with pretty colors. 4 The blossoming plants look like the guan and zu in the ocean, 44 And fine trees appear as if being embellished and carved. Floating threads attach to oriels’ necks, Brilliant wind sends them off on their colorful wings. 8 Dismounting their carriages, court officials throng the site, Keeping the banquet going, [they find] the sun is slanting. High rhetorics compete to be the crown of discussions, Extraordinary writings vie for the power of the brush. 12 This official alone has no skills, Wherewith do I sing my praise?45

A remarkable feature of this poem is the much-reduced role of the emperor. His Majesty is introduced at the beginning as the originator of the occasion, but after that he disappears from the scene. The rest of the poem describes the surrounding landscape and the activities at the banquet. The concluding couplet, which is often reserved either for eulogizing the emperor’s beneficence or for expressing one’s shame at being an incompetent official under an enlightened monarch, is used by the poet to express his regret not for his inability to repay the emperor’s favor but for his inability to add more to the “high rhetorics” (gaotan 高談) and “extraordinary writings” (qiwen 奇文) that are being produced. Liu Xiaochuo also chooses not to address the topical event, namely, the departure of Yu Yuling, that the emperor has ordered him to celebrate. All of this suggests that as far as Liu Xiaochuo is concerned, the occasion merely provides him with an opportunity to present his observation of the lovely spring scene and to convey his interest in the intellectual and literary activities that accompany it.

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Another noticeable aspect of the poem is its straightforward style. Because Liu Xiaochuo uses only a few poetic clichés (such as in line 6, “fine trees appear as if being embellished and carved” 嘉樹似雕飾), the spring scene portrayed in lines 3–8 is vividly and immediately present. The description of the birds in lines 7 and 8, with images such as “floating threads” (yousi 遊絲) and “brilliant wind” (guangfeng 光風), adds an airy, lithe quality to the scene. In describing the activities at the banquet, the poet also avoids using allusions to ancient classics and history. The result is a verse that is graceful but unpretentious, a rare find in the corpus of panegyric poetry, which often prides itself on being complex and pompous. During the Qi and Liang dynasties, yongwu shi, or “poems on objects,” became popular.46 The Liang Emperor Wu himself wrote a number of poems in this category and must sometimes have commanded his officials to compose them with him. The occasions on which these poems were written were often less formal than state banquets and rituals, and the subject matter of the poems was less intimidating. Because of this, the poets were also less obliged to use the high rhetoric and dense style that were expected under more formal circumstances. Although they were still writing at imperial command and thus had to praise the emperor when they could, they also had to follow the conventions of this poetic genre. This required them to pay special attention to the object in question. Indeed, the following poem by Shen Yue is entirely about the topical object: 庭雨應詔詩 出空寧可圖 入庭倍難賦 非煙復非雲 如絲復如霧 霢霖裁欲垂 霏微不能注 雖無千金質 聊為一辰趣

Courtyard Rain: Written at Imperial Command Coming from emptiness, how can it be sketched? Entering the courtyard, it is doubly hard to describe. It is not mist, and neither is it cloud, But it resembles both silk and fog. 4 In a fine drizzle, it seems just about to fall, But too faint and scant to make a downpour. Although its value is not a thousand gold, It is good enough to amuse us for one morning. 47 8

For the present discussion, the most noticeable quality of this poem is its lack of panegyric content, despite its having been composed at imperial command. Shen Yue makes no reference to the emperor’s presence, nor does he attempt to connect the “courtyard rain” with imperial favor. This is probably because of the nature of the object in question. Rain, with its potential to nourish, had been treated as a metaphor of the ruler’s beneficence by earlier poets,48 but in this instance the rain is not only confined to a “courtyard” but is also just a “fine drizzle” (mailin 霢霖), “too faint and scant to make a

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downpour” (霏微不能注). It would have been difficult to turn this fragile element of nature into a metaphor of imperial grace, which is usually described as powerful and all-embracing. Consequently, Shen Yue is able to focus on describing the “courtyard rain” in its own right. He uses the first six lines to portray its external features and defends its seeming worthlessness in the concluding couplet. Another distinctive feature of this poem is its lack of poetic diction and clichés. This is indeed remarkable in the oeuvre of Shen Yue, especially for a poem written at imperial command. Once more this may have something to do with the poem’s topical object. Rain was a frequent topic in the works of poets before Shen Yue’s time,49 but because of its plain and double-edged nature (it can make one happy or miserable, causing poets to be “delighted,” xiyu 喜雨, or “pained,” kuyu 苦雨), there seems to have been no rhetorical convention about it. This gave Shen Yue the opportunity to write his piece as he wished and perhaps to experiment with his “three easies” theory. This eight-line verse is consistently written in simple, colloquial words and phrases and in straightforward syntax. Furthermore, the poet uses not a single allusion in the entire poem. Poems on objects written at imperial command often carried praise of the emperor, but the praise had to be integrated into the treatment of the object in question. The next poem, written by Zhang Shuai 張率 (d. 527), serves as an illustration: 詠躍魚應詔詩 戢鱗隱繁藻 頒首承綠漪 何用遊溟澥 且躍天淵池

On Leaping Fish: Written at Imperial Command Gathering their scales, they hide in the dense pondweed, With their large heads they rise to the gentle green waves. What is the need to roam the oceans? It is better to leap in the Heavenly Ravine Pool.50

The object of the poem, “leaping fish” (yueyu 躍魚), may have been what the emperor and his courtiers saw on this occasion, but it also had its source in the Shiji. According to that book, when King Wu of the Zhou was crossing a river, a white fish leaped into his boat. King Wu picked it up and used it as a sacrificial offering.51 “Leaping fish” is thus associated with one of the most respected rulers in Chinese history. The opening couplet of Zhang Shuai’s verse reinforces this, because it alludes to a poem called “Yuzao” 魚 藻 in the Shijing. The first two lines of that poem read: “The fishes are there, there among the pondweed, / Showing their large heads” (魚在在藻, 有頒其 首).52 In the Shijing poem these two evocative lines are followed by another two that describe a king, identified as the same King Wu of the Zhou, who is feasting “at ease” in his capital, Hao (王在在鎬, 豈樂飲酒).53 Zhang Shuai

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takes the core of his couplet from this Shijing stanza and refurnishes it with its own descriptive details. This enables him both to present the topical object as demanded by the conventions of the genre and to convey a panegyric message. The conventions of “poetry on objects” usually required the poet to comment on the topical object in the concluding lines of the poem. Zhang Shuai does this through a rhetorical question that contains a reference to the first chapter of the Zhuangzi. That chapter, entitled “Xiaoyao you” 逍遙遊, or “Free Roaming,” opens with the description of a gigantic fish in the North Sea (beiming 北溟). Called kun 鯤, this fish was as long as several thousand miles. When transformed into a bird, named peng 鵬, its wings were like clouds hanging from the sky. In one flight it could traverse the North Sea to reach the “Heavenly Pool” (tianchi 天池) by the “South Sea” (nanming 南 溟).54 In the Zhuangzi, kun and peng symbolize the ultimate freedom of the “perfect man” (zhiren 至人), who has completely liberated himself from the confinement of the human world. Zhang Shuai, however, uses this allusion negatively, because his purpose is to reverse its significance. The freedom and power that kun or peng enjoys in “roaming” (you 遊) the “oceans” (mingxie 溟 澥), he claims, are unnecessary, because the fish can do better by “leaping in the Heavenly Ravine Pool” (且躍天淵池), which is located right here.55 Symbolically, Zhang Shuai is saying that serving the emperor in the capital is by far the superior and more fortunate option than escaping from it as preached by the Zhuangzi. The allusive style and encomiastic content of Zhang Shuai’s poem demonstrate a dimension of poetry on objects that is different from the dimension illustrated by Shen Yue’s piece. It shows that when the topic allowed, poems in this genre could be used to treat subjects in a more formal manner, instead of being just entertaining. The Liangshu notes that Emperor Wu was very pleased with Zhang Shuai’s poetic performances at banquets. His Majesty “wrote a poem especially for [Zhang] Shuai,” which reads: 東南有才子 故能服官政 余雖慚古昔 得人斯為盛

In the southeast there is a talented man, He is a competent official at his post. Although I have regrets when compared with the ancients, In gathering [capable] people this era is thriving.

The emperor pays tribute both to Zhang Shuai, whom he calls “a talented man” (caizi 才子), and to his own success in “gathering [capable] people” (deren 得人). The Liangshu further notes that Zhang Shuai “wrote several poems at imperial command. In the same year, he was promoted to “vice director of

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the palace library” 秘書丞. This post, in the words of the emperor himself, “was an honorable sinecure under heaven. No [members of the] distinguished families in the southeast have ever held that post. Now I assign it to you as a special honor.”56 Some poetic gatherings hosted by Emperor Wu seem to have been pure entertainment. The poems produced on such occasions are lighthearted and even frivolous, as the following verse by Shen Yue demonstrates: 樂將盡恩未已 應詔詩 淒鏘笙管遒 參差舞行亂 輕肩既屢舉 長巾亦徐換 雲鬢垂寶花 輕妝染微汗 群臣醉又飽 聖恩猶未半

The Music Is about to End, but the [Emperor’s] Favor Never Will: Written at Imperial Command Shrill and piercing, mouth-organs and flutes sound urgently, In and out, the dancers dance in disarray. Their light shoulders keep on lifting, Their long scarves are languidly exchanged. 4 Their cloudlike sidelocks dangle jeweled flowers, Their airy makeup is suffused with tiny drops of sweat. The thronging officials are both drunk and sated, But the sagely favors are not yet halfway spent.57 8

Despite the title and the last line, which indicate the emperor’s presence, this poem is a quintessential example of the “palace-style poetry” (gongti shi 宮 體詩) that traditional critics reviled for its sensuality and frivolity.58 Its focus is the languid, erotic performance of dancing women in the court. Their sensuality is denoted by their “light shoulders” that “keep on lifting” (輕肩既屢舉) and by their “airy makeup” that is “suffused with tiny drops of sweat” (輕妝染 微汗). The ending couplet is noteworthy because it seems to be deliberately humorous and verges on being irreverent. The penultimate line, “The thronging officials are both drunk and sated” (群臣醉又飽), is not just colloquial but also coarse and even vulgar. It strips away all of the formality and solemnity associated with an imperial banquet. Indeed, together with the description of the disarrayed dancing women in the previous part of the poem, it reduces the occasion to a boisterous and dissolute party. When Shen Yue addresses the emperor and his “sagely favors,” which “are not yet halfway spent” (聖恩猶未 半) in the last line, it cannot but make readers chuckle, because these “favors” have already been contexualized by the erotic performance of the dancers and by the “drunken, sated” officials. Emperor Wu himself was a practitioner of palace-style poetry. Several of his poems were selected for inclusion in Yutai xinyong 玉臺新詠 (New Songs from the Jade Terrace),59 the sixth-century anthology edited by the court poet Xu Ling 徐陵 (507–583), which contains many of the palace-style poems. In

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writing this poem, Shen Yue must have had the emperor’s endeavors in mind, because he could not afford to present his patron with a work that was distasteful to him. The Xiaos of the Liang dynasty are often compared to the Caos of the Wei. Emperor Wu, Xiao Yan, was an important literary figure of his time. Several of his sons, particularly Xiao Tong 蕭統 (501–31), Xiao Gang 蕭綱 (503–51), and Xiao Yi 蕭繹 (508–54), were also accomplished poets. On several occasions Emperor Wu composed poems together with them. Next I examine two pairs of these poems that have survived. The first pair was written by Emperor Wu and Xiao Gang in 544, during an imperial visit to a fortress at the strategic town Jingkou along the Yangtze River. I begin with the piece by Emperor Wu: 登北顧樓詩 歇駕止行警 迴輿暫遊識 清道巡丘壑 緩步肆登陟 雁行上差池 羊腸轉相逼 歷覽窮天步 釃矚盡地域 南城連地險 北顧臨水側 深潭下無底 高岸長不測 舊嶼石若構 新洲花如織

Written upon Ascending the Beigu Fortress Stopping the chariot, I order the traveling guards to pause, Turning it back for a moment, I look around. The cleared road meanders along the hills and ravines, At a leisurely pace I climb to my heart’s content. 4 Lining up like geese, we move along in uneven order, 60 The crooked paths turn and encroach on one another. 61 Gazing out from here I see the end of heavenly way, 62 Looking into the distance I view all the earth’s land. 8 In the south the town links with the precipitous terrain, By the north it sits on the river’s side. Below, the deep lakes have no bottoms, Above, the height of the cliffs cannot be measured. 12 The rocks on the old islands seem to have been built, The flowers on the new isles appear to have been woven. 63

Emperor Wu’s poem describes the two stages of his visit to the fortress, which appears to have been located at the top of a mountain. The first section (lines 1–6) portrays the leisurely but somewhat strenuous trip to get there; the second section (lines 7–14) depicts the vast and beautiful view seen from the fortress. The emperor makes no attempt to instill political or philosophical significance into his verse but focuses simply on portraying the landscape. This is particularly noteworthy in the second part, because gazing from a high spot usually offers the poet a chance to ruminate on personal, philosophical, or political issues.64 Emperor Wu deliberately shuns this practice. Consequently, when the poem ends with the antithetical couplet describing the

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rocks and flowers of an alternate, parallel mountain-and-river view, a reader familiar with the general conventions of Chinese poetry is left with a sense of abruptness and incompletion. Xiao Gang’s poem, written to match Emperor Wu’s, uses basically the same structure but contains many layers: 奉和 豋北顧樓詩 舂陵佳麗地 濟水鳳凰宮 況此徐方域 川岳邁周澧 皇情愛歷覽 遊涉擬崆峒 聊驅式道候 無勞襄野童 霧崖開早日 晴天歇晚虹 去帆入雲里 遙星出海中

Written to Match [His Majesty’s] Poem on Ascending the Beigu Fortress Chongling is a wonderful land, 65 The River Ji is [the site of] Phoenix Palace. 66 Not to mention this region around Xu, whose Rivers and mountains surpass those of Zhou and Li. 67 4 In his heart the emperor enjoys traveling, By land and river he plans to reach Kongtong. 68 We only have to send out the road guards, No need to trouble the boy in the Xiang wilderness. 69 8 The early sun reveals itself by the foggy cliffs, And the late sunset rests in the clear sky. Departing sails go into the clouds, Distant stars emerge from the ocean.70 12

Emperor Wu’s poem opened with a factual portrayal of his visit to the fortress. Xiao Gang, however, must first endow the visit with the grandeur deemed fitting for an imperial excursion. He does so by extolling the site of the fortress over famous places in other regions (lines 1–4). His opening couplet strongly echoes a couplet by Xie Tiao that praises the magnificence of the capital Jinling. Xie Tiao’s couplet reads: “Jiangnan is a wonderful land, / Jinling is the place for emperors and kings” (江南佳麗地, 金陵帝王州).71 Xiao Gang’s couplet resembles Xie Tiao’s in both diction and syntax. In fact, Xie Tiao’s couplet was modeled after a still earlier example. In one of his poems Cao Zhi had written the following two lines about Chang’an, the old capital of the Qin and Former Han dynasties: “Magnificent indeed is the residence of emperors and kings! / Its wonderful beauty stands out above a hundred cities” (壯哉帝王居, 佳麗殊百城).72 Through these associations with earlier texts, Xiao Gang’s couplet sets a grandiose tone for his piece and elevates the current, relatively unknown site to the status of the famous capitals of the country. In the second part, lines 5–8, Xiao Gang addresses the emperor’s love of travel. Lines 6 and 8 allude to anecdotes associated with the Yellow Emperor and are conventional means to eulogize the current monarch. But the reference to “the boy in the Xiang wilderness” (xiangye tong 襄野童)—a boy who,

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in the Zhuangzi, aids the Yellow Emperor when he becomes lost—demonstrates some skillful manipulation. In the Zhuangzi, the story is meant to show that the so-called sages of antiquity actually knew little in comparison with a lad who observed the principle of wuwei, or “noninterference.” Xiao Gang’s allusion to this source takes the form of surpass topos: His Majesty is superior to Yellow Emperor because he is thoroughly knowledgeable about his trip and thus has no need for a guide. Symbolically, this is also meant to praise the emperor’s wisdom in general. As a ruler, he has thorough knowledge of state governance. The last section of Xiao Gang’s poem, lines 9–12, is a description of the view from the Beigu, or Northward-Looking Fortress. Following the lead of Emperor Wu, Xiao Gang casts his two couplets in parallelism, but the scenes he chooses to describe are different. Instead of portraying the alternate views of mountains and rivers, Xiao Gang depicts the distant horizons in the east and west. Moreover, in contrast to the scene in Emperor Wu’s poem, which seems to be factual, the landscape Xiao Gang depicts is imaginary. This is suggested by the juxtaposition of “early sun” (zaori 早日) and “late sunset” (wanhong 晚虹), which represent different times of day, and by “distant stars emerging from the ocean” ( 遙星出海中), which suggests a geographic location not present to the poet. Like Emperor Wu, Xiao Gang ends his poem without inserting any subjective reflections on the occasion.73 Emperor Wu became a devout Buddhist later in his life. Under his encouragement, Buddhism flourished during the Liang dynasty.74 He commissioned the construction of several Buddhist temples, one of which was the Great Temple of Love and Respect 大愛敬寺 at Mount Zhong, east of the capital Jiankang. During one of his visits to this temple, Emperor Wu wrote a long poem, and Xiao Tong, the crown prince, wrote another to “match” it. The following is the poem by Emperor Wu: 遊鍾山 大愛敬寺詩 曰余受塵縛 未得留蓋纏 三有同永夜 六道等長眠 才性乏方便 智力非善權 生住無停相 剎那即徂遷 嘆逝比悠稔

Written during a Visit to the Great Temple of Love and Respect at Mount Zhong Since I am tethered by the dusty world, I cannot avoid its confining concerns. The three kinds of bhava are similar to lengthy nights,75 The six ways of sentient existence are equivalent to 4 long sleep.76 By nature I lack the means to teach the truth, In intelligence I am not versed at admonition. The cycle of life and death has no way of stopping, In a flash we are already changed and gone. 8 To sigh over time’s passage takes a long year,

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| writ ten at imperial command 交臂乃奢年 從流即難返 弱喪謂不然 二苦常追隨 三毒自燒然 貪癡養憂畏 熱惱坐焦煎 道心理歸終 信首故宜先 駕言追善友 回輿尋勝緣 面勢周大地 縈帶極山川 稜層疊嶂遠 迤邐隥道懸 朝日照花林 光風起香山 飛鳥發差池 出雲去連綿 落英分綺色 墜露散珠圓 當道蘭藿蘼 臨階竹便娟 幽谷響嚶嚶 石瀨鳴濺濺 蘿短未中攬 葛嫩不任牽 攀緣傍玉澗 褰陟渡金泉 長途弘翠微 香樓間紫煙 慧居超七淨 梵住踰八禪 始得展身敬 方乃遂心虔 菩提聖種子 十力良福田 正趣果上果 歸依天中天 一道長死生 有無離兩邊

When we meet, many ages have passed. Once we follow the current, it is hard to return, But the displaced youth may not know this.77 12 The two sufferings follow me all the time,78 And three poisons keep up their burning.79 Greed and indulgence breed worries and fears, Anxiety and agitation [make one] sit on the frying pan. 16 An enlightened mind will return to its destination, Faith is therefore the first and foremost step to take. I mount my chariot to look for good friends, Turning it around I seek after the superior pratyaya.80 20 The broad scenery embraces the vast land, It meanders all the way to the mountains and rivers. Layered cliffs rise majestically in the distance, Twisted pathways hang in the air. 24 The morning sun shines on the blossoming forest, Brilliant wind arises from the fragrant mountains. Flying birds dart forth, one after another, 81 Emerging clouds depart in close succession. 28 Fallen blossoms display their colorful hues, Dripping dew sends out round pearls. Along the road there are orchids and herbs, By the steps there are lovely bamboos. 32 In secluded ravines [birds] are chirruping, Over the rocks [brooks] are murmuring. The turnip stalks are still too short to grasp, The kudzu vines are yet too tender to hold. 36 We climb up along the jade streams, Holding up our clothes we cross the gold creeks. The lengthy road teems with azure mountain-mist, The scented temples are separated by purple smoke. 40 The wisdom residence surpasses the seven purities, 82 The Brahman-land transcends the eight meditations. 83 Now I get to show my reverence with my body, And to satisfy the devoutness in my heart. 44 The seeds of Bodhi are sacred, The ten powers of Buddha make the field blessed. 84 The right destiny is the fruit beyond fruits, Converting to [the Buddha] is the heaven of heavens. 48 One way provides eternal deliverance from death and life, And leaves aside being and nonbeing.

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Why do I need to reach the west of Mount Kongtong?85 How can I envy [the hermits] by the Fen’s bank?86 52 I pass my newly gained enlightenment To the late-coming worthies such as you. 87

This long verse can be divided into three sections. The first section, lines 1–18, is Emperor Wu’s description of the pain of human life. The second section, lines 19–40, portrays the scene along the way to the Great Temple of Love and Respect at Mount Zhong. The last section, lines 43–54, is Emperor Wu’s enunciation of his Buddhist faith. The three sections are coherently linked. The pains described in the first section call for the need to relieve them, which introduces the second section, the path leading to such relief. This path leads to the final section, where the “newly gained enlightenment” (chujueyi 初覺意) enables Emperor Wu to rid himself of the suffering that torments him at the start of the poem. The abundant use of parallelism throughout this poem (except in the first and last couplets) indicates that Emperor’s Wu paid special attention to the poem’s artistry. Remarkably, the consistent use of this rhetorical device does not encroach on the poet’s ability to communicate directly. Even the emperor’s religious reflections, with all of their jargon, can be understood with little difficulty by readers possessing only a rudimentary knowledge of Buddhism. The landscape portrayed in the second section is rich in sensual beauty since the poet makes it appeal to all of our senses. The couplet “The morning sun shines on the blossoming forest, / Brilliant wind arises from the fragrant mountains” (朝日照花林, 光風起香山) is at the same time visual, tactile, and olfactory. “Flying birds dart forth, one after another, / Emerging clouds depart in close succession” (飛鳥發差池, 出雲去連綿) adds movement to the scene. “In secluded ravines [birds] are chirruping, / Over the rocks [brooks] are murmuring” (石瀨鳴濺濺, 幽谷響嚶嚶) endows it with an auditory dimension. Indeed, the sensuality of the scene is so strong, and the scene is described in such detail and at such length (twenty lines), that it almost suggests an indulgence on the part of the poet. This is ironic, given the Buddhist doctrine that regards all sensual experiences as illusory. But just as readers, together with the poet, are about to become “lost” in this beautiful world of phenomena, the poet reminds them in lines 41–42 that what he has been describing is meant to lead to “the wisdom residence” (huiju 慧居) and to the “Brahman-land” (fanzhu 梵住). This transition from the phenomenal world to the Buddhist pure land is carried out smoothly in lines 37–38, because “ jade streams” (yujian 玉澗) and “gold creeks” (jinquan 金泉) suggest both a lovely physical scene and a Buddhist paradise, where many objects are thought to be made of rare and precious materials such as jade and gold.88

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In the last two lines of the poem, Emperor Wu addresses his followers on this excursion. He presents himself as a teacher, sharing his “newly gained enlightenment” (chujueyi 初覺意) with those who are “late-coming” (houlai 後 來) along the path of Buddhist belief. Poetically speaking, this is also His Majesty’s call to them to “match” his poem. Xiao Tong’s verse was one of the responses: 和武帝 遊鍾山大愛敬寺詩 唐遊薄汾水 周載集瑤池 豈若欽明后 迴鸞鷲嶺歧 神心鑒無相 仁化育有為 以玆慧日照 復見法雨垂 萬邦躋仁壽 兆庶滌塵羈 望雲雖可識 日用豈能知 鴻名冠子姒 德澤邁軒羲 班班仁獸集 匹匹翔鳳儀 善遊茲勝地 茲岳信靈奇 嘉木互紛糺 層峯鬱蔽虧 丹藤繞垂幹 綠竹蔭清池 舒華匝長阪 好鳥鳴喬枝 霏霏慶雲動 靡靡祥風吹 谷虛流鳳管

Matching a Poem by Emperor Wu: Written during a Visit to the Great Temple of Love and Respect at Mount Zhong In his excursions Yao had reached the River Fen, The vehicles of the Zhou king gathered at Jasper Pool. How can they be compared with our enlightened monarch, Who turned his carriage to the peak of Eagle Mount. 89 4 His divine mind mirrors the state of nonbeing, His virtuous influences nourish the act of being. His wisdom shines [on us] like the sun, Furthermore, we see the rain of dharma fall. 8 Thousands of lands compete [to share] his virtue and longevity, Millions of people are washed of their dusty bonds. Everyone can look at the clouds and know what they are, But how can they understand their daily function? 12 His great name eclipses those of the Shang and Xia,90 His beneficence exceeds [that of] the Yellow Emperor and Fuxi.91 Virtuous animals gather in throngs,92 Hovering phoenixes fly about in pairs. 16 This wonderful site is indeed a good place to visit, This mountain is truly outstanding and sacred. Beautiful plants intertwine in profusion, High peaks shadow those hidden spots. 20 Vermilion vines twist along the drooping boughs, Green bamboos cast their shade on the clear pools. Spreading flowers cover the long slopes, Fine birds sing on the tall branches. 24 Lithely the auspicious clouds move, Gently the felicitous wind wafts. The empty ravines ring with phoenix pipes,

The Flourishing of Panenric Potry during the Liang Dynasy 野綠映丹麾 帷宮設廛外 帳殿臨郊垂 俯同南風作 斯文良在斯 伊臣限監國 即事阻陪隨 顧惟實庸菲 沖薄竟奚施 至理徒興羨 終然類管窺 上聖良善誘 下愚慚不移

The green wilds reflect the vermilion banners. Tent palaces are set up outside residential land, Canvas halls are placed to face the city’s suburbs. [His Majesty] pauses to compose the “South Wind,”93 “Such writings” are right here in such a place.94 This official is bound by his duties as the state’s regent,95 Affairs at hand make me unable to accompany you [further]. Examining myself I know I am such a mediocre man, With my shallowness, what can I rely on? Your Highness’s ultimate truth arouses admiration in me, But in the end I can get only a glimpse, as if looking through a pipe. Your Majesty is indeed an excellent counselor, This low dullard is ashamed that he has not been moved.96

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Xiao Tong devotes the first sixteen lines of his poem to praising his imperial father. Here we find the familiar “surpass topos” in his favorable comparison of Emperor Wu to the sage rulers of antiquity, such as the Yellow Emperor and Yao. It is noteworthy that in eulogizing the emperor, Xiao Tong carefully draws a balance between his “divine mind,” which “mirrors the state of nonbeing” (神心鑒無相), and his “virtuous influences,” which “nourish the act of being” (仁化育有為). The dichotomy between “nonbeing” and “being” is an important issue in Buddhist thinking. The state of “being” represents illusion and is therefore to be transcended and replaced by “nonbeing,” which is the Chinese version of nirvana. In his poem, Emperor Wu focused exclusively on “nonbeing” when reflecting on earthly pain and on the Buddhist dharma that delivers him from it. Xiao Tong’s juxtaposition of “nonbeing” and “being” can be read as a subtle reminder to His Majesty that as a ruler, his “virtuous influences” on the country and on its people are as crucial as his “divine mind,” which helps him gain Buddhist enlightenment. Indeed, historical sources inform us that in his ardent devotion to Buddhism, Emperor Wu often neglected his state responsibilities. He several times “gave himself up” (sheshen 舍身) to the Temple of Equality and Prosperity 同泰寺. Once, in 529, he gave himself up for an entire month and had to be ransomed by his ministers and officials.97 Xiao Tong, himself a Buddhist, seems to have recognized the harm that his father’s unchecked faith had done to the country. Perhaps this is why, instead of “matching” the emperor’s meditation on Buddhist

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doctrines in his poem, he shifts the weight of his panegyric message to the importance of “being.” His frequent use of Confucian terms, such as “virtue” or “virtuous” (ren 仁, in lines 6, 9, and 16) and “beneficence” (de 德, in line 14), is evidence of this effort. The section that closely matches Emperor Wu’s poem is the description of the scene along the way to the temple. But unlike Emperor Wu, who devoted his attention to portraying the scene, Xiao Tong has another task to fulfill in constructing his version of the landscape: He must make it a worthy place for this imperial excursion. Therefore, in addition to calling it a “wonderful site” (shengdi 勝地), and “outstanding and sacred” (lingqi 靈奇), he describes the clouds as being “auspicious” (qingyun 慶雲) and the wind as being “felicitous” (xiangfeng 翔風), in order to endow the occasion with supernatural blessings. Xiao Tong’s description contains many components similar to Emperor Wu’s, although it is shorter. We notice an effort to present the landscape through its sensual dimensions. The “vermilion vines” (danteng 丹藤) and “green bamboos” (lüzhu 綠竹) appeal to our vision, the “fine birds” that “sing on the tall boughs” (好鳥鳴高枝) stimulate our auditory involvement, and the “felicitous wind” that “wafts” (靡靡祥風吹) produces a tactile effect. The last couplet of this section, “The empty ravines ring with phoenix pipes, / The green wilds reflect the vermilion banners” (谷虛流鳳管, 野綠映丹麾), brings together the landscape and the human pageantry. It serves as a smooth transition to the last section, where the poet turns his attention to the emperor and to the poem that he has been asked to match. In praising Emperor Wu’s poem, Xiao Tong alludes in lines 31 and 32 to the writings of two ancient sages, Shun and Confucius. This puts more emphasis on the realm of “being.” Finally, in the last four lines, Xiao Tong addresses the emperor’s Buddhist teachings, calling them “ultimate truth” (zhili 至理), of which he can get “only a glimpse, as if looking through a pipe” (guankui 管窺). The concluding line of his poem, despite its conventionality, can also be read as a gentle rebuttal of Emperor Wu’s preaching; it states that because of his dullness he “has not been moved” by His Majesty’s excellent counsel (下愚慚不移). “Matching” (he 和) a poem by an emperor was a complex task. In undertaking it, the poet first had to follow the emperor’s example, but complete adherence was out of the question because, unlike the emperor, who might have been concerned only with articulating his feelings and thoughts, the poet had to inject some panegyric elements into his poem. Although the alleged goal of the poem was to “match” the emperor’s piece, it also had to be different. The other complicating factor concerned the artistic merit of the second poet’s work. He had to show some ingenuity of his own, so that his work would not simply be a mechanical imitation. The poems by Xiao Gang

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and Xiao Tong in the preceding two pairs illustrate this situation. Both writers structured their pieces after the models of Emperor Wu, but within this framework both attempted to variate as well. Except for inserting praises of the emperor, which was required by the conventions of panegyric poetry, Xiao Gang and Xiao Tong pursued different strategies to achieve variation. Whereas Xiao Gang rendered his portrayal of the scene in an imaginary way, distinct from Emperor Wu’s factual description, Xiao Tong chose to make his voice heard by accentuating a different topic in the discursive section of his poem. Emperor Wu’s devotion to Buddhism did not prevent him from appreciating the other two major schools of thought in Chinese culture, Confucianism and Daoism. After Buddhism came to China in the first century ce, it met with fierce resistance from Confucianism and Daoism. Debates among adherents of these schools were often acrimonious. By the time of the southern dynasties, however, these schools had become increasingly intertwined with one another. Emperor Wu especially encouraged their coming together. He once wrote a poem entitled “Bringing Together the Three Schools” 會三 教詩, in which he recounted his intellectual evolution from Confucianism to Daoism and then Buddhism.98 His relationship with Tao Hongjing 陶弘 景 (456–536), a renowned Daoist recluse of the time, is an illustration of his open-minded attitude. According to the Liangshu, Emperor Wu had known Tao before the founding of the Liang dynasty. Indeed, when the court officials were discussing the Liang’s succession of the Qi, Tao offered some spurious prophecy to help legitimate the move.99 After ascending the throne, Emperor Wu maintained a close relationship with Tao and frequently exchanged writings with him. I will now consider a quatrain poem that Tao wrote in answer to a query by Emperor Wu.100 It is a unique piece in the repertoire of panegyric poetry. 詔問山中何所有 賦詩以答 山中何所有 嶺上多白雲 只可自怡悅 不堪持寄君

The Emperor Sent an Inquiry on What There Is in the Mountains; I Wrote This Poem in Response What is there in the mountains? There are many white clouds on their peaks. They can only be used as self-entertainment, But cannot be taken and sent to you.101

This poem is entirely free of the conventions of panegyric poetry. The poet makes no use of the lofty rhetoric typical of such poetry, and he makes no attempt to eulogize the emperor. Instead, he adopts a colloquial and disarmingly simple style. The poem begins with a reiteration of the emperor’s question, “What is there in the mountains?” (山中何所有). In his answer to

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the emperor, Tao selects an image that is both physically and metaphorically far-reaching: “There are many white clouds on their peaks” (嶺上多白雲). The mountain peaks that rise into the sky evoke a feeling of awe; their distance from the human world symbolizes the purity and freedom of Tao’s reclusive life. The white clouds that hover around them add a sense of etherealness that accentuates the Daoist goal of becoming a “feathered man” (yuren 羽人) in order to “rise into heaven” (shengtian 昇天) and to achieve immortality. Tao’s answer, then, generates meanings and associations that go beyond the emperor’s query. It inspires readers’ imaginations and stimulates their understanding. This process becomes even livelier as readers attempt to relate this imagistic answer to the emperor’s question. The result is that while the poet’s answer grows in proportion, the emperor’s query recedes into the background. The last two lines of the poem seem to consolidate this inverted relationship. On the surface the poet is merely stating a simple fact, that the clouds on the mountain peaks “can only be used as self-entertainment” (只可 自怡悅) by him; they “cannot be taken and sent to you” (不堪持寄君). But this image, too, is rich in symbolic associations. Read in this way, Tao’s statement seems to imply that the freedom, purity, and potential for immortality represented by the “white clouds on the mountain peaks” are privileges exclusive to a Daoist recluse like himself. They cannot be shared with a layman such as His Majesty. The format of this poem lends a certain advantage to Tao Hongjing. Because the poem is cast in the form of an answer to a question, it puts the answerer in the center. Tao Hongjing adroitly manipulates the implied disciplemaster relationship and turns his poem into a self-reflexive text that celebrates itself, and by extension, its author’s unique way of life. The flourishing of panegyric poetry during the Liang dynasty is reflected both in the number of poems produced and in the diverse subjects and occasions they address. Furthermore, the different treatment of conventional topics opened up a new dimension in this poetry. Shen Yue’s “Music Is about to End, but the [Emperor’s] Favor Never Will,” for example, demonstrates that a banquet poem written at imperial command did not have to be solemn and formal; it could instead be lighthearted and even irreverent. This “recreational” take on panegyric poetry was to be further explored by poets of subsequent ages, especially during the Chen dynasty.

7 Poetry’s Embarrassment Panegyric Poetry of the Chen Dynasty



The Chen dynasty was the last of the southern dynasties. As such, it was often regarded as the weakest, even though its three-decade reign was longer than that of the Qi. Similarly, the poetry produced during the period was thought to be the dying song of the entire southern dynasties era.1 This reputation was reinforced by the notoriety of Chen Shubao 陳叔寶, also known as Chen Houzhu 陳後主, the last ruler of the dynasty (r. 583–89). The Chenshu 陳書 (History of the Chen Dynasty) notes that he often held banquets with his courtiers and concubines. There, he would ask them to compose poems for one another, which he then had set to music and performed by “hundreds and thousands of beautiful court ladies.” The contents of these poems, the Chenshu further notes, were about “praising the beauty of Noble Concubines Zhang and Chen,” two of his favorites.2 Chen Shubao was not the only monarch in Chinese history who hosted such poetry banquets, but because he did so in neglect of his state responsibilities, and because he happened to be the last ruler of a dynasty that came at the end of an entire era, he has been reviled throughout Chinese history. Together with this ruler, poetry, always regarded as one of the most sacred causes in Chinese culture, suffered a rare rebuke. It came to be perceived as a major source of corruption in Chen Shubao’s government, corruption that eventually brought about the downfall of the nation. After Chen Shubao was deposed and taken to the north to live as a subject of Emperor Wen of the Sui dynasty 隋文帝 (r. 581–604), Emperor Wen mockingly remarked at a banquet at which Chen Shubao was present: “Isn’t the downfall

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[of the Chen] caused by [Chen Shubao’s] drinking? Why didn’t he use the time and efforts spent on writing poetry to think about [the nation’s] affairs when it was at peace?”3 Except for Chen Shubao, the Chen dynasty rulers seem to have shown little interest in poetry. No poems by Emperors Wu 武帝 (r. 557–59), Wen 文帝 (r. 560–66), or Xuan 宣帝 (569–82) survive today.4 The Chenshu notes that during an excursion Emperor Wu “wrote a poem and showed it to his ministers.”5 This is the only historical record of their involvement with poetry. Consequently, in this chapter I look almost exclusively at Chen Shubao and at the poetic activities in which he and his court engaged. First, however, I want to consider two poems that were composed prior to Chen Shubao’s reign. They cannot be dated precisely, and the Chenshu provides less information than other dynastic histories about the occasions that produced or might have produced some of these poems. The first poem was written by Zhou Hongzheng 周弘正, who died in the sixth year of Taijian (579) during the reign of Emperor Xuan. He had held important positions during a lengthy career that started in the previous Liang dynasty. 詠石鯨應詔詩 石鯨何壯麗 獨在天池陰 騫鰭類橫海 半出似浮深 吞航本無日 吐浪亦難尋 聖帝遊靈沼 能懷躍藻心

On a Stone Whale: Written at Imperial Command How magnificent is the stone whale! It resides only by the southern bank of the Heavenly Pond. Raising its fins, it looks as if about to cross the ocean, Half above the water, it seems to be floating in the deep. 4 After all it can never expect to swallow a traveling boat, And it is hard for it to find a chance to spew out waves. Our sage emperor is paying a visit to the divine pool, How can it desire to jump from the water-grasses?6 8

The bulk of the poem (lines 1–6) is devoted to portraying the object in question, the “stone whale” (shijing 石鯨). Throughout this section we sense a mocking humor directed at the whale. The whale may look “magnificent” (zhuangli 壯麗), but it has been transferred to the “Heavenly Pond” (tianchi 天池) at the capital, and its “stone,” or artificial, nature has deprived it of its natural prowess. Thus, it may still be “raising its fins” (qianqi 騫鰭) and rising “half above the water” (banchu 半出), but its ability to “cross the ocean” (henghai 橫海) and “float in the deep” (fushen 浮深) is negated by the similes lei 類 (“looks as if ”) and si 似 (“seems to be”). For this reason, the poet humorously comments, it can never expect to accomplish the feats associated with a whale,

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namely, to “swallow a traveling boat” (tunhang 吞航) and “to spew out waves” (tulang 吐浪). The last couplet introduces the emperor, whose visit gives some “divine” (ling 靈) qualities to the pond where the stone whale resides. For this reason, the poet asks, how can the whale “desire to jump from the water-grasses” (能 懷躍藻心)? The artificial, confined existence should be satisfying to the stone whale, all thanks to the grace of the emperor. In contrast to the mocking humor of this poem, the next piece, by Zhang Zhengxian 張正見, who also died during the reign of Emperor Xuan (ca. 576), demonstrates the solemn formality that is typical of panegyric poetry: 御幸樂遊苑 侍宴詩 大君臨四表 榮光普八埏 區中文化洽 海外武功宣 鳳下書丹篆 龜府著綠編 昆明不習戰 雲夢豈遊畋 軌文通萬國 旌節竫三邊 高秋藐姑射 睿想屬汾川 兩宮明合璧 雙闕帶非煙 揚鑾出城觀 詔蹕指郊壥 禁苑迴雕輦 離宮建翠旃 流水犇雷轂 追風赴電鞭 畫熊飄析羽 金埒響膠弦 鳴玉升文砌 稱觴溢綺筵 獸舞依鍾石

In Attendance at a Banquet When [the Emperor] Graced the Leyou Park Our grand lord rules the [land in the] four directions, His glorious light reaches all of its eight borders. Within the territory culture and civilization thrive, Beyond the seas his martial achievements spread. 4 Under the phoenixes the vermilion words were written, On the tortoise shells green scripts were composed.7 In Kunming Lake there are no naval drills, How can one find hunting in the Yunmeng ground? 8 Our systems and culture travel to ten thousand states, Our envoys and delegates pacify the border regions. In the high autumn [His Majesty] scorns Mount Guye, 8 His wise thought turns to the Fen River.9 12 Brilliant stars shine in the two palaces,10 Rosy mists surround their twin towers. Mounting his carriage the emperor marches out of the town, And decrees that the roads leading to the suburbs be cleared. 16 Carved chariots move around the forbidden park, Azure banners are planted by the traveling palace. The thundering wheels dash [like] flowing water, The lightning whips swing [as if] chasing the wind. 20 On the bear-painted carts, feathered banners are fluttering,11 Along the golden trench, music is echoing. [Wearing] singing jades, [we] ascend the painted steps, Toasting His Majesty, we throng the colorful mats. 24 Animals dance to the music of stone bells,

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| writ ten at imperial command 鳳歌應管弦 霞明黃鶴路 風爽白雲天 潦收荷蓋折 露重菊花鮮 上林賓早鴈 長陽唱晚蟬 小臣慚藝業 擊壤慕懷鉛 康衢飛馳羽 大海滴微涓 詠歌還集木 舞蹈逐臨泉 願薦南山壽 明明奉萬年

Phoenixes sing to the tunes of strings and pipes. Crimson clouds brighten over the Yellow-Crane Road,12 Refreshing wind wafts in the white-cloud sky. As the pouring rain stops, some lotus leaves break, The dew is heavy, and the chrysanthemums look fresh. Early geese visit the Shanglin Park, Late cicadas sing at the Changyang Ground.13 This petty official is ashamed of his arts and skills, Beating the earth, I long to hold onto the lead powder.14 I would gallop on the broad highway with flying flags, And drop my tiny trickle into the vast ocean. Singing our songs, we return to gather by the woods, Dancing their dances, [the women] sway along the stream. I wish for [Your Majesty] to live as long as the South Mountain,15 Let your brightness shine on us for tens of thousands of years.16

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This poem of twenty couplets follows the tripartite structure that is characteristic of many shorter poems. Its greater length, however, allows the poet to devote more attention to each part. In the introductory section (lines 1–10), for example, he attempts to incorporate nearly all of the components of praise that were customary in panegyric poetry. The opening couplet, with several examples of high rhetoric (dajun 大君, “our grand lord,” rongguang 榮 光, “glorious light”) and sweeping scope (lin sibiao 臨四表, “rules [the land in] the four directions,” pu bayan 普八埏, “reaches all of its eight borders”), sets the tone for the entire poem. Zhang Zhengxian then glorifies the emperor’s alleged achievements in the cultural and martial realms (lines 4–5). The references to the mythical “vermilion words” (danzhuan 丹篆) and to the “green scripts” (lübian 綠編) (lines 5–6) are meant to emphasize the heavenly mandate of the imperial patron’s reign. In lines 7–8 we see the conventional surpass topos. Instead of comparing the current monarch to ancient rulers such as the Yellow Emperor and Yao, the poet selects for comparison Emperor Wu of the Han dynasty, who ordered the construction of Kunming Lake in Chang’an for naval drills,17 and the king of the Chu state, whose hunting at Yunmeng was celebrated in Sima Xiangru’s “Rhapsody of Sir Vacuous.”18 The choice of the Han Emperor Wu is easy to understand, for he was one of the most powerful rulers in the past

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and was often alluded to by other poets for panegyric purposes. The reference to the Chu king seems odd, because his position as a “king” (wang 王) or feudal ruler of a state, albeit a powerful one, during the Warring States period does not match that of the poet’s patron, who is an “emperor” (di 帝) and whose rule, as the writer claims at the beginning and in lines 9–10, encompasses the entire Chinese empire and its border regions. The comparison of his imperial patron to the king of a feudal state reminds the reader of the much weakened and divided condition of China during the Chen dynasty. In reality, this comparison is more accurate than the comparison with the Han Emperor Wu. The transition to the second section takes place in lines 11–12, where the emperor is introduced with two allusions to the Zhuangzi. The poet draws a parallel between his imperial patron and the sage ruler Yao, but with a Daoist twist, because in the legend alluded to in line 12, Yao is said to have desired to leave the world during his visit to the Fen River. The emperor’s “wise thought” (ruixiang 睿想), we are led to believe, refers to a similar sentiment. Zhang Zhengxian then provides some details of the occasion. The focus of the long descriptive section (lines 15–32) is on the pomp of the circumstance. Indeed, lines 15–26 describe the entire trip made by the emperor and his entourage from the capital to the Leyou Park, and all of the grandiose ceremonies that accompanied it. The highly formal style used in this part emphasizes the occasion’s splendor. Poetic diction such as “carved chariots” (diaonian 雕輦), “azure banners” (cuizhan 翠旃), “golden trench” (jinlie 金 埒), and “singing jades” (mingyu 鳴玉) foreground the conventionality of the verse. This tendency even spills over into the description of the scene. The poet chooses to use conventional phrases such as “Yellow-Crane” (huanghe 黃 鶴), “Shanglin” (上林), and “Changyang” (長陽) to name the spots he claims to be observing, further reducing the poem’s capacity to articulate a personalized experience. The last section begins with the poet’s conventional self-deprecation. It is worth noting that he specifically singles out “arts and skills” (yiye 藝業) as the subject of his guilt. The allusion in the next line—“hold onto the lead powder” (huaiqian 懷鉛)—suggests that by “arts and skills” the poet refers specifically to writing, and that he regards writing to be his special qualification. This helps to define his wish to serve the cause of his imperial patron, stated metaphorically in lines 34–35: “I would gallop on the broad highway with flying flags, / And drop my tiny trickle into the vast ocean” (康衢飛馳 羽, 大海滴微涓). Zhang Zhengxian ends his poem with a toast to the longevity of the emperor in high-flown rhetoric that fully matches the poem’s opening couplet. Emperor Xuan, to whom this poem was most likely presented, seems to have taken little interest in poetry. His son, Chen Shubao, was quite different.

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In his summary comment on the biographical accounts of the Chen rulers, the Tang statesman and writer Wei Zheng 魏徵 (580–643) remarked that “the rulers who lost their nations were usually talented in literature and arts” (亡國 之主, 多有才藝).19 Chen Shubao was a good representative of such rulers. He was “born in the inner palaces and grew up in the hands of women. Although he was entrusted with a country in deep trouble, he had no understanding of the hardship of [common people engaged in] agriculture.” He merely “devoted his energy to drinking and literature,” held “night-long parties” with his concubines and courtiers, and left the nation to “officials who were interested only in preying on its people.”20 These harsh words portray a ruler who indulged in sensual pleasure and literary pursuits in total disregard of his country and people. They provided the later generations with a conventional image of Chen Shubao. In his treatment of intellectuals and court officials, Chen Shubao seems not to have been particularly cruel, even though he was accused of being so by Emperor Wen of the Sui dynasty.21 According to historical sources, during his reign he ordered the executions of two officials, Fu Zai 傅縡 and Zhang Hua 章華. Both had criticized him with “extreme bluntness” (jijian 極諫). Zhang Hua, who had been unhappy because of his unpromising career in the government, sent Chen Shubao a memorial accusing him of “having no respect for the mandate of heaven” and of being “lost in [pursuit] of drinking and women.” Chen Shubao was “enraged” by this and “put him to death on the same day.”22 The case of Fu Zai was slightly different. Fu Zai, who was able and eloquent but arrogant, was imprisoned on a false charge of bribery made by his slanderers. In prison, he wrote Cheng Shubao a letter in which he described the emperor as “hating the loyal and upright [officials] as enemies, and treating common folk as weeds.” He warned the emperor that “the air of monarchical rule in the southeast may end here.” As expected, Chen Shubao “was enraged,” but his rage soon abated, and he offered Fu Zai the chance to repent. Fu Zai refused to do so, and Chen Shubao ordered his death in prison.23 Chen Shubao’s passion for poetry seems to have enabled him to establish intimate relations with his court poets. While he was still crown prince, he asked Lu Yu 陸瑜, his “secretary of the eastern palace” 東宮管記, who had impressed him with his writing, to put together a collection of other writers’ works so that he could browse them at his convenience. Lu Yu died before he was able to complete the task. Chen Shubao was greatly saddened by this and wrote a letter to Jiang Zong 江總 (519–94), his “supervisor of the residence of the crown prince” 太子詹事, to express his grief. The letter provides us with some information about Chen Shubao’s personality and about his relations with his literary associates. Here is an excerpt from it:

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Secretary Lu Yu abruptly passed away. My feelings of sorrow are limitless. What I treasure in my life is known to you and others. I believe that my studies touch upon the graceful classics of Confucianism, although I still have to catch up with the ancients in this. My admiration for virtuous scholars is especially sincere and deep. . . . Whenever I have a moment of leisure from my duties as state regent, army general, and other functions, I use their writings to amuse myself. With the accompaniment of wine and music, we would often compose elegant and lovely works and pass them among ourselves. When faced with a beautiful day of clear wind and bright moon, standing in front of craggy mountains and turbulent waves, or when playing with the newly blossomed flowers, looking at the fallen leaves, and listening to the songs of spring birds and autumn geese, we would always sit close together, raise our goblets, and articulate our feelings in fine expressions. We would polish our works for one another, occasionally exchange some jests, please our ears and eyes, and hold onto our delight. We all think that our one-hundred-year span will soon be over, and that morning dew is easily damaged, but who would expect that the jade would be broken and the orchid destroyed, and that [Lu Yu] would end his short life like this? What can I say? My tears only increase when I look at the writings he left behind. 24

This letter is in many respects reminiscent of the letter Cao Pi wrote to Wu Zhi, discussed in chapter 2. It recounts with great nostalgia the carefree moments that Chen Shubao spent with Lu Yu and with other court poets and officials during Lu Yu’s lifetime. One of the main activities in which they engaged, it informs us, was writing pleasant, elegant poetic compositions. This, Chen Shubao tells Jiang Zong, is what he cherishes in his life. The following is a poetic account he wrote about one such occasion: 上巳宴麗輝殿 各賦一字十韻詩 芳景滿闢窗 暄光生遠阜 更以登臨趣 還勝袚禊酒 日照源上桃 風搖城外柳 斷雲仍合霧 輕霞時映牖 遠樹帶山高

Banqueting at the Lihui Palace on Shangsi Day, We Each Wrote a Poem of Ten Rhymes on an Assigned Word Beautiful views fill the broad windows, Warm light arises from the distant hills. With a penchant for climbing high, We enjoy the wine that expels evils. 4 The sun shines on the peaches by the stream, And wind sways the willows outside the town. Broken clouds still bring together the fog, Rosy glow occasionally glistens on the windows. 8 Distant trees surround the tall mountains,

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| writ ten at imperial command 嬌鶯含響偶 一峰遙落日 數花飛映綬 度鳥或遛檐 飄絲屢薄藪 言志遞為樂 置觴方薦壽 文學且迾筵 羅綺令後陳 干戈幸勿用 寧須勞馬首

Delicate oriels hold their intimate sounds. One peak appears far away in the setting sun, Numerous flowers fly to the glimmering ribbons. 12 Traveling birds now and then rest on the eaves, Floating threads frequently approach the moor. One by one we delight in articulating our wills, Cups in hand we toast to each other’s longevity. 16 Literary instructors line up along the mat, [Women in] brocade and silk are ordered to stand in the back. Shields and daggers are fortunately laid aside, What is the need to trouble the war horses?25

The title of the poem reveals some information about the poems written on this occasion. Chen Shubao and other participants, whose poems did not survive, wrote on “one word” (yizi 一字) that was “assigned” (fu 賦) to them by a judge. The length of these poems was “ten rhymes” (shiyun 十韻) or couplets. Cheng Shubao’s poem does not specify the “word” on which it was written. It provides us with a glimpse of the poetic gatherings that Chen Shubao hosted for his courtiers. Lines 17–18, “Literary instructors line up along the mat, / [Women in] brocade and silk are ordered to stand in the back” (文學且 迾筵, 羅綺令後陳), with its juxtaposition of court poets and women, vividly presents a conventional image of Chen Shubao’s court, in which literary composition and sensual indulgence are intertwined. Chen Shubao wrote numerous similar poems, but no extant matching pieces by his court poets have been found. In all likelihood, the preceding poem was written while he was still crown prince, since the “literary instructors” (wenxue 文學) standing in attendance in line 17 were usually employed at the palace of the crown prince during this time. After ascending to the throne, Chen Shubao held such poetry parties with even greater frequency, and the contents of the poems he wrote at them became more indulgent and even dissolute. The following is one of his best-known poems: 玉樹後庭花 麗宇芳林對高閣 新妝豔質本傾城 映戶凝嬌乍不進 出帷含態笑相迎

Jade Trees and Rear-Courtyard Blossoms Beautiful eaves and spring forests face the tall palace, [Women] with new makeup and alluring trait are town-topplers.26 Their delicate beauty mirrored on the door, they suddenly pause upon entering, Coming out of the curtains, they meet us smiling and holding their airs. 4

Poetry’s Embarrassment 妖姬臉似花含露 玉樹流光照後庭

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Their charming faces look like flowers holding their dew, Glistening light from the jade trees shines in the rear courtyard.27

This poem is a frequent target of traditional criticism. The Suishu 隋 書 (History of the Sui Dynasty) notes that Chen Shubao made several tunes, this one included, from the “clear music” category of the yuefu repertoire. He would then “write lyrics for them with his favored courtiers. [Their lyrics] aimed to rival each other in ornateness and are extremely frivolous. [Then] men and women would sing them to each other. Their tones were very sorrowful.”28 This poem portrays the sensual appearance and seductive manners of dancing women. One is curious to know whether the matching poems by his courtiers were any different, but none survives. The few extant poems “written at imperial command” from the Chen dynasty were composed on conventional occasions such as excursions, banquets, and poetic gatherings. I will now consider a few pieces by Jiang Zong, mentioned earlier in this chapter as the recipient of Chen Shubao’s letter on the death of Lu Yu. By all accounts, Jiang Zong was one of the most renowned literary figures of the Chen dynasty. Like many of his contemporaries, he had served under the Liang dynasty, but most of his life and career was spent under the Chen dynasty. He was one of Chen Shubao’s most trusted advisers and courtiers. When Chen Shubao was crown prince, Jiang Zong was “supervisor of the crown prince’s residence.” He was removed from this post because “he and the crown prince held night-long drinking parties.”29 After Chen Shubao became emperor, Jiang Zong was promoted to some of the most powerful positions in the government, including the post of “director of the department of state affairs” 尚書令. Jiang Zong, however, continued to “neglect the affairs of state. All he did was to hold banquets with [Chen] Shubao in the back courtyard.” He and about “ten other people were called ‘intimate guests’” of the emperor.30 He once described himself as being “indifferent to the world’s gains and distant to the powerful people.” He even confessed, not without some pride, that “during my services under the Chen dynasty, I have never dealt with a single thing.”31 As for his poetry, the Chenshu notes that “it suffered from being frivolously ornate; thus it was loved and favored by [Chen] Shubao.”32 This description does not seem to apply to his panegyric poetry, a number of which still exist. The following piece was written at a banquet: 秋日侍宴婁苑湖 應詔詩 翠渚還鑾輅

In Attendance at a Banquet by the Louyuan Lake on an Autumn Day: Written at Imperial Command33 To the amber bank His Majesty’s carriage returns,

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| writ ten at imperial command 瑤池命羽觴 千門響雲蹕 四澤動榮光 玉軸昆池浪 金舟太液張 虹旗照島嶼 鳳蓋繞林塘 野靜重陰闊 淮秋水氣涼 霧開樓闕近 日迥煙波長 洛宴諒斯在 鎬飲豈能方 朽劣叨榮遇 簪笏奉周行

By the Jasper Pool [the emperor] orders the feathered cups. The sound of the imperial chariots echo in thousands of gates, Glorious light shimmers on the Four Waters.34 4 Jade wheels [stir up] waves in Kunming Lake, Golden boats [cause] the swelling of Taiye Pond.35 Rainbow banners shine on the islands, Phoenix canopies surround the forest pools. 8 The wilderness is quiet with vast shadows, The autumn air above the Huai River is cool. Fog disperses to reveal the houses and palaces nearby, The sun moves away to make the misty waves long. 12 The banquet of Luo is indeed right here, How can the feast at Hao be compared [with this]?36 Old and feeble, I am fortunate to receive such honor, I will devote my service along the broad road.37 16

The tripartite structure and the abundant use of poetic diction make this poem quite conventional. Phrases such as “Jasper Pool” (yaochi 瑤池), “ jade wheels” (yuzhou 玉軸), and “phoenix canopies” (fenggai 鳳蓋), to name only a few, were already clichés by Jiang Zong’s time, and so was the surpass topos of lines 13–14. The expression of humility at the end is also a perfunctory gesture expected at such an occasion. The part of the poem that draws the reader’s attention is the section consisting of lines 9–12. After presenting the familiar pompous scene that accompanies an imperial appearance, the poet turns his gaze to the “quiet wilderness” enveloped by “vast shadows” (野靜重 陰闊). In this season of autumn, the cool air above the Huai River brings with it refreshing relief (淮秋水氣涼). The next couplet, “Fog disperses to reveal the houses and palaces nearby, / The sun moves away to make the misty waves long” (霧開樓闕近, 日迥煙波長), indicates a sensitive and engaged observation. This is also the only section of the poem that employs no poetic diction. The next poem by Jiang Zong belongs to the yongwu, or “ poems on objects,” genre, but it contains a little twist: It is on the act of collecting an object, rather than on the object itself. 詠採甘露應詔詩 祥露曉氛氳 上林朝晃朗 千行珠樹出 萬葉瓊枝長

On Collecting Sweet Dew: Written at Imperial Command Auspicious dew falls abundantly at dawn, The upper forest shines brilliantly in the morning.38 Thousands of rows of pearl trees come into view, Jeweled boughs with ten thousand leaves stretch long. 4

Poetry’s Embarrassment 徐輪動仙駕 清晏留神賞 丹水波濤汎 黃山煙霧上 風亭翠旆開 雲殿朱絃響 徒知恩禮洽 自憐名實爽

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Slowly the wheels of the godly carriage move forth, Refreshing serenity keeps our spirit enthralled. On the vermilion waters waves roll, Above the yellow mountains mists arise. 8 At the wind pavilion amber banners open, By the cloud palace red strings sound. In vain do I know the depth of [His Majesty’s] favor, I am ashamed my fame and reality do not match.39 12

“Sweet dew” (ganlu 甘露) is a highly symbolic object in Chinese culture. The Liji 禮記 (Records of Rites) states: “If a monarch acts in accord with and not against [the laws of nature], heaven will send down sweet dew.”40 It is thus a metaphor for kingly or imperial wisdom and justice. This symbolic framework sets the limit and tone for Jiang Zong’s poem, which opens with the image of “auspicious dew” that “falls abundantly at dawn” (祥露曉氛氳). There are numerous instances of poetic diction in this short poem. The trees are of “pearl” (zhu 珠), and their boughs are “ jeweled” (qiong 瓊). Even the waters are depicted as being “vermilion” (dan 丹). In other words, every detail of the scene is presented ornately, so that it might match the bountiful “favor” (en 恩) of the emperor. The only exception, the poet states at the end, is he himself, whose “fame and reality do not match” (名實爽). On the surface, this poem makes no attempt to address its topic, which is “collecting sweet dew” (採甘露). Its symbolic framework, however, makes it possible to read the poem allegorically. Because Jiang Zong states at the beginning that “auspicious dew falls abundantly,” the things that are described subsequently in the poem, both human and nonhuman, may be read as all being engaged in the act of “collecting” it. Each action in the poem may be interpreted along this line, from the trees that “come into view” (chu 出) to the imperial retinue that “move forth” (dong 動). All of this is being nourished by the grace of the emperor. In responding to the imperial command to write poems, a poet sometimes found that the need to adhere to the topic and its conventions gave him an excuse to de-emphasize the praise of his imperial patron. We saw an illustration of this in the case of Zuo Fen in chapter 3. In the works of Jiang Zong we find another example: 賦得攜手上河梁 應詔詩 早秋天氣涼 分手關山長 雲愁數處黑

On the Assigned Line “Hand in Hand We Ascend the River Dam”: Written at Imperial Command In early autumn the weather is cool, As we separate, the passes in the mountains are long. The clouds are sad, some places are dark,

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| writ ten at imperial command 木落幾枝黃 鳥歸猶識路 流去不知鄉 秦川心斷絕 何悟是河梁

Trees shed their leaves, many branches are brown. 4 When birds return they still know their paths, As rivers pass they no longer remember their hometowns. By the river of the Qin our hearts are broken, How can we realize we are at its dam?41 8

The line assigned to Jiang Zong on this occasion, “Hand in hand we ascend the river dam” 攜手上河梁, is the opening line of a poem attributed to Li Ling, the Han general who surrendered to the Xiongnu after his troops were defeated.42 It was one of three poems addressed to Su Wu 蘇武 (140–60 bce), the Han envoy who was detained by the Xiongnu for nineteen years before he was allowed to return.43 In the plain diction and straightforward syntax characteristic of the “ancient style” of poems, it describes the separation of two friends and the sadness it causes them. To better understand Jiang Zong’s poem and the fude 賦得 poetry of the southern dynasties in general, I quote Li Ling’s poem in its entirety: 攜手上河梁 遊子暮何之 徘徊 蹊路側 悢悢不得辭 行人難久留 各言長相思 安知非日月 弦望自有時 努力崇明德 皓首以為期

Hand in hand we ascend the river dam, Where is the traveler heading to in the dusk? We walk back and forth by the road, In sadness we cannot bid each other farewell. 4 It is hard for the traveler to stay long, So we each tell the other to keep our memories. Don’t you know that [we are] not the sun and moon? [Even the moon] has its waning and waxing moments. 8 Let us do our best to cultivate our virtues, And meet again when our hair turns gray.

Generally speaking, Jiang Zong’s poem follows closely the piece by Li Ling in its use of simple words and syntax. It also imitates its melancholy tone. Jiang Zong’s poem, however, is two lines shorter and is cast in the tripartite structure. The middle section, lines 3–6, especially shows qualities peculiar to his time: It is the description of the scene, and it is written in parallelism. Neither quality is present in the original poem. The third couplet, “The clouds are sad, some places are dark, / Trees shed their leaves, many branches are brown” (雲愁數處黑, 木落幾枝黃), in its careful construction of parallel items and contrast of colors, demonstrates the meticulous craftsmanship that is the trademark of palace-style poetry of the time. Jiang Zong ends with an acknowledgment of the topic assigned to him. Jiang Zong’s poem demonstrates that in writing a fude poem at imperial command, the poet had to follow the original model in both style and

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content. This formal demand sometimes relieved him of his obligation to praise his imperial patron, especially if the model was a work containing no panegyric content.44 The present poem by Jiang Zong, for example, articulates a sentiment that is entirely determined by the topical work assigned to him. But unlike Zuo Feng, who took full advantage of the opportunity to produce a highly personal verse, Jiang Zong merely allows his to be ruled by another convention, represented by the poem he was asked to imitate. The result is a work that is as impersonal as the pieces he wrote at imperial command on other occasions. Jiang Zong had another poetic exchange with Chen Shubao, but this one was unusual because he was the initiator. It was the emperor who wrote a matching piece. This exchange is significant because it reveals Chen Shubao’s respect for a court poet-official such as Jiang Zong. It also offers us a chance to study the way in which poetry functioned under this special circumstance, where the relationship between the poet and his imperial patron was inverted. In the preface to his poem, Jiang Zong states that in the first year of Zhenming (587), during a visit to a Buddhist master at Mount She, he was reminded of a poem that Xie Lingyun once wrote on a similar occasion. He then composed the following poem in the style of Xie Lingyun: 遊攝山棲霞寺詩 霢霖時雨霽 清和孟夏肇 棲宿綠野中 登頓丹霞杪 敬仰高人德 抗志塵物表 三空豁已悟 萬有一何小 始從情所寄 冥期諒不少 荷衣步林泉 麥氣涼昏曉 乘風面泠泠 待月臨皎皎 煙崖憩古石 雲路排征鳥 披徑憐森沉 攀條惜杳裊

Poem Written during a Tour of the Qixia Temple at Mount She The drizzling rain stops occasionally, In clear warmth summer begins its course. We stay in the middle of the green wilderness, And climb to the tip of the vermilion clouds. 4 I admire the virtue of that noble man, Who holds his spirit above the dusty world. Three Voids are perceived all of a sudden, And how myriad beings seem small! 8 I then follow where my feeling resides, And find many that suit my instinct. Holding my clothes, I walk to the springs in the forest, The air from the crops is cool at dusk and dawn. 12 I face the crisp wind wafting by, And wait for the bright moon to come out. By the misty cliff rest the ancient rocks, Along the cloudy road line up the journeying birds. 16 Clearing the paths, I love the shadowy quietness, Climbing along the vines, I adore their twisty length.

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| writ ten at imperial command 平生忘是非 朽謝豈矜矯 五淨自此涉 六塵庶無擾

All my life I try to forget what is right and wrong, Now, old and fading, how can I be arrogant? From here I enter the realm of Five Purities, 45 The Six Gunas will trouble me no more. 46

20

The poem by Xie Lingyun that served as the model for Jiang Zong’s piece is no longer extant. Judging by its title, “While Returning to the Old Mountain, I Entered the Stone Wall to Look for Monk Tan Long” 還故山入石璧 中尋曇隆道人, we can infer that Xie Lingyun’s poem must have dealt with a similar topic, a visit to a Buddhist monk in the mountains. The religious significance of such an occasion is apparent in the poem by Jiang Zong: The visit provides him with an opportunity to reflect on the meaning of life, and the beautiful scenery inspires him to do so. This was one of the most recurrent themes of Xie Lingyun’s poetry. The structure of Jiang Zong’s poem evolves as his visit unfolds. We first have an introduction to the occasion (lines 1–4). Then the poet informs us that his visit is inspired by his admiration for “the virtue of that noble man” (敬仰高人德) who resides in the mountains. The monk’s example arouses an enlightened mood in the poet (lines 7–10), which in turn gives him greater impetus to proceed with his visit. This leads to the bulk of the poem, the description of the scene that the poet observes along his way (lines 11–18). Finally, Jiang Zong caps his poem with a reflective summary of the fresh light this visit has shed on his life. As is indicated by Jiang Zong’s preface, by his time this type of poetry was already popular, thanks to the many poems in this vein written by Xie Lingyun. Still, the occasion provided Jiang Zong with a chance to reflect on his own life, and for this reason his poem, despite its conventionality, has a strong personal dimension. The statement in line 19, that all his life he has tried “to forget what is right and wrong” (平生忘是非), indeed squares with historical records and with his own statements elsewhere. On the textual level, his longing, articulated at the poem’s end, for an enlightened Buddhist existence is carefully prepared for, and supported by, the expressive and descriptive elements in the poem. It therefore sounds “natural” and convincing. In comparison with the majority of Jiang Zong’s poems, this piece is remarkable because of its personal dimension. Its descriptive section is particularly noteworthy because it contains a few elements that might be characterized as ingenious. Lines 15 and 16, “By the misty cliff rest the ancient rocks, / Along the cloudy road line up the journeying birds” (煙崖憩古石, 雲路排 征鳥), demonstrate the poet’s skill and creativity. The images in this couplet are all familiar ones, but Jiang Zong’s verbs organize them into a new syntactic structure and thereby breathe new life into them. The “ancient rocks”

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that “rest” (qi 憩) by “misty cliff ” convey a feeling of tranquillity. The “ journeying birds” that “line up” (pai 排) along the cloudy road reveal a sense of order in nature. Both sentiments are in harmony with the theme of the poem. This rhetorical device, called “poetic eye” (shiyan 詩眼) in traditional Chinese poetic criticism, brings into interaction nature and its human observer. In this humanized natural scene, the human presence is only implied and therefore not intrusive. All of this helps to calm and cleanse the “dusty” desires of the human heart and leads smoothly to the poem’s end, where the poet refers directly to his enlightenment, inspired by this visit: “From here I enter the realm of Five Purities, / The Six Gunas will trouble me no more” (五淨自此 涉, 六塵庶無擾). Now let us turn to Chen Shubao’s matching poem: 同江僕射 遊攝山棲霞寺詩 時宰磻溪心 非關狎竹林 鷲嶽青松繞 雞峰白日沉 天迴浮雲細 山空明月深 摧殘枯樹影 零落古藤陰 霜村夜烏去 風路寒猿吟 自悲堪出俗 豈是欲抽簪

Poem Written during a Tour of the Qixia Temple at Mount She: Harmonizing with Chief Administrator Jiang The chief administrator [has] a Pan Stream heart, It has nothing to do with attachment to the bamboo forest. Green pines surround the Vulture Peak, White sun is setting by the Cock Crest. 47 4 The sky meanders as the floating clouds thin, The mountains are empty while the bright moon deepens. Destroyed, the withered trees cast their reflections, Scattered, the ancient vines spread their shadows. 8 The night crows are leaving the frosty village, Cold monkeys are wailing by the windy paths. I grieve that I could have left this vulgar world, How can I merely want to take off the hatpins?48 12

Chen Shubao’s poem opens with an acknowledgment of Jiang Zong and his poem. The first line contains an allusion that is meant to flatter both Jiang Zong and himself. “Pan Stream” 磻溪, located at present-day Shaanxi, was the place where Lü Wang 呂望, the grand duke of the Zhou 周太公, used to fish before he came to serve King Wen of the Zhou.49 Later, Lü Wang also served under King Wu. He played a critical role in the founding of the Zhou dynasty.50 By comparing Jiang Zong to Lü Wang, Chen Shubao also draws a parallel between himself and two highly respected rulers of Chinese history. This cannot but make readers chuckle, because both comparisons are wildly off the mark and cannot be taken seriously. In the second line, Chen Shubao makes a reference to the “Seven Worthies of the Bamboo Forest” 竹林七賢 of the Wei-Jin era, who gained their

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reputation by their devotion to drinking and to other unconventional ways of life.51 Chen Shubao states that Jiang Zong, although possessing the “Pan Stream heart” (panxi xin 磻溪心) of Lü Wang, is not to be compared to this group of intellectuals. In other words, Jiang Zong’s longing for escape from society, as expressed in his poem, is only temporary and is abandoned when he has the chance to serve under a worthy monarch such as Chen Shubao. After this brief but allusive and dense introduction, Chen Shubao moves to the central part of the poem, the description of the scene. To endow the scene with a Buddhist aura, he gives Mount She the names of two sacred Buddhist sites in India. He also presents the scene as conducive to religious contemplation and enlightenment, but relative to Jiang Zong’s description, Chen Shubao’s seems to reflect a more pensive and even dark mood. Images such as “destroyed . . . withered trees” (cuican kushu 摧殘枯樹) and “scattered . . . ancient vines” (lingluo guteng 零落古藤), in their indication of destruction and decline, are evidence of this. The cries of “cold monkeys” (hanyuan 寒猿) further evoke a gloomy feeling in the reader. This is hardly the beautiful, tranquil environment we find in Jiang Zong’s poem. In comparison, the “bright moon” (mingyue 明月) in line 6, with all of its potential to convey beauty and serenity, is too jejune to produce a profound effect. We seem to be observing someone who is pained, instead of being relieved, by the scene he is observing. The concluding couplet confirms this. The strong emotive verb bei 悲 (grieve) in the penultimate line conveys a sorrowful mental and emotional state that is in sharp contrast to the feeling of liberation often associated with religious and philosophical enlightenment. Instead of offering at least momentary relief, as it does in Jiang Zong’s poem, the present occasion only reminds Chen Shubao of the worldly confinement in which he resides, and this creates in him a feeling of utter helplessness. In his poem, Jiang Zong indicated his longing for relief from official duties so that he could pursue a life of freedom. Chen Shubao goes further. He states, with Jiang Zong’s poem in mind—as is suggested by the rhetorical question at the end, referring to retiring from office—that if he had control over his fate, he would have “left this vulgar world” (chusu 出俗) altogether, not just forsaken his official position, represented metaphorically by the act to “take off the hatpins” (chouzan 抽簪). Of course, this is only wishful thinking. Others, such as Jiang Zong, might attempt to retire, but it is entirely out of the question for a reigning monarch like himself. This is the fate that neither he nor a religious-philosophical revelation can change. In the context of this study, the exchange between Jiang Zong and Chen Shubao is unusual. Jiang Zong initiated the exchange not “at imperial command” but out of personal inspiration. For this reason he is able to focus on his personal observations and on reflections on the visit. Chen Shubao’s

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poem was written to “harmonize” the piece by Jiang Zong, but because he is the monarch and Jiang Zong is someone under his patronage, he does not have to sacrifice the personal dimension of his poem in order to please Jiang Zong. He acknowledges Jiang Zong’s poem twice, once at the beginning and once at the end. The first is to contextualize his piece, and the second is for rhetorical emphasis on his emotional expression. Both may thus be characterized as being driven by personal concerns. Generally speaking, the burden in a poetic exchange fell on the one who composed the matching piece, but in the present case, Chen Shubao’s position relieves him of much, if not all, of this burden. The last poem I study in this chapter was also written by Chen Shubao, but this time he wrote it at the imperial command of another ruler, Emperor Wen of the Sui dynasty. After being overthrown, Chen Shubao was brought to Chang’an, where Emperor Wen treated him so well that Chen Shubao seems to have forgotten that he was a deposed ruler of the previous dynasty. The Zizhi tongjian notes that in order to avoid making Chen Shubao sad, Emperor Wen ordered his court musicians not to perform the music of the Wu region when Chen Shubao was present. But apparently Emperor Wen’s thoughtfulness was unnecessary, for Chen Shubao requested through a prison guard that he be given a ranked position in the new dynasty’s court so that he could conveniently attend court ceremonies. Upon hearing this, Emperor Wen reportedly said that Chen Shubao “does not have a conscience!”52 If by “conscience” Emperor Wen meant the loyalty that one, especially a monarch, should have toward one’s own state and dynasty, then Chen Shubao certainly did not possess one. Witness the following poem he wrote for Emperor Wen: 日月光天德 山川壯帝居 太平無以報 願上東封書

The sun and moon glorify the heavenly virtues, Mountains and rivers extol the imperial residence. In time of peace I have nothing to contribute, I’d like to present [Your Majesty] with a petition for an eastern sacrifice.53

According to the Nanshi, this poem was written during one of Emperor Wen’s inspection tours of the eastern part of the country. At Mount Mang, Chen Shubao was “in attendance to [Emperor Wen] for a drink, and wrote the poem.”54 This is perhaps the most uplifting poem he ever wrote. In it we find no sense of awkwardness caused by the dramatic role reversal: Having in the past become used to seeing his ministers presenting poems to him, he now had to put himself in their position and to write a poem for another emperor. The first two lines create a magnificent tone with the grandiose images of the “sun and moon” (riyue 日月) and “mountains and rivers” (shanchuan 山川),

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which are meant to invoke the entire universe and its power. They help to introduce and set in relief Emperor Wen’s “heavenly virtues” (tiande 天德) and his “imperial residence” (diju 帝居). This couplet smoothly brings together the emperor and the universe, making them counterparts. In the second part of the poem, Chen Shubao appeals to Emperor Wen to do something that will consolidate the heavenly mandate of the Sui. He suggests to Emperor Wen that he conduct an “eastern sacrifice” (dongfeng 東 封), namely, a sacrifice at Mount Tai 泰山, also known as the Eastern Mountain 東嶽, the most sacred mountain in China. Throughout Chinese history monarchs had come to Mount Tai to receive heaven’s mandate for their rule.55 For some reason, Emperor Wen “declined with modesty” Chen Shubao’s suggestion. But he was apparently pleased with the poem, because he “issued a decree to encourage” (youzhao 優詔) Chen Shubao, the deposed ruler who turned out to be a loyal subject.56 The panegyric poems left behind by the Chen dynasty are by far the fewest among the southern dynasties, despite the numerous historical accounts of poetry gatherings that Chen Shubao hosted for his court poets and officials. This suggests that Chen Shubao’s “notoriety” affected not only the critical judgment of the poems associated with him but also their selection for inclusion in later compendiums and anthologies. Because of Chen Shubao’s indulgence, poetry, which has always been revered in Chinese culture, came under rare attack for its alleged corrupting influence on this ruler. The scholars of later generations must have felt that poetry readers would be better off if they could simply delete from the record those they deemed to have tarnished the image of poetry.

8 Becoming Chinese Panenric Potry during the Northern Dynasties



The northern dynasties in Chinese history refer to the time between 420, when the Liu Song dynasty was established in the south, and 589, when China was reunited by the Sui dynasty. During this period, northern China was controlled by a succession of dynasties. Because their ruling families were mostly members of non-Chinese minorities that came from the less-developed regions, high culture in the north remained stagnant for some time. The ruling family of the Northern Wei dynasty (386–534), for example, were members of the Xianbei minority, who originally lived in the northern wilderness and survived by herding and hunting and “never had any contact with the south; as a result they possessed no written documents.”1 At first they held deep suspicion and hostility toward Chinese culture. During the reign of Tuoba Gui 拓跋硅, or Emperor Daowu 道武帝 (r. 386–409), an official named He Digan 賀狄干 was sent to the area controlled by the Latter Qin 後秦 (384–417). During his stay in Chang’an, he studied Confucian classics. When he returned, Emperor Daowu “saw that his speech and clothes were all like those of China. [The emperor] thought that [He Digan] admired and imitated the Chinese language and fashion. He became angry and soon put He Digan to death.”2 Small wonder that under such circumstances, the early decades of the northern dynasties saw only minimum poetic production.3 As time went on, the ruling class of the Northern Wei recognized the impossibility of running the state without the participation of Chinese intellectuals. Many Chinese lived in the areas they took, and as they expanded

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their occupations, many of their own people began to move into places where the majority was Chinese. Gradually, the Xianbei people also began to abandon their staple economy, herding and hunting, for agriculture. Faced with the increasing need to adapt to Chinese culture, Emperor Daowu, who had put to death one of his trusted officials for his knowledge of Chinese culture, began to set up schools to teach Confucian classics. The introduction to “Rulin zhuan” 儒林傳 (“Biographies of Confucian Scholars”) in the Beishi 北 史 (History of the Northern Dynasties) notes that by the year 400, the fifteenth year of Emperor Daowu’s reign, the number of students in the state academy had increased to three thousand.4 But the most thorough reforms came under Emperor Xiaowen 孝文帝 (r. 471–99). He moved the capital from Pingcheng in the west to Luoyang, the old capital of the Latter Han and one of the centers of Chinese culture. He adopted various Chinese political and economic systems. In an effort to completely sinicize his native Xianbei culture, he issued a decree forbidding his officials to speak “the language of the north in court. Those who disobey will be removed from their posts.”5 To cap this, he chose a Chinese name, Yuan Hong 元宏, for himself. This highly symbolic gesture indicated his resolve to embrace his new Chinese identity. Critics and scholars have praised Emperor Xiaowen for encouraging literary production during his reign. The Beishi notes that he was “keenly interested in literature and aimed to be an equal of the Han Emperor Wu and to surpass Cao Pi. [His works demonstrated] deep and broad sentiment, in beautiful language and unique structure.”6 Once, during a visit to the ruins of the imperial palace in Luoyang, he “chanted the ‘Shuli’ 黍離 (“Millet”) [of the Shijing] and wept.” 7 According to the Mao preface to this poem, “Shuli” was written by an official of the Eastern Zhou dynasty who was visiting the ruined temples and palaces of the previous Western Zhou. The official saw that “all had been reduced to millet. He walked around them, could not bring himself to leave, and wrote this poem.”8 Later, “Shuli” became a locus classicus for lamentation of a ruined state. This anecdote demonstrated that Emperor Xiaowen was familiar with the Chinese literary tradition. Although historical records indicate that Emperor Xiaowen must have produced numerous poetic works,9 only one is extant. This piece is of special significance for the present study because it is a linked verse that he composed with his court officials. In what follows, the author of each couplet is identified in parentheses: 白日光天兮無不曜 江左一隅獨未照 (帝)

The bright sun shines from heaven on all things, One corner south of the [Yangtze] River alone still has not received its light. (The emperor)

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I would like to follow our enlightened monarch to climb Mounts Heng and Kuai, 萬國馳誠混內10外 (彭城王勰) And to lead thousands of states in their march11 throughout the land. (Yuan Xie, Prince of Pengcheng) 4 雲雷大振兮天門闢 Thunder roars from the clouds, opening the gates to heaven, 率土來賓一正歷 (鄭懿) All on earth come to pay their respect, adopting the same calendar.12 (Zheng Yi) 舜舞干戚兮天下歸 As Shun danced with his ax and shield, the world turned to his way, 文德遠被莫不思 (鄭道昭) His civil virtue reaching the distant lands, everyone longed to [be nourished by it]. (Zheng Daozhao) 8 皇風一鼓兮九地匝 The imperial influence wafts itself to the outskirts of the nation, 戴日依天清六合 (邢巒) All lands under the sun and sky are cleared. (Xing Luan) 遵彼汝墳兮昔化貞 “Along the dam of the Fen” the ancient customs were correct, 13 未若今日道風明 (帝) But they were not to be compared to today’s bright mores. (The emperor) 12 文王政教兮暉江沼 King Wen’s rule and culture shone above the rivers and lakes, 寧如大化光四表 (宋弁) How can they be compared to [Your Majesty’s] greatness, which extends to all four directions? (Song Bian)14 願從聖明兮登衡會

The occasion that produced this poetic composition was recorded in the biography of Zheng Daozhao 鄭道昭, the “gentleman-in-attendance at the secretariat” 中書侍郎 at that time, in the Beishi 北史 (History of the Northern Dynasties). Zheng Daozhao was departing on a military expedition to the north of the Mian River in present-day Shaanxi province. Emperor Xiaowen hosted a party in his honor at a hall made of bamboo. “When the music was playing and [those present] became high with their drink, Emperor Xiaowen sang out” his couplet, which started the composition of this linked poem. Emperor Xiaowen’s gesture was clearly meant to invoke the legend of the linked-verse composition involving the Han Emperor Wu and his court poets at the Cypress-Beams Terrace. In his case, however, this conventional activity acquired additional significance because it not only demonstrated his love of poetry and his vanity in placing himself next to a powerful monarch

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of a powerful dynasty, but it also showed his desire and resolve to embrace Chinese culture. In this sense, his poetic practice was also a political activity, meant to reinforce his social and political policies. The contributors of this verse were all “attending officials” (shichen 侍臣) at the party who enjoyed the emperor’s favor and trust. Prince Pengcheng was Emperor Xiaowen’s brother, and the two men had a very intimate relationship.15 Zheng Yi was Zheng Daozhao’s brother and served as “gentlemanattendant at palace gate” 黃門侍郎 under Emperor Xiaowen. Xing Luan was the emperor’s “chief steward of writing” 尚書, and Song Bian was the “gentleman of the palace gate” 黃門郎.16 Emperor Xiaowen chooses to use the chuci meter in his opening line, as is demonstrated by its trademark particle, xi. This rhetorical gesture invokes another Han dynasty emperor, Emperor Gaozu, who wrote his well-known “Song of the Great Wind” (大風歌) in the same meter.17 Indeed, the content of Emperor Xiaowen’s couplet shows a broad scope and concern with the fate of the nation similar to those expressed in Emperor Gaozu’s piece. His words, however, seem to demonstrate more pride. The image of the “bright sun” (bairi 白日) that “shines . . . on all things” (無不曜) is clearly meant to be a metaphor for the emperor. The twist is that instead of being used by a court official or poet to praise his monarch, it is adopted by the monarch himself to symbolize his own power. The second line of Emperor Xiaowen’s couplet attempts to qualify the sweeping claim of the first line by introducing a fact that contradicts the alleged universality of his influence. Having said that the “bright sun shines . . . on all things,” he now acknowledges that it fails to reach “a corner” (yiyu 一隅). The emperor may be a bit overweening about his achievement, but he has not forgotten the divided condition of the nation. This line also serves to introduce the poetic occasion: Zheng Daozhao is leaving to join a military campaign precisely because the nation is still not united. Prince Pengcheng takes up the lead. He expresses his resolve to follow his “enlightened monarch” (shengming 聖明) to conquer the land in the south, represented synecdochically by Mounts Heng and Kuai, which are located in present-day Hunan and Jiejiang provinces, respectively. The next couplet, by Zhen Yi, shifts the poem so that it now praises the emperor. His power, symbolized by the “thunder” that “roars from the clouds” (yunlei dazhen 雲雷大振), brings about the conquest and unification of “all on earth” (率土來賓一正歷). The next two couplets, by Zheng Daozhao and Xing Luan, carry the poem further along this line. They both emphasize the far reach of the monarch’s power and influence. Even Emperor Xiaowen seems to have been carried away by their hyperboles, for he joins the composition again, praising his

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own rule at the expense of antiquity. In lines 7 and 8, Zheng Daozhao implicitly compares Emperor Xiaowen to the ancient sage ruler Shun, praising his “martial” achievements (represented by “ax and shield,” ganqi 干戚) and “civil virtue” (wende 文德). Emperor Xiaowen, however, is not satisfied with this conventional comparison, so he begins his second couplet with an explicit reference to a poem in the classic Shijing. According to the Mao preface, “Along the Dam of Fen” (遵彼汝墳) was meant to praise the just rule of King Wen of the Zhou dynasty.18 By stating that the rule of King Wen was inferior to “today’s bright mores” (未若今日道風明), Emperor Xiaowen also implies his dismissal of Zheng Daozhao’s comparison of him to Shun. Song Bian, whose couplet concludes the composition, grasps this, because he merely reiterates, albeit more explicitly, what Emperor Xiaowen has just claimed. In comparison with the similar composition by the Liang Emperor Wu and by his court officials, this one demonstrates greater cooperation among the participants. In writing his couplet, each seems to have given consideration to the preceding one. As a result, the structure of the composition is more coherent. Another feature that sets this composition apart from earlier examples is the much larger role that Emperor Xiaowen plays in it. Instead of just one couplet, he contributes two, and he is the only participant who does so. The Beishi’s account of this event shows that he was very pleased with his performance. When the composition was over, Emperor Xiaowen reportedly said to Zheng Daozhao, “Recently, I have been busy with various things of moving [the capital]. In spite of this, I have not abandoned writing poems with my talented and outstanding officials. Still, none of them was like the one today.”19 Prince Pencheng, Emperor Xiaowen’s half brother, enjoyed a close relationship with the emperor. The prince’s biography in the Weishu 魏書 (History of the We Dynasty) praises him as being “extensively knowledgeable of the classics and histories” and as having “a graceful interest in writing.”20 The Beishi mentions several occasions on which the prince and the emperor had poetic exchanges. On one of them, Prince Pencheng wrote a poem that is still extant. According to the Beishi, the emperor once paid a visit to Mount Tongdi at Shangdang. Along the road there were dozens of tall pines. The emperor “composed a poem as he walked.” He then showed it to the prince and said: “Although I did not write my poem in seven steps, it is certainly not inferior. You may write one yourself, and you must finish it before you reach my spot.” Prince Pencheng was standing “ten steps from the emperor. So he wrote as he walked, and completed his poem before he reached the emperor.”21 Emperor Xiaowen was apparently referring to a well-known legend involving Cao Zhi and Cao Pi. According to the Shishuo xinyu 世說新語 (A New Account of Tales of the World), Cao Pi once ordered Cao Zhi to write a

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poem in seven steps or else to face execution. Cao Zhi immediately wrote his famous “Seven-Step Poem.”22 Unlike Cao Pi, who persecuted his brother Cao Zhi, Emperor Xiaowen trusted and respected Prince Pencheng.23 His reference to the anecdote of the Cao brothers was entirely humorous. The prince understood this, as is illustrated by his poem: 問松林 松林經幾冬 山川何如昔 風雲與古同

Ask those pines, How many winters have those pines endured? How are the mountains and rivers compared to those of the past? Are the wind and clouds the same as those of ancient times?24

Pince Pencheng makes no attempt to turn his poem into a panegyric verse. He entirely ignores Emperor Xiaowen. He instead addresses the pines and utters a series of questions concerning their history and the history of the natural world. The theme of his poem is philosophical rather than political; he has used the occasion for philosophical reflection rather than for praising the reigning monarch. The Beishi notes that upon hearing this, the emperor “laughed out heartily and said, ‘You are criticizing me with your poem.’”25 It is unclear what Emperor Xiaowen meant by this. Perhaps he was expecting a eulogy from the prince and interpreted the prince’s choice not to provide one as a subtle criticism of his vanity. In any event, the emperor was pleased with the prince’s poem and awarded him and his mother with new honors and positions.26 As the Northern Wei dynasty reached its later stage, its politics became increasingly dangerous and brutal. From 528 to 534, the year when the Northern Wei ceased to exist, five monarchs replaced one another in rapid succession, a clear indicator of the fierce power struggle at court. Yuan Gong 元恭, Emperor Jiemin 節閔帝 (r. 531–32), who was killed only two years after he ascended the throne, wrote the following poem after he was deposed: 朱門久可患 紫極非情翫 顛覆立可待 一年三易換 時運正如此 唯有修真觀

Crimson gate has always been a worry for me, Purple Pole is not what my heart longs for.27 One can be deposed at any moment, In a year [the monarch] is changed three times. Time and fate are just like this, Buddhism is the only thing left to pursue.28

4

This poem vividly portrays the constant danger and uncertainty that the rich and powerful (represented metonymically by “crimson gate,” zhumen

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朱門, and “purple pole,” ziji 紫極) faced in their lives. Under such circumstances, one might think that a monarch like Emperor Jiemin would have had no leisure or inclination for poetic activities. Surprisingly, a linked-verse composition by Emperor Jiemin and his courtiers exists. The Beishi notes that at a banquet, the emperor asked Yuan Hui 元翽 to “play the flute.” After “harmonizing with him, [the emperor] ordered Yuan Hui, “resident of the secretariat” 中書舍人, and others to use the rhyme jiu 酒 (“wine”) to write some “ jokes” (chao 嘲).” Xue Xiaotong 薛孝通, the “gentleman of the secretariat” 中書郎, wrote: 既逢堯舜君 願上萬年壽

I am fortunate to meet a monarch like Yao and Shun, I would like to wish Your Majesty a longevity of ten thousand years.

This is hardly a joke. Its panegyric rhetoric makes the couplet highly formal. Yet the emperor seems to have been neither surprised nor frustrated by Xue’s irrelevant answer to his request. He instead acknowledges Xue’s compliment in his matching couplet, the tone of which is more personal: 平生好玄默 慚為萬國首

All my life I have been fond of deep tranquillity, I am ashamed to be the head of the ten thousand states.

Then the emperor asked Xue Xiaotong and others to drink more and write more jokes, only this time “it could not stop in the middle.” When Xue chose the word zhong 忠 (“loyalty”) as the rhyming word, the emperor commented, “You still have the heart of a loyal minister.” The following is the resulting linked poem. Again the authors are identified at the end of each couplet in parentheses: 聖主臨萬機 享世永無窮 (元翽) 豈唯被草木 方亦及昆蟲 (薛孝通) 朝賢既濟濟 野苗又芃芃 (元翌) 君臣體魚水 書軌一華戎 (帝) 微臣信慶渥

Our sage monarch rules over myriad things, May his time in the world last forever. (Yuan Hui) [His beneficence] reaches not just plants, It also finds its way to insects. (Xue Xiaotong) 4 The court is filled with talented officials, The wilderness is covered by young crops. (Yuan Yi) The ruler and his ministers experience [the harmony] of fish and water, The nation is united under one culture and system. (The emperor) 8 This humble official is truly blessed,

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How can I reciprocate Mounts Hua and Song? (Xue Xiaotong)29

The most noticeable difference between this and the linked-verse compositions considered earlier is its form. Instead of using the septasyllabic line format that harks back to the Cypress-Beams Terrace poetry of the Han Emperor Wu, this poem adopts the pentasyllabic line. Besides the participants’ simple disinclination to invoke the septasyllabic convention, their choice might have been a result of the different circumstances in which this poem was written. According to the Beishi, the composition was purely for entertainment, meant to be a joke and nothing more. Still, a joke with one’s imperial ruler was seldom entirely lighthearted. Indeed, if not for the contextual information provided in the Beishi, it would be hard to believe that the purpose of the composition was to “ joke”, as “commanded” by the emperor. Using conventional rhetoric, the contributors to this linked verse praise their imperial patron as a “sage monarch” (shengzhu 聖主), whose power and virtue reach “plants” and “insects,” the most trivial lives of the world (豈唯被草木, 方亦及昆蟲). Even the emperor seems to have been carried away and forgotten his command; his couplet attempts to portray a nation that is not only peaceful and harmonious, but also powerful and united: “The ruler and his ministers experience the [harmony] of fish and water, / The nation is united under one culture and system” (君臣體魚水, 書 軌一華戎). In short, there is hardly a trace of joking or humor in this highly formal poem. In structure, this linked verse is the most polished and sophisticated of all those examined so far. Its ten lines are divided into three sections: an introduction of the topic (lines 1–2), an elaboration of the topic (lines 3–8), and a conclusion (lines 9–10). The three sections are connected smoothly. We find none of the repetitiveness and disconnectedness that characterize other linked poems, especially the one involving Emperor Wu of the Liang and his courtiers. This is significant because at this time the south was presumably much more sophisticated than the north in its culture and poetic craftsmanship. There survive two other poems presented to imperial rulers during the late Northern Wei period. One of them, “Boating on a Gray Day: Written at Imperial Command” 晦日泛舟應詔詩 by Lu Yuanming 盧元明 (fl. ca. 532), is a fragment.30 The other piece, “Accompanying His Majesty during a Visit to Jinyong City” 從駕幸金墉城詩, was composed by Wen Zisheng 溫子昇 (496–547), one of the best-known writers of the Northern Wei: 茲城實嘉麗 飛甍自相竝

This city is indeed beautiful, Flying beams stand side by side.

Becoming Chinese 膠葛擁行風 岧嶤閟流景 御溝屬清洛 馳道通丹屏 湛淡水成文 參差樹交影 長門久已閉 離宮一何靜 細草緣玉階 高枝蔭桐井 微微夕渚暗 肅肅暮風冷 神行揚翠旗 天臨肅清警 伊臣從下列 逢恩信多幸 康衢雖已泰 弱力將安騁

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Together they hold up the traveling wind, Their height shuts out the flowing light. 4 The moat has its source in the clear Luo River, The imperial highway reaches the vermilion screens. Ripples on the river form patterns, Uneven tree branches cross their shadows. 8 The tall gate has been shut for a long time, How quiet is the traveling palace on the road! Fine grass climbs along the jade steps, Tall branches cast shadows on the paulownia well. 12 Faintly the riverbanks become dim in the sunset, The soughing wind is cool in the dusk. The divine entourage raises its kingfisher banners, The road is cleared as the [Son of] Heaven arrives. 16 This official of yours takes his place in the low rank, He is indeed fortunate to have received your favor. Now that the broad road is already peaceful, Where can I exert my feeble strength?31 20

Wen Zisheng’s career spanned the reigns of several emperors of the Northern Wei. He was eventually thrown into prison and starved to death by Gao Cheng 高澄 (d. 548, posthumously named Emperor Wenxiang of the Qi dynasty 齊文襄帝), the de facto ruler at the time; he was accused of plotting against the Emperor. He held important positions such as “senior recorder” 散騎常侍 and “great general of the central army” 中軍大將軍. Because no contextual information is available about this poem, either in its title or in historical sources, it cannot be dated precisely. Wen Zisheng’s poem does not adopt the familiar tripartite structure. Instead, it is divided into two parts: The first part, lines 1–14, is the descriptive section, and the second part, lines 15–20, is a brief introduction to the occasion and the poet’s response. As is indicated by the distribution of lines, the poem’s focus is the description of the scene outside Jinyong City, where the emperor is paying a visit. This is also evidenced by the position of the “introduction” in which the emperor makes his brief appearance. Instead of being at the beginning as an introduction normally is, it is placed almost at the poem’s end. This unusual structure gives the descriptive section some prominence and independence. The first two couplets portray the palaces of Jinyong City, northeast of the capital, Luoyang. They aim to convey an aura of grandeur, setting the stage for the imperial visit. The opening line, “This city is indeed beautiful” (茲城實嘉麗), invokes the poems by Wang Can, Xie Tiao, and Xiao Gang

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discussed in chapter 6. But as the poem portrays the surrounding scenes, its tone seems to become somewhat subdued and more personal. Although a few poetic clichés, such as “vermilion screens” (danping 丹屏) and “ jade steps” (yujie 玉階), remind us of the court poetry in the south, this descriptive section also reveals some personalized observations by the poet. The shut gate and quiet palace (長門久已閉, 離宮一何靜), for example, seem not to square with the pageantry that usually accompanies an imperial excursion.32 The dim riverbanks and cold evening wind (微微夕渚暗, 肅肅暮風冷) even convey a desolate feeling. All of this suggests that the poet’s attention is not on the poem’s topical event but on the things that attract his personal interest. The ending of the poem, with the poet’s expression of gratitude for imperial favor and of his inability to live up to the imperial patron’s expectations, is conventional. What is absent in this poem is praise of the emperor’s power and beneficence. Indeed, the emperor appears only as part of the showy proceedings in lines 15 and 16. His role in the poem is very limited. The Northern Wei dynasty broke up into the Eastern Wei and Western Wei in 534. The Eastern Wei was replaced by the Northern Qi (550–76), and the Western Wei was in turn replaced by the Northern Zhou (559–81). Before considering poems produced in the Northern Zhou dynasty, the most literary of the northern dynasties, I would like to take a look at a poem written by Wei Shou 魏收 (505–72), whose career spanned the Eastern Wei and Northern Qi dynasties. This poem cannot be accurately dated. Because it bears the same title as Lu Yuanming’s poem, mentioned earlier, it might have been written at the same occasion. 晦日泛舟應詔詩 裊裊春枝弱 關關新鳥呼 棹唱忽逶迤 菱歌時顧慕 睿賞芳月色 宴言忘日暮 游豫慰人心 照臨康國歩

Boating on a Gray Day: Written at Imperial Command Softly the tender spring branches wave, Harmoniously the new birds chirp. Oar songs all of a sudden meander about, Lotus tunes occasionally correspond. 4 [His Majesty] is enjoying the beautiful moonlight, The banquet guests are oblivious to the approaching dusk. Such an excursion comforts our heart, The [moonlight] shines on this thriving state.33 8

Wei Shou was a famous writer in his day. Together with Wen Zisheng and Xing Shao 邢卲 (496–?), he was called one of the “three talents” (sancai 三才) of the time. He is mostly known as the author of Weishu (History of the Wei Dynasty), which has been called “trash history” because of its many

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deliberately inaccurate accounts.34 Like the poem by Wen Zisheng, his does not follow the tripartite structure that was a trademark of court poetry in the south. This eight-line verse is evenly divided into two sections. The first portrays the scene in which the imperial boating excursion takes place; the second describes the activities engaged in by the emperor and his courtiers. The first couplet, with its use of doublets such as niaoniao 裊裊 (“softly”) and guanguan 關關 (“harmoniously”), invokes a prominent stylistic feature of the Shijing.35 The whole of the first section demonstrates the poet’s keen interest in parallelism. Indeed, his interest in this stylistic fashion almost creates awkwardness in the second couplet. To say that “oar songs all of a sudden meander about” (棹唱忽逶迤) sounds internally contradictory, because the adverb “all of a sudden” (hu 忽) describes an act contrary to “meander” (weiyi 逶迤). The choice of hu 忽 seems to have resulted from the need to parallel the adverb shi 時 (“occasionally”) in the next line, for not only are they adverbs, but they also qualify two contrasting acts. As I noted earlier, this kind of “contrasting parallelism” was praised as the best of its kind by Liu Xie.36 The second section introduces the emperor and his guests, who are “enjoying the beautiful moonlight” (睿賞芳月色). This moonlight image paves the path for the last line, which is meant to praise the emperor. Just like the moonlight in the sky, His Majesty’s beneficence “shines on this thriving state” (照臨康國歩). The moon, which represents the yin, or feminine, element in Chinese culture,37 is not normally associated with imperial power and beneficence, in contrast to the sun. Wei Shou’s usage here seems to have been determined by the character of the occasion, which took place in the evening. Because this usage is not rooted in Chinese cultural and literary conventions, it requires readers to stretch their imaginations to make sense of it. The greatest poetic production of the northern dynasties took place during the short reign of the Zhou dynasty (559–81), thanks mainly to the work of two transplanted southern poets, Wang Bao 王褒 (514?–75?) and Yu Xin 庾信 (513–81), and to the generous patronage they received from the Zhou rulers. Both Wang Bao and Yu Xin had had successful official and literary careers under the Liang dynasty in the south. When Zhou troops overran Jiangling, where Xiao Yi 蕭繹, the Liang Emperor Yuan 梁元帝 (r. 555), was based, Wang Bao was taken to Chang’an, the Zhou capital. Upon the arrival of Wang Bao and a few dozen others, Yu Wentai 宇文泰 (507–56), the de facto ruler at the time, “was delighted and said: ‘In the past, when [the Jin] conquered the Wu, they got Lu Ji and Lu Yun. Now, with the conquest of Chu, we got all these worthies, so [our achievement] is greater.”38 As for Yu Xin, he was at this time in Chang’an serving a diplomatic mission for the Liang. He was asked to stay and, like Wang Bao, spent the rest of his life in the north.

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Under the Zhou rulers, Wang Bao and Yu Xin were given high-ranking posts, among them “grand general of chariot and horse” 車騎大將軍, a position with honors equivalent to those of the “three dignitaries” 三司, the highest positions in the government. Although the Zhou rulers were descendants of the Xianbei minority race, by this time the sinicization initiated by the Wei Emperor Xiaowen had fully taken root. Some of the Zhou rulers had a deep passion for Chinese literature and were accomplished poets. Yuwen Yu 宇文毓, Emperor Ming 明帝 (r. 559–60), for example, was said to have been “widely read and good at literary composition. The style of his works was both beautiful and balanced.”39 He left behind a few poems, one of which was written to match a poem by Wang Bao.40 Zhoushu 周書 (History of the Zhou Dynasty) notes that because of their literary fame, Wang Bao and Yu Xin received Emperor Ming’s special patronage, to such an extent that “whenever His Majesty went on an excursion or held a party, he would ask [Wang] Bao and others to write poems and to converse. They were often at his side.”41 Emperor Ming’s successor, Yuwen Yong 宇文邕, Emperor Wu 武帝 (r. 561–78), was regarded by historians as being “parsimonious with his affections and favors” toward his officials,42 but he nevertheless treated Yu Xin and others with respect, because he “had a graceful passion for literature.”43 Wang Bao and Yu Xin also enjoyed the patronage of the Princes of Zhao 趙王 and Teng 滕王. Their relationship was described as “friendship between the commoners” (buyi zhijiao 布衣之交),44 suggesting that it transcended the barriers of hierarchy that normally separated royalty from court officials. When Yu Xin died, the Prince of Teng collected and edited his writings. In his preface to the Yu Zishan ji 庾子山集 (Collected Works of Yu Zishan), the prince affectionately recounted the Zhou rulers’ patronage of Yu Xin and his own intimate friendship with him.45 Both Wang Bao and Yu Xin were productive poets, but the poems they wrote at imperial command are relatively few. The following is one by Wang Bao: 詠霧應詔詩 七條開早陌 五里闇朝氛 帶樓疑海氣 含盖似浮雲 方從河水上 預奉綠圖文

On Fog: Written at Imperial Command The seven-string music clears the dawn paths, The five-li fog dims the morning atmosphere. Clinging to the building it looks like the ocean air, Wrapping the canopies it resembles the floating clouds. 4 From the surface of the waters [It] presents green drawings and writings. 46

This six-line verse has a miniature tripartite structure. Each couplet performs a distinct function. The first one introduces the occasion, the second

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offers some details, and the third provides a commentary and summary. Because this is a poem in the yongwu genre, the middle couplet offers some descriptive features of the topical object, fog. The poet uses two similes (yi 疑, “looks like” and si 似, “resembles”) to render the fog more vivid and more visible. The effort is not very effective, however, because the objects that fog is made to resemble, “ocean air” (haiqi 海氣) and “floating clouds” (fuyun 浮雲), are equally ethereal. The last couplet demonstrates the poet’s skillful manipulation of the visual impression of fog and his ability to connect it to a panegyric content. He portrays the fog that floats on the surface of the water as “presenting green drawings and writings” (預奉綠圖文), an allusion to a legend recorded in the Diwang shiji 帝王世紀 (Annals of Emperors and Kings). It is said that once when the Yellow Emperor was traveling on the Luo River, the sky was filled with dense fog. He saw a huge fish in the river and ordered a solemn sacrifice to be performed. After that it rained, and the Yellow Emperor received some drawings.47 By alluding to this ancient legend, Wang Bao is able to end his poem on an encomiastic note: He compares his imperial patron to a revered ancient ruler and assures His Majesty of heavenly blessings for his reign. The Zhoushu noted that the special patronage of the Zhou rulers made Wang Bao “forget that he was living in another land.”48 Yu Xin, on the contrary, was called a poet of the homeland because he often expressed deep “longing for his native country” (xiangguan zhisi 鄉關之思).49 Many of the works he wrote in the north, including the famous “Lament for the South” 哀 江南賦,50 are testimonies to this sentiment. In his panegyric poems, however, such personal sentiment had to be kept in check. The few poems that Yu Xin wrote at imperial command display many of the conventional characteristics of the genre. Still, they also carry some of the prominent stylistic features of his poetry, such as his fondness for parallelism and allusion. The following is a poem Yu Xin wrote at a highly formal occasion, the imperial survey of military practice: 從駕觀講武 挍戰出長楊 兵欄入鬬塲 置陣橫雲起 開營雁翼張 門嫌磁石礙

Accompanying His Majesty to a Military Survey [His Majesty] left Changyang Palace to observe martial drills, Through the base barricades he entered the battleground. [The troops] lay out positions, [like] rising clouds in the horizon, They display their camps, [like] spreading wings of geese. 4 The gates are thought to be armed with magnetic stoppers,51

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| writ ten at imperial command 馬畏鐵菱傷 龍淵觸牛斗 繁弱駭天狼 落星奔驥騄 浮雲上驌驦 急風吹戰鼓 高塵擁貝裝 駭猿時落木 驚鴻屢斷行 樹寒條更直 山枯菊轉芳 豹略推全勝 龍韜揖所長 小臣欣寓目 還知奉會昌

Horses are afraid of being wounded by iron spears. Their Longyuan swords touch the Niudou constellation, Their Fanruo bows alarm the Tianlang star. 8 Falling comets dash like galloping steeds, Floating clouds rise like sprinting horses.52 Hastening wind blows the battle drums, High dust wrap the [soldiers’] shell armor. 12 Frightened monkeys occasionally fall from the trees, Shocked geese frequently break their lines. The trees are cold, but their branches are straighter, The mountains are desolate, yet the chrysanthemums turn fragrant. 16 The “Leopard Strategy” calls for entire victory, The “Dragon Plans” gather all advantages. 53 This humble official is delighted by such a view, I would devote myself to this prosperous time.54 20

This poem demonstrates two prominent formal characteristics of southern court poetry: a tripartite structure and the consistent deployment of parallelism. In comparison with the poem written on a similar occasion by Shen Yue, Yu Xin’s concentrates more on rhetorical display and on its dramatic effect. This is shown not only in the sheer number of lines devoted to the descriptive middle section (fourteen out of twenty) but also in the details that Yu Xin chooses to depict. Normally, a description focuses on the impression a scene has made on the observer. Yu Xin, however, conveys the effects that the military practice has on the surrounding environment. The soldiers’ battling shocks monkeys and geese out of their wits, so that they stumble at their natural behavior: “Frightened monkeys occasionally fall from the trees, / Shocked geese frequently break their lines” (駭猿時落 木, 驚鴻屢斷行). This reminds us of the rhetoric in some of the Han epideictic rhapsodies considered in chapter 1. The first line of Yu Xin’s poem, which alludes to the “Changyang Rhapsody” 長楊賦 by Yang Xiong,55 already indicates this connection. Significantly, Yu Xin’s praise of his imperial patron’s martial prowess is rather vague and subdued. He merely points out the benefits of these military drills (lines 17–18) but offers no hyperbolic boastful talk about defeating Zhou’s enemies in the south and capturing their lands. As we have seen, other poets, especially those in the south such as Shen Yue and Xie Tiao, used such rhetoric when asked to address similar events. Yu Xin’s choice not to do so may indirectly reflect his “longing for his homeland”; he simply could not wish for it to be overrun by the troops of the north. All he could do was express his

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“delight” in seeing their practice and profess his willingness to serve in this “prosperous time” (小臣欣寓目, 還知奉會昌). By imperial command, Yu Xin wrote several poems with religious content. In the first piece, as is indicated by its title, he was asked to “expound” on Buddhism and Daoism: 奉和闡弘二敎 應詔 五明敎巳設 三元法復開 魚山將鶴嶺 清梵兩邊來 香煙聚爲塔 花雨積成臺 空心論佛性 貞氣辨仙才 露盤高掌滳 風烏平翅迴 無勞問待詔 自識昆明灰

Matching a Poem Expounding on the Two Doctrines:56 Written at Imperial Command The doctrine has already set aside Five Lights,57 The law has established Three Elements.58 Fish Mountain and Crane Peak,59 Prayer chanting comes from both sides. 4 Fragrant mists condense to form towers, Flowery rains accumulate to become terraces. [With] empty heart one may discourse on Buddha’s nature, [With] sincere mind one may know the arts of the gods. 8 Dew drips on the plate held high on a god’s palm, Birds fly on the divine platform as winds rise. 60 I need not wait for the command of your majesty, As I already know the origin of ashes in Kunming 12 Lake. 61

Since arriving in China during the late Han dynasty, Buddhism had frequently clashed with Confucianism and Daoism. The clash was particularly tense during the reign of the Zhou Emperor Wu. The emperor made his preference clear at a public debate over the ranking of the “three doctrines.” He put Confucianism at the top, followed by Daoism, and left Buddhism at the bottom.62 During the early years of his reign, he held numerous public discussions about the merits of Daoism and Buddhism, but later he seems to have grown tired of their mutual attacks and decided to ban both of them.63 Yu Xin’s poem might have been composed at one of these public discussions. The poem he was asked to “match” did not survive. Unlike Xie Lingyun, Xiao Yan, and others, Yu Xin is not known for his interest in Buddhism or Daoism. His extant writings contain no treatise on them, and the few of his poems that deal with them were all written at imperial command or to match others’ works. Perhaps he shared his imperial patron’s lukewarm attitude, or perhaps he took it into consideration when writing this particular poem. In any event, the verse reveals no attempt on his part to get involved in the debate over the two doctrines. He is ordered to “expound” (chanhong 闡弘) on them, but all he does is to repeat some of

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the clichés about them, as is shown in lines 1–2, where “Five Lights” (wuming 五明) refers to Buddhism and “Three Elements” (sanyuan 三元) to Daoism, and in lines 7–8. His detached and evenhanded treatment of the topic is also reflected in the composition of his first four couplets, where he seems to be drawing a parallel rather than a contrast between the two doctrines. Within each of these couplets Buddhism and Daoism receive equal attention, either through equal distribution of lines within the couplets (1, 3, and 4) or through equal distribution of syntactic elements in a line (“Fish Mountain and Crane Peak” 魚山將鶴嶺, referring to Buddhist and Daoist sacred mountains, respectively). In the penultimate couplet, Yu Xin uses two allusions to Emperor Wu of the Han, one of the most ardent pursuers of immortality in Chinese history. Finally, he informs his emperor, in a tone not without some humor and pride, that he already has a masterful grasp of the topic (“I already know the origin of ashes in Kunming Lake” 自識昆明灰), and therefore His Majesty’s command for him to expound on it is unnecessary (“I need not wait for the command of your majesty” 無勞問待詔). On another occasion, Yu Xin was ordered by the emperor to write a poem about a visit that His Majesty paid to the Temple of Laozi, who was regarded by many as the founder of Daoism: 至老子廟 應詔 虛無推馭辯 寥廓本乘蜺 三門臨苦縣 九井對靈谿 盛丹須竹節 量藥用刀圭 石似臨卭芋 芝如封禪泥 毻毛新鵠小 盤根古樹低 野戍孤煙起 春山百鳥啼 路有三千别 途經七聖迷 唯當别關吏 直向流沙西

Visiting the Temple of Laozi: Written at Imperial Command From nothingness we learn how to control change, 64 In the vastness of the sky we ride on rainbow clouds. Three gates stand against the Ku County, 65 Nine wells face the divine ravine. 4 To hold the panacea pills one must have bamboo joints, To measure the medicine one need use spoons. Stones are like the yams of Lingqiong, Magic fungus seems to be the imperial ink paste. 66 8 Having shed its hair, the new swan is small, Twisting its roots, the ancient tree is short. Lonely smoke rises from the wild barracks, A hundred birds chirp in the spring mountains. 12 By the road he bade farewell to three thousand people, Along his path the seven sages once got lost. 67 He had only to bid farewell to the official at the pass To head straight to the desert in the west. 68 16

A remarkable feature of this poem is its complete omission of the emperor. The poet makes not even a perfunctory effort to bring into attention, let alone

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to praise, his imperial patron, who has commanded him to write the poem. Instead, Yu Xin focuses exclusively on Laozi, his doctrine, and legends about him. After introducing the Daoist principle of nothingness in the first two lines, Yu Xin gives a brief description of the physical location of Laozi’s temple in the second couplet. He then recounts, albeit very generally, the Daoist art of refining the elixir of immortality, which is said to enable one to turn stones into “yams of Linqiong” (linqiong yu 臨卭芋) and plants into something resembling “imperial ink paste” (fengshan ni 封禪泥). The descriptive section (lines 9–12) that follows demonstrates Yu Xin’s mastery of the art of parallelism. These two couplets are examples of the much-valued “contrasting parallelism.” That is, “new swan” (xinhu 新鵠) parallels and contrasts with an “ancient tree” (gushu 古樹), just as “lonely smoke” (guyan 孤煙) does with a “hundred birds” (bainiao 百鳥). Together they portray a scene that is at once decaying and vital, solitary and harmonious, reflecting the Daoist belief in the perpetual balance of life and death in nature. Yun Xin ends his poem with a brief account of Laozi’s legendary departure for the western desert, recounted in the ancient text Lixian zhuan 列仙傳 (Biographies of Immortals).69 Emperor Wu of the Zhou, as I mentioned earlier, participated in religious discussions on several occasions. In the first year of Jiande (572), he paid a visit to the Xuandu Temple in the capital, Chang’an. There “he took the dharma seat and lectured,” 70 presumably on Buddhism. The following poem by Yu Xin is believed to have been written on this occasion.71 He was ordered by the emperor to “match” a poem by another person, a poem that did not survive. 奉和法筵 應詔 五城隣北極 百雉壯西崑 鈎陳横複道 閶闔抵靈軒 千柱蓮花塔 由旬紫紺園 佛影胡人記 經文漢語翻 星窺朱鳥牗 雲宿鳳凰門 新禽解雜囀 春柳臥生根

Matching a Poem on the Dharma Mat: Written at Imperial Command The Five Towns lie next to the Northern Pole,72 Magnificent is the Mount Kunlun in the west. The Gou and Chen stars hang above the double-layered paths, The heavenly gates reach the latticed hallways. 4 Thousands of columns are [like] lotus towers, Over dozens of miles lie the purple temples. The shadow of Buddha was recorded by foreigners,73 The scriptures were translated into Chinese. 8 Stars peep into the crimson-bird windows, Clouds stay above the phoenix gates. New fowls scatter, sending out discordant chirps, Spring willows recline, growing new roots. 12

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| writ ten at imperial command 早雷驚蟄戸 流雪長河源 建始移交讓 徽音種合昏 風飛扇天辯 泉湧屬絲言 羈臣從散木 無以預中天 78 遥可望 終類仰鵾絃

Early thunder shocks the insects out of their homes, Flowing snow raises the waters of the river. The jiaorang trees are moved to the Jianshi Palace,74 The hehun brushes are planted by the Huiyin Hall.75 16 The wind is wafting the heavenly discourse, His silk-like words flow as in a stream.76 This stranded official resembles the “scattered wood”77 That has no means of assisting in this prosperous time. 20 . . . can be seen from the distance, As if admiring the music of ancient tunes.79

The bulk of Yu Xin’s poem is dedicated to portraying the Buddhist temple where the emperor held his “heavenly discourse” (tianbian 天辯) and the scenes surrounding it. Because the poet is describing the setting of the emperor’s visit, he couches the verse in lofty rhetoric. The capital, Chang’an, site of the Xuandu Temple, is compared to the godly “Five Towns” (wucheng 五城) in “Mount Kunlun in the west” (xikun 西昆), which is believed to be the home of gods and the originating place of Buddhism. Indeed, this first descriptive section is filled with heavenly images, creating a world where heaven and earth seem brought together. This can be seen in lines such as “The Gou and Chen stars hang above the double-layered paths, / The heavenly gates reach the latticed hallways” (鈎陳横複道, 閶闔抵靈軒) and “Stars peep into the crimson-bird windows, / Clouds stay above the phoenix gates” (星窺朱鳥牗, 雲宿鳳凰門). Juxtaposed with this world of pomp, however, is the world of nature. The four lines (11–14) that depict it evince a style meant to evoke nature’s refreshing vitality and spontaneity. The sixth couplet, “New fowls scatter, sending out discordant chirps, / Spring willows recline, growing new roots” (新禽解 雜囀, 春柳臥生根), vividly conveys spring’s resuscitation through its carefully selected visual and auditory images. It reminds us of the poetry of Xie Lingyun and Xie Tiao.80 The “southern” character of this poetic scene must have triggered in Yu Xin a “longing for homeland.” Perhaps to temper this longing, in order to cause his imperial patron no concern, he introduces in the next couplet a scene that is distinctively northern: “Flowing snow raises the waters in the river” (流雪長河源).81 As we shall see, this effort proves ineffective in controlling the poet’s thought for his native land. In the last section Yu Xin turns his attention to Emperor Wu and to his lecture. In the midst of conventional praise of the emperor (lines 17–18) and self-deprecation on the part of the poet (lines 19–20), we find a profoundly personal expression. In line 19, Yu Xin calls himself a “stranded official” (jichen 羈臣). This is a direct reference to his “forced” stay in the north. It

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pointedly tells the emperor that despite all of His Majesty’s patronage, Yu Xin remains emotionally attached to his native country and regards his life in the north as a temporary sojourn. Such sentiment sounds undiplomatic and even ungrateful, and it is indeed remarkable that Yu Xin chooses to express it in this context. It has nothing to do with the poem’s topic, the “dharma mat” (fayan 法筵) used by the emperor during his “heavenly discourse” on Buddhism. Before concluding this chapter, I want to examine two short quatrain poems that Yu Xin wrote at imperial command.82 The first piece deals with a topic seldom found in poetry presented to imperial patrons, namely, traveling early in the morning: 行途賦得四更

應詔 四更天欲曙 落月垂關下 深谷暗藏人 欹松横礙馬

Being Assigned the Topic of the “Fourth Watch” while Traveling: Written at Imperial Command At the fourth watch the day is about to dawn, 83 The falling moon goes down below the mountain pass. The deep ravine secretly hides people, The reclining pine flatly blocks the horse. 84

This short poem focuses exclusively on the assigned topic, the “fourth watch” (sigeng 四更). After an explanatory note about it in the first line— that at the fourth watch “the day is about to dawn” (tian yushu 天欲曙)—the poet turns to observing the scenes around him. The rest of the poem presents a landscape that is both beautiful, manifested by the image of the bright moon setting by the mountain pass (落月垂關下), and potentially difficult and dangerous for travelers, suggested by the poet’s observations that people may hide secretly in the ravine (深谷暗藏人) and that fallen pines block the roads (欹松横礙馬). Yu Xin does not try to make this occasion symbolic, nor does he acknowledge the emperor. As a result, the poem reads like a fragment in the corpus of panegyric poetry. It might have been just a part (probably the beginning) of a linked-verse composition in which another poet picked up from Yu Xin’s descriptive details and substantiated them with his own. The situation is very different with the next poem, which, although again cast in the quatrain format, has all of the essential components of poetry written at imperial command: 奉和平鄴 應詔 天策引神兵 風飛掃鄴城

A Matching Poem on the Conquest of the Ye: Written at Imperial Command The heavenly decree dispatched the divine troops, Like flying wind they swept through the city of Ye.

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| writ ten at imperial command 陣雲千里散 黄河一代清

Cloud formations within thousands of lis were dispersed, And the Yellow River in its entirety was cleared. 85

The Zhoushu notes that in the sixth year of Jiande (577), Zhou troops under the command of Emperor Wu took the city of Ye, the capital of the Northern Qi at that time.86 The title of Yu Xin’s poem suggests that the emperor ordered his officials to write poems to celebrate this victory and that Yu Xin’s piece was written to match a poem by someone else, which is no longer extant. Because the event in question is highly formal, the poet adopts an elevated style intended to conjure up a sublime feeling in the reader. In the first line, for example, he uses two lofty, albeit conventional, words, “heavenly” (tian 天) and “divine” (shen 神), to describe the emperor’s decree and the army he dispatched. In the second couplet, Yu Xin draws majestic images from heaven (“cloud formations” zhenyun 陣雲) and earth (“Yellow River” huanghe 黃河), in order to convey the sweeping victory of the Zhou troops. The “clearing” (qing 清) of the Yellow River also alludes to the ancient myth and belief that the Yellow River becomes clear only when heaven sends down its blessings to a peaceful and prosperous world.87 This presentation of the landscape enables Yu Xin to achieve two goals, portraying an effective scene for the occasion and praising his imperial patron. In comparison with poetic production in the south during the same period, the corpus of poetry produced in the north is limited in both size and scope. The poems considered in this chapter also demonstrate qualities different from those of poetry in the south, such as more plain diction, more straightforward syntax, and a less allusive style. The capture of several southern poets and their forced sojourn in the north provided opportunities for poetry on the two sides of the Yangtze River to become integrated. This trend would continue at a faster pace with the Sui dynasty’s reunification of the country.

9 Matching Poems with a Cruel but Talented Ruler The Sui Dynasy



The Sui reunification in 591 brought an end to the more than two-centurylong division of China. Its three-decade reign (581–619) was essentially divided between Yang Jian 楊堅, Emperor Wen 文帝 (r. 581–604), and his second son, Yang Guang 楊廣, Emperor Yang 煬帝 (r. 605–18), who first stole the position of crown prince from his elder brother and then murdered his father to take the throne.1 These two monarchs had very different attitudes toward poetry and literature in general. The authors of Suishu (History of the Sui Dynasty) noted bluntly that Emperor Wen was “ignorant of learning” and “had no interest in poetry and classics.”2 His mocking accusation against Chen Shubao, quoted in chapter 7, that his poetic composition caused him to lose his country, is a good illustration of his attitude. For this reason, Emperor Wen’s involvement in poetic activities was scant.3 Emperor Yang, however, was one of the most prolific poet-rulers in Chinese history. He often composed poetry with his court officials, and many of these compositions survive today. Throughout Chinese history, Emperor Yang has been regarded as one of the most corrupt and tyrannical of all monarchs. Many historical sources take note of his deception, lust, extravagance, jealousy, and cruelty. He feigned a humble character and disciplined lifestyle at first, to gain the trust of his parents, so that he could eventually replace his older brother as crown prince. Having achieved that goal, he began to show his true character even before

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his father died. While Emperor Wen was gravely ill, he forced Lady Chen, one of Emperor Wen’s concubines, to have sexual relations with him.4 Upon ascending the throne, he immediately ordered the execution of his brother, Yang Yong 楊勇 (d. 605).5 Indeed, browsing through the Suishu, one cannot help being struck by the great number of officials and intellectuals executed during Emperor Yang’s fourteen-year reign. Its authors particularly pointed out that Emperor Yang “was suspicious of his ministers and officials. . . . Whenever he felt dissatisfied with his court officials, he would fabricate some crimes against them and have their entire clans exterminated.” As “countless numbers of people” fell victim to his mistrust, others lived in constant fear, to such an extent that “none dared to speak out. When people met on the road, they only looked at one another.”6 A couple of examples illustrate these observations. Throughout Chinese history, Emperor Yang has been noted for his extravagant lifestyle and the heavy toll it took on people’s lives. He enjoyed traveling and wherever he went, palaces had to be built to welcome him.7 One place he visited repeatedly was Jiangdu, present-day Yangzhou, south of the Yangtze River. Enormous amounts of energy and resources were spent to accommodate the emperor’s taste for pomp and extravaganza. To prepare for a visit in the second year of Daye (606), for example, the government ordered local officials to collect feathers in order to make banners and other decorative items for the imperial entourage. To meet this demand, people all over the country searched on land and on water for birds that might be of use, until “they were almost completely gone.”8 Such outrageously extravagant tours, coupled with Emperor Yang’s passion for waging wars against neighboring nations, caused large-scale unrest during the final years of his rule. In the twelfth year of Daye (616), two years before he was deposed and killed, as he was about to embark on another tour to Jiangdu, Cui Minxiang 崔民象, his “gentleman for trustworthy service” 奉 信郎, presented him with a memorial advising him to call off the tour because “robbers and ruffians ran rampant” in the country. The emperor was “enraged” and promptly had Cui Minxiang executed. Soon, even as the entourage was still on its way to Jiangdu, rebellions and uprisings began to break out. At Sishui in present-day Henan, another “gentleman for trustworthy service,” Wang Airen 王愛仁, presented yet another memorial asking the emperor to return to the capital, Chang’an. “The emperor became angry. So he ordered him executed, and then proceeded with the tour.”9 The death of Xue Daoheng 薛道衡 (540–609), a renowned poet of the time, not only demonstrates Emperor Yang’s suspicion and intolerance of criticism by his officials but also his jealousy of literary talent. Emperor Yang had a passion for poetry and was himself a reasonably good poet. But

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like Emperor Xiaowu of the Song dynasty, he could not tolerate the idea that someone might be “superior to him” in literary composition.10 After Emperor Yang was enthroned, Xue Daoheng submitted to him a eulogy of his father, Emperor Wen, in which Xue praised Emeperor Wen’s achievement in reuniting the country after centuries of division. After reading it, Emperor Yang “became unhappy” and said to one of his ministers, “Daoheng praises the previous reign. This is the intent of ‘Yuzao’ [魚藻].”11 “Yuzao” (“The Fish Are there in the Pondweed”) is a poem in the Shijing. According to the Mao preface, it was a “satire against King You of the Zhou. It states that things had lost their proper place and nature, but the king lived in Haojing. [The poet] could not be happy himself, and therefore he longed for the King Wu of the past.”12 Emperor Yang ordered Xue arrested and eventually had him executed when he was unable to commit suicide as ordered. After Xue Daoheng’s death, Emperor Yang reportedly remarked, “Can he still write lines such as ‘Swallow clay falls from the empty beams’ (空梁落燕泥)?”13 During his lifetime Xue Daoheng was particularly famous for this line.14 The wicked amusement with which Emperor Yang made his remark suggests that his jealousy of Xue Daoheng’s poetic gifts was another reason why he had him put to death.15 As a poet, Emperor Yang was one of the most productive monarchs in Chinese history. More than forty of his poems still exist. They cover a wide range of topics and were written in different styles.16 Emperor Yang was often compared to Chen Shubao, because both treated poetry as an integral part of their extravagant lives. But even though Emperor Yang was a passionate devotee of southern culture,17 and his court poetry evinced the influence of southern palace-style poetry, his poetic output was of a much broader range. Although most of his works fall into the category of palace-style poetry, some of them deal with traditional topics such as military expeditions and visits to famous places. Emperor Yang ordered his court poets to write matching poems to his works on many occasions. Some of these group compositions are still extant. One such composition was written by Emperor Yang and four other poets. The following is Emperor Yang’s piece, which initiated the poetic occasion: 月夜觀星詩 團團素月浄 翛翛夕景清 谷泉驚暗石 松風動夜聲 被衣出荆户 躡履歩山楹 欣覩明堂亮

Looking at Stars on a Moonlit Night The bright moon is round and luminous, The evening scene is crisp and clear. Canyon streams startle the hidden rocks, Pine wind stirs up the night sounds. Putting on clothes, I go out the thatched door, Slipping into shoes, I walk to the mountain beams. I am pleased to see the brilliant Mingtang star,

4

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And delighted to spot the level Taijie constellation. 8 Zi and Shen are still discernible, Niu and Nü are still distinct.18 As the watches change, the Dipper’s handle turns, When the night deepens, the heavenly river lies across. 12 Pacing to and fro, I cannot sleep, Multiple feelings intertwine in my heart.19

Lines 3–6, with the images of “canyon streams” (guquan 谷泉), “hidden rocks” (anshi 暗石), “pine wind” (songfeng 松風), “thatched door” (jinghu 荊戶), and “mountain beams” (shangying 山楹), indicate that this poem was written during an overnight excursion to a mountain resort. Throughout the poem, Emperor Yang focuses on “looking at stars” (guanxing 觀星), the topic of his poem as is made clear in the title. He makes no attempt to insert symbolism, even though his opening line alludes to the well-known “Song of Complaint” 怨歌行 attributed to Lady Ban 班婕妤 (fl. 32–7 bce).20 The same can be said of his reference to the “Niu” 牛 (“Cowherd”) and “Nü” 女 (“Weaving Girl”) stars, since by this time they had become clichés of romantic love in Chinese poetry.21 His ending couplet echoes “Expressions of the Heart” by Ruan Ji and the anonymous “Nineteen Old Poems,”22 both of which lie at the core of the Chinese poetic tradition.23 The last word in Emperor Yang’s poem, qing 情 (“feeling”), particularly invokes the cherished expressive quality of those works. It endows Emperor Yang’s poem with a personal dimension. The titles of the matching poems by the four court poets all mention “an imperial poem shown to the hundred officials” 御制示百僚. This informs us that the emperor showed his poem to everyone present, so the four poems that survive may represent only a fraction of those produced on this occasion. The first one I examine was written by Zhuge Ying 諸葛頴 (d. 616), who, according to his biography in the Suishu, enjoyed special patronage from Emperor Yang and served as his “editorial director” 著作郎.24 奉和御制月夜觀星 示百僚詩 窈窱神居逺 蕭條更漏深 薄煙浄遥色 髙樹肅清隂 星月滿兹夜 粲爛還相臨 連珠欲東上

Looking at Stars on a Moonlit Night: Written to Match an Imperial Poem Shown to the Hundred Officials Dimly, the divine residence is far away, Desolately, the water clock is sinking deep. Thin mist makes bright the distant hues, Tall trees render cool the clear shadows. 4 Stars and moon are full on this night, Brilliantly they come to shine on us. Linked pearls are about to ascend in the east,

Matching Poems with a Cruel but Talented Ruler 團扇漸西沉 澄水含斜漢 脩樹隠横參 時聞送籌柝 屢見繞枝禽 聖情記餘事 振玉復鳴金

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Round fan is slowly sinking in the west.25 8 Limpid water holds the slanting Milky Way, Slender trees hide the level Shen star. Occasionally we hear the night watcher’s clapper, Frequently we see birds flying among the tree branches. 12 His Majesty’s feeling takes note of the rich events, While jade [pendants] jingle and bronze [bells] chime.26

Zhuge Ying’s poem is more focused on describing the stars than is Emperor Yang’s; ten lines of the fourteen-line poem are devoted to this task. It is also more detached, containing none of the emotionally charged acts that we find in Emperor Yang’s piece. Unlike the emperor, who is so touched by the starlit sky that “pacing to and fro [he] cannot sleep” (徘徊不能寐), Zhuge Ying seems motionless throughout his poem, and emotionless as well, using not a single emotive verb to reveal some hint of his feelings. Zhuge Ying’s poem has one thing in common with the piece by Emperor Yang: It, too, shows no attempt to instill symbolic meanings into the description of the stars. Zhuge Ying does not, for example, explore the apparent connection between the “divine residence” (shenju 神居) and the imperial palace,27 its counterpart on earth, and thus forgoes an opportunity to celebrate the Son of Heaven’s mandate in the human world. His poem makes only one reference to the emperor, at its end, where His Majesty is complimented for “taking note of the remaining events” (聖情記餘事). The phrase shengqing 聖 情 (His Majesty’s feeling) directly addresses the ending of Emperor Yang’s poem, where His Majesty states that his heart is filled with “multiple feelings” (jizhong qing 幾種情). The last line in Zhuge Ying’s piece, “ jade [pendants] jingle and bronze [bells] chime” (振玉復鳴金), may be read as the poet’s praise of the emperor, because it describes, synecdochically, a thriving scene of officials mingling at court. 28 It can also be read, however, as a mere description of courtly pomp. The next matching piece was written by Yuan Qing 袁慶 (fl. 605–18), who was once a “gentleman in the secretariat” 秘書郎 under the reign of Emperor Yang.29 奉和御制月夜觀星 示百僚詩 六龍初匿景 顧兎始馳光 戎32井傳宵漏

Looking at Stars on a Moonlit Night: Written to Match an Imperial Poem Shown to the Hundred Officials The six dragons have just hidden [the sun’s] brilliance,30 And the rabbit has begun to send out the [moon]light.31 From the evening well comes the sound of the water clock,

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| writ ten at imperial command 山庭引夕凉 宸居多勝託 閒歩出琳堂 爛爛星芒動 耿耿清河長 青道移天駟 北極轉文昌 喬枝猶隠畢 絶嶺半侵張 仰觀留玉裕 睿作動金相 無庸徒抱34寂 何以繼連章

And the mountain courtyard brings in the night cool. 4 The imperial residence has many wonderful sites, [The emperor] steps with ease from his jade hall. Brilliantly the stars move their light, Brightly the clear river stretches long. 8 Along [the moon’s] green path the Tiansi shifts, Around the north pole the Wenchang turns.33 High branches seem to be hidden, Towering peaks partly protrude. 12 Raising his head, the emperor holds his jade look, Making his wise move, he writes his golden poem. There is no need for me to search [my mind’s] quietude, How can I ever produce a sequel to [His Majesty’s] 16 verse?35

Yuan Qing’s poem demonstrates greater effort to “match” Emperor Yang’s piece and to give His Majesty a larger role in the composition. Line 6, “[The emperor] steps with ease from his jade hall” (閒歩出琳堂), responds directly to Emperor Yang’s “Putting on clothes, I go out the thatched door” (被衣出荆户). But Yuan Qing has turned Emperor Yang’s “thatched door” (jinghu 荆户) into “ jade hall” (lintang 琳堂), creating a temporary “imperial residence” (chenju 宸居) in one of many “wonderful sites” (shengtuo 勝託). Yuan Qing’s praise of Emperor Yang is limited exclusively to His Majesty’s poetic ability. The word rui 睿 (“wise,” line 14), defined by the Shangshu as meaning “sagely” (sheng 聖),36 often has a broader meaning when used in connection with a monarch. But here it is used exclusively to qualify Emperor Yang’s “move” (zuo 作) in producing his “golden poem” (jinxiang 金相).37 Similarly, Yuan Qing’s conventional expression of shame and guilt is confined to his professed inability to produce a matching “sequel” (lianzhang 連 章) to the emperor’s poem. Among the participants in this composition was Xiao Cong 蕭琮 (r. 586–87), the last ruler of the Latter Liang dynasty 後梁 (555–87), founded by his grandfather Xiao Cha 蕭詧 (r. 555–62) following the collapse of the Liang dynasty. During the early years of the Sui, he paid a visit to Chang’an and was detained by Emperor Wen.38 Under the reign of Emperor Yang, he was given the title Duke of Liang 梁公.39 It must have been in this capacity that he joined the present activity. His verse is as follows: 奉和御制月夜觀星 示百僚詩

Looking at Stars on a Moonlit Night: Written to Match an Imperial Poem Shown to the Hundred Officials

Matching Poems with a Cruel but Talented Ruler 陽精去南陸 大曜始西流 夕風淒謝暑 夜氣應新秋 重門月已映 嚴城漏漸脩 臨風出累樹 度月蔽層樓 靈河隔神女 仙轡動星牛 玉衡指棟落 瑶光對幌留 徒知仰閶闔 乗槎未有由

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The sun’s essence has left for the southern land, Its great light has begun flowing toward the west. Evening wind bids a forlorn farewell to the summer, Night air responds to the new autumn. 4 The moon is already shining on the multiple gates, The water clock’s sounds are slowly lengthening in the guarded city. As the wind arrives, clustered trees emerge, When the moon journeys, tall buildings hide. 8 The divine river separates the godly girl, Heavenly horses pull the Cowherd’s [chariot]. The Yuheng is pointing to the Dongluo, And the Yaoguang is faced with the Huangliu. 40 12 I merely know to look up at the celestial palace, But have no means of riding on the raft. 41

Xiao Cong’s poem is different from the other pieces in this group composition in a number of ways. First, in the beginning section (lines 1–4) he chooses to present a scene of “new autumn” (xinqiu 新秋), thereby introducing the theme of “autumn lamentation.” The melancholy sentiment, indicated by the word “forlorn” (qi 淒), although conventional in poetry of this subgenre, is discordant in the present context. Second, the “multiple gates” (chongmen 重 門) and “guarded city” (yancheng 嚴城) in lines 5 and 6 conjure up a scene of confinement different from the serene, natural beauty portrayed in Emperor Yang’s poem. Third, unlike Emperor Yang, who merely mentions the stars Weaving Girl and Cowherd, Xiao Cong goes out of his way to invoke the romantic story associated with them. The “godly girl” (shennü 神女) is seen “separated” (ge 隔) from her lover by the “divine river” (linghe 靈河), and the “cowherd” (xingniu 星牛), riding on a cart pulled by “heavenly horses” (xianpei 仙轡), is on his way to their brief annual tryst. The most significant distinction of Xiao Cong’s poem is at its end, where the poet invokes another ancient legend concerning the relations between heaven and the human world. According to this legend, a man living by the ocean saw rafts floating there every August. Once he jumped on one of them, and it took him all the way to heaven. There he met Weaving Girl and Cowherd.42 In poetry, “riding on the raft” (chengcha 乘槎) is often used as a metaphor for ascending to heaven.43 Because “ascending to heaven” conveys a longing to be liberated from the earth, this metaphor symbolizes the desire to transcend human limitations. In the present context, the symbolic function of this metaphor is not only relevant but has been rendered more specific by the images of “multiple gates” and “guarded city” in the earlier part of the

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poem. On the surface, the poet is expressing his chagrin at his inability to reach the “celestial palace” (changhe 閶闔) that he and others are “looking at” (guan 觀). At another level, he may be subtly conveying his desire to liberate himself from his confined life. One can only speculate whether this was the intended meaning of Xiao Cong who, as a deposed and detained ruler, was literally living a life of confinement, if not of downright imprisonment. There is sufficient textual evidence in the poem to support this reading, which is reinforced by the poem’s complete disregard of Emperor Yang. Xiao Cong makes no reference to the emperor, the host of this poetic occasion, or to his poem, which he has been asked to match. Instead, he has turned the occasion into an opportunity to reflect on his own life. Historical sources contain no information about Emperor Yang’s reaction to Xiao Cong’s poem. All we know is that Xiao Cong was later stripped of his title, the Duke of Liang. The last poem in this group was written by Yu Shinan 虞世南 (558– 638), best known as the compiler of Beitang shuchao 北堂書鈔, a famous compendium. His career spanned the Chen, Sui, and Tang dynasties. Under the reign of the Sui Emperor Yang, he served as a “gentleman of the secretariat” 秘書郎.44 奉和御制月夜觀星 示百僚詩 早秋炎景暮 初弦月彩新 清風滌暑氣 零露浄囂塵 蕩霧銷輕縠 鮮雲卷夕鱗 休光灼前曜 瑞彩接重輪 縁情摛聖藻 並作命徐陳 宿草誠渝濫 吹嘘偶縉紳 天文豈易述 徒知仰北辰

Looking at Stars on a Moonlit Night: Written to Match an Imperial Poem Shown to the Hundred Officials In early autumn, the sweltering season is in decline, At half size, the moon’s brilliance is refreshing. Cool wind clears the summery air, Dripping dew cleans the noisy dust. 4 Drifting fog seeps through the light gauze, Fresh clouds curl up the evening scales. Radiant light brightens the preceding luster, Auspicious splendors welcome the double wheel. 8 From his heart, the emperor writes his sagely verse, And orders all of us to present [our poems]. A last year’s grass, pretending to be of worth, I am singing praise with other officials. 12 To portray heaven’s patterns is no easy task, I merely know to look up at the North Star. 45

Yu Shinan also introduces “early autumn” (zaoqiu 早秋) in his opening line, but unlike Xiao Cong, who explores its conventional associations, Yu Shinan merely mentions it to mark the time of year. The rest of his poem

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contains nothing to create the melancholy mood found in Xiao Cong’s piece. In comparison with the other poets in this group, Yu Shinan seems more interested in the moon, which is introduced in the second line and is described again in line 8. Whereas the other poems all mention at least two stars, Yu Shinan’s names only the “North Star” (beicheng 北辰) in the last line, perhaps to meet the demand of the topic, “looking at stars.” In line 9, Yu Shinan praises Emperor Yang’s poem. The canonical phrase yuanqing 縁情 (“from his heart”) is meant not only to endow the emperor’s verse with cherished traditional values but also to address His Majesty’s assertion that his poem is the expression of “multiple feelings” stirred up by the present event. Yu praises the emperor for this effort, calling His Majesty’s poem a “sagely verse” (shengzao 聖藻). This praise paves the way for the conclusion of the poem. Yu Shinan describes the task of matching Emperor Yang’s poem as trying to portray “the heaven’s patterns,” which is “no easy task” (天文豈易述). All he can do is to merely “look up at the North Star” (徒知仰北辰). This final couplet functions on both literal and metaphoric levels. On the literal level, it addresses the topic of the poem. On the metaphoric level, it praises the emperor’s poem by comparing it to heavenly objects. The “North Star” (beicheng 北辰) in particular alludes to a passage in Confucius’s Analects where the master compares a virtuous ruler to the North Star: He is admired by his people, just as the North Star draws other, smaller stars toward it.46 Court rituals and banquets continued to be favorite poetic occasions with Emperor Yang. The next two poems were written to match each other at a New Year banquet. Again, I begin with the piece by Emperor Yang: 獻歲讌宫臣詩 三元建上京 六佾宴吳城 朱庭容衛肅 青天春氣明 朝光動劍彩 長階分珮聲 酒闌鐘磬息 欣觀禮樂成

Entertaining Court Officials at a New Year Banquet On New Year’s Day, [officials] are appointed at the capital, The six-line dance is performed at a banquet in the City of Wu. 47 At the crimson court, guards stand solemnly, In the blue sky, spring air is clear and bright. 4 Morning light stirs the swords’ brilliance, Long stairs separate the jade pendants’ sounds. As the drinking ends and melodies cease, I am delighted to see the completion of rituals and 8 music. 48

“New Year’s Day” (sanyuan 三元) in ancient China was the day when rituals were held in honor of one’s ancestors.49 As described in the first line, Emperor Yang uses it as the occasion to announce some of his official

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appointments, a practice known as jian 建. Although he is holding this event at the capital, Chang’an, he cannot help letting his thoughts wander to the south, as is indicated by the second line, in which he imagines other New Year celebrations hosted by his local officials. The descriptive section in the middle of the poem portrays the court ceremony in the capital, but it also manages to provide us with a glimpse of the “blue sky” filled with crisply clear “spring air” (青天春氣明). The concluding couplet is meant to portray himself as a conscientious monarch: In the midst of the New Year merriment, he has not forgotten about the establishment of “rituals and music” (liyue 禮樂), which are at the core of the Confucian theory of governance. Yu Shinan wrote the following matching poem to Emperor Yang’s piece: 奉和 獻歲讌宮臣詩 履端初啓節 長苑命髙筵 肆夏喧金奏 重潤響朱絃 絲光催栁色 日彩泛槐烟 微臣同濫吹 謬得仰鈞天

Written to Match [His Majesty’s] “Entertaining Court Officials at a New Year Banquet” At the year’s beginning a new season has just arrived, By the long courtyard [the emperor] orders the stately banquet. “Sixia” chimes out from the bronze bells,50 “Chongrun” rings from the red strings.51 4 Threaded light hastens the willow’s colors, Brilliant sunshine wafts the acacia’s mist. This trivial official resembles an imposter,52 I am humbled to admire [the music of] heaven!53 8

At first look, Yu Shinan’s poem is indeed a close “match” to Emperor Yang’s piece. The poetic occasion is introduced in the first couplet, elaborated upon in the middle two couplets, and responded to in the last one. As expected, the conclusion of Yu’s poem is different from the emperor’s. Whereas Emperor Yang expresses his satisfaction at seeing the “completion of rituals and music,” Yu Shinan chooses the conventional self-deprecation and eulogy of his imperial patron. A more significant, albeit subtler, difference between the two poems lies in the depiction of the scene in lines 5 and 6. Emperor Yang uses this couplet to portray an alternating view of courtyard (inside) and sky (outside). Yu Shinan devotes the entire couplet to describing the spring scene in the natural world. Thus, his poem demonstrates more sustained attention to the scene outside the court and its proceedings. This couplet also exhibits an exquisite sensitivity to the beauty of nature. The use of “hastens” (cui 摧) in line 5 is particularly noteworthy because it brings “threaded light” (siguang 絲光) and “willow’s colors” (liuse 柳色) into a dynamic relationship, creating a kinetic sensation with two elements that are otherwise ethereal and static.

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This effort is paralleled in the next line, “Brilliant sunshine wafts the acacia’s mist” (日彩泛槐烟). I noted earlier that Emperor Yang was a passionate admirer of southern culture. He once wrote two quatrain poems set to the tune of “The Night of Spring River and Flowery Moon” (春江花月夜), which was originally composed by Chen Shubao of the Chen dynasty.54 One of the two poems served as the model for a matching piece by Zhuge Ying, whose poem “Looking at Stars” was considered earlier in this chapter. 春江花月夜二首: 其一 煬帝 暮江平不動 春花滿正開 流波將月去 潮水帶星來

Two Poems to the Tune of “The Night of Spring River and Flowery Moon,” No. 1 by Emperor Yang The evening river is level and not moving, The spring flowers are full and blossoming. The flowing waves take the moon away, The tidal waters bring the stars down.55

This short poem demonstrates an intense interest in poetic craftsmanship. Its two couplets, cast in parallelism, address, respectively, the two portions of the title. The first couplet, with images of “evening river” (mujiang 暮江) and “spring flowers” (chunhua 春花), portrays a scene of “spring river” (chunjiang 春江). The second couplet, through images such as the “moon” (yue 月) and “stars” (xing 星), depicts a scene of “moonlit night” (yueye 月夜). These two worlds of heaven and earth are brought together through an ingenious portrayal of sensual perception or illusion: The reflections of the “moonlit night” on the “spring river” make one feel as if the moon were “taken away” (jiangqu 將去) by the “flowing waves” (liubo 流波) and that the stars were “brought down” (dailai 帶來) by the “tidal waters” (chaoshui 潮水). What is presented here is a balanced but fragile scene of beauty and harmony. Any “moving” (dong 動), which is carefully negated (bu 不, “not”) in the first line, will disrupt or even destroy it. Zhuge Ying’s matching verse shows his similar interest in using sensual perception and illusion to create a poetic world, but he seems more interested in producing one that is dynamic: 春江花月夜: 和煬帝 張帆渡栁浦 結纜隱梅洲 月色含江樹 花影覆船樓

The Night of Spring River and Flowery Night: Written to Match a Poem by Emperor Yang [We] spread the sail to cross the willow river, And gather the rope to hide by the plum isle. The moon’s light contains the trees along the river, The flowers’ reflections overturn the tower boat.56

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Although also cast in parallelism, Zhuge Ying’s poem features different syntactical structures. Instead of the “noun–verb–verb” and “noun–verb– noun–verb” constructions that appear in Emperor Yang’s piece, Zhuge Ying chooses for his poem “verb–noun–verb–noun” and “noun–verb–noun” formats. Following Emperor Yang’s lead, he begins with a description of the river and then depicts the moonlit sky reflected on its surface. In presenting its sensual impression, however, Zhuge Ying deliberately chooses a different strategy. In Emperor Yang’s poem, the moon is seen as being acted upon, but in Zhuge Ying’s the moon becomes an agent of action, which “contain” (han 含) with its light the “trees along the river” (jiangshu 江樹). Similarly, whereas Emperor Yang is concerned with creating a scene that is “level” (ping 平) and “not moving” (budong 不動), Zhuge Ying in his last line presents an image of violent disruption, in which the “flowers’ reflections” (huaying 花影) “overturn” (fu 覆) the “tower boat” (chuanlou 船樓), presumably because of the movement of the river. All of this suggests Zhuge Ying’s effort to make his poem distinct from Emperor Yang’s. It demonstrates that even when matching a piece by a talented but jealous ruler, one could still avoid total conformity, insofar as the poetic occasion and topic permitted. In the present case, both were apolitical and nonsensitive. The following is another such example, again involving two poems in the yuefu genre. As usual, I look first at the piece by Emperor Yang: 四時白紵歌: 江都夏 梅黄雨細麥秋輕 楓樹蕭蕭江水平 飛樓綺觀軒若驚 花簟羅帷當夏清 菱潭落日雙鳬舫 緑水紅妝兩揺漾 還似扶桑碧海上 誰肯空歌採蓮唱

Four Season Songs of White Ramie: Summer in Jiangdu Yellow plums, gentle rain, the wheat crops are light in the autumn, Maples trees whistle and sough, and the river is smooth. Flying towers and inlaid terraces soar as if in awe, Flowery mats and brocade curtains are cool in the summer. 4 On the caltrop pond, the sun sets by the paired-duck boat, Together, the green water and red makeup ripple and shake. This is like the rising sun above the blue ocean, 57 Who would be content merely singing a lotus-picking 8 song?58

The “Four Season Songs of White Ramie” were originally dancing tunes in the Wu region. By the order of the Liang Emperor Wu, Shen Yue revised

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them and wrote five poems under this title.59 Emperor Yang’s piece is therefore another invocation of southern culture. Jiangdu, present-day Yangzhou, was a place Emperor Yang frequently visited during his reign. It was also where he had his most extravagant traveling palace. As the subtitle of the poem suggests, Emperor Yang describes a summer scene at Jiangdu. The poem’s vantage point seems to be one of the palaces by the riverside (“Flying towers and inlaid terraces” 飛樓綺觀). The images of “flowery mats and brocade curtains” (huadan luowei 花簟羅帷) suggest that the emperor and his companions are looking out at the river from inside the palace. Although the poem’s scenic description shows refinement of the southern yuefu poetry, it retains two of that genre’s essential components, eroticism and the delicate beauty in nature, which are succinctly summarized by line 6, “Together, the green water and red makeup ripple and shake” (緑水紅妝兩揺 漾). These qualities reappear in Yu Shiji’s 虞世基 (d. 618) matching poem: 四時白紵歌: 江都夏 和煬帝 長洲茂苑朝夕池 映日含風結細綺 坐當61伏檻紅蓮披 雕軒洞户青蘋吹 輕幌芳煙鬱金馥 綺簷花簟桃李枝 蘭苕翡翠但相逐 桂樹鴛鴦恒並宿

Four Season Songs of White Ramie: Summer in Jiangdu Written to Match a Poem by Emperor Yang Long isle, lush garden, and tidal lake, 60 They reflect the sun, contain the wind, and form the ripples. Sitting in the hall and leaning on the banisters, [we see] red lotuses spread, Through carved halls and linked rooms, the [wind] wafts the green leaves. 4 Light curtains, scented mist, and tulip fragrance, Inlaid eaves, flowery mats, and peach branches. Among the orchid stems kingfishers chase each other, In the cassia trees mandarin ducks sleep side by side. 62 8

Yu Shiji was the brother of Yu Shinan and a prominent poet of his time. As one of Emperor Yang’s most trusted advisers, he rose to the position of “grand master of the palace with golden and purple ribbon” 金紫光祿大夫. In this poem he aims to match Emperor Yang’s in both setting and tone, sometimes even using the same phrases, such as “inlaid eaves” (qiyan 綺 簷) and “flowery mats” (huadan 花簞) in line 6. Yu’s poem, however, also demonstrates his effort to make it different. For example, whereas the eroticism and sensuality in Emperor Yang’s poem are suggested synecdochically by the “red makeup” (hongzhuang 紅妝) of singing girls, Yu Shiji uses avian creatures engaged in intimate and conventionalized acts to convey a similar sentiment: “Among the orchid stems kingfishers chase each other, / In the

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cassia trees mandarin ducks sleep side by side” (蘭苕翡翠但相逐, 桂樹鴛 鴦恒並宿).63 Another noticeable feature of Yu Shiji’s poem is found in lines 5 and 6, where the poet uses not a single verb but instead juxtaposes three noun phrases in each line to create a momentarily static scene: ‘Light curtains, scented mist, and tulip fragrance, / Carved eaves, flowery mats, and peach branches” (輕幌芳煙鬱金馥, 綺簷花簟桃李枝). The rich sensuality and lack of motion in this couplet evoke a languid feeling of indulgence in the reader, which is in line with, but also stronger than, the sentiment expressed in Emperor Yang’s poem. I mentioned earlier that Shen Yue wrote five poems under the title of “Four Season Songs of White Ramie,” which were models for Emperor Yang’s and Yu Shiji’s pieces. Each of the five poems by Shen Yue ends with the line “In the times of Shun and Yao our happiness is limitless” (舜日堯年歡無極), which was apparently meant to praise the reign of his imperial patron. This political dimension is omitted from Emperor Yang’s poem, which invokes at its end another well-known southern yuefu title, “Lotus-Picking Song” 採蓮 曲. Originally, this was a folksong describing the lotus pickers’ carefree activity in the river.64 It became a favorite title of southern court poets, who, in their numerous imitations, instilled in it a faintly erotic overtone.65 Emperor Yang’s negative invocation of this set of texts (“Who would be content merely singing a lotus-picking song?” 誰肯空歌採蓮唱) seems to call for a broader or different treatment of the present poetic occasion, even though his piece falls very much into the conventions of the earlier texts. Yu Shiji, however, fails to notice the emperor’s hint. Emperor Yang’s passion for inspection tours led him to different parts of the nation. Some of these tours also produced poetic exchanges between him and his officials. The following two poems were written during an expedition to the far western region. The first piece is by Emperor Yang: 臨渭源詩 西征乃届此 山路亦悠悠 地幹紀靈異 同穴吐洪流 濫觴何足擬 浮槎難可儔 驚波鳴澗石 澄岸瀉巖樓 滔滔下狄縣 淼淼肆神州 長林嘯白獸

Arriving at Weiyuan The western expedition takes us to this place, The mountain roads are indeed long. The earthly body marks its wonders, Mount Tongxue emits huge flows. 66 How can its origin be adequately described? [Even] the floating raft cannot be its equal. 67 Surging waves clamor on the ravine rocks, Cliff towers dash along the limpid banks. Current after current gushes down the Di county, Their vast surface engulfs the divine land. White tigers roar in the tall forests,

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Matching Poems with a Cruel but Talented Ruler 雲逕想青牛 風歸花葉散 日舉煙霧收 直為求人隠 非窮轍迹遊

Dark bison sound along the cloudy tracks. 68 Wind returns, flowers and leaves scatter, The sun rises, mist and fog retreat. I have come here to look for those hermits, Not to exhaust my touring chariot’s trails. 69

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Emperor Yang’s “western expedition” (xizheng 西征) took him to presentday Gansu in western China, where Weiyuan was located. The Zizhi tongjian records that in the fifth year of Daye (609), Emperor Yang undertook a “western inspection tour” (xixun 西巡), during which the emperor and his entourage traveled as far as the modern Qinghai region.70 It is therefore reasonable to date this poem to 609, which, as the Zizhi tongjian also notes, was the peak of the Sui dynasty’s influence and power.71 The rugged landscape of the west gives this poem a unique character. Twelve of its sixteen lines are devoted to describing the scenes around Weiyuan. We still find in it some familiar features of court poetry, such as the interest in visual illusion in line 8, “Cliff towers dash along the limpid banks” (澄岸瀉巖樓), and the attention to the causal relations between syntactic units within a line in the seventh couplet, “Wind returns, flowers and leaves scatter, / The sun rises, mist and fog retreat” (風歸花葉散, 日舉煙霧收). By and large, however, this poem presents a vast, wild landscape, untamed by the court and its culture. This is indicated by lines 11–12, “White tigers roar in the tall forests, / Dark bison sound along the cloudy tracks” (長林嘯白獸, 雲 逕想青牛). Emperor Yang’s poem may be viewed as an attempt to naturalize and contain this landscape through poetic conventions. In this context, the use of parallelism throughout the poem, except in the first and last couplets, is worthy of our attention. Here, this conventional poetic device represents the main thrust of the emperor’s effort at naturalization. The near absence of poetic allusions in the poem also suggests the “strangeness” of the poetic material. The familiar cultural lore cannot be applied, because this far region of the nation has not yet been touched by cultural and literary conventions. A feeling of robust energy runs throughout the poem. This is conveyed both by the strong verbs in lines such as “Mount Tongxue emits huge flows” (同穴吐洪流) and “Surging waves clamor on the ravine rocks, / Cliff towers dash along the limpid banks” (驚波鳴澗石, 澄岸瀉巖樓). The effect culminates in lines 9–10, “Current after current gushes down the Di county, / Their vast surface engulfs the divine land” (滔滔下狄縣, 淼淼肆神州). This couplet conjures up the image of a spirited and optimistic monarch, standing at the apex of his life and power. Therefore, the emperor’s statement in the last couplet, that the purpose of his western expedition is to “look for those hermits,” “Not to exhaust [his] touring chariot’s trails” or satisfy his craving for

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extravagant tours (直為求人隠, 非窮轍迹遊), sounds somewhat abrupt, for it seems to indicate a desire to escape the power and energy he has carefully and effectively constructed in the poem. This gesture, however, had already become conventional at his time, and so it might indicate merely the emperor’s acknowledgment of the tradition. Or it might be interpreted as yet another effort to naturalize this untamed environment, which, despite its strangeness and wildness, stirs up conventional longings in the poet. This remarkable piece presents an image contrary to the stereotype of Emperor Yang, in which he is often seen as decadent and corrupt. Poetically speaking, it is a great achievement, because it demonstrates the effectiveness of grafting court culture onto an uncultured scene away from the familiar landscapes of the south. The poet who wrote a matching poem to Emperor Yang’s piece was Xue Daoheng, who, as I noted earlier, was executed in the same year by Emperor Yang.72 奉和臨渭源 應詔詩 玄功復禹迹 至徳去湯羅 玉關亭障逺 金方水石多 八川兹一態 萬里導長波 驚流注陸海 激浪象天河 鑾旗歷巖谷 龍穴暫經過 西老陪遊宴 南風起詠歌 庶品蒙仁澤 生靈穆太和 微臣惜暮景 願駐魯陽戈

Arriving at Weiyuan: Written at Imperial Command to Match a Poem [by His Majesty] Great feats were found on Yu’s trails,73 Perfect virtue made Tang remove the nets.74 By the Yumen Pass are the remote border fences and posts,75 In the western region there are many rivers and stones. 4 The Eight Rivers put forward a similar pose,76 Thousands of miles channel their long flows. Their surging currents pour into the fertile land, Their billowy waves resemble heavenly river. 8 The imperial carriages glimmer in the steep ravines, As we momentarily pass by the dragon caves. Queen Mother of the West accompanies us in banquet and tour,77 The wind of the south sings its song of praise.78 12 Myriad things benefit from [his] virtue and grace, Living creatures bask in harmony and peace. This humble official cherishes his late years, I wish I could halt [the sun] with Lord Luyang’s spear.79 16

Although dealing with the same event, Xue Daoheng is obliged to treat it differently by introducing conventions of panegyric poetry. Six of sixteen lines in this verse (1–2, 11–14) are devoted to praising the emperor. Xue Daoheng uses allusions to ancient sage rulers such as Yu, Shun, and King Tang,

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as well as to the supernatural deity Queen Mother of the West, to set the tone for his eulogy. The reference to the “Yu’s trails” (Yuji 禹迹) is particularly effective, because it draws a parallel between Emperor Yang’s present expedition and Yu’s “great feats” (xuangong 玄功) in his project of controlling floods throughout China. The descriptive section in Xue Daoheng’s verse is less effective than that in the poem by Emperor Yang. Xue Daoheng also aims to present a scene of grand scale, as is indicated by lines 5 and 6, “The Eight Rivers put forward a similar pose, / Thousands of miles channel their long flows” (八川兹一態, 萬里導長波). The next couplet, “Their surging currents pour into the fertile land, / Their billowy waves resemble heavenly river” (驚流注陸海, 激浪象天 河), closely follows the emperor’s description of the river. The phrase “surging currents” (jingliu 驚流) is nearly identical to the phrase “surging waves” (jingbo 驚波) used by the emperor. The simile (xiang 象, “resemble”) in the second line of Xue’s couplet, however, sounds artificial in comparison with Emperor Yang’s skillful manipulation of visual illusion. The portrayal of pomp in lines 9–10, “The imperial carriages glimmer in the steep ravines, / As we momentarily pass by the dragon caves” (鑾旗歷巖谷, 龍穴暫經過), further weakens the impression this rugged landscape has on the reader. What makes Xue Daoheng’s poem distinct is its concluding couplet. Xue Daoheng adroitly manipulates his own situation to expresses a wish that is personal but at the same time performs a conventional function. He was already seventy in 609, 80 so his statement that he “cherishes his late years” (xi mujing 惜暮景) is sincere and convincing, as is his desire to hold back the flow of time, represented by the allusion to Lord Longyang’s spear (luyang ge 魯 陽戈). But this couplet can also be interpreted at another level, as the poet’s longing to have more time to serve the emperor and enjoy, like other people in the nation, the “harmony and peace” (taihe 太和) brought about by His Majesty’s rule. Emperor Yang’s many tours also took him to the sea. During one of those visits he wrote the following verse, to be matched by another poem by Yu Shiji: 望海詩 碧海雖欣矚 金臺空有聞 逺水翻如岸 遙山倒似雲 斷濤還共合 連浪或時分 馴鷗舊可狎 卉木足為羣

Looking at the Sea Even though I am delighted to see the azure sea, In vain have I heard of the Golden Terraces. 81 The waters far away churn like shores, Mountains in the distance tumble like clouds. Broken waves once more merge together, Linked torrents now and then tear apart. The tamed seagulls were indulged in the past, 82 Flowers and plants are worthy companions.

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Only now do I know to belittle Mount Guye, Who would want to talk again about Linfen?83

The “Golden Terraces” 金臺 in the second line refer to the godly abodes on legendary Mount Kunlun, where the Queen Mother of the West was said to have welcomed King Mu of the Zhou. 84 The first couplet seems to convey Emperor Yang’s chagrin that despite the delightful view of the “azure sea” (bihai 碧海) in front of him, he is after all unable to visit those godly places. All his knowledge about them is therefore “in vain” (kong 空). The act of “looking at the sea” seems to have had some therapeutic effect, however, for it apparently has brought about a liberated mood in the poet. The allusion to “tamed seagulls” (xun’ou 馴鷗) stresses the importance of an innocent heart, free of all craftiness and ambition. Such a heart allows the poet to regard even the “ flowers and plants” as his “worthy companions” (卉 木足為羣). Moreover, with this heart he is able to scorn the legendary gods living at Mount Guye (姑射), celebrated in the book Zhuangzi, as well as the ancient sage ruler Yao, whose capital was said to have been Linfen. Let us now turn to the matching poem by Yu Shiji: 奉和望海詩 清蹕臨溟漲 巨海望滔滔 十洲雲霧逺 三山波浪髙 長瀾疑浴日 連島類奔濤 神遊藐姑射 睿藻冠風騷 徒然雖觀海 何以効涓毫

Looking at the Sea: A Matching Poem [Along] the cleared road we come to the Ming and Zhang, 85 And look out at the billowy vast sea. Around the Ten Isles clouds and mists are far, 86 By the Three Mountains the waves are tall. 87 The lengthy billows look like the bathing sun, Linked islands resemble the gushing surges. [His Majesty’s] roaming mind disdains Mount Guye, His wise verse crowns the corpus of feng-sao. 88 In vain do I look out at the sea, How can I dedicate my trivial toils?89

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Yu Shiji’s poem is likewise composed of a two-line introduction, a four-line description, and a four-line conclusion. This close conformity is reflected even in the descriptive section, which is usually the part that gives the poet some space for variation. Yu Shiji, too, describes a distant view of the sea, but unlike Emperor Yang, who simply names the “waters” (shui 水) and “mountains” (shan 山) directly, he has chosen to use the mythical “Ten Isles” (shizhou 十洲) and “Three Mountains” (sanshan 三山), in order to invest his poem with a supernatural aura. Following Emperor Yang’s example, Yu Shiji adopts the same simile tropes in lines 5 and 6. Emperor Yang uses ru 如 (“like”) and si 似 (“like”) to

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compare the “churning waters far away” (yuanshui 逺水翻) with “shores” (and 岸), and “tumbling mountains in the distance” (yaoshan 遙山倒) with “clouds” (yun 雲). Yu Shiji draws comparisons through yi 疑 (“look like”) and lei 類 (“resemble”) between “lengthy billows” (changlan 長瀾) and “bathing sun” (yuri 浴日) and between “linked islands” (liandiao 連島) and “gushing surges” (bentao 奔濤). In both cases, the poets aim to create a visual impression. What Yu Shiji cannot imitate on this occasion is the sentiment of his imperial patron. Thus, whereas Emperor Yang can afford to be hubristic and scoff at the gods and ancient sages, Yu Shiji can only sing praises of the emperor. He does so by repeating what the emperor has said about the gods at Guye Mountain and by extolling His Majesty’s poetic output as the “crown” (guan 冠) of the entirety of Chinese poetry. His poem ends with the usual confession of incompetence: Even though he is granted the privilege to “look at the sea” with the emperor, he can never expect to repay His Majesty’s patronage with his “trivial toils” (徒然雖觀海, 何以効涓毫). For Emperor Yang, returning to the capital from a tour was also a memorable occasion, worthy of poetic celebration: 還京師詩 煬帝 東都禮儀舉 西京冠葢歸 是月春之季 花栁相依依 雲蹕清馳道 彫輦御晨暉 嘹亮鐃笳奏 葳蕤旌斾飛 後乘趨文雅 前驅勵武威

Returning to the Capital by Emperor Yang In the eastern capital, rituals and ceremonies were held, To the western capital, caps and canopies are returning. This month is in the season of spring, Flowers and willows show off their delicate beauty. 4 The imperial highway is cleared for royal vehicles, The inlaid carriages ride in the morning sunlight. Loudly the bells and flutes sing, Radiantly the flags and banners fly. 8 Graceful ministers parade behind on vehicles, Formidable generals march ahead on horseback.90

The first couplet indicates that the emperor and his entourage have just returned from Luoyang, the “eastern capital” (dongdu 東都).91 Emperor Yang proudly states that like his return to Chang’an, the “western capital” (xijing 西 京), his departure from Luoyang has been an occasion of “rituals and ceremonies (liyi ju 禮儀舉). Indeed, pomp and glory seem to be the sole focus of this poem. Even the last couplet is dedicated to highlighting this interest. It brings Emperor Yang’s poem to a descriptive climax in which we see His Majesty marching back to the capital, sandwiched between his “graceful ministers . . . on vehicles” in back (後乘趨文雅) and his “formidable generals . . . on horseback” in front (前驅勵武威).

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This time, the poet who was ordered to match Emperor Yang’s poem was Xu Shanxin 許善心 (d. 619). His long career spanned the Liang, Chen, and Sui dynasties. Under the Sui Emperor Yang, he held numerous posts, including those of “grand master for closing court” 朝散大夫 and “supervising secretary” 給事郎.92 奉和 還京師詩 重光闡帝圖 肆覲荷來蘇 卜洛連新邑 因秦還舊都 雷警三辰衛 星陳七萃驅 從風折鳯羽 曜日拖魚鬚 憲章殫禮樂 容服備車徒 迴鑾入酆鎬 從蹕度枌榆 冉冉年和變 遲遲節物徂 餘花照玉李 細葉翦珪梧 朝夕萬國湊 海會百川輪 微生逢大造 倐忽改榮枯

A Poem Written to Match [His Majesty’s] “Returning to the Capital” Displaying glory is to illustrate the imperial plan,93 Meeting with [feudal lords] is to revive people’s lives.94 By divination, Luo was chosen as the New City,95 By way of Qin, we are returning to the old capital. 4 [Like] warning thunder, the three luminaries watch,96 [Like] deployed stars, the seven-guard team marches.97 The blowing wind ruffles the phoenix feathers. The shining sunlight extends the fish fins.98 8 The charters lay out these rituals and music, Costumes and uniforms clad the chariots and soldiers. Turning around the imperial carriage, we enter Feng and Hao,99 Following the cleared road, we pass Fenyu.100 12 Gradually the years have changed, Slowly the seasons have moved. Remaining flowers mirror the jade plums, Slender leaves cut the nephrite paulownias. 16 Morning and evening, a thousand states converge, Meeting in the ocean, a hundred rivers take their turns. This humble life is fortunate to see such magnificent grace, All of a sudden, its course has been changed.101 20

Xu Shanxin’s poem is both much longer and more difficult and allusive than Emperor Yang’s. The first two couplets are evidence of this style, as the poet attempts to set the encomiastic tone for his poem by alluding to ancient classics. The opening line, “Displaying glory is to illustrate the imperial plan” (重光闡帝圖), an allusion to the ancient sovereigns Kings Wu and Wen, praises Emperor Yang for being a worthy successor of his father, just as King Wu was to King Wen in the golden age of the Zhou dynasty. Given the dubious circumstances of Emperor Yang’s succession, this praise carries a special significance. Although it may have been intended to assure the emperor of the legitimacy of his rule, it nevertheless calls attention to this delicate issue.

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Emperor Yang’s poem, we have seen, focuses on the “return” to the western capital. In his poem, Xu Shanxin chooses to describe the returning journey. The second couplet outlines the route the journey takes and is followed by the longest section of the poem, which portrays the pomp of the imperial entourage on the road. Then, as the party passes the poet’s hometown in line 12, the poem turns personal. The sight of home triggers in the poet a nostalgic feeling and chagrin at the passage of time. Lines 13 and 14, with their simple syntax and diction, stand out in this otherwise highly formal verse. The use of the homophonic doublets ranran 冉冉 (“gradually”) and chichi 遲遲 (“slowly”) evokes some of the most expressive works in the Chinese canon.102 The next couplet, however, thwarts this turn. It offers the only scenic description in the verse, but it does so through the ornate and artificial diction of court poetry, such as “ jade plums” (yuli 玉李) and “nephrite paulownias” (guiwu 珪梧). This change in style signals the poem’s return to the conventions of panegyric poetry. Thus, in the following couplet, the poet resumes praising his imperial patron’s great achievement in bringing together “a thousand states” (朝夕萬國湊). The concluding couplet states the poet’s gratitude for the emperor’s “magnificent grace” (dazao 大造), which has dramatically changed the course of his life (倐忽改榮枯). Emperor Yang’s passion for extravagant tours continued unabated until the last years of his reign. During his last visit to Jiangdu,103 largescale unrest was already astir in the country, but his officials did not dare to inform him of these events out of fear for their lives. Yu Shiji, for example, as one of Emperor Yang’s closest advisers, had easy access to the emperor. But according to the Suishu, he dared not admonish Emperor Yang. He even prevented the emperor from receiving news that might upset him. When the truth finally became known, Emperor Yang was surprised.104 Upon arriving at Jiangdu, he wrote a poem that clearly indicates that he was fully aware of the dire situation by then:105 幸江都作詩 求歸不得去 真成遭箇春 鳥聲爭勸酒 梅花笑殺人

Poem Written on Visiting Jiangdu I wish to return but cannot do so, Alas, to have encountered such a spring! Bird songs compete to urge more wine, Plum blossoms smile to kill people.106

The unusually colloquial style of this poem, illustrated by the first couplet, creates a sense of spontaneity and despair. This is reinforced by the word “kill” (sha 殺) in the last line. Spring, represented here by “bird songs” (niaosheng 鳥聲) and “plum blossoms” (meihua 梅花), is no longer the season of pleasure and beauty but a source of pain and threat, all because of the political

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circumstances of the time. Although those circumstances are not referred to directly, they are essential to our interpretation of this emotional poem by Emperor Yang, who, as the poem seems to forebode, was killed in the third month of the following year.107 All this, however, is carefully shunned in the poem that Yu Shiji wrote to match Emperor Yang’s piece: 奉和幸江都 應詔 廵逰光帝典 征吉乃先天 澤國翔宸駕 水府泛樓船 七萃縈長薄 三翼亘通川 夙興大昕始 求衣昧旦前 澄瀾浮曉色 遥林巻宿煙 晨霞稍含景 落月漸虧弦 廻塘響歌吹 極浦望旌㫋 方陪覲東后 登封禪肅然

Written at Imperial Command to Match His Majesty’s Poem on Visiting Jiangdu The inspection tour is meant to glorify the imperial code, Heaven has sent its blessings to journeys such as this. Imperial carriages hover by the lake country, Boat towers float on the water land. 4 Teams of seven guards curve around the long marsh, Three wings of boats link up along the broad river. We wake up early, at the beginning of dawn, And search for our clothes before daybreak. 8 Morning hues glimmer on the limpid waves, Night mist curls up in distant forests. Rosy clouds faintly contain the sun’s light, The setting moon slowly loses its size. 12 Songs and music echo in the meandering ponds, Banners and flags are seen along the distant banks. I am accompanying [His Majesty] to meet with eastern lords,108 Solemnly we will ascend to present our sacrificial 16 offerings.109

If not for its title, which links it to Emperor Yang’s poem, readers might not know that this poem was written at a time of looming disaster. The first and last couplets, which serve as the introduction and conclusion of this tripartite poem, make one feel that the event being described is simply one of the normal “sacrificial offerings” (fengshan 封禪) to heaven that a monarch conducts on a regular basis. The poet assures his ruler that because the purpose of the trip is to “glorify the imperial code” (guang didian 光帝典), “Heaven has sent its blessings” (征吉乃先天). The longest section of the poem, lines 3–14, with its conventional description of pomp and natural beauty, reinforces this sense of normalcy. The scenic depiction is intended to present a landscape of delicate balance. Lines 11 and 12, for example, portray the moment when the rising sun and

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falling moon hang parallel in the sky: “Rosy clouds faintly contain the sun’s light, / The setting moon slowly loses its size” (晨霞稍含景, 落月漸虧弦). What stands out in this polished section is lines 7 and 8, “We wake up early, at the beginning of dawn, / And search for our clothes before daybreak” (夙興大昕始, 求衣昧旦前). They describe a mundane detail that is seldom included in panegyric poetry and offer us a rare glimpse of an intimate moment within an imperial entourage. Yu Shinan, the brother of Yu Shiji, also wrote a matching poem to Emperor Yang’s piece: 奉和幸江都 應詔 南國行周化 稽山秘夏圖 百王豈殊軌 千載協前謨 肆覲遵時豫 順動恱來蘇 安流進玉舳 戒道翼金吾 龍旂煥辰象 鳳吹溢川塗 封唐昔敷錫 分陜被荆吳 沐道咸知讓 慕義久成都 冬律初飛管 陽鳥正銜蘆 嚴飈肅林薄 曖景澹江湖 鴻私浹幽逺 厚澤潤凋枯 虞琴起歌詠 漢筑動巴歈 多幸霑行葦 無庸類散樗

Written at Imperial Command to Match His Majesty’s Poem on Visiting Jiangdu The southern country cultivates the culture of Zhou, Mount Kuaiji hides the plans of Xia.110 Hundreds of rulers choose the same track, Thousands of years follow the former models. 4 [His Majesty] selects a favorable time to meet with his officials, He moves with devotion to please his resurrected people.111 The jade boats proceed on the peaceful flow, [Guards with] bronze batons line the cleared roads. 8 Dragon banners shine with stars in the sky, Phoenix pipes ring in the river passage. In the past the land of Tang was enfiefed to spread favor, The area of Shaan was assigned to reach the Chu 12 and Wu.112 Bathed in morality, people all know to be modest, Admiring justice, they have long become virtuous. Wintry sound has just flown from the pipes, Migrating birds are carrying reeds in their mouths. 16 Harsh wind makes desolate the forest and marsh, Warm sun causes ripples on the rivers and lakes. His broad grace stretches to the most isolated place, His deep beneficence nourishes withered plants. 20 Yushun’s zither sings out songs and odes,113 The Han emperor’s drum shakes the land of Bayu .114 His Majesty’s abundant favor touches the roadside grass, How useless I am, like the scattered tree called chu.115 24

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Like the piece by his brother, Yu Shinan’s attempts to assure Emperor Yang of the normalcy of his tour: It is both timely (zun shiyu 遵時豫) and in accordance with ancient practice (xie qianmo 協前謨). Furthermore, Yu Shinan paints a picture of a thriving nation. Its people, “Bathed in morality . . . all know to be modest, / Admiring justice, they have long become virtuous” (沐道咸知讓, 慕義久成都). Toward the end of the poem, the poet once more praises the emperor’s “deep beneficence,” which nourishes even the “withered plants” (厚澤潤凋枯). Most striking of all, he compares the poem that Emperor Yang wrote on this occasion to the songs attributed to the sage ruler Shun (“Yushun’s zither sings out songs and odes” 虞琴起歌詠) and Emperor Gaozu of the Han dynasty (“The Han emperor’s drum shakes the Bayu region” 漢筑動巴歈). This is a major instance of hyperbolic irony in panegyric poetry, so let us examine it in some detail. The song attributed to Shun has only two lines: “The warm southern wind / Can relieve the anger of my people” (南風之薰兮, 可以解吾民之慍兮). Emperor Gaozu’s poem has three lines: “The strong wind arises, the clouds are flying, / My power reaches the entire world as I return home. / Where can I find brave warriors to protect [the land within] the four directions?” (大 風起兮雲飛揚, 威加海内兮歸故鄉. 安得猛士兮守四方). The former demonstrates a ruler’s deep concern for his people, and the latter expresses a ruler’s pride in his achievements and his mindfulness of the security of a newly established nation. Apparently, neither of the sentiments exists in the poem by Emperor Yang. By drawing a parallel between them, Yu Shinan might have intended to flatter Emperor Yang; after all, to compare the current monarch to ancient rulers was a conventional strategy in panegyric poetry. But in this case the enormous gap between them renders the comparison absurd, which cannot but help to create an ironic effect. It undercuts the panegyric message of the poem, and in doing so it foregrounds this part of the text. Yu Shinan’s poem uses many allusions to ancient classics and history, and he adopts a structure that is more involved than the conventional tripartite format, even though the poem contains its essential components. Its descriptive section, normally a continuous passage, is interrupted by two encomiastic couplets (lines 11–14). The first part of the descriptive section (lines 7–10), before the interruption, depicts the pomp of the imperial entourage; the second part (lines 15–18), after the interruption, portrays the scene in nature. The result of this arrangement is that instead of merging the human pomp into the surrounding scenery, it juxtaposes them, allowing them to be divided equally by the poet’s praise of his imperial patron. The end of Yu Shinan’s poem is unusual. In the conventional self-deprecating conclusion, Yu Shinan calls himself “useless” (wuyong 無庸),116 and he compares himself to the “scattered tree called chu” (sanchu 散樗) in the

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book Zhuangzi. There, the chu is described as a tree with twisted branches and an irregular trunk. It is ignored by carpenters and considered useless by others. But for Zhuangzi, the tree’s uselessness to humans was precisely the reason why it could survive. Its social uselessness was in fact its greatest personal asset. As usual, this Daoist fable pits the interest of society against the integrity of the individual. The relevance of this antisocial theme in the present context, however, is not clear. It is hard to imagine that Yu Shinan would deliberately and publicly pit the government career against his personal wellbeing in a poem presented to the emperor. This sentiment might have been well taken in a personal context, but in the present situation it could only create ambiguity and confusion. This apparent anomaly compels the reader to pay closer attention to this part of the poem, thereby creating another selfreflexive moment in the text. Indeed, Yu Shinan’s poem, with its weakness and strength, is a fine example of traditional panegyric poetry. That it was written at the end of China’s early medieval period also makes it an appropriate place to conclude this study.

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Conclusion



The major conventions of Chinese panegyric poetry remained fairly stable during the early medieval period. They included tripartite structure, dense allusions to ancient history and classics, the surpass topos, epideictic rhetoric, hyperbolic statement, grandiose description, eulogies of the imperial ruler, and the poet’s self-deprecation. These conventional devices, however, produced varied results, because they were used to address different monarchs under different circumstances. Although the formal and official nature of panegyric poetry tended to urge it toward uniformity, the diverse contexts of composition enabled it to avoid monotony. The distinct personalities of poets and rulers further energized the composition of such poetry. This type of poetry has been largely neglected in studies of Chinese literature, and I believe it deserves greater attention. Although few of the poems examined in the preceding chapters could be called canonical works, they nonetheless shed light on our understanding of the canonical tradition. This is because the special circumstances of their composition allow us to reexamine the criteria of the Chinese poetic canon from a different perspective. For example, self-expression is generally regarded as the most essential quality of great poetry in the Chinese tradition, and it is the presumed lack of this quality that has damped critics’ and scholars’ enthusiasm for panegyric poetry. But an examination of the poems in this book demonstrates that “selfexpression,” or yanzhi, is a vague concept unless it is placed in a specific context. When addressing an imperial ruler, the way in which a poet expressed himself could not be the same as in a private situation. In this formal, public context, the poet’s official duty took priority, and his personal sentiment was often irrelevant. But this did not mean that his personal reaction to the poetic

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occasion had to be entirely abandoned or sacrificed. When the poet’s feelings and thoughts did inform a panegyric poem, they often resulted in a poem of rich texture and nuance. Of course many of the poems I have examined were produced under circumstances that called for or allowed minimal personal response. The poet was asked to write a poem as the emperor’s courtier and official, and it was in this official capacity that he was required to act. Panegyric poetry therefore poses a challenge to the canonical notion of poetry as a form of sincere and spontaneous self-expression. At times the poetic occasion stirred up deep feelings in the poet, and the character of that occasion or of his patronage relationship with the monarch might have permitted him to articulate his feelings openly in his poem. In most cases, however, such articulation was made impossible by factors including the personality and literary taste of the ruler, the political situation at court, the political dimension of the poetic occasion, and the topic of the poem. Under some circumstances, self-expression was possible only through subtle, complex, and displaced means. This observation impels us to approach the canonical notion of self-expression from a different angle, not as a spontaneous and transparent articulation of the poet’s intent, as demanded by the “Great Preface” to the Shijing, but as a symbolic presentation that entails the processes of both revealing and concealing. The poems examined here also shed light on an important but oftenslighted dimension of traditional Chinese poetry, namely, its official function in many rituals and ceremonies of the court. It is well known that most Chinese poets in the past were government officials, but the poems they wrote in their official capacities are generally treated as merely perfunctory, inferior precisely because of their “official” nature.1 The reason for this is that the personal dimension of poetry is often seen as contradictory to the poet’s official duties. Ideally, those duties should pose no obstacle to his personal expression. Under such circumstances, as the “Great Preface” to the Shijing states, the poet is able to observe, feel, and write in his capacity as the “historian of the state” (guoshi 國史), and the result will be a work that contains both the sociopolitical reality observed by the poet and his “lamentation” (shang 傷, ai 哀) of the decline of social mores. This will still be a work that “sings of his feeling and thought” (yinyong qingxing 吟詠情性), although it is intended to perform an official function, that of “indirectly admonishing the ruler” (yi feng qishang 以風其上).2 The poems I have examined and the circumstances of their composition demonstrate that this ideal vision of poetic production was seldom realized in early medieval China. Indeed, as sociopolitical reality deteriorated during the later years of the medieval period, “indirectly admonishing” rulers ceased to be an important function of poems produced in court. Their main function

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was now to praise and entertain the monarch. This new, panegyric dimension of poetry was increasingly at odds with its expressive purpose. Although some poets managed to retain their personal reaction in their poems and to combine it with the more pressing needs of the circumstances at hand, many of them, out of concern for their safety and career, chose to conceal it in order to be “official” in their treatment of the poetic occasion. There is no question that such a choice led some poets to sacrifice the ideal vision of poetry outlined in the “Great Preface.” Their sacrifice reminds us, however, of the “ideal” nature of such a vision in the first place. When looked at closely, the panegyric poetry of China’s early medieval period complicates our understanding of the Chinese poetic tradition in general.

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Notes



I N T RO D U C T I O N 1. This book also includes a number of poems written by rulers themselves, but they are included only to facilitate the discussion of the matching pieces written by their court poets and officials. “Early medieval” is the English translation of zhonggu 中古. As a demarcating term in Chinese literary history, it was first used by Liu Shipei 劉師培 (1884–1920) in his Zhongguo zhonggu wenxueshi 中國中古文學史 (Beijing: Zhonghu shuju, 1951). Liu Shipei used it to refer to the period from the Eastern Han 東漢 (25–220) till the Chen 陳 dynasty (557–87). Subsequent scholars mostly followed Liu Shipei’s example. See Wang Yao 王瑤, Zhonggu wenxueshi lunji 中古文學史論集 (Shanghai: Shanghai guji chubanshe, 1982), and Cao Daoheng 曹道衡, Zhonggu wenxueshi lunwenji 中古文學史論文集 (Beijing: Zhonghua shuju, 1986). Some critics used the term more broadly. The Sui 隋 dynasty (581–619 C E), for example, is often included in the studies of the literary history of this period. See Cao Daoheng 曹道衡 and Shen Yucheng 沈玉成, Nanbeichao wenxueshi 南北朝文學史 (Beijinjg: Renmin wenxue chubanshe, 1998), and Cao Daoheng 曹道衡 and Liu Yuejin 劉躍進, Nanbeichao wenxue biannianshi 南北朝文學編年史 (Beijing: Renmin wenxue chubanshe, 2000). Early Medieval China, a journal published by The Early Medieval China Group in the United States, defines its scope even more broadly; it includes “the late Han and WeiJin Nanbeichao period through early Tang.” The present study mostly adheres to Liu Shipei’s usage, but also includes the poetry of the Sui dynasty. 2. See Wenxuan 文選 (Shanghai: Shanghai guji chubanshe, 1986), chapter 20. 3. It should be noted that Xiao Tong did not provide an explanation to any writing regarding its distinctions from other kinds in the Wenxuan. 4. Chinese text in Guo Shaoyu 郭紹虞 et al., eds., Zhongguo lidai wenlunxuan 中國歷代文論選, 4 vols. (Shanghai: Shanghai guji chubanshe, 1979), 1: 63; English translation in Stephen Owen, Readings in Chinese Literary Thought (Cambridge: Harvard University Press, 1992), 48.

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The dating of this document had been controversial since the Han dynasty. Zheng Xuan 鄭玄 (127–200) maintained that the “Great Preface” was written by Zi Xia 子夏 (507–400 BCE), a student of Confucius, and that the “small prefaces” to individual poems were composed by Zi Xia and by one Master Mao 毛公together. See Maoshi zhengyi 毛詩正義 in Shisanjing zhushu 十三經注疏, 2 vols. (Beijing: Zhonghua shuju, 1980, hereafter cited as Shisanjing) 1: 1. 1c. Hanshu 漢書 (Beijing: Zhonghua shuju, 1962, hereafter cited as HS) 53. 2410 notes that Liu De 劉德, the Prince of Hejian (fl. 154 BCE) established the Mao study of the Shijing in his court. But Hou Hanshu 後漢書 (Beijing: Zhonghua shuju, 1965, hereafter cited as HHS) 9b. 2575 records that the prefaces were written by Wei Hong 衛宏 (fl. 25–56). In all likelihood, as Guo Yingde 郭英德 et al. pointed out in their Zhongguo gudian wenxue yanjiushi 中國古典文學研究史 (Beijing: Zhonghua shuju, 1995), these prefaces must have been written at different times by different people, and Wei Hong was merely an editor of various sources (p. 69). For other brief discussions of this issue, see James Legge, trans., The Chinese Classics, 5 vols. (Hong Kong: Hong Kong University Press, 1960), 4, She King, 23–33, and Van Zoeren, Poetry and Personality (Stanford: Stanford University Press, 1991), 84–95. In this reference to the Hanshu, HS 53. 2410, the number before the comma, 53, refers to the chapter, and 2410, after the comma, refers to the page. In this reference to Mashi zhengyi in Shisanjing zhushu, Shisanjing 1: 1. 1c, the first 1 before the colon identifies the volume number of this multivolume set; the second 1 after the colon refers to the chapter of the Mashi zhengyi; the last 1 after the comma refers to the page of the Maoshi zhengyi, and the letter c refers to the column on this page. This applies to all citations of classical Chinese texts in this book. 5. Legge, She King, poem 266, p. 569, with slight modifications. For a contemporary annotated edition of the Shijing, see Cheng Junying 程俊英 and Jiang Jianyuan 蔣見元, eds., Shijing zhuxi 詩經注析, 2 vols. (Beijing: Zhonghua shuju, 1991). 6. For an account of King Wen’s career, see Sima Qian 司馬遷, Shiji 史記 (Beijing: Zhonghua shuju, 1963, hereafter cited as SJ), 4. 116–119. 7. The chapter arrangement of Wenxin diaolong clearly suggests that Liu Xie viewed the “hymn” or 頌 as a distinct genre, just as the shi 詩 and fu 賦. For the text of Wenxin diaolong, see Fan Wenlan 范文瀾, ed. and ann., Wenxin diaolong zhu 文心 雕龍注, 2 vols. (Beijing: Renmin wenxue chubanshe, 1978); English translation in Vincent Yu-chung Shih, The Literary Mind and the Carving of Dragons (Hong Kong: Chinese University Press, 1983). For studies on Wenxin diaolong, see Mou Shijin 牟 世金, Wenxin diaolong yanjiu 文心雕龍研究 (Beijing: Renmin wenxue, 1995), and Zong-qi Cai, ed., A Chinese Literary Mind: Culture, Creativity, and Rhetoric in Wenxin diaolong (Stanford: Stanford University Press, 2001). 8. Chapter 6, “Mingshi” 明詩, in the Wenxin diaolong is a separate treatise on the shi poetry. 9. Wenxin diaolong zhu, 1: 157. 10. In this chapter he mentioned a few ancient works that were “straightforward statements but not sung.” Because they “touch upon human affairs,” however,

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Liu Xie called them “mutated forms of hymns composed in the wild” (野頌之變 體). Ibid. 11. James D. Garrison, Dryden and the Tradition of Panegyric (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1975), 7. 12. John Kersey, Dictonarium Anglo-Britannicum (London, 1708), cited in ibid., 4. 13. Cited in Garrison, Dryden and the Tradition of Panegyric, 7. 14. Ibid., 8. 15. Aristotle, Rhetoric, trans. W. Rheys Roberts (New York: Random, 1984), book 1, chapter 3, 31–32. 16. Ibid., book 1, chapter 9, p. 61. 17. For a detailed discussion of this, see chapter 1 of this book. 18. Erasmus, “Epistle, 177,” cited in Garrison, Dryden and the Tradition of Panegyric, 21. 19. See HS 87 b. 3575. For a study of Yang Xiong’s epideictic rhapsodies, see David R. Knechtges, The Han Rhapsody: A Study of the Fu of Yang Hsiung (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1976). 20. See his Fayan 法言, the Zhuzi jicheng 諸子集成 edition (Shanghai: Shanghai shudian, 1986), 2. 5. 21. See Mengzi yizhu 孟子譯注, ann. and trans. Yang Bojun 楊伯峻, 2 vols. (Beijing: Zhonghua shuju, 1960), 1: 6. 140; English translation in Legge, Chinese Classics, 2, Works of Mencius, 264, with slight modifications. For studies on activities and influences of persuaders and their social status during the Warring States period, see Yu Yingshi 余英時, Shi yu Zhongguo wenhua 士與中國文化 (Shanghai: Shanghai renmin chubanshe, 1987), 1–128, Liu Zehua 劉澤華 et al., Shiren yu shehui: xianqin juan 士人與社會 : 先秦卷 (Tianjin: Tianjin renmin chubanshe, 1988), and J. I. Crump Jr., trans., Chan-kuo Ts’e (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1970), introduction. 22. Zhanguo ce 戰國策, 3 vols. (Shanghai: Shanghai guji chubanshe, 1985), 1: 11. 407–13, and Crump, Chan-kuo Ts’e, 161–64. 23. Ibid., 11. 413 and 164, respectively. 24. For an account of these two incidents, see SJ 6. 254–58. 25. Legge, Works of Mencius, 265. 26. For a more in-depth discussion, see chapter 1. 27. See Liu Zehua 劉澤華 et al., Shiren yu shehui: Qinhan weijin nanbeichao juan 士 人與社會 : 秦漢魏晉南北朝卷 (Tianjin: Tianjin renmin chubanshe, 1992), 41–44. 28. Ibid., 72–73. Liu noted Sima Qian’s portrayal of Liu Bang 劉邦, Emperor Gaozu 漢高祖 (r. 206–194 BCE), which links him with supernatural power. 29. The Sibu beiyao 四部備要 edition (Taibei: Zhonghua shuju, 1984), 41. 11a. Michael Loewe commented on Dong Zhongshu’s role in promoting this concept of the monarch in “The Concept of Sovereignty,” chapter 13 of The Cambridge History

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of China, eds. Denis Twichett and Michael Loewe (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1986). 30. For a more in-depth discussion of Xie Zhuang and his poetry, see chapter 4. 31. See Songshu 宋書 (Beijing: Zhonghua shuju, 1974, hereafter cited as SS), 85. 2177. For the text of Xie Zhuang’s dirge, see Wenxuan 57. 2477–82. 32. See Legge, Chinese Classics III, The Shoo King, 2. 48, Guo Shaoyu et al, Zhongguo lidai wenlun xuan, 1: 1, and Owen, Readings in Chinese Literary Thought, 26. 33. In addition to the statements from the Shangshu and from the “Great Preface,” another often-cited pronouncement regarding this, is the following sentence from the “Wenfu” 文賦 by Lu Ji 陸機 (261–303): 詩緣情而綺靡 (“Poetry originates from the feelings and is sensuously intricate”). See Wenxuan 17. 766, and Owen, Readings in Chinese Literary Thought, 130. 34. Wenyuan yinghua 文苑英華 (Beijing: Zhonghua shuju, 1966), chapters 170–78.

CH A P T E R ON E 1. Lu Ji commented on the generic differences between shi and fu in his “Wen fu”: 詩緣情而綺靡, 賦體物而瀏亮 (shi follows the feelings and is intricate and beautiful, / fu portrays the form of things and is clear and bright). See Guo Shaoyu et al., Lidai wenlun xuan, 1: 171–75, and Owen, Readings in Chinese Literary Thought, 73–181. 2. According to Aristotle’s Rhetoric, epideictic speech is a “demonstrative” type of oratory for praise and blame. It “thus places strong emphasis on free use of the figures of speech for ornamentation.” See Alex Preminger and T. V. F. Brogan, eds., The New Princeton Encyclopedia of Poetry and Poetics (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1993), 375. Because the Han dafu demonstrate a similar tendency, some Western critics have used “epideictic” to characterize this genre. See Knechtges, Han Rhapsody, and Dore J. Levy, “Constructing Sequence: Another Look at the Principle of Fu ‘Enumeration,’” Harvard Journal of Asiatic Studies 46 (1986): 471–93. 3. This fu is better known as “Zixu fu” 子虛賦 and “Shanglin fu” 上林賦. In both SJ (117. 3002–43) and HS (57. 2533–75), these two works make up the “Tianzi youlie fu” 天子遊獵賦, which is only one piece. But Wenxuan (7, 8. 348–78) breaks it into two parts and names them “Zixu fu” and “Shanglin fu.” Because most readers know this work through Wenxuan, it is now mainly known by these two titles. Many scholars have questioned Wenxuan’s arrangement. Some have even suggested that the “Zixu fu” that Sima Xiangru wrote at the court of Filial Prince of Liang was an entirely different work that did not survive. For a succinct summary of this debate, see Lianghan wenxueshi cankao ziliao 兩漢文學史參考資料, ed. Beijing daxue zhongwenxi 北京大學中文系 (Beijing: Zhonghua shuju, 1962), 30–31, and Knechtges, trans., Wenxuan or Selections of Refined Literature (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1987), 2: 53–54. The Chinese text of this fu used in this chapter is that of

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Wenxuan; I also consulted the texts in the SJ and HS, which contain some variants. The English translation is by Knechtges. For studies on Han rhapsody, see Gong Kechang 龔克昌, Hanfu yanjiu 漢賦研 究 (Jinan: Shandong wenyi chubanshe, 1984); English translation in Knechtges and Stuart Aque, Studies on Hanfu (Esenbrauns: American Oriental Series, 1998), Ma Jigao 馬積高, Fushi賦 史 (Shanghai: Shanghai guji chubanshe, 1987), Jiang Shuge 姜 書閣, Hanfu tongyi 漢賦通義 (Jinan: Qilu shushe, 1988), and Knechtges, Han Rhapsody. For a survey of the twentieth-century Chinese scholarship on Han rhapsodies, see Fei Zhengang 費振剛 et al., eds., Xianqin lianghan wenxue yanjiu 先秦兩漢文學 研究 (Beijing: Beijing chubanshe, 2001), chapter 7. 4. HS 64. 2802. 5. Ibid., 14. 395. 6. For a detailed account of this event, see SJ 118. 3082–94, and HS 44. 2145– 52. For comments on the significance of this event in Chinese history, see Fan Wenlan 范文瀾, Zhongguo tongshi 中國通史, 10 vols. (Beijing: Renmin chubanshe, 1994), 2: 48. 7. The first case of this crime involved Agriculture Minister Yan Yi 顏異, who voiced dissenting views about Emperor Wu’s currency policy. He was executed. See HS 24.1168. 8. Ibid. 9. A few of his poems survive. See Lu Qinli 逯欽立, ed., Xianqin hanweijin nanbeichao shi 先秦漢魏晉南北朝詩, 3 vols. (Beijing: Zhonghua shuju, 1983, hereafter cited as Lu Qinli), 1: 93–97. For a brief account of his poetic writings, see Knechtges, “Emperor and Literature,” in Frederick P. Branduer and Chun-zhieh Huang, eds., Imperial Rulership and Cultural Change in Traditional China (Seattle: University of Washington Press, 1994), 51–76. 10. See his annals in HS 6. 155–213. 11. Ibid., 62. 2720 and 62. 2729–30. 12. Sima Guang 司馬光, Zizhi tongjian 資 治 通 鑒 (Beijing: Zhonghua shuju: 1956, hereafter cited as ZZTJ), 19. 637–38. 13. SJ 117. 3053. For a study of Sima Xiangru’s life and work, see Yves Hervouet, Un Poét de Cour Sous les Han: Sseu-ma Siang-jou (Paris: Presses Universitaires de France, 1964). 14. When Emperor Wu learned that Sima Xiangru was dying, he sent an official to collect Sima Xiangru’s writings. But the poet’s wife only gave him a piece on sacrifice, and informed him that the poet wanted his writings to be taken away as soon as he finished them. Xu Fuguan 徐復觀 argued that this episode showed that Emperor Wu was suspicious of Sima Xiangru and had him under tight control, and that the poet was aware of this. He left only one writing dealing with a favorite topic of the emperor in order to protect his family after his death. See “Lianghan wenxue lunlue” 兩漢文學論略, in his Zhongguo wenxue lunji 中國文學論集 (Taipei: Xuesheng shuju, 1985), 372–73.

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| writ ten at imperial command 15. HS 56. 2523. 16. Ibid.

17. See Yang Bojun 楊伯峻, ann. and trans, Lunyu yizhu 論語譯注 (Beijing: Zhonghua shuju, 1958), 192, and Legge, The Chinese Classics 1 : Confucian Analects, The Great Learning, and The Doctrine of the Mean (hereafter cited as Confucian Analects), 323. 18. The Sibu beiyao edition, 2. 9a. 19. See Luo Genze 羅根澤, Zhongguo wenxue pipingshi 中國文學批評史, 3 vols. (Shanghai: Shanghai guji, 1984), 1: 101. Kenneth P. H. Ho made similar remark in his “A Study of the Didactic Function of Han Fu on Hunts and on Capitals,” Journal of Oriental Studies 14. 2 (July 1976): 178–82. Burton Watson described it as the Han scholars’ attempt “to invest the new genre with an appropriate air of gravity.” See his Early Chinese Literature (New York: Columbia University Press, 1962), 263. 20. HS 5. 2367. 21. His biography in the HS (51. 2367) notes that he composed one hundred and twenty rhapsodies, but none survives today. 22. Ibid. See also 64. 2775. 23. “Liangdu fu xu” 兩都賦序, in Wenxuan 1. 2. Knechtges also noted that “as far as the imperial court was concerned, the fu writer was primarily a literary adornment, and his main role was that of entertainer.” See “Emperor and Literature,” in Knechtges and Vance, eds., Imperial Rulership and Cultural Change in Traditional China, 59. 24. See SJ 117. 3002. 25. Sima Xiangru allegedly said that the heart of a fu writer encompassed the entire universe. See Xijing zaiji jaozhu 西京雜記校注, eds. Xiang Xinyang 向新陽 and Liu Keren 劉克任 (Shanghai: Shanghai guji chubanshe, 1991), 91. Many critics have commented on the universal character of fu. See Mark Edward Lewis, Writing and Authority in Early China (Albany: State University of New York Press, 1999), 317–24. 26. Wenxuan 7. 350; Knechtges, Selections of Refined Literature, 2: 57–59. 27. See the SJ biographies of Su Qin 蘇秦 and Zhang Yi 張儀, two of the bestknown persuaders of the period. SJ 69, and 70. 2241–2304. 28. Wenxuan 7. 356, and Knechtges, Selections of Refined Literature, 2: 69–70. 29. Ibid., 7. 361 and 75, respectively. 30. These are Yang Xiong’s words. See HS 87. 3575. 31. Wenxuan 8. 364, and Knechtges, Selections of Refined Literature, 2: 82–83. 32. The “Yiwen zhi” 藝文志 in HS (30. 1720) mentioned a dictionary compiled by Sima Xiangru that did not survive. Some scholars have suggested the connection between using enumeration, cataloging in fu and dictionary making. See Watson, Early Chinese Literature, 271, and Knechtges, Han Rhapsody, 38.

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33. The reconstruction of archaic pronunciation of these words is that of Li Zhenhua 李珍華and Zhou Changji 周長楫; see their Hanzi gujin yinbiao 漢字古今 音表, revised edition (Beijing: Zhonghua shuju, 1999). 34. Knechtges commented that some of the epideictic rhapsodies were presented orally to the imperial patrons. This would further enhance the qualities that I have been discussing here. See his contributing chapter to How to Read Chinese Poetry: A Guided Anthology, ed. Zong-Qi Cai, (New York: Columbia University Press, 2007), chapter 3. 35. See his Sseu-ma Siang-jou, passim. 36. Wenxuan 8. 376, and Knechtges, Selections of Refined Literature, 2: 109–11. 37. Ibid., 8. 378 and 113, respectively. 38. SJ 121. 211–12. 39. Sima Xiangru wrote another memorial to admonish the Emperor on this issue, but it likewise had no effect. See SJ 117. 3053–55. 40. Ibid., 117. 3002. He reiterated this view at the end of his biographical sketch of Sima Xiangru; see ibid., 117. 3073. 41. Chinese Rhyme-prose: Poems in the Fu Form from the Han and Six Dynasties Periods (New York: Columbia University Press, 1971), 30. 42. Sseu-ma Siang-jou, 428. 43. Joel Fineman, Shakespeare’s Perjured Eye: The Invention of Poetic Subjectivity in the Sonnets (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1986), 9, and passim, especially the introduction and chapter 2.

C H A P T E R T WO 1. Vincent Yu-chung Shih, The Literary Mind and the Carving of Dragons, 463–64, with slight modifications, and Wenxin dialong zhu, 2: 673–74. In his “Yu Yang Dezu shu” 與楊德祖書, Cao Zhi also described the gathering of literary talents under Cao Cao. See Zhao Youwen 趙幼文, ed. and ann., Cao Zhi ji jiaozhu 曹植集校注 (Beijing: Renmin wenxue, 1984, hereafter cited as Cao Zhi ji), 153. For another classic celebration of this patronage, see Zhong Rong 鐘嶸 (ca. 468–518), Shipin zhu 詩品注, ed. and ann. Cheng Yenjie 陳延傑 (Beijing: Renmin wenxue chubanshe, 1958), 2. Contemporary scholarship paid similar tribute to this phenomenon; see Xu Gongchi 徐公持, Weijin wenxueshi 魏晉文學史 (Beijing: Renmin wenxue chubanshe, 1999), 4–5, and Li Baojun 李保均, Caoshi fuzi he Jian’an wenxue 曹氏父子和建安文學 (Shanghai: Shanghai guji chubanshe, 1978, hereafter cited as Caoshi fuzi), 10–11. 2. See his “Qiuxian ling” 求賢令 in Cao Cao ji yizhu 曹操集譯注, ann. and trans. Anhui boxian Cao Cao ji yizhu xiaozu 安徽亳縣曹操集譯注小組 (Beijing: Zhonghua shuju, 1979, hereafter cited as Cao Cao ji), 130. He stated in this decree that “if one first has to be a virtuous scholar-official (shi 士) before one is employed, then how could Duke Huan of Qi become the ruler of the world?”

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3. Sanguo zhi 三國志 (Beijing: Zhonghua shuju, 1969, hereafter cited as SGZ) notes that Cao Cao was “suspicious by nature”; this led him to eliminate those that he could not tolerate; see 12. 370. 4. For the text of this proclamation, see Jian’an qizi ji jiaozhu 建安七子集校注, eds. and anns. Wu Yun 吳雲 et al., (Tianjin: Tianjin guji chubanshe, 1991, hereafter cited as Jian’an qizi ji), 132–35. 5. SGZ 21. 600. 6. Cao Cao got rid of Kong Rong because he was opposed to Cao Cao’s attempt to replace the Han dynasty with the Wei. For a brief introduction to Kong Rong’s life and writings, see Wu Yun et al., Jian’an qizi ji, 1–6. For a brief description of Cao Cao’s treatment of intellectuals, see Liu Zehua et al., Shiren yu shehui: Qinhan weijin nanbeichao juan, 260–71. 7. SGZ 12. 367–68. 8. Ibid., 12. 369. 9. Ibid., 21. 598. Also see Yu Guanying’s 余冠英 preface to his Sancao shixuan 三曹詩選 (Beijing: Renmin wenxue chubanshe, 1999), 5–6, Li Baojun, Caoshi fuzi, 11, and Xu Gongchi, Weijin wenxueshi, 5. 10. The phrase “Seven Masters” 七子 was first used by Cao Pi; it refers to Kong Rong, Chen Lin, Wang Can, Xu Gan 徐幹 (170–217), Ruan Yu 阮瑀 (?—212), Ying Yang 應瑒 (?—217), and Liu Zhen 劉楨 (?—217). See his “Dianlun: Lunwen” 典 論: 論 文, in Cao Pi ji jiaozhu 曹丕集校注, eds. and anns. Xia Chuancai 夏傳才and Tang Shaozhong 唐紹忠 (Zhengzhou: Zhongzhou guji chubanshe, 1992, hereafter cited as Cao Pi ji), 237. For a recent study of these writers, see Wang Pengting 王鵬庭, Jian’an qizi yanjiu 建安七子研究 (Beijing: Beijing daxue chubanshe, 2004). The position most commonly held by the Seven Masters and by other scholars is “lesser subordinate” 掾屬, a clerical position. Some also held the post of “libationer” 祭酒, an honorific position, and served as instructors (wenxue 文學, similar to shuzi 庶 子) for Cao Pi and Cao Zhi. See SGZ, 21. 597–604. 11. Lu Xun, “Weijin fengdu ji yao yu jiu de guanxi” 魏晉風度及藥與酒的 關係, in Luxuan quanji 魯迅全集, 16 vols. (Beijing: Renmin wenxue chubanshe, 1973), 3: 490. 12. “Yu Yang Dezu shu,” in Cao Zhi ji, 153. 13. For a brief discussion of this phenomenon and its political significance during the end of Latter Han, see Liu Zehua 劉澤華 et al., Zhongguo zhengzhi sixiangshi 中國 政治思想史, 3 vols. (Hangzhou: Zhejiang renmin chubanshe, 1996), 1: 346–54. 14. “Dianlun: Zixu” 典論: 自序, in Cao Pi ji, 254. 15. SGZ 1: 54, citing the Weishu 魏書. 16. In addition to Liu Xie’s remark cited earlier, see Li Baojun’s comments in his Caoshi fuzi, 11. 17. Wu Qi 吳淇, the author of Liuchao xuanshi dinglun 六朝選詩定論, observed that “in the mind of Emperor Wu of Wei (Cao Cao), scholars were useless, but if

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he did not summon them he would make people disappointed. For this reason he assigned them to the posts of instructors [to his sons].” Cited in Yu Xianhao 郁賢 皓 and Zhang Caimin 張采民, eds. and anns., Jian’an qizi shi jianzhu 建安七子詩 箋注 (Chengdu: Bashu shushe, 1988, hereafter cited as Jian’an qizi shi), 207. Some contemporary critics have made similar remarks; see, for example, Qian Zhixi 錢志 熙, Weijin shige yishu yuanlun 魏晉詩歌藝術原論 (Beijing: Beijing daxue chubanshe, 1993), 156. 18. Cao Cao repeatedly expressed his aspiration to become such a ruler. See, for example, his “Duange xing” 短歌行, in Cao Cao ji, 18–24. 19. See Chen Lin, “Youlan ershou” 遊覽二首, in Jian’an qizi ji, 85–86. A similar sentiment was revealed by Wang Can’s “Yingfu” 鶯賦: 覽堂隅之籠鳥, 獨高懸而背時. 雖物微而命輕, 心凄愴而愍之” (“Look at that caged bird in the hall’s corner, / Hung high above and thwarted in its fate. / Although its body is tiny, its life trivial, / In [my] heart I grieve and pity it.” Ibid., 239. 20. Wang Can wrote in the second poem of his “Conjun shi” 從軍詩: 懼無一夫 用, 報我素餐誠” (“I fear I will be a man of no use, / Unable to show my gratitude for my meal”); Xu Gan expressed a similar sentiment in his “Xizheng fu” 西征賦: 無嘉 謀以云補, 徒荷祿而蒙私 ( “I have no good plan to assist [my lord], / In vain have I receive fortune and favor [from him]”). Ibid., 199, 306, respectively. 21. For the text of this poem, see Jian’an qizi ji, 412. 22. See Liu Zehua et al., Shiren yu shehui: Qinhan weiji nanbeichao juan, 267–71; Xu Gongchi, Weijin wenxueshi, 3–12. 23. “Haoli” (“In the Wormwood”) is a song title in the yuefu repertoire. According to Cui Bao 崔豹 of the Jin dynasty, it is a title for funeral dirge. See Guo Maoqian 郭茂倩, ed., Yuefu shiji 樂府詩集 (Beijing: Zhonghua, 1979), 27. 398. Cao Cao and other Jian’an poets often adopted yuefu titles in their poems. These titles might or might not have connections with contents of the poems. 24. Yuan Shu 袁術, the cousin of Yuan Shao, declared himself emperor in 197 at Shouchun, present-day Anhui Province. Yuan Shao conspired with others to put Liu Yu 劉虞, the magistrate of Youzhou, on the throne. See SGZ 6. 209 and 6. 190. 25. Cao Cao ji, 13–14. Unless otherwise noted, I am responsible for the translation of all of the Chinese texts in this book. 26. See Shipin, 39. For studies of Cao Cao’s poetry, see Christopher Leigh Connery, “Jian’an Poetic Discourse” (Ph.D. diss., Princeton University, 1991), chapter 1, and Xu Gongchi, Weijin wenxueshi, chapter 2. Zhong Rong put Cao Cao’s poetry in the third category in his Shipin. 27. For studies of yuefu poetry, see Luo Genze 羅根澤, Yuefu wenxueshi 樂府文 學史 (Taibei: Wenshizhe chubanshe, 1972), Xiao Difei 蕭滌非, Hanwei liuchao yuefu wenxueshi 漢魏六朝樂府文學史 (Beijing: Renmin wenxue chubanshe, 1984), Hans H. Frankel, “Yüe-fu Poetry,” in Cyril Birch, ed., Studies in Chinese Literary Genres (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1974), and Joseph R. Allen, In The Voices of Others: Chinese Music Bureau Poetry (Ann Arbor: University of Michigan Press, 1992).

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28. The “affective power” is my rendering of feng’gu 風骨 (“wind and bone”), a term in traditional criticism. Liu Xie’s Wenxin diaolong had a chapter on this concept, but it was Chen Zi’ang 陳子昂 (667–702) of the Tang dynasty who first linked this quality with Jian’an poetry. Since then the “wind and bone of Han-Wei [poetry]” 漢 魏風骨 became a permanent part of critical terminology in Chinese poetry criticism. See Chen Zi’ang, “Yu Dongfang zuoshi Qiu xiuzhupian xu” 與東方左史虯修竹篇序, in Guo Shaoyu et al., Zhongguo lidai wenlunxuan, 2: 55. 29. Xiaquan下泉 is the title of a poem in the Shijing; see Legge, She King, poem 153, p. 224. According to the Mao preface, this poem “expressed the longing for a peaceful time.” The phrase xiaquan ren下泉人 can also be understood literally, which means “the person/people in underground springs,” that is, the dead. Because the poem mentioned Baling, the burial place of Emperor Wen of the Han dynasty 漢文 帝 (r. 173–156 BCE) in line 17, some critics considered this line to be an expression of Wang Can’s longing for a peaceful time like the one under Emperor Wen’s reign. See Jian’an qizi ji, 191 n. 10, and Jian’an qizi shi, 123 n. 11. 30. Wenxuan 23. 1087; Jian’an qizi ji, 190–91. For a study of Wang Can’s life and poetry, see Ronald C. Miao, Early Medieval Chinese Poetry: The Life and Verse of Wang Ts’an (A.D. 177–217) (Wiesbaden, Germany: Steiner, 1982). Zhong Rong ranked Wang Can in the first category in his Shipin. 31. “Chancellor” 相公 refers to Cao Cao, who was 丞相 (“chancellor”) at the time. See Li Shan’s note in Wenxuan 27. 1296. Hangu Pass 函谷關 is at present-day Henan Province. 32. Xun 獯 and Qiang 羌 were minorities living in western China. 33. “The old man bearing the tripod” 負鼎翁refers to Yi Yin 伊尹, who was a minister of King Tang of the Shang dynasty (ca. 1562–1066 BCE). Before he became minister, he worked as a cook stirring tripod to make seasonings. See Jian’an qizi ji, 198 n. 16, citing chapter 7 of Hanshi waizhuan 韓詩外傳. 34. Lines 27 and 28 are absent in the Wenxuan version. They are included in Jian’an qizi ji, which follows the Liuchen zhu Wenxuan” 六臣注文選 and Yuefu shiji. 35. “Ju” 沮 and “Ni” 溺 are two hermits mentioned in the Lunyu. See Legge, Confucian Analects, 333. 36. According to Li Shan, this line refers to a story in the Kong congzi 孔叢子. When Confucius was on his way to serve in the state of Zhao, he heard the cries of cows and calves that were being killed for sacrifice. Abruptly he ordered his carriage to turn back, and sang: “ . . . Let me return to my old home, / And follow my own disposition.” Wenxuan 27. 1269; Jian’an qizi ji, 196–97. 37. SGZ 1. 47 n. 1. 38. See Li Shan’s note, which cites the Weizhi 魏志. Wenxuan 27. 1270. 39. Wenxuan 27. 1270–71; Jian’an qizi, 199. 40. See 歐陽詢 et al., Yiwen leiju 藝文類聚, 2 vols. (Beijing: Zhonghua, 1965), 2: 3. 49, citing Xu hanliyi zhi 續漢禮儀志.

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41. For both Chinese texts and English translation of these poems, see Legge, She King, poem 234, pp. 424–25, and poem 156, pp. 235–38. 42. I borrow the term “surpass topos” from Garrison, who repeatedly used it in his Dryden and the Tradition of Panegyric. In the Chinese tradition, this device was frequently employed in the epideictic rhapsodies of the Han dynasty. For example, Yang Xiong, in his “Barricade Hunt Rhapsody” 羽獵賦, praised Emperor Cheng 漢成帝 (r. 32–7 B.C.E.) for “exerting himself more than the Three Kings, / Striving harder than the Five Emperors” (加勞三皇, 勗勤五帝). See HS 87a. 3553, and Knechtges, Han Rhapsody, 72. 43. Cited in Yuefu shiji 2: 32. 475. Several yuefu poems written during the Han dynasty treat this topic. The most famous is the “Zhan chengnan” 戰城南; see ibid., 1: 16. 228. 44. Wenxuan 27. 1271; Jian’an qizi ji, 200. 45. See “Xiao bian” 小 弁, in Legge, She King, No. 197, pp. 336–40. 46. See “Xi shuai” 蟋蟀, in ibid., poem 114, pp. 174–75, and Lu Qinli, 1: 332: 晨 風懷苦心, 蟋蟀傷局促 (“The chenfeng birds have a sorrowful heart, / The crickets are mourning earnestly”). Scholars disagree on the authorship of “Nineteen Old Poems.” The prevalent view is that they were composed during the latter part of the Eastern Han dynasty. For a survey of the twentieth-century Chinese scholarship on “Nineteen Old Poems,” see Fei Zhengang et al., Xianqin lianghan wenxue yanjiu, 416–22. Also see Jean-Pierre Diény, Les dix-neuf poèmes anciens (Paris: Presses universitaires de France, 1963). 47. “Ascending a high place” indicates a desire to compose poetry; see “Yiwen zhi” 藝文志 in HS 30. 1755. For the other two acts, see poem 19 of “Nineteen Old Poems,” in Lu Qinli, 1: 334. Wang Can’s line 14 此愁當告誰 is nearly identical to line 8 of poem 19, which reads: 愁思當告誰 (“To whom can these sorrowful thought be told?”) 48. This story is recorded in the SJ 81. 2445. 49. These two lines allude to “Fa tan” 伐 檀 in the Shijing; see Legge, She King, poem 112, pp. 169–70. Wang Can is saying that he feels guilty for receiving favor from Cao Cao without being able to offer any advice to him in return. 50. Wenxuan 27. 1272; Jian’an qizi ji, 201. 51. This brought criticism from traditional commentators because at that time Cao Cao was only a chancellor, even though Emperor Xian was merely a figurehead. Zhong Xing 鐘惺 and Tan Yuanchun 譚元春, the editors of Gushi gui 古詩歸, accused Wang Can of having “no character” (cited in Jian’an qizi shi, 101–102). Fang Dongshu 方東樹, the author of Zhaomei zhanyan 昭昧詹言 (Beijing: Renmin wenxue chubanshe, 1961), condemned Wang Can for being “good at flattering. In toadying to Cao Cao, he would praise him to the extreme, in violation of principle. I detest him the most.” See p. 68. 52. Wenxuan 27. 1272–73; Jian’an qizi ji, 202.

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53. Legge, She King, poem 65, pp. 110–11. The phrase youyou 悠悠 appears numerous times in this anthology. Li Shan mentioned “Shu miao” 黍苗 (No. 226). It was also used in poems 8 and 11 of the “Nineteen Old Poems”; see Lu Qinli, 1: 331. Mimi 靡靡 was used repeatedly in “Shu li.” 54. Legge, She King, p. 110. 55. Li Shan refered to the following sentence from Liji 禮記 as its source: “In the first month of autumn the cold cicadas quaver.” See Wenxuan 27. 1273. This image appeared in a slightly different form, qiuchan 秋蟬, in poem 7 of the “Nineteen Old Poems.” See Lu Qinli, 1: 330. 56. The SJ (48. 1949) records that Chen Sheng 陳勝, the leader of the uprising that overthrew the Qin dynasty, once said, in frustration, 燕雀安知鴻鵠之志哉 (“How can the sparrow understand the ambition of the swan?”) 57. This persona appeared twice in poems 17 and 18 of “Nineteen Old Poems.” A variation is youzi 遊子, which was used in poem 16 of this series. See Lu Qinli, 1: 333–34. 58. 鄰國相望, 雞犬之聲相聞 (“The neighboring states can see one another and can hear their roosters crow and dogs bark”). See Chen Guying 陳鼓應, ed. and trans., Laozi zhuyi ji pingjie 老子注譯及評介 (Beijing: Zhonghua shuju, 1984), 80. 357. 59. See Legge, She King, poem 113, pp. 171–72. 60. Most of their works were lost, and many that survive are fragments. For a brief account of the textual history of their works, see Wu Yun’s introduction to Jian’an qizi ji. 61. Following the interpretation of Jian’an qizi ji, 196, which annotates bei 悲 as 動聽 (“moving”). It cites the following sentence from Wang Chong’s 王充 (27—ca. 97) Lunheng 論衡: 蓋師曠調音, 曲無不悲 (“When Shikuang tunes his music, none is not moving”). 62. An allusion to “Zhanlu” 湛露 in the Shijing. See Legge, She King, poem 174, p. 276. 63. An allusion to “Jiumu” 樛木 in the Shijing. See Legge, She King, poem 4, p. 10. 64. Wenxuan 20. 943–44; Jian’an qizi ji, 195. 65. See n. 51 of this chapter. 66. These are the words of Zhang Yugu 張玉榖, the author of Gushi shangxi 古 詩賞析, cited in Jian’an qizi shi, 253. 67. Except for the two alluded to in the present poem, one of the most famous banquet poems is “Luming” 鹿鳴; see Legge, She King, poem 161, p. 245. 68. Ying Yang’s and Ruan Yu’s poems demonstrate similar qualities, even though they seem to be fragmentary. For texts of these two poems, see Jian’an qizi ji, 354, 326, and Jian’an qizi shi, 245, 279. The latter maintains that these two poems were addressed to Cao Cao. 69. Wang Can died while accompanying Cao Cao during a military campaign; all others died of a plague.

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70. See Charles O. Hucker, A Dictionary of Official Titles in Imperial China (Stanford: Stanford University Press, 1985), 567. 71. Cao Cao named Cao Pi crown prince six years later in the twenty-second year of Jian’an (217). In his decree he said that his intention to do so was made clear when he appointed Cao Pi the “central commander of five guards” because except Cao Pi, all other children of Cao Cao were enfiefed. See “Li Taizi ling” 立太子令, in Cao Cao ji, 173. 72. For the text of this essay, see Wenxuan 52. 2271, and Cao Pi ji, 240. For a discussion on its significance, see Wang Yunxi 王運熙 and Gu Yisheng 顧易生, eds., Zhongguo wenxue piping tongshi 中國文學批評通史, 7 vols. (Shanghai: Shanghai guji chubanshe, 1996), 2: 20–47; for an English translation and discussion of this essay, see Owen, Readings in Chinese Literary Thought, 57–72. The idea that writing is one of the three means (the other two are merit and virtue) to achieve immortality was first stated in the Zuozhuan 左傳. See Yang Bojun 楊伯俊, ed. and ann., Chunqiu zuozhuan zhu 春秋左傳注, 4 vols. (Beijing: Zhonghua shuju, 1981), 4: 1088, the twenty-fourth year of Duke Xiang. For studies of Cao Pi’s works, see Christopher Leigh Connery, “Jian’an Poetic Discourse,” chapter 3, and Xu Gonghi, Weijin wenxueshi, chapter 3. 73. Kong Rong’s execution took place in the thirteenth year of Jian’an (208), and Cao Pi’s “Dianlun: Lunwen,” where he made his famous remarks on the writings of the Seven Masters, was believed to have been composed in the twenty-second year of Jian’an (217). See Cao Pi ji, 236 n. 1. HHS 60. 2279 notes that after Kong Rong was executed, Cao Pi offered gold and silk to anyone who possessed Kong Rong’s writings. 74. Yang Xiong’s following remark illustrates this view: 言, 心聲也; 書, 心畫也. 聲畫形, 君子小人見矣 (“One’s words are the sound of his heart, and one’s writings are the pictures of his heart. When sound and picture take shape, a gentleman or villain is revealed”). See Guo Shaoyu et al., Zhongguo lidai wenlunxuan, 1: 97. 75. His words are 詩賦欲麗 (“poetry and rhapsody should be beautiful”). See his “Dianlun: Lunwen,” in Cao Pi ji, 240, and Wenxuan 6. 2271. 76. Lu Xun quanji, 3: 491. 77. “Yu Wu Zhi shu” 與吳質書, in Cao Pi ji, 108. 78. See Liu Yiqing 劉義慶, Shishuo xinyu 世說新語, ed. Xu Zhen’e 徐震堮, 2 vols. (Beijing: Zhonghua shuju, 1984), 2: 16. 347–48. For an English translation of this book, see Richard B. Mather, A New Account of Tales of the World, 2nd ed. (Ann Arbor: Center for Chinese Studies, University of Michigan Press, 2000). For a study of this text, see Nanxiu Qian, Spirit and Self in Medieval China: The Shih-shuo hsin-yu and Its Legacy (Honolulu: University of Hawaii Press, 2001). 79. See his “Qiuxian ling” 求賢令, where he stated explicitly that the talented man he was seeking for did not have to be a virtuous person; Cao Cao ji, 130. Pei Songzhi’s note in SGZ provided more details of his “frivolous” (tiaoyi 佻易) behavior: “Taizu [Cao Cao] was a frivolous person with no dignity. He loved music, and often had entertaining ladies around day and night.” See SGZ 1. 54, n. 2.

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80. SGZ 21. 602. 81. Song and Qiao refer to Chi Songzi 赤松子and Wang Ziqiao 王子喬, two legendary immortals. See Lixian zhuan 列仙傳, chapter 2, the electronic Siku quanshu 四庫全書 (Hong Kong: Chinese University Press, 1999, hereafter cited as SKQS) edition. 82. Wenxuan 22. 1031–32; Cao Pi ji, 4. Zhong Rong ranked Cao Pi in the second category of his Shipin; see p. 21. 83. The editors of both Cao Pi ji and Cao Zhi ji argue that Cao Pi’s poem was written in the sixteenth year of Jian’an (211), the year when he was named the “central commander of five guards”; see pp. 4 and 50, respectively. Liu Zhen was appointed Cao Pi’s instructor in the same year. Cao Zhi also wrote a poem of the same title at this occasion; it demonstrated similar casual and personal qualities. For the text of Cao Zhi’s poem, see Wenxuan 27. 942, and Cao Zhi ji, 48–49. Because Liu Zhen’s poem bears the same title as the one by Wang Can considered earlier, some critics have argued that it was addressed to Cao Cao. Liu Liang 劉 良, one of the six Tang annotators of the Wenxuan, held this view (cited in Jian’an qizi shi, 193 n. 1). Yu and Zhang, the editors of Jian’an qizi shi, concured. They cited Jinshu:yufuzhi 晉書: 輿服志 and Tongdian: nianyu 通典: 輦輿 as their source and argued that nianche 輦車, which originally referred to carriages pulled by men, was used to refer to carriages of imperial monarchs and princes. But as we have seen, Cao Pi also used nian to refer to his carriage in “Composed by the Hibiscus Pond.” The difference between Liu Zhen’s poem and the piece by Wang Can, despite their same title, was enormous. Wang Can’s poem focused on praising Cao Cao, but Liu Zhen’s did not contain any eulogy of the patron in question. Instead it concentrated on conveying the poet’s impression and reaction to the poetic occasion. Furthermore, Liu Zhen’s poem revealed a patron-writer relationship that was unique to the one between Cao Pi and the literary circle at Ye. I thus believe that Liu Zhen’s poem must have been addressed to Cao Pi. This view was also held by Cutter; see his “Cao Zhi and His Poetry,” 76. 84. Wenxuan 20. 945; Jian’an qizi ji, 403. 85. In all likelihood, these were statues that were placed in the river or carved on the bridge. See Ge Xiaoyin, “Lun hanyuefu xushishi de fazhan yuanyin he biaoxian yishu” 論漢樂府敘事詩的發展原因和表現藝術, in her Hantang wenxue de shanbian 漢唐文學的嬗變 (Beijing: Beijing daxue chubanshe, 1990), 13–14. 86. See his Gushi pingxuan 古詩評選 (Beijing: Wenhua yishu chubanshe, 1997), 196. 87. SGZ 2. 60, n. 2. 88. Ibid., 19. 561. Cao Pi held deep grudge against the Ding brothers because they had sided with Cao Zhi in his rivalry with Cao Pi. 89. Ibid., 5. 160. 90. The best-known example of this persecution is his celebrated composition of the “Seven-Step Poem” 七步詩. According to Shishuo xinyu, once Cao Pi, who had

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already become Emperor Wen, ordered Cao Zhi to write a poem in seven steps or else to face execution. Cao Zhi immediately composed the following poem: 煮豆然其萁 漉秓以為汁 萁在釜下燃 豆在釜中泣 本自同根生 相煎何太急

People burn beanstalks when boiling beans, They sieve soy to make a drink. The beanstalks burn beneath the pot, And beans in the pot cry out. Born as they are of the selfsame root, Why do they grill each other so hard?

Cao Pi was reportedly embarrassed at seeing this. See Shishuo xinyu, 1: 4. 134. The text of the poem is that of Cao Zhi ji, which is slightly different from the one in Shishuo xinyu. Some anecdotes in the Shishuo xinyu are not necessarily historical facts. This poem was not included in the original collection of Cao Zhi’s writings; see Lu Qinli, 1: 460, citing the Shiji 詩紀 edited by the Ming dynasty scholar Feng Weina 馮惟訥 (fl. ca. 1522). Feng’s remark did not specify which “original collection” (benji 本集) he was referring to. This poem was included in later anthologies, such as Feng Weina’s aforementioned anthology, Lu Qinli’s anthology, and Zhao Youwen’s Cao Zhi ji. For a brief textual history of Cao Zhi’s writings, see Cao Zhi ji, 1–6. Hans H. Frankel questioned the authenticity of this poem; see “The Problem of Authenticity in the Works of Ts’ao Chih,” in Essays in Commemoration of the Golden Jubilee of the Fung Ping Shan Library (1932–1982) (Hong Kong: Hong Kong University Press, 1982), 183–201. Also see Robert Joe Cutter, “On the Authenticity of the ‘Poems in Seven Paces,” in Paul W. Kroll and David R. Knechtges, eds., Studies in Early Medieval Chinese Literature and Cultural History: In Honor of Richard B. Mather and Donald Holzman (Provo, Utah: T’ang Studies Society, 2003), 1–26. 91. In the second year of Huangchu (221), Cao Zhi was accused of “threatening the government envoy while drunk,” and was demoted by Cao Pi because of this. Within the next two years, he was twice moved to different regions. See SGZ 19. 561. 92. For the text of this preface and these two poems, see Wenxuan 20. 927–35, and Cao Zhi ji, 269–78. Cutter translated and discussed them briefly in his “Personal Crisis and Communication in the Life of Cao Zhi,” in Knechtges and Eugene Vance, eds., Rhetoric and the Discourse of Power in Court Culture: China, Europe, and Japan (Seattle: University of Washington Press, 2005), 149–168. Zhong Rong ranked Cao Zhi in the first category of his Shipin; see p. 13. For studies of Cao Zhi’s works, see Hans H. Frankel, “Fifteen Poems of Ts’ao Chih: An Attempt at a New Approach,” Journal of American Oriental Society 84 (1964): 1–14, Cutter, “Cao Zhi (192–232) and His Poetry” (Ph.D. diss., University of Wisconsin, 1983), Connery, “Jian’an Poetic Discourse,” chpter. 4, Zong-qi Cai, The Matrix of Lyric Transformation: Poetic Modes and Self-Presentation in Early Chinese Pentasyllabic Poetry (Ann Arbor: Center for Chinese Studies, University of Michigan, 1996), chapter 4, Zhong Youmin 鐘優民, Cao Zhi xintan 曹植新探 (Hefei: Huangshan shushe, 1984), and Xu Gongchi, Weijin wenxueshi, chapter 4.

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93. This line is nearly identical to星言夙駕 in poem 50 of the Shijing; see Legge, She King, p. 83. 94. This line was directly taken from poem 191 of the Shijing; see Legge, She King, p. 313. Wenxuan 20. 934–35; Cao Zhi ji, 276. 95. Cao Zhi’s poem does contain a few references to the Shijing, because it was nearly impossible to write in tetrasyllabic format without referring to this canonical text. The references in his poem, however, do not pose an obstacle to the reader’s understanding. For example, line 3, 星陳夙駕 (“By starlight I had the carriage yoked early”), alludes to a line in poem 50 of the Shijing, but it can be understood without resorting to its source. 96. 19. 564. 97. Qi 氣 literally means “air” or “breath.” See his “Dianlun: lunwen” in Cao Pi ji, 240. For studies of this theory and its influence in Chinese literary criticism, see Bing Chen 炳宸, “Cao Pi de wenxue lilun” 曹丕的文學理論, in Wenxue yichan xuanji 文學遺產選集 (Beijing, Zhongguo shehui kexue chubanshe, 1960), 128–34, Wang Yunxi and Gu Yisheng, eds., Zhongguo wenxue piping tongshi, 2: 22–47, Donald Holzman, “Literary Criticism in China in the Early Third Century A.D.,” Asia Major 28 (1974): 111–49, and Owen, Readings in Chinese Literary Thought, 57–72. 98. See Liu Dajie 劉大杰, Weijin sixiang lun 魏晉思想論 (Shanghai: Shanghai guji chubanshe, 1998), chapter 5, Li Zehou 李澤厚, Mei de licheng 美的歷程 (Beijing: Wenwu chubanshe, 1981), chapter 5, Luo Zongqiang 羅宗強, Weijin nanbeichao wenxue sixiangshi 魏晉南北朝文學思想史 (Beijing: Zhonghua, 1996), 1–41, and Qian Zhixi, Weijin shige yishu yuanlun, chapter 2. 99. Liu Dajie 劉大杰, Zhongguo wenxue fazhen shi 中國文學發展史, 3 vols. (Shanghai: Shanghai guji chubanshe, 1982), 1: 232. 100. “Dianlun: lunwen,” in Cao Pi ji, 240.

CH A P TER THREE 1. See his chronicle in Jinshu 晉書 (Beijing: Zhonghua shuju, 1974, hereafter cited as JS), 3. 2. Ibid., 3. 62. 3. Ibid., 45. 1272. 4. See the comments by the authors of JS and Emperor Xuanzong of Tang dynasty 唐太宗 (r. 627–70), in ibid., 3. 80–81. 5. Ibid., 88. 2276. Also in Lu Qinli, 1: 579. The preceding part of this poem is no longer extant. 6. JS 88. 2276. 7. Wenxin diaolong zhu, 2: 9. 674.

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8. The JS made no mention of his poetic activity; Lu Qinli’s contains no poem by him. 9. JS 30. 957–58. 10. These include some “elegies” (lei 誄) and “hymns” (song 頌), and rhapsodies on precious objects. For her writings, see Quan jin wen 全晉文, in Yan Kejun 嚴可均, ed., Quan shang’gu sandai qinhan sanguo liuchao wen 全上古三代秦漢三國六朝文, 4 vols. (Beijing: Zhonghua shuju, 1958, hereafter cited as Yan Kejun), 2: 13. 1533–36. 11. This couplet refers to the following two lines in Cao Zhi’s “Lingzhi pian” 靈芝篇: 伯瑜年七十, 綵衣以娛親 (“When Boyu was seventy years of age, / He wore colorfy clothes to please his mother”); Cao Zhi ji, 327. But the story of “wearing colorful clothes to please a parent at the age of seventy” was in fact associated with Lao Laizi 老萊子. Bo Yu was known for another act of filial piety, which Cao Zhi alluded to in the next couplet: 慈母笞不痛, 歔欷淚沾巾 (“His affectionate mother could not hurt him with her whipping, / Tears dampened his handherchief ”). For these two stories, see Yiwen leiju 1: 20. 369, citing Shuoyuan 說苑 and Lienü zhuan 列女傳. 12. JS 31. 957–58; Yan Kejun, 2: 13. 1533. For another translation of this piece, see Kang-I Sun Chang and Haun Saussy, eds., Women Writers of Traditional China: An Anthology of Poetry and Criticism (Stanford: Stanford University Press, 1999), 32–33. 13. For the text of Qu Yuan’s poem, see Chuci buzhu 楚辭補注, eds. Wang Yi 王逸 and Hong Xingzu 洪興祖 (Beijing: Zhonghua shuju, 1983), 1–47; English translation in David Hawkes, trans., The Songs of the South: An Anthology of Ancient Chinese Poems by Qu Yuan and Other Poets (New York and London: Penguin, 1985), 67–95. 14. Her other writings composed at the request of Emperor Wu were much more formal, where we do find a great deal of panegyric rhetoric. See, for example, the ode she wrote to celebrate the Emperor’s choice of a new queen, “Wudi na huanghou song” 武帝納皇后頌, in Yan Kejun, 2: 13. 1533–34, and JS 31. 691–92. 15. That is, virtues of “metal” 金, “wood” 木, “water” 水, “fire” 火, and “earth” 土. The ancient Chinese believed that they conquer or arise from one another in turn. They often used this theory to explain the rise and fall of dynasties. See Yiwen leiju 2: 10. 189. 16. For the text of this poem, see JS 62. 2370–71; Wenxuan 20. 952–55, and Lu Qinli, 1: 580–81. Lu Qinli’s contains another poem by Ying Zhen, but it is fragmentary. 17. The first two lines of Ying Zhen’s poem are variations of 攸介攸止and 厥初 生民 in the opening stanza of this poem. See Legge, She King, poem 245, p. 465. 18. These two lines describe Emperor Wu’s ascent to the throne. Zhouyi 周易 (The Book of Changes) states that 飛龍在天, 利見大人 (“Flying dragon in the heavens. It furthers one to see the great man”); it also states that 大人虎變, 其文炳也 (“The great man changes like a tiger”: his marking is distinct), cited in Wenxuan 20. 952. English in The I Ching, or Book of Changes, trans. Cary E. Baynes, from

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the German version by Richard Wilhelm (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1977), 9 and 640. 19. Following the pattern the Wei dynasty, the founding of the Jin by the Sima family was the result of a gradual but forceful usurpation. 20. Cited in Wenxuan 20. 953. 21. Legge, She King, poem 252, p. 491. 22. Shisan jing, 1: 13. 89 a. 23. Wenxuan 20. 954, citing Tianqiu zi 田俅子. 24. Legge, She King, poem 205. p. 360. 25. “Vast” 恢恢 alludes to a line in Laozi, 天網恢恢 (“The heavenly web is vast”); see Laozi daodejing 老子道德經, the Zhuzi jicheng edition, 73. 44. 26. A reference to “Yong” 雝 in the Shijing: 天子穆穆 (“The Son of Heaven is magnificent”); see Legge, She King, poem 282, p. 589. 27. Lines 29 to 32 allude to a passage in the Lunyu; see Legge, Confucian Analects, 315. 28. These two lines allude to the following in the Shangshu: 帝曰: 若時登庸 (“The Emperor said, “Who will search out for me a man according to the times, whom I may raise and employ?”), and 明試以功 (“And this was tested by their works”). See Legge, Shoo King, 23 and 37. 29. See Legge, Confucian Analects, 315. 30. 敬也. 盡心曰忠. Shuowen jiezi zhu 說文解字注, ed. Duan Yucai 段玉裁 (Shanghai: Shanghai guji chubanshe, 1981), 502. 31. 理也. Ibid., 418. 32. This is an allusion to Laozi: 處其實不處其華 (“to reside in the substance, not in superficiality”). See Laozi daodejing, 38. 23. 33. Another reference to Laozi: 致虛極 (“to reach the ultimate void”). Ibid., 16. 9. 34. Reading 規 as 歸. 35. That is, those of “metal, wood, water, fire, earth, and crop” (金, 木, 水, 火, 土, 穀). This is a reference to the Shangshu; see Shisan jing, 1: 3. 23a.

36. These two lines allude to the Shangshu: 東漸于海, 西被于流沙, 朔南暨, 聲 教訖於于四海 (“To the east reaching to the sea; on the west extending to the moving sands; to the utmost limits of the north and south; his fame and influence filled within the four seas”). See Legge, Shoo King, 150. 37. Cited in Wenxuan 20.954. 38. A reference to the Lunyu, where Zigong once said: “文武之道, 未墜於地, 在 人也” (The civil and martial ways are not abandoned; they are with people”). Cited in Wenxuan 20. 955. 39. One exception is Cao Cao, who was one of the few effective practitioners with this format. See, for example, his “Duange xing” 短歌行, in Cao Cao ji, 18–19.

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The formality of tetrasyllabic poetry is not irreversible. Cao Zhi’s poem to Emperor Wen analyzed in chapter 2 demonstrates that one could still produce personal and expressive works with this form, even when the poem in question was addressed to one’s monarch. Much depended on the particular approach that a poet adopted. Unlike Cao Zhi who focused on his personal experience, Ying Zheng addressed the present occasion exclusively from its public dimension. This difference was also reflected in the allusions they used: Cao Zhi alluded to poems in the air section of the Shijing, but Ying Zhen chose to invoke its greater odes and hymns. 40. Shipin zhu, 4. 41. JS 92. 2370. Jinji 晉紀 contains the same record; see Wenxuan 20. 952. Lu Qinli’s has another two poems written for this occasion; they are by Xun Xu 荀勖 and Wang Ji 王濟; see 1: 592 and 597. 42. For the text of this poem, see Lu Qinli, 1: 616–17. Zhang Hua lost his life during the chaos and political struggle following Emperor Wu’s death. For Zhang Hua’ biography, see JS 36. 1068–77. Zhong Rong’s Shipin puts Zhang Hua in the second category. Zhang Hua is also known as the author of Bowu zhi 博物志. 43. An allusion to 采繁祁祁 (“They gather in crowd the white southernwood”) in “Qiyue” 七月 of the Shijing; see Legge, She King, poem 154, p. 226. 44. An allusion to 習習谷風 (“Gently blows the east wind”) in “Gufeng” 谷風 of the Shingjing; see Legge, She King, poem 35, p. 55. 45. See Xu Jian 徐堅 el al., Chuxue ji 初學記, 4 vols. (Beijing: Zhonghua shuju, 1962), 1: 4. 68. 46. See “Wu” 武, in Legge, She King, No. 285, p. 594. 47. Shisanjing 1: 2. 7b. 48. See 穆穆文王 (“Solemn and profound was King Wen”) in “Wen Wang” 文 王, in Legge, She King, poem 235, p. 427. 49. He wrote a pentayllabic poem, “Shangsi pian” 上巳篇 (Lu Qinli, 1: 617), which contains similar descriptive details. It is also very formal in tone, but its audience is the 眾君子 (“gentlemen”) present at the banquet, rather than Emperor Wu. 50. Xu Gongchi commented on this phenomenon in his Weijin wenxueshi, 267– 68. Zhong Rong’s claim that tetrasyllabic poetry was “seldom practiced” is not accurate, at least as far as the current period is concerned. See Shipin zhu, 4. 51. For a study of pentayllabic poetry from Latter Han to the Jin, see Zong-qi Cai, The Matrix of Lyric Transformation. 52. See his “Wenzhang liubie lun” 文章流別論, in Guo Shaoyu et al., Zhongguo lidai wenlun xuan, 1: 191. Zhi Yu has six extant poems, only one of them, a fragment, is in pentasyllabic format. See Lu Qinli, 1: 758–59. Ge Xiaoyin 葛曉音 commented on the emphasis on “praise” (meisong 美颂) in the Jin poetic criticism and its connection with the prevalent employment of tetrasyllabic format in the Jin poetry. See “Lun hanwei liuchao shijiao shuo de yanbian jiqi za shige fazhan zhong de zuoyong” 論漢魏六朝詩教說的演變及其在詩歌發展中的作

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用, in her Hantang wenxue de shanbian 漢唐文學的嬗變 (Beijing: Beijing daxue chubanshe, 1990), 16–36. 53. 4. 107. 54. Both Zhang Hua and Pan Yue were executed by the Prince of Zhao 趙王, Sima Lun 司馬倫. See their biographies in the JS 34. 1068–79 and 55. 1500–07, respectively. 55. Cited in Lu Qinli, 1: 627. 56. Wenxuan 20. 936, and Lu Qinli, 1: 627. 57. A direct reference to 於皇時周 (“Oh! Great now is Zhou”) in “Pan” 般 of the Shijing; see Legge, She King, poem 296, p. 609. 58. Another direct reference to 天立厥配, 受命既固 (“Heaven raised up a helpmeet for him, / And the appointment he had received was made sure”) in “Huangyi” 皇矣of the Shijing; see Legge, She King, No. 241, p. 450. 59. They are Sima Yi, the 高祖, Sima Zhao, the 太祖, and Sima Yan, the 世祖. 60. A reference to 德博而化 (“His character is influential and transforms men”) in the Zhouyi; see Shisanjing 1: 1. 3 c, Wilhem and Baynes, I ching, 380. 61. For the text of this poem, see Wenxuan 20. 936–41, Lu Qinli, 1: 627–29. For an annotated edition of Pan Yue’s work, see Dong Zhiguang 董志廣, Pan Yue ji jiaozhu 潘岳集校注, revised edition (Tianjin: Tianjin renmin chubanshe, 2005), 215–25. For studies of Pan Yue and his work, see Chen Shumei 陈淑美, Pan Yue jiqi shiwen yanjiu, 潘岳及其詩文研究 (Taibei: Wenjin chubanshe, 1999), which also contains an exhaustive bibliography of scholarship on Pan Yue, and Xu Gongchi, Weinjin wenxueshi, 333–46. Zhong Rong ranked Pan Yue in the first rank in his Shipin, but did not include this piece in his selection of poems. 62. JS 4. 93. 63. Rong and di were minority people from western and northern China. This line alludes to 蠢爾荊蠻 (“Foolish were the savage tribes of Jing”) in “Cai qi” 采芑 of the Shijing; see Legge, She King, poem 178, p. 284. 64. “Sharp weapon” 利器 is a metaphor for the power of the country. It alludes to 國之利器 (“The sharp weapons of the state”) in chapter 36 of Laozi, cited in Wenxuan 20. 936. 65. See Li Shan’s notes to this passage. Ibid., 937. 66. Meng Ming 孟明was a Qin general who was captured by the Chu troops. See Li Shan’s note, citing Zuozhuan; ibid. Here the poet uses him to represent the Jin generals. 67. See the biography of Zhou Chu in the JS 58. 1569–71. 68. This line alludes to 亂離瘼矣 (“Amid such distress of disorder and dispersion”) in “Siyue” 四月 of the Shijing; see Legge, She King, poem 204, p. 357. 69. A reference to 王赫斯怒, 爰整其旅 (“The king rose majestic in his wrath, / He marshaled his troops”) in “Huangyi” 皇矣 of the Shijing; see Legge, She King, poem 241, p. 453.

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70. Meng Guan 孟觀 was named “general to establish authority” 建威將軍 and was dispatched to Shanggu; see Li Shan’s note in Wenxuan 20. 939. 71. The biography of Meng Guan in the JS (30. 1634) states that it was Zhang Hua and Chen Zhun’s 陳準 opinion to send Meng Guan to crush the rebellion. 72. This is Li Shan’s reading; see Wenxuan 20. 939. 73. Li Shan commented on these two lines: “This is to use Zhou to illustrate Guan. That is, although Guan made exaggerated claim [on the number of enemies he killed], but if one compares him to the wicked Zhou [the tyrant of the Shang dynasty], then I do not necessarily agree. It may mean that the authorities were too harsh on Meng Guan.” Ibid. 74. This is based on Li Shan’s reading of the last two lines. He also noted that Nan and Jia are the names of two tribes of qiang 羌; De and Ji were also their names. See ibid. 75. Ibid., 20. 940. 76. 60. 1634–35. 77. Li Shan, citing Dongguan Hanji 東觀漢記; see Wenxuan 20. 940. 78. “Picking Thorn-Ferns” 采薇 is a poem in the Shijing that describes the hardship people endured during the battles against minorities (xianyun and kunyi) in the frontiers. See Legge, She King, poem 167, pp. 258–61. 79. The Mao preface to this poem claims that “Picking Thorn-Ferns” was set in the time of King Wen of the Zhou. See Shisan jing, 1: 9. 144c. 80. Xu Gongchi, for example, was dismissive of this poem. See his Weijin wenxueshi, 338. 81. See JS 55. 1504. 82. See his “Yu Jia Mi zuojiang hanshu shi” 於賈謐坐講漢書詩, and “Lugong shi” 魯公詩, in Lu Qinli, 1: 631, 637. 83. See JS’s (55. 1504) remark on this. Yuan Haowen 元好問 (1190–1257) wrote a quatrain to comment on this: 心畫心聲總失真 The picture and sound of heart always lose their truth, 文章寧複見為人 How can we know the author from his writings anymore? 高情千古閑居賦 “Rhapsody on Seclusion” tells of noble feelings of antiquity, 爭信安仁拜路塵 Can we believe that Anren bowed to the dust of the road? See Guo Shaoyu et al., Zhongguo lidai wenlunxuan, 2: 449. Also see Xu Gongchi’s comment in Weijin wenxueshi, 334–36. 84. Wenxin diaolong zhu, 1: 67. Shih translated qingqi as “trivial and ornate.” Literary Mind and Carving of Dragons, 68. 85. This was just one of the views about poetic composition at that time, and it was regarded to be rather conservative. See Luo Zongqiang, Weijin nanbeichao wenxue sixiang shi, 104–05. Liu Xie’s aforementioned remark is generally accepted as more representative, but such sweeping generalization ofen overlooks some works and authors, as is shown by my analysis in this chapter.

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2. Nanshi 南史, compiled by Li Yanshou 李延壽 (Beijing: Zhonghua shuju, 1975, hereafter cited as NS), 6. 470. 3. Ibid., 19. 522 4. Ibid., 15. 424. 5. See Wang Zhongluo 王仲犖, Weijin nanbeichao shi 魏晉南北朝史, 2 vols. (Shanghai: Shanghai renmin chbanshe, 1979), 1: 399–404, and Zhu Dawei 朱達渭, “Weijin nanbeichao jieji jiegou shixi” 魏晉南北朝階級結構試析, in his Liuchao shilun 六朝史論 (Beijing: Zhonghua shuju, 1998), 102–57. 6. NS 19. 529. For a study of the Xie clan’s stature and influence from the fourth to the sixth centuries, see Cynthia L. Chennault, “Lofty Gates or Self Impoverishment? Xie Family Members of the Southern Dynasties,” T’oung pao 85. 2 (1999): 249–327. 7. NS 19. 527. 8. Cao Cao was named the Duke of Wei 魏公. Since then this appointment became the symbolic first step toward establishing a new dynasty and was repeated throughout Chinese history. 9. See their biographies in Songshu 宋書, compiled by Shen Yue 沈約 (Beijing: Zhonghua shuju, 1974, hereafter cited as SS), 56. 1557–58, and 67. 1743–79. 10. Wenxuan 20. 956–57; Lu Qinli, 2: 1131. 11. SS 54. 1532. 12. The best-known source of this convention is the opening lines of “Jiubian” 九辯 by Song Yu 宋玉: 悲哉秋之為氣也, 蕭瑟兮草木搖落而變衰 (“Alas for the breath of autumn! / Wan and drear: flower and leaf fluttering fall and turn to decay”). Wenxuan 33. 1534; Hawkes, Songs of the South, 209. 13. For a treatise on parallelism, see the “Lici” 麗辭 chapter of Wenxin diaolong; in Wenxin diaolong zhu, 2: 588–600; Literary Mind and Carving of Dragons, 368–76. 14. 鑾, also written as 鸞, originally referred to the bells hung on carriage. They sound like that of the luan bird, therefore their name. Luan was later used to refer to the carriage of monarch; see Yiwen leiju 2: 1236, citing Dadai liji 大戴禮記. Li Shan, citing Dongguan hanji 東觀漢記, noted a 行過宮 for Emperor Wu at Jiyang; see Wenxuan 20. 957. 15. 56. 1558. 16. Wenxuan 20. 960–61; Lu Qinli, 2. 1157–58; Gu Shaobo 顧紹伯, Xie Lingyun ji jiaozhu 謝靈運集校注 (Henan: Zhongzhou guji chubanshe, 1987, hereafter cited as Xie Lingyun ji), 23. For studies of Xie Lingyun’s life and poetry, see J. D. Frodsham, The Murmuring Stream: The Life and Works of the Chinese Nature Poet Hsieh Ling-yün (385–433), Duke of K’ang-lo, 2 vols. (Kuala Lumpur: University of Malaya Press, 1967), Chen Meizu 陳美足, Nanchao Yan-Xie shi yanjiu 南朝顔謝

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詩研究 (Taibei: Wenjin, 1989), and Cao Daoheng 曹道衡 and Shen Yucheng 沈玉 成, Nanbeichao wenxueshi 南北朝文學史 (Beijing: Renmin wenxue chubanshe, 1991),

43–62; for a survey of the twentieth-century Chinese scholarship on Xie Lingyun, see Wu Yun et al., Weijin nanbeihao wenxue yanjiu, 410–18. 17. Cited in Xie Lingyun ji, 25. 18. See Shisanjing 1: 156a, and 137b, respectively. 19. “Noninterference” is my free translation of 在宥, which is the title of a chapter in the Zhuangzi. In this chapter Zhuang Zi advocated his wuwei 無為 or noninterfering principle. In the chapter of “Qiwu lun” 齊物論, when asked about “sounds of nature” 天籟, Ziqi 子綦 replied: 夫吹萬不同, 使其自己也 (“The [wind] wafts on myriad things, making their sounds uniquely different”). See Zhuangzi jishi, 11. 165 and 2. 24, respectively. 20. See his “Linzhong shi” 臨終詩, in Xie Lingyun ji, 204. For a study of this poem, see Fusheng Wu, “Composed at Execution; A Look at Three ‘Poems upon Confronting the End’” (Linzhong shi), Early Medieval China 9 (2004): 105–26. 21. 93. 2293–94. 22. Three of his poems survive; see Lu Qinli, 2: 1136–37. Wang Fuzhi selected two of them for his Gushi pingxuan. 23. See the SS 95. 2341–42. 24. See Xie Lingyun’s biography in the NS 19. 538–42. 25. See his biography in the SS 69. 1820. 26. Ibid., 69. 1819–31. 27. Wenxuan 22. 1037–38; Lu Qinli, 2: 1158; Xie Lingyun ji, 157–58. 28. See Xie Lingyun ji, 158. 29. For studies of xuanxue, see Tang Yongtong 湯用彤, Weijin xuanxue lungao 魏晉玄學論稿, in Tang Yongton xueshu lunwenji 湯用彤學術論文集 (Beijing: Zhonghua shuju, 1983), and Li Zehou 李澤厚and Liu Ganji 劉綱紀, Zhongguo meixueshi 中 國美學史, 2 vols. (Beijing: Zhongguo shehui kexue chubanshe, 1987), 1: 4. 30. Zhuangzi jishi, 1. 5 and 6. 44. 31. Legge, She King, poem 186, p. 299. The alluded section is the first four lines: 皎皎白駒, 食我場苗. 縶之維之, 以永今朝 (“Let the brilliant white colt / Feed on the young growth of my vegetable garden. / Tether it by the foot, tie it by the collar, / To prolong this morning”). 32. Shisanjing 1: 11. 166 a. 33. Zhouyi zhengyi, in Shisanjing 1: 3. 23 c. 34. Legge, She King, poem 56, p. 93 and poem 138, p. 207. 35. This is the most promient theme Zhuangzi. Its opening chapter, “Xiaoyao you 逍遙遊,” is the best example. 36. For instance, he praised Boyi 伯夷 and Shuqi 叔齊, two ancient “recluses” (逸民) for their integrity, and said that their decision to leave the society was to “live

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in seclusion in order to speak freely their words” (隱居放言). See Legge, Confucian Analects, 18. 337. 37. Ibid., 5. 174–75. 38. See SJ 61. 2121, Zhuangzi jishi, 1. 3–4. 39. 83. 2755. 40. One of the central concerns of xuanxue is wu (“nothingness”) and ziran (“naturalness”). They are directly related to the pursuit of freedom and simple life in nature. 41. Wang Yao, “Lun xiqi yinyi zhifeng 論希企隱逸之風,” in his Zhonggu wenxueshi lunji, 52. For other studies of this topic, see Zhang Liwei 張立偉, Guiqulaixi: yinyi de wenhua toushi 歸去來兮: 隱逸的文化透視 (Beijing: Sanlian shudian, 1995), and Alan J. Berkowitz, Patterns of Disengagement: The Practice and Portrayal of Reclusion in Early Medieval China (Stanford: Stanford University Press, 2000). 42. Wenxuan 20. 958–59; Lu Qinli, 2. 1202–03. 43. See SS 14. 346. 44. Chuxue ji 3: 24. 585–86, citing Lüshi chunqiu 呂氏春秋. 45. Legge, Confucian Annalects, 236. 46. See SJ 61. 2121, Zhuangzi jishi, 1. 3–4 47. Lines 5 and 6, 軒駕時未肅, 文囿降照臨, for example, are somewhat forced because the second part of each line, 時未肅 and降照臨 do not match grammatically. It should be noted, however, that at Fan Ye’s time regulations of parallelism were still not formulated. 48. “Red knee-cover” 丹黻 was worn by feudal lords and government officials at ritual and public ceremonies at court. See Li Shan’s note, in Wenxuan 20. 959. 49. 34. 881. These poems are no longer extant. 50. See NS 34. 878–79. 51. One such example is Pan Yue’s “Jitian fu” 藉田賦; see Wenxuan 7. 337–45. 52. The last line alludes to a passage in Zhan’guo ce. A disciple of Wang Liang rode a “thousand-li steed” to visit the disciple of Jing Fu. The former asked, “I am riding a thousand-li steed, but cannot travel to a thousand li. Can you tell me why?” The latter answered, “Your rein is too long.” Cited by Li Shan in Wenxuan 22. 1051. Yan Yanzhi seems to be saying that if his audience finds fault with his poem, it is only because of his limited talent, which cannot be compared with that of a “thousand-li steed.” Wenxuan 22. 1049–51, and Lun Qinli, 2. 1230. 53. Chuxue ji has a separate entry on this under the general chapter of “rituals” (禮部). See 2: 14. 339–41. 54. The “Wangzhi” 王制 chapter of the Liji stated that when paying respect to Mount Tai “the Son of Heaven . . . would order the grand masters to present poetry in order to observe customs of the people.” Shisanjing 1: 100 b. The “Great Preface” to the Shijing further elaborated on this. See ibid., 1: 2, and Owen, Readings in Chinese Literary Thought, 40–45.

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55. Wenxuan 20. 962–65. The same may be said of his “Chejia xing jingkou sanyue sanri shiyou qu’e houhu zuo” 車駕幸京口三月三日侍遊曲阿後湖作, in ibid., 22. 1054–55. 56. NS 34. 878. 57. This further angered his enemies who wanted to banish him to a more isolated place. They gave up when Emperor Wen intervened on Yan’s behalf. For this incident, see ibid. For these five poems, see Wenxuan 21. 1007–11. 58. Wenxuan 22. 1051–53; Lu Qinli, 2: 1230–31. 59. Cao Daoheng and Shen Yucheng, Nanbeichao wenxueshi, 71. 60. See Li Shan’s note in Wenxuan 22. 1052. 61. See Li Shan’s note to lines 23–24 in Wenxuan 22. 1053. 62. 125. 3935. 63. See his biography in the SS 73. 1903. 64. ZZTJ 129. 4048. 65. SS 75. 1960. 66. Ibid., 75. 1966. 67. SS 76. 1975. 68. ZZTJ 130. 4075. 69. Twenty-seven of his verses, some fragmentary, survive today. See Lu Qinli, 2: 1218–24. 70. NS 13. 360 and SS 51. 1477. 71. NS 13. 360 and SS 54. 1480. 72. NS 37. 958; Lu Qinli, 2: 1246. 73. SJ 55. 2048. 74. NS 27. 958. 75. See Cao Daoheng and Shen Yucheng, Nanbeichao wenxueshi, 97, and Yu Yan’s preface to Bao Zhao’s works, in Bao Canjun jizhu 鮑參軍集注, eds. Qian Zhonglian 錢仲聯 et al. (Shanghai: Shanghai guji chubanshe, 1980), 5. 76. These words in NS (13. 360) immediately follow the remark that Bao Zhao was “forced to write low-quality, clumsy works” and clearly indicate a judgment on the qualities of these works. 77. Bao Canjun jizhu, 255; Lu Qinli, 2: 1281. For studies of Bao Zhao and his works, see Cao Daoheng 曹道衡, “Lun Bao Zhao shige de jige weiti 論鮑照詩歌的幾 個問題, in his Zhonggu wenxueshi lunwenji, 211–41, Kang-I Sun Chang, Six Dynasties Poetry, chapter 3, Liu Wenzhong 劉文忠, Bao Zhao he Yu Xin 鮑照和庾信 (Shanghai: Shanghai guji, 1991), Cao Daoheng and Shen Yucheng, Nanbeichao wenxueshi, 83–100, and Jui-lung Su’s recent study “Patrons’s Influence on Bao Zhao’s Poetry,” in Studies in Early Medieval Chinese Literature and Cultural History, 303–21. 78. See his biography in SS 77. 1988.

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79. Ibid. “Cloud and rain” 雲雨 is a traditional metaphor for imperial favor. See, for example, 洪恩罔極, 雲雨增加 (“[His Majesty’s] broad favor is limitless, / Cloud and rain increase [it]”), in Cao Zhi’s “Feng erzi weigong xie’en zhang” 封二子為公謝 恩章; Cao Zhi ji, 247. 80. Du Fu made this remark about Bao Zhao’s poetry in his “Chunri yi Li Bai” 春日憶李白; see Quan tangshi 全唐詩, 20 vols. (Beijing: Zhonghua shuju, 1960), 7: 224. 2395 81. 75. 1960. 82. SS 82. 2105. 83. Lu Qinli, 2: 1250–55. 84. Ancient Chinese music theory maintains that music originates from “Seven Beginnings” qishi 七始, i.e. 黃鍾, 林鍾, 太簇, which are the beginnings of heaven, earth, and humanity, and 姑洗, 蕤賓, 南吕, 應鍾 which are the beginnings of spring, summer, autumn, and winter. “Seven Beginnings” is also a title of ritual music during the Han dynasty. See Ciyuan 辭源 (Beijing: Shangwu yinshuguan, 1998), 12a. 85. The meaning of “Three Creations” (sanzao 三造) is not clear. It may refer to the creation of tian 天 (“heaven”), di地 (“earth”) and ren人 (“humanity”). These two lines seem to describe rituals that are taking place in the court. 86. Lu Qinli, 2: 1250. In this version, which follows that of the Shiji edited by Feng Weina, the poem ends with the following two incomprehensible lines: 竦誠岱駕 肅, 側志梁鑾矯. They seem out of place because the mention of “imperial carriages” (jia 駕 and luan 鑾) suggests excursions that simply do not fit the present context (all textual evidences, especially lines 5–6 and 13–14, point to a poetic occasion that takes place inside, either in the court or in a temple). They also disrupt an otherwise conventional ending in this panegyric verse (another poem by Xie Zhuang, “Zhengzhai yingzhao shi 烝齋應詔詩, in Lu Qinli, 2: 1250, ends in a similar manner). In all likelihood they must have been inadvertently inserted into Xie Zhuang’s poem, a mishap that occurred not infrequently in Feng’s anthology, as Lu Qinli pointed out in his postscript (3: 2788). 87. 29. 873. 88. See, for example, his “You Yuzhang xiguan hongyajin shi” 遊豫章西觀洪崖 井詩, and “Beizhai miyuan shi” 北宅秘園詩, in Lu Qinli, 2: 1252. Zhong Rong put Xie Zhuang in the third rank in his Shipin.

CH A P TER FI V E 1. ZZTJ, 136: 4263. 2. Ibid., 135: 4229. This source did not state that he ordered the killing, but made it clear that after some ruffians broke into the residence of the deposed emperor and killed him, Emperor Gao “did not punish them; instead he rewarded them.” 3. Nanqi shu 南齊書, compiled by Xiao Zixian 蕭子顯 (Beijing: Zhonghua shuju, 1975, hereafter cited as NQS), 4: 113.

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4. For these texts see Yan Kejun, 3: 2793–96, and Lu Qinli, 2: 1375–76. Imperial decrees did not necessarily come from the emperors themselves. They were often polished or even written by other court officials. In Xiao Daocheng’s case, they were “edited” (zhuanci 撰次) by Jiang Yan 江淹 (444–505), his “gentleman attendant in secretariat” 中書侍郎, a well-known writer of the time. See NS 4: 113. 5. 2: 36. 6. ZZHTJ 135: 4226. 7. Ibid. 8. See Cao Daoheng and Liu Yuejin, Nanbeichao wenxue biannian shi, 237–38. 9. See Quan qi wen 全齊文, in Yan Kejun, 3: 3. 2802–07, and Lu Qinli, 2: 1377. 10. NS 77. 1927. In his remarks he specifically mentioned Shen Yue and Wang Rong, two renowned poets of the time. 11. Cynthia L. Chennault, “Odes on Objects and Patronage during the Southern Qi,” in Studies in Early Medieval Chinese Literature and Cultural History, 356. Chennault’s essay examined the allegorical dimension and structure of “odes on objects” addressed to royal princes of the Southern Qi and touched upon important cultural and historical issues. 12. Other members of the group include Fan Yun 范雲, Xiao Chen 蕭琛, Ren Fang 任昉, Xiao Yan 蕭衍, who later became Emperor Wu 梁武帝of the Liang dynasty, and Lu Chui 陸倕. For a brief account of their activities, see ZZTJ 136: 4258–59; for a study of their activities and influences on the literature and culture of the time, see Liu Yuejin 劉躍進, Yongming wenxue yanjiu 永明文學研究 (Taibei: Wenjin chubanshe, 1992), chapter 1. 13. Chennault, “Odes on Objects and Patronage during the Southern Qi,” 357. 14. Both of these executions took place in the sixth year of Yongming. One involved Handan Chao 邯鄲超, the “left guard eneral of the palace,” who admonished against Emperor Wu’s passion for pheasant hunting. The other involved Xun Pi 荀丕, who was put to death for his blunt words. See NS 4: 122. NS provides no further information on these executions. NQS and ZZTJ do not even mention them. 15. 137: 4324. 16. For the text of the preface, see Wenxuan 46: 2056–67. 17. According to Richard B. Mather, who has done a complete translation of the lyric poems of Wang Rong, Xie Tiao, and Shen Yue, “Stratagems of the Lu” refers to “the lost work, Master Lu Chung-lien 魯仲連子, in 40 chapters, listed in the Han ‘Bibliographical Monograph’ (Han-shu 30. 1726).” See Mather, Age of Eternal Brilliance: Three Lyric Poets of the Yung-ming Era (483–493), 2 vols. (Leiden, Netherlands: Brill, 2003), 2: 345–46 n. 1. I have kept his Wade-Giles romanization in my citation of his works. 18. It is not clear what “chapters from the Zhou” 周篇 is. Mather assumes that it may refer to Sunzi bingfa 孫子兵法. See Age of Eternal Brilliance, 2: 346 n. 2.

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19. This line alludes to Lunyu 13: 子曰, 以不教民戰, 是謂棄之 (“The Master said, ‘To lead an uninstructed people to war, is to throw them away”). See Legge, Confucian Analects, 275. 20. Lu Qinli, 2: 1395; English translation in Mather, Age of Eternal Brilliance, 2: 345, with modifications. For a brief survey of Wang Rong’s life and works, see Cao Daoheng and Shen Yucheng, Nanbeichao wenxueshi, chapter 8. 21. Mather noted that “marshalling the troops” and “training the divisions” were ancient practices. They were regularly carried out in pre-Qin times, and became standardized in the Latter Han in the third century. Age of Eternal Brilliance, 2. 345– 46 n. 2. 22. On his father’s side Wang Rong was a descendent of the Wangs of Langye (瑯邪) in Shandong, and on his mother side he descended from the Xies of Chenliu (陳留) in Henan; both were renowned aristocratic clans during the Southern dynasties. Wang Rong’s father, however, never rose above the rank of a local magistrate. 23. See his biography in NQS 28: 817–25. 24. “The ‘Ninefold Services’ (chiu-kung 九功) of good government are listed in the Book of Documents 3 (Ta-Yu mo 大禹謀; Shang-shu 2.2a; Legge, Chinese Classics 3: 55–56): ‘Government consists in nourishing the people. (1) Water, (2) fire, (3) metal, (4) wood, (5) soil, and (6) grain must be nurtured. (7) The rectification of virtue, (8) providing facilities [transport, etc.], and (9) enrichment of life must be kept in harmony. These Nine Services must be kept in order, and the order must be celebrated in song” (政在養民, 水火金土榖惟修, 正德利用, 厚生惟和, 九功惟敘, 九敘惟歌).” Mather, Age of Eternal Brilliance, 1: 90 n. 2. 25. “The ‘Seven Virtues’ (ch’i-te 七德) of resort to arms, presumably accomplished by King Wu of Chou (trad. R. 1122–1115 B. C.), are listed in Tso-chuan (Twelfth Year of Duke Hsuan [597 B. C.]; Legge, Chinese Classics 5: 315 and 320): ‘The virtues of warfare (wu 武) are (1) the suppression of violence (chin-pao 禁暴), (2) the putting away of weapons (chi-ping 戢兵), (3) preserving the great heritage [i.e., the throne] (pao-ta 保大), (4) stabilizing its merit (ting-kung 定功), (5) giving peace and stability to the people (an-min 安民), (6) creating harmony among other states (hochung 和眾), and (7) enhancing the wealth [of the realm] (feng-ts’ai 豐財).’” Mather, Age of Eternal Brilliance, 1: 90 n. 4. 26. My translation of this couplet differs from Mather’s, which reads: “The imperial feeling is to verify [preparedness] through the ritual of review; / Regarding when to bring the chariots forth—when time is ripe, he makes that choice.” Age of Eternal Brilliance, 1: 89. 27. Mather pointed out the sources of references for “Wu halberds” 吳戈 and “Xiao arrows” 夏箭. The former alludes to a line in “Guoshang” 國殤: “Grasping Wu halberds, clad in rhinoceros hide” 操吳戈兮被犀甲, in Chuci buzhu 2. 82. The latter is a reference to “Zixu fu” by Sima Xiangru: “On his left a carved bow of Crow Caw style, / And on his right strong arrows in a Hsia quiver” 左烏號之雕弓, 右夏服 之勁箭; see Wenxuan 7. 20 b, and Knechtges, Wenxuan 2: 63. Mather, Age of Eternal

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Brilliance, 1: 90–91, nn. 5 and 6. Like the “Dai horses” 代馬 and “Chu silk” 楚練 in lines 15–16, these terms were used for stylistic purposes: to cast the couplets in parallelism, and to create a pompous effect. 28. “First singing” 前歌 is “a reference to a passage in Shang-shu ta-chuan 3. 1b2a: ‘After King Wu had punished Chou 紂 (the last ruler of Shang, trad. r. 1154– 1122 B. C.), as [the Chou troops] came into the suburbs of the city of Shang 商, they halted for the night, and the officers and men all celebrated with singing and dancing until dawn. By the time the king caught up with them, the front army was drumming and shouting, and all troops were boisterously carousing, first singing and afterwards dancing.’” Mather, Age of Eternal Brilliance, 1: 91 n. 7. 29. Reading 寫 as 瀉. 30. My translation of this couplet differs from Mather’s, which reads, “The arching waterfalls write out flying script, / While cliff-wall inlets are adorned with overflowing beauty.” 31. Mather notes that in “Shanglin fu” Sima Xiangru “made the ‘raising of the halcyon-plume-tipped banner’ the signal to begin the royal feast” 建翠華之旗 (Wenxuan 8. 11b; Knechtges, 2: 105). Age of Eternal Brilliance, 1: 91 n. 13. 32. “Jasper Pool” 瑤池 was where the Queen Mother of the West 西王母 feasted with King Mu of the Zhou 周穆王; see Mu tianzi zhuan 穆天子傳, the SKQS edition, chapter 3. Lu Qinli, 2: 1631; English translation in Mather, Age of Eternal Brilliance, 1: 89–90, with modifications. For studies of Shen Yue’s life and works, See Richard B. Mather, The Poet Shen Yueh (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1988), and Cao Daoheng and Shen Yucheng, Nanbeichao wenxueshi, chapter 9. For a survey of the twentieth-century Chinese scholarship on Shen Yue, see Wu Yun et al., Weijin nanbeichao wenxue yanjiu, 427–33. 33. He was involved in the attempt to put Xiao Ziliang, the Prince of Jingling on the throne when Emperor Wu was on his deathbed. The plan failed and he was subsequently executed. See NQS 47. 823–25. 34. NS 57. 1411. 35. The “Four Seas” 四瀛, more commonly referred as 四海, is a reference to China in general. 36. The “Eightfold Lands”八宇 refers to lands in the eight directions, that is, China. 37. “Cypress Beams” (boliang 柏梁) refers to “Terrace of Cypress Beams” 柏 梁臺, built by Emperor Wu of the Han in 115 BCE. Emperor Wu was said to have hosted poetry banquet for the poets of his time there. See Lu Qinli, 1: 97, citing Dong fang Shuo biezhuan 東方朔別傳. Gu Yanwu 顧炎武 (1613–82) thought this poem was a fabrication because there are inconsistencies regarding the people involved and their ranks. But Lu Qinli argued that such inconsistencies also exist in the Hanshu, and that if we accept the Hanshu, there is no reason why we cannot accept this poem. He further noted that this poem was included in “Dongfang

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shuo biezhuan,” which was the source of Ban Gu’s biography of Dongfang Shuo in the Hanshu. See ibid. You Guoen 游國恩 also regarded this poem to be spurious, but for more comprehensive reasons. See his “Boliang tai shi kaozheng” 柏梁臺詩考 證, in his You Guoen xueshu lunwenji 游國恩學術論文集 (Beijing: Zhonghua shuju, 1989), 352–79. You Guoen believed that this poem must have been composed no earlier than the Wei-Jin era. Lu Qinli, 2: 1400; English translation in Mather, Age of Eternal Brilliance, 2: 360, with minor modifications. 38. NQS 44. 772. Emperor Wu ended up not building such a palace there. Mather dated this visit to 483, but Chen Qingyuan 陳慶元, the editor of Shen Yue ji jiaojian 沈約集校箋 (Hangzhou: Zhejiang guji chubanshe, 1995) dated it to 490; see p. 394. 39. Liu Yuejin examined the poems’ lengths in the works of the “Eight Friends.” He found that the eight-line format was the most popular among them, occupying 28% of their poems. Then came the quatrain, occupying 27%. The third was the tenline format, occupying 19%. See his Yongming wenxue yanjiu, 115. 40. Ibid., 119. 41. See Stephen Owen, The Poetry of the Early T’ang (New Haven: Yale University Press, 1977), 9–11. 42. Ge Xiaoyin pointed out that an important contribution that Qi and Liang poetry made to the development of Chinese poetry was its effort to clear the opaque allusiveness and wordiness in the poetry of the previous period by adopting simple diction and straightforward syntax. See “Lun Qiliang wenren gexin jinsong shifeng de gongji” 論齊梁文人革新晉宋詩風的功績, in her Hantang wenxue de shanbian, 56–74. 43. Cited in Yan Zhitui 顏之推, Yanshi jiaxun jijie 顏氏家訓集解, ed. and ann. Wang Liqi 王利器 (Beijing: Zhonghua shuju, 1993), 272. 44. “Fusang” 扶桑 is a tree in the east where the sun is said to rise from. See the “Tianwen” 天文 chapter in Huainan zi 淮南子, the Zhuzijicheng edition, 3. 44. 45. A reference to an inspection tour by Emperor Wu of the Han in 106 BCE. The HS 6.196 notes that during this tour, as the emperor “neared Congyang [in Anhui], he disembarked and composed songs ‘Sengtang’ and ‘Congyang.’” See Mather, Age of Eternal Brilliance, 1: 84 n. 3. Lu Qinli has 摐 for 樅. 46. The “Evening-Morning Tide Pond” 朝夕池 (朝夕 also written 潮汐) refers to the ocean. Mather speculated that “For the Ch’i monarch it must have been a small body of water near the base of Square Mountain [Mount Fang].” See Age of Eternal Brilliance, 1: 84 n. 4. 47. The “god of waters” (shuiruo 水若), seems to refer to 海若, see Zhuangzi jishi, 17. 248. Mather translated this line as “Beating the metal [gong], he’s gliding over Jo [god of] the waters. 48. Mather noted that this couplet might refer to an earlier poem by Yan Yanzhi, which contains the following couplet: 山祇蹕嶠路, 水若驚滄流 (“The mountain

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sprites are cleared of the ascending paths, / And Jo, the god of waters, is warned [to keep away] from the icy currents”). See Wenxuan 22. 1054, and Age of Eternal Brilliance, 1: 85. n. 7. My translation of this line differs from Mather’s, which reads “Lifted along the cleared pathway, he orders mountain sprites.” 49. “The Ninth Heaven” 九霄 refers to the highest heaven and is often used as a metaphor for emperor or his residence. “Dew from the Ninth Heaven” is a metaphor of imperial beneficence. See Ciyuan, 59 b. 50. “Goosefoot and bean leaves” (lihuo 藜藿) were used as food for poor and common folk. Here it is a metaphor of Shen Yue himself. Lu Qinli, 2: 1647; Mather, Age of Eternal Brilliance, 1: 84, with modifications. 51. It should be noted that we do not have any information about the order of composition at this poetic occasion. It might also be possible that Shen Yue wrote his poem first, in which case the burden was with Wang Rong to make his poem different in this tight framework. 52. For these events, see NQS 3, 4, 5, and 6. 60–92. 53. See ibid., 6. 92, and NS 5. 146. 54. See NQS 47. 823–25. 55. Ibid., 47. 827. 56. Ibid. 57. He voiced his admiration of Xie Tiao’s poetry in the poem “Xuanzhou Xie Tiao lou jianbie jiaoshu Shuyun” 宣州謝朓樓餞別校書叔雲, in Quan Tang shi, 177. 1809. For studies of Xie Tiao, see Cynthia L. Chennault, “The Poetry of Hsieh T’iao” (Ph.D. diss., Stanford University, 1979), Kang-I Sun Chang, Six Dynasties Poetry, chapter 4, and Cao Daoheng and Shen Yucheng, Nanbeichao wenxueshi, 142–61. For the twentieth-century Chinese scholarship on Xie Tiao, see Wu Yun et al., Weijin nanbeichao wenxue yanjiu, 433–39. 58. Age of Eternal Brilliance, 2: 157 N. 1. 59. See 52. 896. This poem, entitled “Qiuhu shi” 秋胡詩, is no longer extant. 60. The first couplet alludes to Zhouyi, 方以類聚, 物以群分 (“Events follow definte trends, each according to its nature”); see Shisanjing 1: 7. 64a, Wilhelm and Baynes, I Ching, 280. 61. A reference to 皇天眷名 (眷 also as 睠) (“Great Heaven regarded you with its favoring decree”) in Shangshu; see Shisangjing, 1: 4. 22 c, and Legge, Shoo King, 54. 62. A reference to 易簡之善, 配至德 (“Because of the good and simple, [the Book of Changes] corresponds with the supreme power”) in the Zhouyi; see Shisanjing 1: 7. 67a, and Wilhelm/Baynes, The I Ching, 302. 63. This is another reference to the Zhouyi: 黃帝, 堯, 舜 垂衣裳而天下治 (“The Yellow Emperor, Yao, and Shun allowed the upper and lower garments to hang down, and the world was in order”). See Shisanjing 1: 8. 75a, and Wilhem and Baynes, I Ching, 332.

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Xie Xuancheng ji jiaozhu 謝宣城集校注 (Shanghai: Shanghai guji, 1981, hereafter cited as Xie Xuancheng ji), ed. Cao Rongnan 曹融南, 126; English translation in Mather, Age of Eternal Brilliance, 2: 171, with modifications. 64. It should be noted again that Xie Tiao held genuine gratitude toward Emperor Ming for his encouragement and promotion. He was the author of the memorial on behalf of the court officials to encourage Xiao Luan, then the Prince of Xuancheng 宣城王, to ascend the throne. See “Wei baiguan quanjin qi mingdi biao” 為百官勸進齊明帝表, Xie Xuancheng ji, 45–48. 65. “How brightly shines” 於昭 is an allusion to poem 235 of the Shijing: 文王 在上, 於昭于天 (“King Wen is lifted up on high! / How brightly now he shines in heaven”). Legge, She King, p. 427. 66. “Heavenly flight” 天飛 alludes to 飛龍在天, 利見大人 (“Flying dragon in the heavens. It furthers one to see the great man”) in in Zhouyi; see Shisanjing 1: 1. 2a, and Wilhelm and Baynes, I Ching, 9. Here it is used as a metaphor for Emperor Ming’s enthronement. 67. Cao Rongnan maintained this view, with which I agree. Mather believed this refers to Crown Prince Xiao Changmao’s “flamboyant lifestyle which had somehow escaped the notice of his father until the latter visited him as he lay dying, causing great consternation and an unexpected change of succession.” See Age of Eternal Brilliance, 2: 173 n. 1. For the events that led to the killings of these two deposed emperors, see NS 5. 133–40. 68. “The suspended images” 縣象 refer to the sun and moon. See Zhouyi in Shisanjing 1: 7. 70. b: 縣象著明 , 莫大乎日月 (“Of suspended images that shine so brightly, none is greater than the sun and moon”). Line 2 refers to a passage in another section of the Zhouyi: 離也者, 明也 . . . 圣人南面而聽天下, 嚮明而治, 蓋取諸此也 (“[The trigram], Li ‘fire’ is ‘light.’ [In it] all creatures see each other. It is the trigram of the South. The sage faces south and listens to all the realm”). See ibid., 1: 9. 82 b, and Mather, Age of Eternal Brilliance, 174. n. 1. 69. These two lines, meant to praise the current crown prince, allude to two anecdotes of two Han crown princes. The first involves Liu Zhuang 劉莊, crown prince of Emperor Guangwu of the Latter Han 漢光武帝 (r. 25–57). According to HHS 22. 780–81, Emperor Guangwu once found an instruction on the bamboo placard held by the grand warden of Chenliu Commandery. It stated that while officials might ask questions about the governance of some places, they could not do so with other places. The Emperor asked why, but this official, unwilling to come clean with his answer, said that he found the placard on the Street of Longevity. Upon this the Emperor became angry. Liu Zhuang came forward and told the Emperor that certain places could not be queried because they were imperial lands and many officials and relatives of the royal family lived there. Thus “their fields and houses are beyond the rules and cannot be used as standard.” The Emperor ordered another official to ask the warden if this was true, and he said yes. The second anecdote concerns Liu Ao 劉 驁, crown prince of Emperor Yuan of Han 漢元帝 (r. 48–33 BCE). The HS 10. 301 notes that once Emperor Yuan sent for Liu Ao in haste. Liu Ao got out of the Dragon

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Tower Gate, but did not dare to cross the imperial highway. So he took a roundabout way to enter the palace. The Emperor asked him why he was so late, and was greatly delighted when he heard the answer. 70. “The ‘Upper Schools’ (shang-hsiang 上庠) were established by the Sage-king Shun 舜 (trad. R. 2255–2208 B. C.), and seem to have been a forerunner of the later ‘state academies’ (ta-hsueh 大學). The ‘Literati Lodges’ (ju-ssu 儒肆) were hostels for elderly literati.” Mather, Age of Eternal Brilliance, 2: 175 n. 5. 71. See NS 5. 146–58. 72. Ibid., 5. 150. 73. These two lines allude to poem 252 “Juan’e” 卷阿 of the Shijing: 梧桐生矣, 于彼朝陽. 菶菶萋萋 . . .”The dryandras grow, / On those eastern slopes. / They grow luxuriantly . . .” See Legge, She King, p. 494. 74. “Phoenixes” is a loose rendering of yuan 鵷, or yuanchu 鵷鶵, described by Zhuangzi as being unwilling to perch on any other trees except paulownia.” See Zhuangzi jishi, 17. 267. The Jingdian shiwen 經典釋文 glosses it as “a type of phoenix”; cited in Xie Xuancheng ji, 128 n. 2. 75. “Jing” 井 (“the Well-star”) and “Kui 奎” (“the Straddler”) are the names of two stars. “In the astrological scheme of ‘allotted domains’ (fen-yeh 分野), every state was apportioned an area corresponding with one of the twenty-eight lunar stations (hsiu 宿).” Mather, Age of Eternal Brilliance, 2: 177 n. 4. Qin and Lu are corresponding areas of “Jing” and “Kui,” and both were controlled by the Northern Wei at that time. 76. These two lines allude to a passage in Lüshi chunqiu 呂氏春秋 (the Zhuzi jicheng edition), 12. 116: “A worthy ruler works hard at seeking [the right] people [for office], but he is at ease in matters of government.” Mather, Age of Eternal Brilliance, 2: 178 n. 1. 77. A reference to poem 256 in the Shijing: 有覺德行, 四國順之 (“To an upright virtuous conduct, / All in the four quarters of the State render obedient homage”); see Legge, She King, p. 511. 78. A reference to the Shangshu: 咸秩無文 (“ . . . doing everything in a orderly manner without display”); see Legge, Shoo King, 443. 79. A reference to the Shangshu: 墨辟疑赦, 其罰百鍰 : “When the punishment of branding [the foreheads] is remitted because of doubt, [in its stead] there should be a fine of one-hundred huan 鍰 (=600 liang 兩, ‘ounces’) [of yellow metal, probably copper.]” Legge, The Shoo King, 443, and Mather, Age of Eternal Brilliance, 2: 178 n. 4. 80. “The bending herbs” 屈草, also known as “pointing-out-sycophant herb” 指 佞草, grew in the sage ruler Yao’s court. When flatterers entered the court, the plants would bend to point at them. This was noted in the Bowu zhi by Zhang Hua; cited in Xie Xuancheng ji ji, 129 n. 4. 81. Zhushu jinian 竹書紀年 notes that during the reign of Yao “there were plants growing on either side of the steps [to the throne]. On the first days of each month they would put out one pod, and by mid month they would have grown fifteen pods.

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After the sixteenth day, they would drop one pod a day, becoming completely bare by the end of the month. If the month was short [by one day], then one pod would shrivel, but not fall. It was called ‘mystic legume’ (ming-chia 蓂莢). Another name for it was the ‘calendar legume’ 歷莢.” See Legge, Shoo King, “Prolegomena,” 113, and Mather, Age of Eternal Brilliance, 2: 178 n. 5. 82. “Glorious radiance” 榮光 was said to be an auspicious light with five different colors. See Xie Xucheng ji, 130 n. 2, citing Furui tu 符瑞圖 in the tenth-century encyclopedia Taiping yulan 太平御覽. 83. “Paired jade-discs” (hebi 合璧), according to Mather, who cited the “Lüli zhi” 律歷志 of HS 21a. 976, “is an image of precision in calculating the positions of the sun and moon throughout their celestial orbits.” Age of Eternal Brilliance, 2: 179 n. 2. 84. “Guye Mountain” 姑射山 is where supernatural beings dwell in the book of Zhuanzi; see Zhuangzi jishi, 1. 14. 85. “Glossy Dragon” (zhuolong 濯龍) in this context seems to refer to a park of the Latter Han located near the Northern Palace at the southwest corner of Luoyang; see HHS 10a. 409. Mather held a similar view. Cao Rongnan regarded this to be a reference to a line in “Zhe baima fu” 赭白馬賦 by Yan Yanzhi: 處以濯龍之奧, where 濯龍 refers to horse stables. (Wenxuan 14. 629). He thus believed that this line refers to horses in stable. See Xie Xuancheng ji, 130 n. 4. 86. “The [Lake of] Heaven’s Abyss” (tianyuan [chi] 天淵[池]), built in the year 455 by Emperor Wen of the Song, was located inside the Hualin Garden; see NQS 9. 149. 87. Age of Eternal Brilliance, 179 n. 2. 88. These two lines were taken from the Zhouyi: 先王以作樂崇德 (“Thus the ancient kings made music in order to honor merit”), and 天地以順動, 故日月不過, 而四時不忒. 聖人以順動, 則刑罰輕而民服. 豫之時義大矣哉 (“Heaven and earth move with devotion; therefore sun and moon do not swerve from their courses, and the four seasons do not err. The holy man moves with devotion; therefore fines and punishments become just, and the people obey. Great indeed is the meaning of the time of Enthusiasm”). Shisanjing 1: 2. 19 b-c, and Wilhelm and Baynes, I Ching, 468 and 467. 89. The HS 96 b. 3928 notes that Emperor Wu of the Han ordered to “make A and B tents, and to decorate them with pearls and jade.” Mather commented that Ban Gu used this as one of the examples of Emperor Wu’s extravagance. “If there is any implied satire in this description of the Southern Ch’i Emperor Ming’s celebration of the 495 ‘Third Day’ festival, however, it is skillfully muted.” Age of Eternal Brilliance, 2: 182 n. 1. 90. Cao Rongnan, citing Guangyun 廣韻, a phonetic dictionary composed in the early eleventh century, noted that “Cai means tortoise;” see Xie Xuancheng ji, 132 n. 3. Mather, citing the “Qiming” 七命 by Zhang Xie 張協 (fl. ca. 295) (Wenxuan 35. 1595–1615), noted that “During the Shang and Chou Dynasties the best tortoise plastrons, on which questions were put to the oracle, were said to have come from the

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state of Ts’ai, hence the name.” Age of Eternal Brilliance, 2: 182 n. 3. This line seems to describe the auspicious result of a divination. 91. “The God of the Ocean” is Mather’s translation for 海介, which he considered to be another name for 海若, although he acknowledged that he found no example of this usage. Cao Rongnan maintained that 介 meant 甲 and that it refers to tortoises and other shelled creatures. See Age of Eternal Brilliance, 2: 182–83 n. 4, and Xie Xuancheng ji, 132 n. 4. 92. Mather, Age of Eternal Brilliance, 2: 183 n. 4. 93. These two lines describe the banquet rituals prescribed by the chapter 8 of the Yili; see Shisanjing 1: 8. 36–39. Also see the notes provided by Cao Rongnan and Mather, in Xie Xuancheng ji, 132 n. 3 and Age of Eternal Brilliance, 2: 184 n. 2. 94. A reference to Zhouyi: 天地交, 泰, 后以成天地之道 (“Heaven and Earth unite: the image of Peace. Thus the ruler divides and completes the course of heaven and earth”). See Shisangjing, 1: 2. 16 b, Wilhelm and Baynes, I Ching, 442. 95. This line alludes to an ancient myth. “[The Yellow] River runs clear” 河清 was regarded as a sign of peace and prosperity in ancient China; see, for example, Li Shan’s note on 俟河清乎未期 (“In vain I await the Yellow River to become clear”) in the “Guitian fu” 歸田賦 by Zhang Heng 張衡 (78–139) (Wenxuan 15. 692–93), where he cited the Yi qianzaodu 易乾鑿度. Bao Zhao wrote a “Heqing song” 河清頌 to celebrate the reign of Emperor Wen of the Song; see Bao Canjun jizhu, 94–98. 96. “Civilizing light” 文明 alludes to the Zhouyi: 其德剛建而文明, 應乎天而 時行 (“His character is firm and strong, ordered and clear; it finds correspondence in Heaven and moves with the time”). See Shisangjing, 1: 2. 18 b, and Wilhelm and Banyes, I Ching, 457. 97. According to ancient ritual, in paying respect to Heaven, the Son of Heaven matched Heaven with his forebears. See Xie Xucheng ji, 133 n. 3, and Zhouyi: 先王 作樂以崇德, 殷薦之上帝, 以配祖考 (“Thus the ancient kings made music in order to honor merit, and offered it with splendor to the Supreme Deity, inviting their ancestors to be present.”) Shisangjing, 1: 2. 19 c, and Wilhelm/Banyes, The I Ching, 468. 98. “The capital of Qin” 秦京 is Xianyang 咸陽, occupied by the Northern Wei at that time. 99. According to Mather, “Desert of Dragon Dunes” 龍漠, now south of the Tianshan 天山in Xinjiang (see Cao Rongnan’s note in Xie Xuancheng ji, 133), was at that time the Taklamakan Desert in Eastern Turkestan. Age of Eternal Brilliance, 2: 185 n. 4. 100. Xie Xuancheng ji, 132, and Age of Eternal Brilliance, 2: 185. The English translation of this long poem is that of Mather, with some modifications of mine. 101 Wang Rong served in the same post under Emperor Wu, but felt that it was unworthy of his ambition to restore his past family glory and to reach the rank of “three dukes” 三公 by the age of thirty. See NQS 47. 822. 102. See Xie Xuanceng ji, 213, and Age of Eternal Brilliance, 2: 134.

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103. Mather, Age of Eternal Brilliance 2: 185 n. 3. 104. Ibid. 105. For the text of the poem, see Xie Xuancheng ji, 127–24, and Age of Eternal Brilliance, 2: 157–69. Both Cao Daoheng and Shen Yucheng and Mather maintained that this and the other poem discussed earlier were written on the same occasion; see Nanbeichao wenxueshi, 166 n. 6, and Age of Eternal Brilliance, 2: 157 n. 1. Xie Tiao wrote a third poem at imperial command on a similar, if not the same, occasion, “Sanri shiyan qushui dairen yingzhao” 三日侍宴曲水代人應詔. See Xie Xuancheng ji, 133–40, and Age of Eternal Brilliance, 2: 186–98. 106. For Li Bai’s praise of Xie Tiao’s poetry, see n. 58 of this chapter. 107. NS 5. 147–48. 108. Ibid., 5. 152–53. 109. Ibid., 5. 155. 110. Cao Daoheng and Liu Yuejin believed 張謖 was 張稷, who, according to their estimate, was assigned to the post of “magistrate of Xuzhou” in the second year of Yongyuan (Xiao Baojun’s reign name) in 500; see their Nanbeichao wenxue biannianshi, 340. But Liangshu 梁書 (Beijing: Zhonghua shuju, 1973, hereafter cited as LS) 16. 271 notes that he was appointed the “magistrate of the Northern Xuzhou” when the “magistrate of Jiangzhou” 江州刺史 Chen Xianda 陳顯達 rebelled. The NQS dates this rebellion to the eleventh month of the first year of Yongyuan, or 499. In either case, this poem must have been written at the command of Xiao Baojuan because Emperor Ming died in the seventh month of the previous year. 111. Wenxuan 20. 970–71; Lu Qinli, 2: 1602. 112. 吾令帝閽開關兮, 倚閶闔而望予 (“I asked Heaven’s porter to open up for me, / But he leaned against the Heaven’s gate and eyed me churlishily”); Chuci buzhu 29; Songs of the South, 74. 113. See his “You dongtian” 遊東田, in Xie Xuancheng ji, 260, and Mather, Age of Eternal Brilliance, 150.

CH A P TER SI X 1. LS 3. 96. For his poetry, see Lu Qinli, 2: 1513–39. 2. See the comment by the authors of the LS, ibid., 3. 97 3. Suishu 隋書, compiled by Wei Zheng 魏徵 et al., (Beijing: Zhonghua shuju, 1973, hereafter cited as SS), 27. 907. 4. LS 49. 685. 5. Ibid., 41. 582. Wang’s poem is no longer extant. 6. Ke is the time unit in ancient China. One ke is approximately 15 minutes. 7. LS 41. 586. 8. Ibid., 35. 516.

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9. Ibid., 38. 543–550. 10. Ibid., 13. 243. 11. Ibid. When Shen Yue became ill, he dreamed that Emperor He of the Qi dynasty齊和帝, whom he helped Xiao Yan to depose, cut his tongue with a sword. Shen Yue then summoned a Daoist monk to write a “red appeal to Heaven, stating that the usurpation did not come from him.” The court doctor, whom Emperor Wu had sent to check on Shen Yue’s illness, saw this and reported it back to Emperor Wu. The Emperor was “enraged, and repeatedly sent officials to reprimand [Shen Yue]. [Shen] Yue was frightened and died.” Ibid. Emperor Wu’s accusation that Shen Yue “hid his feelings” might refer to this event. 12. Both poems were by Shen Yue; see Lu Qinli, 2: 1655, Mather, Age of Eternal Brilliance, 1: 122, 134. Because most of Shen Yue’s poems were written during his service under Qi and Liang and their titles reveal little information about the circumstances of their composition, it is difficult to date them precisely. Mather maintained these two poems were written “during the active years of the salon of the Prince of Ching-ling 487–493,” but the titles make it clear that they were written “at imperial command.” The imperial monarch during this period was Emperor Wu of the Qi, but as I pointed out earlier in chapter 5, the Qi Emperor Wu was not interested in poetry and historical sources mentioned only a few poetic occasions that involved him. I would suggest that these two poems were more likely written under the command of the Liang Emperor Wu, who himself had written several yongwu poems. 13. That is, the palaces of the emperor and empress. 14. The “airy path” (fudao 復道) was a path leading from one palatial building to another; it was often built in the air. “Dragon Palace” is the palace for the heir apparent. 15. A reference to the Fayan 法言 by Yang Xiong: “羊質虎皮, 見草而悅, 見豺而 戰 ” (“With the inside of a sheep and cover of a tiger, [the sheep] is delighted to see the grass, but terrified to see a leopard”). Fayan (the Zhuzi jicheng edition), 7: 2. 5. Here Lu Cao is saying that he does not possess that inner quality that matches the glory of his position. 16. Ancient Chinese used salt and plums to make seasonings. Heding 和鼎 originally referred to mixing salt and plums (probably in a “cauldron,” ding). It later became a metaphor of ministers and officials who assisted the monarch. See Hanyu dacidian 漢語大辭典, 12 vols. (Shanghai: Hanyu dacidian chubanshe, 1990) 3: 273a. 17. Lu Qinli, 2: 1539. 18. For the biography of Xu Mian, see LS 25. 377–387. 19. 14. 253. For a brief survey of Ren Fang’s writings, see Cao Daoheng and Shen Yucheng, Nanbeichao wenxueshi, 181–83. 20. As I noted in chapter 5, the legend of the Han Emperor Wu’s linked-verse composition with his courtiers was disputed by You Gouen and others. 21. Yao, the ancient sage ruler, was said to have battled the Youmiao tribe by the bank of the Cinnabar River. See Li Shan’s note in Wenxuan 20. 972.

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22. An allusion to a pre-Qin text, Deng xizi 鄧析子: 明君之御人, 若履冰而負重 (“An enlightened ruler rules his people as if walking on ice with heavy burden on his shoulder”). Cited in Wenxuan 20. 972. 23. The Twin Xiao “are two conspicuous peaks along the east-west range separating the Yellow River from the Luo 洛 to its south, slightly to the east bend of the Yellow River.” Mather, Age of Eternal Brilliance 1: 231 n. 10. 24. “Nine Rivers” refers to the Yellow River, because it is made up of nine tributaries. These two lines describe the imaginary victory of the Liang troops over the Northern Wei, which had its capital in Luoyang by the River Luo, one of the tributaries of the Yellow River. 25. This line contains two allusions. “Leaping on the wagons” 超乘 refers to a passage describing the Qin troops in Zuozhuan, the Thirty-third year of Duke Xi; see Legge, Ch’un Ts’ew with the Tso Chuen, 222/224. “Three armors” are “upper-body, or “cuirasse” (shang-shen 上身), “thigh–pieces (pin-k’un) 髀褌 and “shin-guards” (chingchiao 脛繳).” Mather, Age of Eternal Brilliance, 1: 231 n. 11, citing Hanshu 23. 1087. 26. “‘Hundred-gold’ warrior” refers to a soldier who will win gold for his bravery; see SJ 81. 2450. 27. “Slender Willow 細柳 [Camp]” was the site where the Han general Zhou Yafu 周亞夫 and his troops stayed on their way to fight the invading Xiongnus. The Han Emperor Wen (r. 179–157 BCE) paid a visit to him there. See HS 40. 2057–58. 28. For 上林 “Upper Grove Park,” see chapter 1, where it was rendered as Imperial Park. Here it stands for the site where the send-off banquet took place, namely, the Leyou Park. 29. “To spare animals fleeing in the front” 緩前禽 is a metaphor of leniency toward enemies. See Zhouyi in Shisanjing 1: 14. b. 30. The mountain passes and defiles mentioned in these two lines are all near Luoyang. To “loose belts” 解帶 and “open lapels” 披襟 mean to surrender. See Li Shan’s note in Wenxuan 20. 973. 31. Mountain Beimang and Yi River are both near Luoyang. 32. A reference to the Shanshu. Upon returning from his expedition to punish and execute Zhou, the last ruler of the Shang, King Wu of the Zhou “presented a burnt-offering to Heaven, and worshiped towards the mountains and rivers, solemnly announcing the successful completion of the war.” See Legge, Shoo King, 309. 33. “Hatpin” 簪 was worn by officials, so “removing hatpin” symbolizes retiring from one’s office. Wenxuan 20. 972–73; Lu Qinli, 2: 1632; translation in Mather, Age of Eternal Brilliance, 1: 229–32, with modifications. 34. See ZZTJ 146. 4564–66. 35. NS 55. 1356; Lu Qinli, 2: 1594. 36. For the biography of Huo Qubing, see HS 55. 2478–89. 37. 55. 1356.

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38. Ibid. 39. This is the view of Mather. He claimed that after the successful campaign at Zhongli, Cao Jingzong was awarded the post of magistrate of Xuzhou, and the banquet at Leyou Park at which Shen Yue wrote his poem was the same send-off party wherein Cao Jingzong wrote his. (Age of Eternal Brilliance, 1: 233 n. 1). Mather, however, did not mention the source of this information, and Cao Jingzong’s biographies in the NS and LS made no reference to his appointment to this post. Lu Qinli (2: 1662) noted that this poem was “written together with Qiu Chi.” Cao Daoheng and Liu Yuejin held the same view; see their Nanbeichao wenxue biannianshi, 340. In that case this poem would have been written much earlier, at the end of the Qi dynasty. For the convenience of discussion I have followed the opinion of Mather. 40. “Sleek and glossy” 沃若 alludes to poem 163 of the Shijing: “我馬維駱, 六轡 沃若” (“My horses are white and black-maned; / The six reins look glossy”). Legge, She King, p. 250. 41. Lu Qinli, 2: 1662; English translation in Mather, Age of Eternal Brilliance, 1: 233, with slight modifications. 42. 55. 1357. 43. “Magic Fungus” 靈芝 is an auspicious plant; it is often used in connection with supernatural beings and their activities. See, for example, Cao Zhi’s “Pingling dong” 平陵東, in Cao Zhi ji, 400. 44. 綸組 are sea plants; see Hanyu dacidian 9: 903, citing Gu Pu’s note to Erya 爾雅.

45. Lu Qinli, 3: 1828. 46. See Chennault, “Odes on Objects and Patronage during the Southern Qi.” 47. Lu Qinli, 2: 1649; Mather, Age of Eternal Brilliance, 1: 111. My translation. 48. For example, Wang Can’s “Gongyan” 公宴; see chapter 2. 49. For a good selection of these poems, see the Tang compendium Yiwen leiju 1: 2: 28–30. 50. Lu Qinli, 2: 1785. 51. SJ 4. 120. 52. See poem 221 in Legge, She King, p. 400. 53. Ibid. 54. See Zhuangzi jishi, 1: 1. 55. The “Heavenly Ravine Pool” 天淵池 was located in Jiankang, presentday Nanjing. It was built in the twenty-second year of Yuanjia (445) by the order of Emperor Wen of the Song. See Liuchao shiji bianlei 六朝事跡編類, the SKQS edition, chapter 1. 56. LS 33. 475. 57. Lu Qinli, 2: 1648; English translation in Mather, Age of Eternal Brilliance, 1: 86, with slight modifications.

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58. For a study of “palace style poetry” and a brief survey of traditional criticism of it, see Fusheng Wu, The Poetics of Decadence: Chinese Poetry of the Southern Dynasties and Late Tang Period (Albany: State University of New York Press, 1998), chapters 1 and 2. For a more recent study, see Xiaofei Tian, “Illusion and Illumination: A New Poetics of Seeing in Liang Dynasty Court Literature,” Harvard Journal of Asiatic Studies 65.1 (June 2005): 7–56 59. Xu Ling 徐陵 (507–583), ed., Yutai xinyong 玉臺新詠, 2 vols. (Beijing: Zhonghua, 1985), 2: 453. For an English translation of this anthology, see Anne Birrell, New Songs from a Jade Terrace: An Anthology of Early Chinese Love Poetry (New York and London: Penguin, 1986). Xu Ling wrote a preface that outlines the theory behind this “new” type of poetry. 60. This line contains two references to the Shijing. “Line up like geese” 雁 行 alludes to poem 78: 兩驂雁行 (“The two outside horses follow like geese”); “in uneven order” 差池 alludes to poem 22: 燕燕於飛, 差池其羽 (“The swallows go flying about, / Now up, now down”); see Legge, She King, pp. 130 and 42. 61. “Crooked path” is my free rendering of 羊腸, the “intestines of a sheep,” which is a metaphor for narrow and uneven roads. See 羊腸坂詰屈, 車輪為之摧 ([Like the sheep’s intestines], the slopes are crooked, / The carts’ wheels are destroyed by them”), in Cao Cao’s “Kuhan xing: beishang” 苦寒行: 北上, in Cao Cao ji, 24. 62. “Heavenly way” 天步 is a reference to poem 229 in the Shijing: 天步維艱 (“The heavenly way is difficult”); see Legge, She King, p. 416. 63. Lu Qinli, 2: 1529. 64. For examples of this practice, see Xie Lingyun’s “Deng jiangzhong guyu” 登 江中孤嶼, and Xie Tiao’s “You jingting shan” 遊敬亭山, in Xie Lingyun ji, 78, and Xie Xuancheng ji, 240. 65. Chongling 舂陵 is at present-day Hunan Province. 66. River Ji 濟水 originates from the Wangwu Mountain in Henan, and merges into the Yellow River in Shandong. 67. Zhou 周 here refers to the areas under the control of the Zhou dynasty, which are in present Shanxi and Henan; Li 澧 is at present-day Hunan. 68. “Kongton” 崆峒 has several possible references. The most likely one here is the Kongtong Mountain at present-day Gansu in western China. The Yellow Emperor allegedly traveled there. See Ciyuan, 506 c. 69. “The boy in the wilderness of the Xiang” is a reference to Zhuangzi (Zhuangzi jishi, 24. 360–61). Yellow Emperor lost his way in the wilderness of Xiang. None of the seven sages accompanying him could figure out where they were. When they met a boy, they asked him. The boy gave them a lecture on the Daoist principle of wuwei or “noninterference.” 70. Lu Qinli, 3: 1931. 71. See Xie Xuancheng ji, 149, and Mather, Age of Eternal Brilliance, 2: 64. 72. Cao Zhi ji, 133.

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73. As I noted earlier, this type of ending was quite uncommon in classical Chinese poetry. Emperor Wu’s and Xiao Gang’s poems survive in the Tang compendium Yiwen leiju; this may make one wonder whether or not they are fragmentary because, as Lu Qinli noted, the poems collected in this and in other compendiums are sometimes incomplete (Lu Qinli, 3: 792). The similarity of these two poems seems to suggest, however, that their fragment-looking endings were the result of deliberate choices. To be more specific, it was the choice of Emperor Wu, which Xiao Gang was compelled to respect and follow. The LS 40. 569 notes that this occasion also produced a poem by Dao Jin 到藎, which did not survive. 74. For a brief survey of Emperor Wu’s involvement with Buddhism, see Tang Yongtong 湯用彤, Hanwei liangjin nanbeichao fojiao shi 漢魏兩晉南北朝佛教史, 2 vols. (Beijing: Zhonghua shuju, 1983), 2: 341–45. 75. “The three kinds of bhava” 三有, also known as 三界, refer to “The three states of moral existence in the trailokya, i.e. in the realms of desire, form, and beyond form.” See William Edward Soothill and Lewis Hodous, eds., A Dictionary of Chinese Buddhist Terms (Delhi: Motilal Banarsidass, 1977), 68. 76. “Six ways of sentient existence” 六道 refer to the realms of hell, hungry ghosts, animals, asura, humankind, and heaven. Buddhism believes that one goes through birth and rebirth within these realms. See Foxue dacidian 佛學大辭典, ed, Ding Fubao 丁福保 (Beijing: Wenwu chubanshe, 1984), 327 a. 77. “The displaced youth” 弱喪 is a reference to Zhuangzi: “予惡乎知惡死之非 弱喪而不知歸者邪?” (“How do I know that fearing death is not [like] the displaced youth who does not know to return [home]?”) Zhuangzi jishi, 2. 49. 78. The “two sufferings” 二苦 refers to sufferings from “within, e.g. sickness, sorrow; from without, e.g. calamities.” Dictionary of Chinese Buddhist Terms, 29. 79. “Three poisons” 三毒 refer to concupiscence, anger, and ignorance. Ibid., 69. 80. “Pratyaya” 緣 “means conviction, reliance, but with Buddhists especially it means ‘a co-operating cause, the concurrent occasion of an event as distinguished from its proximate cause.” Ibid., 440. 81. 差池, which I rendered as “one after another” here, is a reference to poem 28 of the Shijing: 燕燕於飛, 差池其羽 (“The swallows go fly about, / With their wings unevenly displayed”). Legge, She King, p. 42. 82. “Seven purities” 七淨, also known as 七淨華, refer to purities “in the commandments, in heart, in views, in doubt-discrimination, in judgment, in conduct, and in nirvana.” Dictionary of Chinese Buddhist Terms, 14. 83. “Eight meditations” 八禪 may refer to “eight lines of thoughts” 八念, “for resisting Māra-attacks and evil promptings during the meditation on impurity, etc.; i.e. thought of the Buddha, of the Law (or Truth), the fraternity, the commandments, alms-giving, the devas, breathing, and death.” Ibid., 36. 84. “Dasabala” 十力, “The ten powers of a Buddha, giving complete knowledge of (1) what is right or wrong in every condition; (2) what is the karma of every being, past, present, and future; (3) all stages of dhyana liberation, and samādhi; (4) the

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power and faculties of all beings; (5) the desires, or moral direction of every being; (6) the actual condition of every individual; (7) the direction and consequence of all laws; (8)all causes of mortality and of good and evil in their reality; (9) the end of all beings and nirvana; (10) the destruction of all illusion of every kind.” Dictionary of Chinese Buddhist Terms, 46. 85. Mount Kongtong, better known as 崆峒, is located in present Gansu in western China. Yellow Emperor paid a visit to the recluse Guang Chengzi 廣成子 in the Kongtong Mount. See Zhuangzi jishi, 11. 172. 86. Yao went to visit four hermits in the Guye Mountain and in the northern bank of the Fen River. Even though he had succeeded in making the world peaceful and prosperous, in front of them he felt “a deep trance wherein he lost his world.” See Zhuangzi jishi, 1. 5. 87. Lu Qinli, 2: 1531. 88. Many Buddhist sutras describe such pure lands of jade and gold. See, for example, “Foshuo guan wulianshou jing” 佛說觀無量壽經, in the “Jingtuzong lei” 靜土宗類 of the Dazang jing 大藏經 (Taibei: Xinwenfeng chuban gongshi, 1987), T0365. I am grateful to Prof. Tian Xiaofei for informing me of this source. 89. “Eagle Mount” 鷲嶺 is a sacred Buddhist mountain in India; here it is used to stand for Mount Zhong. 90. 子姒 are the surnames of the Shang and Xia dynasties, respectively. 91. Fuxi 伏羲, like the Yellow Emperor, is one of the legendary rulers of antiquity. 92. “Virtuous animals” 仁獸 here refer to unicorns 騏驎, which, like the phoenix, are divine and auspicious creatures whose appearance was believed to be sign of peace of prosperity under an enlightened ruler. See Chuxue ji 29. 699, and 30. 723–24. 93. “South Wind” 南風 was a song attributed to the sage ruler Shun. See Lu Qinli, 1: 2–3. 94. “Such writings” 斯文 is a reference to a passage in Lunyu: 天之降斯文也, 後 死者不得與於斯文也 (If heaven wishes to let such writings die out, then I, a future mortal, should not have been given them). Legge, The Confucian Analects, 217. Originally, “such writings” referred to the culture that Confucius aimed to preserve. 95. When the Emperor was away from the capital, his duties were taken over by the crown prince, who was called “regent of the state” 監國. 96. Lu Qinli, 2: 1795–96. 97. See LS 3. 73. 98. For the text of this poem, see Lu Qinli, 2: 1531–32. 99. See LS 51. 743. 100. The Shiji compiled by Feng Weina notes that this poem was written in response to the inquiry of Emperor Gao of the Qi. But Cao Daoheng and Shen Yucheng disputed this view, arguing that because Tao was only in his twenties at the time of the Qi Emperor Gao, it was unlikely that this poem was written by Tao to

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that monarch. They cited another view of the Southern Song critic Zhao Yuyan 趙與 虤, who noted that this poem was written to the Liang Emperor Wu. See Nanbeichao wenxueshi, 222 n. 13. 101. Lu Qinli, 2: 1814.

CH A P TER SEV EN 1. See “Wenxue zhuan” 文學傳 in NS 72. 1762. 2. Chenshu 陳書 (Beijing: Zhonghua shuju, 1972, hereafter cited as CS), 7. 132. 3. ZZTJ 178. 5546. 4. Between Emperors Wen and Xuan was the Deposed Emperor 廢帝 (r. 567–68), who ascended the throne at the age of 16. He was removed for his “cruelty and dissolution.” CS 4. 69. 5. Ibid., 2. 36. 6. Lu Qinli, 3: 1463. 7. These two lines allude to a passage in Huainaizi 淮南子: 洛出丹書, 河出綠 圖 (“vermilion writings emerged from the Luo, and green drawings emerged from the [Yellow] River”), which in turn refers to the legend that The Book of Changes and The Book of Historical Ducuments emerged from the Yellow and Luo rivers on the back of tortoise in response to the rule of sage rulers. Here, as well as in the Huainanzi, this was the sign of peace and prosperity under an enlightened ruler. See Huainanzi (the Zhuzi jicheng edition), 2. 32. 8. Mount Guye, also known as Miaoguye 藐姑射, was the home of gods. See Zhuangzi jishi, 1. 14. 9. See chapter 4, n. 30. 10. “Two palaces” 兩宮 refers to the palaces of the empress dowager and emperor; it might also refer to the palaces of the emperor and empress. See the Ciyuan 159 b. 非煙 in the next line seems mistakenly written for 緋煙. 11. “[Carts] painted with bears” 畫熊 were carts used by dukes and earls. See HHS 29. 3652. 12. “Yellow-Crane Road” 黃鶴路 refers to the road that an immortal traveled on his yellow crane. See Yiwen leiju 2: 63, 1130–31, citing the Shuyi zhuan 述異傳. Here it stands for the roads around the Leyou Park. 13. Shanglin and Changyang were both imperial hunting grounds during the Han. 14. There are two allusions in this line. “Beating the earth” 擊壤 refers to an ancient legend that during the time of Yao, an old man “beat the earth and sang a song” to celebrate his peaceful life. See Yiwen leiju 11. 214. “Holding on to the lead powder” 懷鉛 alludes to the anecdote of Yang Xiong’s composition of Fayan. Whenever Yang Xiong went out, he would bring with him “lead power and wood board.” Lead powder and board were tools for writing, so “holding on lead powder” is a metaphor for the pursuit of writing. See Xijing zaiji, 3. 118.

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15. This line alludes to 如南山之壽 (“Like the lovevity of the Southern Mountain”) in poem 166 of the Shijing; see Legge, She King, p. 255. 16. Lu Qinli, 3: 2485. 17. See SJ 30. 1428. 18. See the Wenxuan 7. 348–57, and my discussion of this work in chapter 1. 19. CS 6. 119. 20. Ibid. 21. Suishu 2. 30. 22. CS 30. 406. 23. Ibid., 30. 405–06. 24. Ibid., 34. 464. 25. Lu Qinli, 3: 2515. 26. “Town-topplers” 傾城 is a cliché for a beautiful woman. See HS 97 a. 3951. 27. Lu Qinli, 3: 2511. 28. Suishu 13. 309. Cao Daoheng and Shen Yucheng called it an illustration of the “morbidity of palace style poetry in its late stage.” Nanbeichao wenxueshi, 293. 29. CS 27. 345. 30. Ibid., 27. 347. 31. Ibid., 27. 346. 32. Ibid., 27. 347. 33. 婁苑湖 might be 婁湖, which was located five lis southeast of Jiankang. It was made into a 苑 or enclosed ground during the Liu Song dynasty. See Yuanhe junxian zhi 元和郡縣志, chapter 26, the SKQS edition. 34. “Four Waters” 四澤 may refer to 四瀆, which are the Yangtze River, the Yellow River, the Hui River, and the Ji River; see Hanyu dacidian, 3: 601a, citing the Erya. Here the phrase is a metaphor for all rivers and lakes. 35. “Kunming Pool” 昆池 and “Taiye Pond” 太液 were sites in the Han capital Chang’an; here they refer to the Louyuan Pond where the banquet in question was being held. 36. “Luo” 洛 is 洛陽, the capital of the Latter Han; “the banquets of Luo” 洛宴 refers to the banquets hosted by the Latter Han emperors. “The feasts of Hao” 鎬 飲 refers to the feasts hosted by King Wu of the Zhou, who had his capital at Hao, southwest of Chang’an. 37. Lu Qinli, 3: 2578. 簪 is the hairpin used to hold one’s hair and official hat; 笏 is the tablet used by officials in their audience with the emperor. Here they are metaphors of official service. “Broad Road” 周行 is an allusion to poem 3 of the Shijing: 嗟我懷人, 置彼周行 “With a sigh for the man of my heart, / I placed it there on the highway.” See Legge, She King, p. 8.

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38. “The upper forest” 上林 might be a reference to the namesake royal hunting ground celebrated in Sima Xiangru’s “Shanglin fu.” Here it stands for the locale of the present imperial excursion. 39. Lu Qinli, 3: 2586. 40. Cited in Yiwen leiju 98. 1697. 41. Lu Qinli, 3: 1591. 42. See n. 11 of chapter 1. 43. For the texts of these poems, see Wenxuan 29. 1352–53. Most critics regard them to be forged by later poets. See Fei Zhengang et al., Xianqin lianghan wenxue yanjiu, 410–15. 44. Jiang Zong wrote another fude piece on an assigned line by Cao Zhi, 謁帝 承明盧 (I paid a visit to the Emperor at the Chengming Palace). Even though that poem was not “written at imperial command,” its panegyric message is apparent. See Lu Qinli, 3: 1591. 45. “Five Purities” 五淨 refers to the “five pure-dwelling heavens in the fourth dhyāna heaven, into which arhats are finally born.” Dictionary of Chinese Buddhist Terms, 122. 46. “Six Gunas” 六塵 are “qualities produced by the objects and organs of sense, i.e. sight, sound, smell, taste, touch, and idea.” They are referred to as “dust” because they are “the cause of all impurity.” Ibid., 134. For the text of the poem, see Lu Qinli, 3: 2584. 47. “Cock Crest” 雞峰 refers to 雞足山 Kukkutapāda, which is another sacred mountain in India. Here it stands for Mount She. 48. “Taking off cap pins” 抽簪” is a metaphor for leaving one’s office for retirement. Lu Qinli, 3: 2513–14. 49. See Shuijing zhu 水經注, chapter 7, the SKQS edition. 50. For the life of Lü Wang, see SJ 32, 1477–81. 51. They are Ruan Ji 阮籍, Ji Kang 嵇康, Shan Tao 山濤, Xiang Xiu 向秀, Liu Ling 劉伶, Ruan Xian 阮咸, and Wang Rong 王戎. For a brief account of their activities, see JS 49. 52. See ZZTJ 177. 519. 53. NS 10. 310; Lu Qinli, 3: 2520. 54. NS 10. 310. 55. For a convenient account of these activities, see Yiwen leiju 39. 716–19. 56. NS 10. 310.

C H A P T E R E IG H T 1. Beishi 北史, compiled by Li Yanshou 李延壽 (Beijing: Zhonghua shuju, 1974, hereafter cited as BS), 1: 1

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3. Except for a few anonymous folk songs, the Xianqin hanweijin nanbeichao shi (3: 2197–2200) contains only five authored poems written before Yuan Hong 元宏, Emperor Xiaowen of the Wei 魏孝文帝 (r. 471–99), who launched a series of radical reforms of sinicizaion. The introduction to “Wenyuan zhuan” 文苑傳 in the BS notes the prose works of a few writers who lived in the northern states before they were conquered by the Northern Wei. It then goes on to state that “few works that portray objects and express feelings [i.e., poetry] were known to the world.” BS 83. 2778. 4. 81. 2704. 5. BS 3. 114. 6. 83. 2799. Also see Zhao Yi’s 趙翼 (1727–81) comments in Nianershi zhaji [jiaozheng] 廿二史劄記[校正], ed. Wang Shumin 王樹民, 2 vols. (Beijing: Zhonghua shuju, 1984), 1: 14. 308. 7. BS 3. 110. 8. Shisanjing 1: 4. 64, and Legge, She King, poem 65, p. 110. 9. The BS 3. 121 states that he “loved writing. Whenever he was inspired, he would write a poem, a rhyme-prose, an inscription, or an ode.” 10. Following Lu Qinli’s; the BS has 日 instead of 內. 11. Interpreting 馳誠 as 馳騁. 12. “All on earth” 率土 is a reference to poem 205 in the Shijing: 率土之賓, 莫非 王臣 (“Under the wide heaven, / All is the king’s land”); see Legge, She King, p. 360. “Adopting the same calendar” 一正歷 is another metaphor for uniting the country. 13. “Along the dam of the Fen” 遵彼汝墳alludes to poem 10 in the Shijing; see Legge, She King, p. 17. 14. BS 35. 1304; Lu Qinli, 3: 2200. 15. See BS 19. 701–04. 16. See their biographies in the Weishu 魏書, compiled by Wei Shou 魏收 (Beijing: Zhonghua, 1974), 56. 1237, 65. 1437, and 63. 1414, respectively. 17. For the text of this poem, see Lu Qinli, 1: 87. 18. Shisan jing, 1: 1. 14. 19. 35. 1304. 20. 21 b. 571. 21. BS 19. 802. 22. See n. 90 in chapter 2. 23. BS 19. 702 notes that Emperor Xiaowen assigned Prince Pencheng to many key positions. The prince once wrote to the Emperor, comparing himself with Cao Zhi: “Chensi (Cao Zhi) repeatedly asked for these positions but never got them, but this humble official of yours got them without asking.” The Emperor laughed out heartily, and holding the prince’s hand, he said: “The two Caos were jealous of each

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other’s talent and fame, but you and I were close by our virtues. In this sense, we can feel no shame in front of the ancients.” 24. BS 19. 702; Lu Qinli, 3: 2205. 25. BS 19. 702. 26. Ibid. An allegorical reading of the poem is also possible, since “pines” and “wind-cloud” could be interpreted as metaphors of outstanding people. In this case, Prince Pengcheng is drawing a comparison between the outstanding people of his day, which might include Emperor Xiaowen, and those of the ancient times. Still, the question format in which this comparison is made indicates the poet’s choice not to commit himself to an explicit praise of his imperial patron. 27. “Purple Pole” 紫極 is a metaphor of imperial residence and power. 28. BS 5. 169; Lu Qinli, 3: 2311. 29. BS 36. 1334–35; Lu Qinli, 3: 2211. 華嵩, “Mounts Huan and Song,” here is a metaphor for imperial favor. 30. For the text of this poem, see Lu Qinli, 3: 2215. 31. Lu Qinli, 3: 2221. For a brief survey of Wen Zisheng’s literary works and career, see Nanbeichao wenxueshi, 380–82. 32. The phrase 長門 (tall gate) may allude to the 長門賦 (“Rhapsody of Tall Gage”) by Sima Xiangru (see Wenxuan 16. 712–16), but the story of the abandoned Empress Chen portrayed in Sima Xiangru’s work does not fit in this context. Wen Zisheng’s use of this phrase is therefore better understood literally. 33. Lu Qinli, 3: 2270. For a brief account of Wei Shou’s careers and his works, see Nanbeichao wenxueshi, 385–86. 34. See Beiqi shu 北齊書, compiled by Li Baoyao 李百藥 (Beijing: Zhonghua shuju, 1972), 37. 489. 35. 關關 in the original Shijing poem (poem 1, in Legge, She King, p. 1) is an onomatopoetic phrase describing the chirpings of birds. My rendering here is meant to illustrate the parallelism in the couplet. 36. Wenxin diaolong zhu, 2: 588. 37. 月者, 天地之陰 (The moon is the yin of heaven and earth). See Yiwen leiju 1: 1. 7, citing the “Tianguan shu” 天官書 of SJ. 38. Zhoushu 周書, compiled by Linghu Defen 令狐德棻 et al., (Beijing: Zhonghua shuju, 1971, hereafter cited as ZS), 41. 731. 39. ZS 4. 60. 40. For the texts of these poems, see Lu Qinli, 3: 1323–24. 41. 41. 731. 42. ZS 6. 107. 43. Ibid., 41. 734. 44. Ibid.

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45. See Yu Zishan jizhu 庾子山集注, ed. and ann. Ni Fan 倪璠, 3 vols. (Beijing: Zhonghua shuju, 1980), 1: 49–66. 46. “Green drawings and writings” 綠圖文 refer to the ancient myth that when a sage ruler appears, rivers come up with mythical drawings and writings in response; because they come from the rivers, they are green. See Lüshi chunqiu 呂氏春秋 (the Zhuzi jicheng edition), 20. 274. 47. Cited in Yiwen leiju 1: 2. 37. 48. 41. 731. 49. Ibid., 41. 734. 50. For the text of this work, see ZS 41. 734–42. For an English translation of this text, see William T. Graham Jr., The Lament for the South: Yu Hsin’s ‘Ai Chiangnan fu’ (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1980). 51. Ni Fan cited the following sentence from Sanfu huangtu 三輔黃圖: 阿房宮以 磁石為門, 懷刃者止之 (“the E’fang Palace used magnetic stones for its doors. When someone with a knife tried to enter, they would stop him”). See Yu Zishan jizhu, 1: 203. n. 3. 52. “Galloping steeds” and “sprinting horses” are my translations of 驥騄 and 驌驦, two kinds of fine horses.

53. “Leopard Strategy” 豹略 and “Dragon Plans” 龍韜 are chapters 3 and 5 of an ancient military strategy book, entitled “Liutao” 六韜, the SKQS edition. 54. Yu Zishan jizhu, 1: 202–04; Lu Qinli, 3: 2359. 55. For the text of this rhapsody, see HS 87b. 3558–65, Han Rhapsody, 80–85. 56. The “Two Doctrines” 二教 refers to Buddhism and Daoism. 57. “Five Lights,” or pancavidyā” 五明, refers to “the five sciences or studies of India: śabda, grammar and composition; śilpakarmasthāna, the arts and mathematics; cikitsā, medicine; hetu, logic; adhyātma, philosophy.” Dictionary of Chinese Buddhist Terms, 119. 58. “Three elements” 三元 in Daoism refers to heaven, earth, and water, which are said to “give birth to mankind and nourish all things.” See Yunji qijian 雲笈七籤, 56, cited in Hanyu dacidian, 1: 179 b. 59. “Fish Mountain” 魚山 and “Crane Peak” 鶴嶺 are sacred mountains in Buddhism and Daoism respectively. See Ni Fan’s note in Yu Zishan jizhu, 1: 214 n. 2, citing Fayuan zhuli 法苑珠林 and Yuzhang ji 豫章記. 60. This couplet refers to two structures built by the Han Emperor Wu. The first is the “Tongtian tai” 通天臺 (“Heaven-reaching Terrace”), which had a god holding up a plate to receive dew from heaven. The second is the “Lingtai” 靈臺 (“Divine Terrace”), which had birds on it; they were said to spread their wings when wind arose. See Sanfu huangtu, 5, the SKQS edition. 61. Sanfu huangtu notes that the Han Emperor Wu ordered to build the Kungming Lake. During its construction, people saw some black soil. By the suggestion of Dongfang Shuo, the emperor asked the people from the west about this. They told

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him that the black soil was the “remaining ashes of the fire in the kalpa of destruction.” Chapter 4, ibid. Yu Zishan jizhu, 1: 213; Lu Qinli, 3: 2362. 62. See ZS 5. 83. 63. See Tang Yongtong, Hanwei liangjin nanbeichao fojiaoshi, 2: 389–94. 64. In this rendering I read 馭辯 as 馭變. 65. “Ku County” 苦縣 is Laozi’s hometown. See SJ 63. 2139. 66. These two lines refer to the Daoist art of extracting elixir, which allegedly could transform stones and plants into substance of immortality. 67. In the Zhuangzi, the Yellow Emperor went to visit the Great Universe (dawei) at Juci Mountain. He was served and accompanied by six of his followers. When they reached the wilderness at Xiangcheng, “the seven sages all got lost.” Zhuangzi jishi, 24. 358. 68. Yu Zishan jizhu, 1: 215; Lu Qinli, 3: 2362. 69. The SKQS edition, chapter 1. 70. ZS 5. 79. 71. This is the opinion of Ni Fan; see Yu Zishan jizhu, 1: 222. 72. “Five Towns” 五城 are abodes of gods at Kunlun Mountain. See Yiwen leiju 63, citing SJ. 73. The shadow of Buddha, or Buddhachāyā, “formerly exhibited in various places in India, visible only to those of ‘pure mind.’” Dictionary of Chinese Buddhist Terms, 227. 74. 交讓 is a type of tree that grows in pair; when one is withering, the other grows. They never grow or wither at the same time. See Yu Zishan jizhu, 1: 223 n. 7, citing Li Shan’s note to 交讓所植 in “Shudu fu” 蜀都賦 by Zuo Si. Both Jianshi Palace and Huiyin Hall were in Luoyang; see ibid. 75. 合昏 is 木槿 or althea, which closes its flowers in the evening. 76. “Silk-like words” 絲言 refers to 王言如絲 (“The king’s words are like silk”) in Liji 55, cited in Yu Zishan jizhu, 1: 223 n. 8. 77. “Scattered wood” 散木 is a reference to the Zhuangzi; see Zhuangzi jishi, 4. 78. 78. These two characters are missing in the original text. 79. According to Ni Fan, 鵾絃 (Lu Qinli has 弦) refers to two ancient tunes mentioned by Ji Kang in his “Qin fu” 琴賦, namely 鵾雞 and 遊絃. See Yu Zishan jizhu, 1: 224 n. 10. Yu Zishan jizhu, 1: 222; Lu Qinli, 3: 2363. 80. See, for example, the following couplets from Xie Lingyun’s “Deng chishanglou” 登池上樓: 池塘生春草, 園柳變鳴禽 (“Spring grass grows along the ponds, / Singing birds change in the garden willows”), and from Xie Tiao’s “Wandeng sanshan huanwang jingyi” 晚登三山還望京邑: 喧鳥覆春洲, 雜英滿芳甸 (“Chirruping birds

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cover the spring isles, / Various flowers fill the fragrant fields”). Lu Qinli, 2: 1431 and 2: 1161. 81. This is not to say that snow never appeared in southern poetry (see, e.g., Xie Zhuang’s poem in chapter 3), but the snow flowing in the river could only have been in the north. In all likelihood, the described river here was the Wei River 渭河, a main tributary of the Yellow River near Chang’an. 82. In the collections of Yu Xin’s works, there are another three poems that bear the title of yingzhao: “Xiqing yingzhao chi zishuyun” 喜晴應詔敕自疏韻, “Dongshou xing siyun lianju yingzhao” 冬狩行四韻連句應詔, and “Yong chunjin yuxue yingzhao” 詠春近餘雪應詔. The first is a dense and conventional piece concerned mainly with legitimating the rule of the Zhou; the second is a part of a linked verse that did not survive, and the third seems to have been composed when the poet was still in the south. For the texts of these poems, see Yu Zishan jizhu, 1: 289, 327, and 350. 83. “Watch” 更 was a nighttime unit used in ancient China. Each night was divided into five watches. The fourth watch refers roughly to the time between 1:00 a.m. and 3:00 a.m. 84. Yu Zishan jizhu, 1: 372; Lu Qinli, 3: 2403. 85. Ibid., 1: 372 and 3: 2403. 86. 6. 100. 87. See Hanyu dacidian, 5: 1060a, citing 易緯乾鑿下.

CH A P TER NINE 1. Emperor Yang’s murder of his father was never made explicit in the biographical accounts of him and his father in the Suishu. The account in ZZTJ 180: 5603 provides some hints at the cause of Emperor Wen’s death. It states that when Emperor Wen was ill, Yang Guang ordered out all people living in the inner palace and sent his own people to look after the Emperor. “Soon His Majesty died, and therefore there were many different opinions [about the cause of his death] both inside and outside [the palace].” Most Chinese scholars believe Emperor Wen was killed by Yang Guan. See Cao Daoheng and Shen Yucheng, Nanbeichao wenxueshi, 509, and n. 15 on p. 517. 2. 2. 54. 3. It should be noted that he did order Chen Houzhu to write at least one poem for him. See chapter 7 of this book. 4. See ZZTJ 180. 5603–04. 5. Ibid. 6. Suishu 4. 94–95. 7. The ZZTJ notes that he once remarked sarcastically to Cai Hui 蔡徽, his “supervising secretary” 給事郎, that “since the antiquity Sons of Heaven have had the tradition of conducting inspection tours. Why did those emperors east of the

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Yangtze [i.e., of the Southern dynasties] only know to put on makeup and sit in the deep palaces, not venturing out to make contact with people?” It also notes that along the canal that linked Chang’an and Jiangdu, there were forty of such palaces. See 181. 5644 and 5619. 8. Ibid., 3. 65. 9. Ibid., 3. 90–91. 10. ZZTJ182. 5684. 11. Suishu 57. 1413. 12. Shisanjing 1. 15. 221; for the text of this poem, see Legge, She King, poem 221, p. 400. 13. ZZTJ 182. 5684. 14. For the poem that contains this line, see “Xixi yan” 昔昔鹽, in Lu Qinli, 3: 2681. 15. The colorful account of this anecdote urges us to be cautious about its truthfulness. Cao Daoheng and Shen Yucheng, for example, voiced this cautious attitude, but nevertheless stated that such story had to have something to do with Emperor Yang’s cruelty and jealousy. See Nanbeichao wenxueshi, 516 n. 13. 16. The opening remark of “Wenxue zhuan” 文學傳 in the Suishu notes that some of the earlier writings of Emperor Wen “were not frivolous. But his style changed completely when he ascended the throne” (76. 1730). Such demarcation might be convenient, but in fact after he became emperor, Emperor Yang still produced a few poems that “were not frivolous,” such as “Ji Liaodong ershou” 紀遼東二 首 (Lu Qinli, 3: 2665–66), which were written during one of his infamous campaigns against Korea. 17. Emperor Yang served as the magistrate of Yangzhou for ten years. His wife, Empress Xiao, was the daughter of Xiao Kui 蕭巋 (r. 562–85), the ruler of the Latter Liang. The ZZTJ notes that he “loved the dialect of the Wu reigion” (185. 5775). Daye shiyi ji 大業拾遺記, attributed to Yan Shigu 顏師古, contains a story in which Emperor Yang gave order to cane two officials who had called the people of the Wu region “dongyi” 東夷, or “barbarians of the east [of Yangtze].” Cited in Cao Daoheng and Shen Yucheng, Nanbeichao wenxueshi, 490. 18. These two lines name four different stars. “Niu” and “Nü” are the “Cow Herd “ and “Weaving Girl” stars. I have not translated them in order to be consistent with my rendering of other star names. 19. Lu Qinli, 3: 2670. 20. See Wenxuan 27. 1280. 21. For a convenient and comprehensive collection of pre-Tang poems that deal with this topic, see the Yiwen leiju 1: 4. 76–79. 22. See 憂愁不能寐 in poem 19 of “Nineteen Old Poems,” and 夜中不能寐 in poem 1 of “Expressions of the Heart,” in Lu Qinli, 1: 334 and 496, respectively.

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23. This can be demonstrated by their ample representation in the Wenxuan: the entire Nineteen Old Poems, along with seventeen from “Expressions of the Heart,” were selected. 24. See Suishu 76. 1734. 25. “Linked pearls” 連珠 and “round fan” 團扇 are metaphors for stars and moon, respectively. See 五星如連珠 (“The five stars are like linked pearls”) in the “Lüli zhi” 律歷志 in HS 21 a. 976, and “Yuange xing” 怨歌行 attributed to Ban Jieyu, in Wenxuan 27. 1280. 26. Lu Qinli, 3: 2703–04. 27. For examples of such usage of 神居, see神居竟崇盛 (“The divine residence is truly magnificent”) in Bao Zhao’s “Shiyan fuzhoushan ershou” 侍宴覆舟山二首 discussed in chapter 4, and 帝京惟赤縣, 神居應紫微 (“The imperial capital is the Crimson Land, / The Divine Residence responds to the Purple Void”) by Zhang Zhengxian 張正見, “Cong jitian ying hengyang wang jiao zuo” 從籍田應衡陽王教作, in Lu Qinli, 3: 2486. 28. “Jade” 玉refers to the pendants worn by officials at court; “bronze” 金might refer to musical instruments used in court rituals. 29. There is no biographical information on this poet in the Suishu. Its “Yuezhi” 樂志 chapter mentioned a Yuan Qinglong 袁慶隆 who served as gentleman in the secretariat 秘書郎. Lu Qinli believed that this must be the poet who wrote this poem. See Lu Qinli, 3: 2692. 30. “Six dragons” 六龍 is a metaphor of the sun. It was said that the sun god rode on a chariot driven by six dragons. See 維六龍於扶桑 (“I tethered the six dragons to the Fusang tree”) from “Yuanyou” 遠遊 by Liu Xiang, in Chuci buzhu 310. 31. “Rabit” 顧兔 is a metaphor of the moon. It was said that there was a rabbit living on the moon. See 顧兔在腹 (“The rabbit lives in its [moon’s] stomach”) in “Tianwen” 天問 by Qu Yuan, in ibid., 88. 32. The Chuxue ji has 戍, Wenyuan yinghua has 戒. It seems that the correct character should be 戌, which refers to one of the twelve hours, equivalent to 7:00 p.m. to 9:00 p.m. 33. “Tiansi” 天駟 and “Wenchang” 文昌 are star names. 34. The Wenyuan yinghua has 扣; 扣寂 is a reference to 扣寂寞而求音 (“to knock at the quietude to seek the sound”), in the “Wenfu” 文賦 by Lu Ji. See Wenxuan 17. 765. 35. Lu Qinli, 3: 2692. 36. See Legge, The Shoo King, 9. 327. 37. For an earlier example using 金相 to refer to fine writing and poetry, see Xie Tiao’s “Qiuye jiangjie” 秋夜講解: 惠唱摛泉湧, 妙演發金相 (“Gracious chanting will release the wellspring’s gush, / And wondrous preaching sends abroad its golden quality”), in Xie Xuancheng jizhu, 262, and Mather, Age of Eternal Brilliance, 2: 12. 38. For this incident, see Suishu 22. 634.

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39. There is no biographical sketch of Xiao Cong in Suishu or in other historical sources, but he was mentioned a number of times. Lu Qinli has succinctly summed up his career in the introductory note to him; see Lu Qinli, 3: 2691. 40. Yuheng 玉衡, Dongluo 棟落, Yaoguang瑶光, and Huangliu 幌留 are all stars. 41. Lu Qinli, 3: 2691. This is the only poem by Xiao Cong that survives today. 42. See Zhang Hua, Bowu zhi, chapter 1, the SKQS edition. 43. For example, see 星漢非乘槎可上 (“The Milky Way can not be reached by riding a raft”) in Yu Xin’s “Ai jiangnan fu” 哀江南賦, Yu Zishan jizhu, 1: 101. 44. There is no biographical sketch of Yu Shinan in the Suishu, but it mentions him on a number of occasions. For the information cited here, see 76. 1739. His full biographical sketch is in Jiu Tang shu 舊唐書, compiled by Liu Xun 劉咰 et al. (Beijing: Zhonghua shuju, 1975), 72. 2565. 45. Lu Qinli, 3: 2718. 46. See Legge, Confucian Analects, 145: 為政以德, 譬如北辰, 居其所而眾星共 之 (“He who exercises government by means of his virtue may be compared to the north polar star, which keeps its place and all the stars turn towards it”). 47. The “six-line dance” 六佾 refers to the dance used by feudal lords, distinct from the “eight-line” 八佾 used by the Son of Heaven. Each “line” was composed of six dancers. See Ciyuan, 161. d, citing Du Yu’s 杜預 note to Zuozhuan, the fifth year of Duke Yin. The “City of Wu” 吳城 is at present-day Jiangsu Province. 48. Lu Qinli, 3: 2671. 49. See Chuxue ji 1: 4. 63. 50. “Sixia” 肆夏 is an ancient tune title; see Zuozhuan, the fourth year of Duke Xiang, in Yang Bojun, Chunqiu Zhuo zhuan zhu, 3: 931. 51. “Chongrun” 重潤 is also a tune title, composed during the Han dynasty. See Gujin zhu 古今注, attributed to Cui Bao 崔豹 of the Jin dynasty, the SKQS edition, chapter 3. 52. “Imposter” is my free rendering of 濫吹, one who “blows his pipe ignorantly,” which is a metaphor for incompetent people who hold titles that they do not deserve. See 更以畏友朋, 濫吹乖名實 (“I moreover fear my friends, / [Who will find out that] I am a mere imposter”) in Jiang Yan’s “Zaitishi sanshi shou: Lu Zhonglang Chen” 雜體詩三十首: 盧中郎諶, in Wenxuan 31. 1446. The source of this allusion is a story in Han Fei zi. King Xuan of the Qi had three hundred people to perform the yu instrument for him. A recluse asked to join the team. King Xuan granted him the request and provided him with food. When King Xuan died, his successor preferred to listen to the performer one at a time, so the recluse fled. See Han Fei zi jishi, 9. 173, the Zhuzi jicheng edition. 53. “[The music of] heaven” 鈞天 refers to the music of god, who resides in heaven. See SJ 105. 2787. Yu Shinan here uses it to refer to the poem by Emperor Yang that he was asked to match. Lu Qinli, 3: 2719.

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57. “Rising sun” is my rendering of 扶桑, the place where the sun rises in the morning. 58. Lu Qinli, 3: 2665. 59. See Yuëfu shiji, 56. 806–07. 60. “Tidal Lake” 朝夕池, also written 潮夕池, is another name for the sea. See Chuxue ji 1: 6. 115. Here it stands for the waters that the poet is gazing at. 61. 當 seems to be a miswritten character for 堂. 62. Lu Qinli, 3: 2711. 63. 蘭苕翡翠但相逐 alludes to 翡翠戲蘭苕 (“Kingfishers play among the orchid stems”) in a poem by Guo Pu; see poem 3 of his “Youxian shi qishou” 遊仙詩 七首, in Wenxuan 21. 1020. 64. For the text of this poem, see Yuefu shiji 26. 384. 65. See ibid., 50. 729, 731. 66. Tongxue Mountain is the origin of the Wei River 渭水, one of the largest of the “Eight Rivers” 八川 referred to in the matching piece by Xue Daoheng. Chuxue ji 6. 134, citing the Shujing zhu. 67. For the significance of “floating raft” 浮槎, see n. 44 of this chapter. 68. Reading 響 for 想,. 69. Lu Qinli, 3: 2668–69. 70. 181. 5644–45. 71. Ibid. 72. ZZTJ dates his execution to the fifth year of Daye, the same year when Emperor Yang took his western expedition. See 181. 5647. 73. “Trails of Yu” 禹迹 is a metaphor for China at large. It is said that when Yu was entrusted with controlling the floods, he traveled to every corner of the land. See Legge, Ch’un Ts’ew with the Tso Chuen, the fourth year of Duke Xiang, 424 and 424. 74. This alludes to an anecdote of King Tang of the Shang dynasty. During a tour, he saw that animal nets were spread out in all directions. He ordered to have them dismantled. When other feudal lords heard of this, they said, “Tang’s virtue is indeed perfect! It reaches even the animals.” Thus, “Tang’s nets” is a metaphor of virtuous ruler. See the SJ 3. 95. 75. Yumen Pass 玉門關, also referred to as 玉關, is in present-day Gansu province. It was an important strategic pass to the western region in ancient time. 76. “Eight rivers” 八川, also known as 八水, refers to the Wei 渭, the Jing 涇 and the Luo 洛 and other five rivers in the Guanzhong 關中 region, where the capital Chang’an was located; see Chuxue ji 6. 134, citing the Shujing zhu.

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77. This alludes to entertainment that Queen Mother of the West offered to King Mu of the Zhou during his tour to the far west. 78. “The Wind of the South” 南風 is an ancient song allegedly composed by the sage ruler Shun. See Lu Qinli, 1: 2–3. 79. According to Liezi 列子 6. 89 (the Zhuzi jicheng edition), Lord Luyang was engaged in a fight with another person. When he was still high in spirit, the sun was setting. He waved his spear at the sun and caused it to move back three shes, or about ninety lis. 80. See Cao Daohng and Liu Yuejin, Nanbeichao wenxue biannianshi, 661, and Lu Qinli, 3: 2679. 81. The first chapter of the Shuijing zhu notes that in the godly Kunlun Mountain where the Queen Mother of the West dwelled there were five “Golden Terraces” 金臺. 82. This line alludes to a story in the Liezi 2. 21. A man living by the sea was fond of seagulls. Every morning hundreds of these birds would come down to join him. When his father heard of this, he told his son to catch some for him to play with. The next day, when the man went again to the beach, the seagulls would only hover in the air and would not come down. Emperor Yang’s line is reiterating the Daoist theme of this passage: Birds can be “tamed” only by an innocent heart. 83. “Linfeng” 臨汾, at present-day Shanxi, was said to be the capital of Yao. Lu Qinli, 3: 2670. 84. See Liezi 3. 33. 85. “Ming and Zhang” 溟漲 are both names of seas. See Li Shan’s note to 溟漲 無端倪 (“The Ming and Zhang are without limit”) in Xie Lingyun’s “You chishi jin fanhai” 遊赤石進帆海, Wenxuan 22. 1043. 86. The “Ten Isles” 十洲 were said to be godly abodes in the sea. See Shizhou ji 十洲記, the SKQS edition. 87. The “Three Mountains” 三山 refer to Penglai 蓬萊, Fangzhang 方丈, and Yingzhou 瀛洲; they are also godly mountains in the sea. See Chuxue ji 6. 115. 88. Feng-sao refers to the “Guofeng” 國風 section of the Shijing and the “Lisao” 離騷 of Qu Yuan. They stand for the entire Chinese poetic tradition. 89. Lu Qinli, 3: 1713. 90. Lu Qinli, 3: 2669. 91. Suishu 3. 72 notes that in the fifth year of Daye (609) Emperor Yang changed Luoyang’s name from Dongjing 東京 to Dongdu 東都; thus this poem must have been written after this year. 92. See Suishu 58. 1424–31. 93. “Displaying glory” 重光 alludes to the following sentence in the Shangshu: 昔君文王武王, 宣重光 (“The former sovereigns, King Wen and King Wu, displayed in succession their equal glory”). See Shisanjing 1: 18. 126 a, and Legge, Shoo King,

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547. It celebrates a ruler’s achievement in continuing and broadening the success of his predecessor. 94. “Meeting with [feudal lords]” 肆覲 refers to the ancient practice that a monarch traveled to sacred mountains such as Mount Tai in the second month and granted audience to local lords there. See Shisanjing 1: 3. 15 b, and Legge, Shoo King, 35. 95. “The blessed Luoyang” 卜洛 refers to the “Luogao” 洛誥section of the Shangshu, where Duke Zhou got a favorable prediction for choosing Luoyang, the “new city” 新邑, as the eastern capital. See Shisanjing 1: 15. 102 b, c, and Legge, The Shoo King, 436 and 438. 96. “Three luminaries” 三辰 refers to the sun, the moon, and stars. 97. “Seven-guard team” 七萃 refers to court guards of the Zhou kings. See the Mutianzi zhuan 1, the SKQS edition: 天子乃樂, 賜七萃之士戰 (“The Son of Heaven is thus pleased, offering soldiers in seven-guard teams”). 98. “Fish fins” 魚鬚 were used to decorate the tablets that officials held at court. See Liji zhushu 禮記注疏, chapter 30, the SKQS edition. 99. “Feng and Hao” 酆鎬 were old capitals during the Zhou dynasty; both were near Chang’an, the western capital. 100. “Fenyu” 枌榆 was the hometown of Liu Bang, Emperor Gaozu of the Han; see SJ 28. 1378. It was often used as a metaphor for one’s native land. Here it refers to Xu’s own hometown, Gaoyang, in present-day Henan Province. 101. Lu Qinli, 3: 2707–08. 102. The phrase冉冉 is in “Lisao”: 老冉冉其將至兮 (gradually the old age is creeping on me); 遲遲 is in “Gufeng” 谷風, poem 35 of the Shijing; 行道遲遲 (I go along the road, slowly, slowly). See Chuci buzhu 1. 12, and Legge, She King, 55. 103. The Suishu states that this took place soon after the eleventh year of Daye (615). 104. 32. 1573. 105. Cao Daoheng and Liu Yuejin dated this poem to the thirteenth year of Daye (617); see their Nanbeichao wenxue biannianshi, 667. 106. Lu Qinli, 3: 2673. 107. Suishu 22. 638. 108. This alludes to Shun’s sacrificial tours, later to become a tradition with imperial monarchs, to sacred mountains to obtain heaven’s blessings. See 遂覲東后. 東后者, 諸侯也 (“Thus [the monarch] went to see the eastern lords. Eastern lords are feudal lords”). SJ 28. 1355. 109. Lu Qinli, 3: 2711. Cao Daoheng and Liu Yuejin assigned, inconsistently, two dates for the composition of this and the next poem by Yu Shinan, in the the sixth (610) and thirteenth (617) years of Daye; see their Nanbeichao wenxue biannianshi, 662 and 667. In all likelihood, these two poems were written to match Emperor Yang’s poem considered earlier, as Cao Daoheng and Liu Yuejinalso noted.

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110. Mount Kuaiji 會稽山 is in present Zhejiang province. Xiayu 夏禹, a legendary sage ruler of antiquity, was said to have hosted a meeting with his lords and officials in this mountain. See SJ 47. 1912–13. 111. This line contains two allusions. 順動 (to move timely) refers to 天地以 順動, 故日月不過, 而四時不忒. 聖人以順動, 則刑罰清而民服 (“Heaven and earth move with devotion; therefore sun and moon do not swerve from their courses, and the four seasons do not err. The holy man moves with devotion; therefore fines and punishements become just, and the people obey”); see Zhouyi zhengyi, in Shisanjing 1: 2. 19 c, and Wilhelm and Baynes, I Ching, 467. 來蘇 (resurrected people) refers to 后來其蘇 (“ . . . and we revive”) in the Shangshu; see Shisanjing 1: 8. 49 c, and Legge, Shoo King, 181. 112. This couplet alludes to the early history of the Zhou dynasty. Tang, in present-day Shanxi, was given to Shuyu 叔虞 (SJ 39. 1635); Shaan, in present-day Henan, was assigned to Dukes Zhou 周 and Zhao 召; see Chunqiu gongyangzhuan zhushu 春 秋公羊傳注疏, chapter 3, the SKQS edition. 113. The Chuxue ji 1. 18, citing the Diwang ji 帝王紀, notes that the sage ruler Shun (also known as Yu or Yushun) once played a song on his zither. 114. “The Han emperor’s drum” 漢築 refers to the HS 1 b. 74 story about the Han Emperor Gaozu, who, while passing his hometown Pei, hit with a bamboo stick the 筑, or the “drum” in my rendering, and composed his famous “Song of the Great Wind” 大風歌. Bayu refers to Shu, in present-day Sichuan. Yu Shinan must have used this place name as a convenient metaphor of the south in general, because it is very far from Jiangdu. 115. 散樗 (“scattered ch”) is an allusion to the Zhuangzi. The Chu tree is described as a useless object because of its overgrown and irregular shape, but its uselessness nevertheless enables it to escape the fate of being chopped down for pragmatic purpose. Its uselessness to society is therefore useful for its own survival. See Zhuangzi jishi, 1. 20. Lu Qinli, 3: 2718–19. 116. 無庸 here is read as 無用, as in 我生之初, 尚無庸 (“In my early life, / Time still passed without call for our services”) in poem 70 of the Shijing; see Legge, She King, p. 117.

C O N C L U S IO N 1. In addition to Fang Dongshu’s harsh criticism of Wang Can and other Jian’an poets for their panegyric poems to Cao Cao (see his Zhaomei zhanyan, 78–79), another Qing dynasty critic Shen Deqian 沈德潛 (1673–1769) attacked the poetic exchanges between the monarchs and officials (君臣贈答) during the Liang dynasty. See his Shuoshi zuiyu 說詩晬語 (Beijing: Renmin wenxu chubanshe, 1979), 204. 2. See Shisang jing 1: 1. 3 c, and Owen, Readings in Chinese Literary Thought, 47.

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Index



Aristotle, 5 Ban Gu 班固, 16 banquet poems, 43 Bao Zhao 鮑照, 82, 96, 99; poems discussed: “Two Poems Composed while Attending on His Majesty at a Banquet at Mount Fuzhou” 侍宴覆舟山二首, 97–98, 99 boliang yan 柏梁讌 (“Cypress Beams Feast”), 109, 167 Boyi and Shuqi 伯夷, 叔齊, 87 Cao Cao 曹操, 23, 25, 26; poem discussed: “A Haoli Song” 蒿里, 27 Cao Jingzong 曹景宗, 129–130; poem discussed: “Written on the Apportioned Rhyming Words jing and bing while Attending His Majesty at a Banquet Held at Guanghua Palace” 光華殿侍 宴赋兢病韻詩, 130 Cao Pi 曹丕, 23, 43, 169–170; poem discussed: “Composed by the Hibiscus Pond” 芙蓉池作, 41 Cao Zhi 曹植, 23, 43, 169–170; poems discussed: “Self-blaming” 責躬, 43–44; “Written at Imperial Command” 應詔, 44–46

ceshi 策事 (“testing [one’s knowledge on an] object/anecdote”), 124–125 changyou倡優 (also paiyou 俳優 “entertainer”), 8, 16 Chao Fu 巢父, 87 Chen Houzhu 陳后主, see Chen Shubao 陳叔寶

Chen Lin 陳琳, 24, 26 Chen Shubao 陳叔寶, 147, 153, 162–163; poems discussed: “Banqueting at Lihui Palace on Shangsi Day, We Each Wrote a Poem of Ten Rhymes on an Assigned Word” 上巳宴麗輝殿各賦一字十韻詩, 153–154; “Jade Trees and RearCourtyard Blossoms” 玉樹後 庭花, 154–155; “Poem Written during a Tour of the Qixia Temple at Mount She: Harmonizing with Chief Administrator Jiang” 同江僕射遊棲霞寺詩, 161; “Written at Imperial Command While Attending His Majesty at a Banquet during the Sui Dynasty” 入隋侍宴應詔詩, 163 Confucius, on the Shijing, 15; on reclusion, 87, 89 Cui Yan 崔琰, 25 Dong Zhongshu 董仲舒, 8, 15

283

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| writ ten at imperial command

Du Fu 杜甫, 99 Duke of Zhou 周公, 56, 58 early medieval 中古 (in Chinese literary history), 1 Eight Friends of Jingling (Jingling bayou 竟陵八友), 104, 123 Emperor Daowu of the Northern Wei dynasty 北魏道武帝, 165, 166 Emperor Fei of the Liu Song dynasty 宋 廢帝, 9 Emperor Gao of the Qi dynasty 齊高帝, 103–104 Emperor Gaozu of the Han dynasty 漢高 祖, 168 Emperor Hui of the Jin dynasty 晉惠帝, 63 Emperor Jiemin of the Northern Wei dynasty 北魏節閔帝, 170; poems discussed: “Poem” 詩, 170; “A Linked Verse” 聯句詩, 171–172 Emperor Ming of the Qi dynasty 齊明帝, 103, 111 Emperor Wen of the Liu Song dynasty 宋 文帝, 75, 83–84 Emperor Wen of the Sui dynasty 隋文帝, 163, 164, 185 Emperor Wen of the Wei dynasty 魏文帝, see Cao Pi Emperor Wu of the Han dynasty 漢武帝, 8, 13–16, 20, 26, 150, 167 Emperor Wu of the Jin dynasty 晉武帝, 49–50 Emperor Wu of the Liang dynasty 梁武 帝, 111, 123, 130, 196; poems discussed: “Written at the Heat-Relieving Palace: In Imitation of the Cypress-Beams Terrace Style 清暑殿效柏梁 體, 125—126; “Written upon Ascending the Beigu Fortress” 登北固樓詩,137; “Written during a Visit to the Great Temple of Love and Respect at Mount Zhong” 遊鐘山大愛敬寺詩, 131–141

Emperor Wu of the Liu Song dynasty 宋 武帝, 75, 76 Emperor Wu of the Qi dynasty 齊武帝, 104 Emperor Wu of the Zhou dynasty 周武帝, 176, 181 Emperor Xiaowen of the Northern Wei dynasty 北魏孝文帝, 166, 167, 169; poem discussed: “A Linked Verse Composed at a Daoist Bamboo Hall at Xuanhu While Feasting with Attending Officials” 縣瓠方丈竹堂饗侍臣聯 句詩, 166 Emperor Xiaowu of the Liu Song dynasty 宋孝武帝, 9, 75, 95–96 Emperor Xuan of the Chen dynasty 陳宣 帝, 148 Emperor Yang of the Sui dynasty 隋煬帝, 185; poems discussed: “Looking at Stars on a Moonlit Night” 月 夜觀星詩, 187–188; “Entertaining Court Officials at a New Year Banquet” 獻歲讌宮臣詩, 193; “The Night of Spring River and Flowery Moon” 春江花月 夜, 195; “Four Seasons of White Ramie: Summer in Jiandu” 四 時白紵歌: 江都夏, 196; “Arriving at Weiyuan” 臨魏源詩, 198–199; “Looking at the Sea” 望海詩, 201; “Returning to the Capital” 還京師詩, 203; “Poem Written on Visiting Jiandu” 幸 江都作詩, 205 Empress Jia 賈后, 63 epideictic rhapsody, 13, 16, 21 epideictic rhetoric, 21, 211 Erasmus, 5 Fan Ye 范曄, 83, 87; poem discussed: “Written at Imperial Command during an Outing at Leyou Park” 樂遊園應詔, 88 feng諷 (“indirect criticism”), 5, 6, 20, 211 Feng Weina 馮維訥, editor of Shiji 詩紀 (Collection of Poetry), 63

Index fengjian 諷諫 (also see feng 諷), 20 Fu Zai 傅縡, 152 fude 賦得 (“written on an assigned word/ line/topic”), 158–159 fuyun 賦韻 (“apportioning rhyming words”), 130 Gongsun Yan 公孫衍, 7 Great Preface to the Shijing 詩大序, 1, 3, 9, 212 He Chen 賀琛, 124 He Digan 賀狄干, 165 Hou Ji 后稷, 54 Huo Qubing 霍去病, 130 Isocrates, 4 Jia Chong 賈充, 72 Jia Mi 賈謐, 72 Jiang Zong 江總, 152, 153, 162–163; poems discussed: “In Attendance at a Banquet by the Louyuan Lake on an Autumn Day: Written at Imperial Command” 秋日侍宴婁苑湖應詔詩, 155–156; “On Collecting Sweet Dew: Written at Imperial Command” 詠採甘露應詔詩, 156– 157; “On the Assigned Line ‘Hand in Hand We Ascend the River Dam’: Written at Imperial Command” 賦得攜手上河梁 應詔詩, 157–158; “Poem Written during a Tour of the Qixia Temple at Mount She” 遊棲霞 寺詩, 159–160 kezi 客子 (“traveler”), 37 King Wen of the Zhou dynasty 周文王, 3 King Wu of the Zhou dynasty 周武王, 134 King Xuan of the Qi State 齊宣王, 7 Kong Jing 孔靖, 77 Kong Rong 孔融, 24 kun-peng 鯤鵬 (“kun and peng birds” in the Zhuangzi), 135

| 285

Lady Ban 班婕妤, 188 Laozi 老子, 37, 57 Li Ling 李陵, 158 Li Mi 李密, 50 lianju 連句 (“linked-verse composition”), 125, 126, 127, 130, 131, 167, 171 Liu An 劉安 (Prince of Huai 淮南王), 13 Liu Muzhi 劉穆之, 76 Liu Xiaochuo 劉孝綽, 132; poem discussed: “In attendance at a Farewell Banquet for Yu Yuling: Written at Imperial Command” 侍宴庾於陵應詔詩, 132 Liu Xie 劉勰, see Wenxin diaolong Liu Yi 劉毅, 49–50 Liu Zhen 劉楨, 26, 40; poem discussed: “At a Court Banquet”公讌, 41–42 Lu Yu 陸瑜, 152, 153 Lü Wang 吕望, 161 Lun Xun 魯迅, 25, 40 Mei Gao 枚皋, 16 Mengzi (Book of Mencius) 孟子, 7 Nineteen Old Poems 古詩十九首, 34, 188 Pan Yue 潘岳, 63; poem discussed, “The Guanzhong Poem” 關中詩, 64–72 panegyric (in Western tradition), 4 Pei Songzhi 裴松之, 26, 40 Prince Pengcheng 彭城王 (Yuan Xie 元 勰), 167, 169; poem discussed: “Written at Imparial Command on the Mountain Pines at Tongdi” 應制賦銅鞮山松 詩, 170 Prince Teng of the Northern Wei dynasty 北魏滕王, 176 qi 氣 (“breath, natural endowment”), 46, 47 Qin Shihuang 秦始皇, 7 Qiu Chi 丘遲, 119; poem discussed: “In Attendance at a Farewell

286

| writ ten at imperial command

Banquet for the Magistrate of Xuzhou, Mr. Zhang: Written at Imperial Command” 侍讌樂遊 苑送張徐州應詔詩, 119–120 Qiu Juyuan 邱巨源, 112 Qu Yuan 屈原, 53, 120 Queen Mother of the West 西王母, 201, 202 Ruan Ji 阮籍, 188 sanyi 三易 (“three easies” theory on poetic composition by Shen Yue), 109 Seven Master of the Jian’an era 建安七 子, 25 Seven Sages of the Bamboo Forest 竹林七 賢, 161–162 Shangshu (“Book of Historical Documents”) 尚書, 9, 56, 58 Shangsi Festival 上巳節, 60 Shen Qingzhi 沈慶之, 96–97 Shen Yue 沈約, 104, 125, 196; poems discussed: “Accompanying Emperor Wu to Langye Fortress for a Military Review: Written at Imperial Command” 從武 帝瑯琊城講武應詔, 105; “In Attendance on the Emperor during an Excursion to Mount Fang: Written at Imperial Command” 侍遊方山應詔, 109–110; “In Attendance at a Banquet in Leyou Park to Send Off Lü Senzhen: Written at Imperial Command” 應詔樂遊苑餞吕僧珍詩, 127; “In Attendance at a Farewell Banquet for the Magistrate of Xuzhou: Written at Imperial Command” 侍宴樂遊苑餞徐 州刺史應詔, 131; “Courtyard Rain: Written at Imperial Command” 庭雨應詔詩, 133; “The Music is about to End, but the [Emperor’s] Favor Never Will: Written at Imperial Command” 樂將盡恩未已應詔詩, 136

Shi Chong 石崇, 72 Shiji 詩紀 (Anthology of Poetry), see Feng Weina Shijing詩經 (Book of Poetry), 2, 31–32, 33, 34, 36, 54, 56, 81, 87, 134, 175 Shishuo xinyu 世說新語 (A New Account of the Tales of the World), 169 shiyan 詩眼 (“poetic eye”), 161 shuike (“persuaders”) 說客, 7 Shun 舜, 55, 208 Shuowen jiezi 說文解字 (Explanation of Simple and Compound Graphs), 57 Sima Guang 司馬光, 14 Sima Lun 司馬倫 (Prince Zhao 趙王), 65 Sima Qian司馬遷, 14, 16, 20 Sima Rong 司馬肜 (Prince Liang 梁王), 65 Sima Xiangru 司馬相如, 13, 14, 20; poem discussed: “Rhapsody on an Imperial Hunt” 天子遊獵賦, 16–20 sishi四始 (“Four Beginnings”), 2 song 頌 (“hymn”), 2 Su Wu 蘇武, 158 Sun Quan 孫權, 30 surpass topos, 32, 143, 150, 211 Tao Hongjing 陶弘景, 145; poem discussed: “The Emperor Send an Inquiry on What there Is in the Mountains; I Wrote this Poem in Response” 詔問山中何所有賦 詩以答, 145 Wang Bao 王褒, 175, 177; poem discussed: “On Fog: Written at Imperial Command” 詠霧應詔 詩, 176 Wang Can 王粲, 25; poems discussed: “Seven Sorrows” 七哀, 27–28; “Following Military Campaign” 從軍行, 28–37; “At a Court Banquet” 公讌, 37–38 Wang Fuzhi 王夫之, 43 Wang Rong 王融, 104; poems discussed: “Accompanying Emperor Wu to Langye Fortress for a Military

Index Review: Written at Imperial Command” 從武帝瑯琊城講武 應詔, 105; “In Attendance on the Emperor during an Excursion to Mount Fang: Written at Imperial Command” 侍遊方山 應詔, 108 Wei Shou 魏收, 174; poems discussed: “Boating on a Gray Day: Written at Imperial Command” 晦日 泛舟應詔詩, 174 Wei Zheng 魏徴, 152 Wen Zisheng 溫子昇, 172; poem discussed: “Accompanying His Majesty during a Visit to Jinyong City” 從駕幸金墉城詩., 172–173 Wenxin diaolong 文心雕龍 (Literary Mind and Carving of Dragons), 3, 23, 50, 51, 73 Wenxuan 文選 (Selections of Refined Literature), 1, 11 Wenyuan yinghua文苑英華 (Outstanding Blossoms from the Literary Garden), 11 Wu Jing 吳兢, 32 Wu Zhi 吳質, 40 wude 五德 (“five virtues”), 54 wuwei 無為 (“noninterference”), 81, 85 Xiao Baojuan 蕭寶卷, 119 Xiao Cong 蕭琮, 190; poem discussed: “Looking at Stars on a Moonlit Night: Written to Match an Imperial Poem Shown to the Hundred Officials” 奉和御制月 夜觀星示白僚詩, 190–191 Xiao Gang 蕭綱, 137; poem discussed: “Written to Match [His Majesty’s] Poem on Ascending the Beigu Fortress” 奉和登北固樓 詩, 138 Xiao Tong 蕭統, 1, 137; poem discussed: “Matching a Poem by Emperor Wu: Written during a Visit to the Great Temple of Love and

| 287

Respect at Mount Zhong” 和武 帝遊鐘山大愛敬寺詩, 142–143 Xiao Yan 蕭衍, see Emperor Wu of the Liang dynasty Xiao Zilian 蕭子良 (Prince of Jingling 竟 陵王), 104 Xie Dan 謝澹, 76 Xie Hui 謝晦, 76 Xie Lingyun 謝靈運, 76, 83, 159; poem discussed, “A Valediction for Director Kong of the Imperial Secretariat, Written at the Command of the Duke of Song on the Ninth Day at a Gathering at Xima Terrace” 九日從 宋公戲馬臺送孔令詩, 79–80; “Accompanying His Majesty during a Tout to Beigu Mountain at Jingkou: Written at Imperial Command” 從遊京口 北固應詔, 84–85 Xie Tiao 謝朓, 104, 121; poem discussed: “On the Third Day [of the Third Month] in Attendance at a Banquet by the Curving Waters of the Huanguang Hall: Written on Behalf of Someone at Imperial Command” 三日 侍華光殿曲水宴代人應詔, 112–118 Xie Zhan 謝瞻, 76; poem discussed: “A Valediction for Director Kong of the Imperial Secretariat, Written at the Command of the Duke of Song on the Ninth Day at a Gathering at Xima Terrace” 九日從宋公戲馬臺送孔令詩, 77 Xie Zhuang 謝莊, 9, 99–100; poem discussed: “Snowflakes on New Year’s Day: A Matching Poem Written at Imperial Command” 和元日雪花應詔詩, 100 Xu Shanxin 徐善心, 204; poem discussed: “A Poem Written to Match [His Majesty’s] ‘Returning to the Capital’” 奉和還京師詩, 204

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| writ ten at imperial command

Xu Shen 許慎, see Shuowen jiezi Xu You 許由, 87 Xue Daoheng 薛道衡, 186–187; poem discussed: “Arriving at Weiyuan: Written at Imperial Command to Match a Poem [by His Majesty]” 奉和臨魏源詩, 200 xueanxue 玄學 (“deep learning”), 85, 87 Yan Jun 顏峻, 95 Yan Yanzhi 顏延之, 82, 90; poems discussed: “Observing Crop Harvesting at the Fields by North Lake, Written at Imperial Command” 應詔觀北湖田收, 90–91; “Poem Composed while Attending the Emperor Traveling to Mount Suan, When His Majesty’s Entourage Graced Jingkou” 車駕幸京口侍遊蒜山 作, 93 Yang Xiong 揚雄, 6, Yao 堯, 55, 56, 61, 85, 87, 89, 142, 202 Yellow Emperor 黃帝, 138, 139, 142, 177 Ying Zhen 應貞, 54; poem discussed: “A Poem Written at a Banquet Hosted by Emperor Wu of Jin at Hualin Garden” 晉武帝華林 園集詩, 54–59 yingzhao 應詔 (also yingzhi 應制, “written at imperial command”), 1, 11 yongwu shi 詠物詩 (“poetry on object”), 133, 135 youshi (“wandering scholars”) 遊士, 7 Yu Shiji 虞世基, 197, 205; poems discussed: “Four Seasons of White Ramie: Summer in Jiandu: Written to Match a Poem by Emperor Yang” 四時 白紵歌: 江都夏—和煬帝, 197; “Looking at the Sea: A Matching Poem” 奉和望海詩, 202; “Written at Imperial Command to Match [His Majesty’s] Poem on Visiting Jiandu” 奉和 幸江都應詔, 206

Yu Shinan 虞世南, 192; poems discussed: “Looking at Stars on a Moonlit Night: Written to Match an Imperial Poem Shown to the Hundred Officials” 奉和御制 月夜觀星示百僚詩, 192; “Written to Match [His Majesty’s] ‘Entertaining Court Officials at a New Year Banquet’” 奉 和獻歲讌宮臣詩, 194; “Written at Imperial Command to Match [His Majesty’s] Poem on Visiting Jiandu” 奉和幸江都應 詔, 207 Yu Wenrong 宇文邕, see Emperor Wu of the Zhou dynasty Yu Wentai 宇文泰, 175 Yu Xin 庾信, 175, 177; poems discussed: “Accompanying His Majesty to a Military Survey” 從駕觀 講武, 177–178; “Matching a Poem Expounding on the Two Doctrines: Written at Imperial Command” 奉和闡弘二教應 詔, 179; “Visiting the Temple of Laozi: Written at Imperial Command” 至老子廟應詔, 180; “Matching a Poem on the Dharma Mat: Written at Imperial Command” 奉和法筵應 詔, 181–182; “Being Assigned the Topic of the ‘Fourth Watch’ while Traveling: Written at Imperial Command” 行途賦 得四更應詔, 183; “A Matching Poem on the Conquest of the Ye: Written at Imperial Command” 奉和平鄴應詔, 183–184 Yuan Hong 元宏, see Emperor Xiaowen of the Northern Wei dynasty Yuan Qing 袁慶, 189; poem discussed: “Looking at Stars on a Moonlit Night: Written to Match an Imperial Poem Shown to the Hundred Officials” 奉和御制月 夜觀星示白僚詩, 189–190

Index Yuan Shao 袁紹, 24 yuefu 樂府 (“music bureau poetry”), 27 Zhang Hua 張華, 60; poem discussed: “A Poem Composed at a Banquet at the Rear Garden on the Third Day of the Third Month, in the Sixth Year of Taikang” 太康六 年三月三日後園會詩, 60–62 Zhang Hua 章華, 152 Zhang Shuai 張率, 134; poem discussed: “On Leaping Fish: Written at Imperial Command” 詠躍魚應 詔詩, 134 Zhang Yi 張儀, 7 Zhang Zhengxian 張正見, 149; poem discussed: “In Attendance at a Banquet When [the Emperor] Graced Leyou Park 御幸樂遊苑 侍宴詩, 149–150 Zhanguo ce (Intrigues of Warring States) 戰 國策, 7 Zheng Daozhao 鄭道昭, 167 zhengfu 征夫 (“man on the road”), 31, 34,

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Zhi Yu 摯虞, 63 Zhong Rong 鐘嶸, 60 Zhou Chu 周處, 66, 67 Zhou Hongzheng 周弘正, 148; poem discussed: “On a Stone Whale: Written at Imperial Command” 詠石鲸應詔詩, 148 Zhouyi 周易 (Book of Changes), 56, 81, 87 Zhuangzi 莊子 (Book of Zhuangzi), 85, 87, 139, 209 Zhuge Ying 諸葛穎, 188; poems discussed: “Looking at Stars on a Moonlit Night: Written to Match an Imperial Poem Shown to the Hundred Officials” 奉和御制月夜觀星示白 僚詩, 188–189; “The Night of Spring River and Flowery Night: Written to Match a Poem by Emperor Yang” 春江花 月夜: 和煬帝, 195 Zuo Fen 左芬, 51, poem discussed: “Rhapsody on Thought of Separation” 離思賦, 51–53

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ASIAN STUDIES / LITERARY CRITICISM

Written at Imperial Command Panegyric Poetry in Early Medieval China Fusheng Wu This is the first book-length study of panegyric poetry—yingzhao shi or poetry presented to imperial rulers—in the Chinese tradition. Examining poems presented during the Wei-Jin Nanbeichao, or early medieval period (220–619), Fusheng Wu provides a thorough exploration of the sociopolitical background against which these poems were written and a close analysis of the formal conventions of the poems. By reconstructing the human drama behind the composition of these poems, Wu shows that writing under imperial command could be a matter of grave consequence. The poets’ work could determine the rise and fall of careers, or even cost lives. While panegyric poetry has been largely dismissed as perfunctory and insincere, such poems reveal much about the relations between monarchs and the intellectuals they patronized and also compels us to reexamine the canonical Chinese notion of poetic production as personal, spontaneous expression. “This book brings into focus a longstanding subgenre of classical Chinese poetry. The author’s handling of the subject is historically informed and textually sensitive. His scholarship is meticulous.” — Xiaoshan Yang, author of Metamorphosis of the Private Sphere: Gardens and Objects in Tang-Song Poetry Fusheng Wu is Associate Professor of Chinese and Comparative Literature at the University of Utah and the author of The Poetics of Decadence: Chinese Poetry of the Southern Dynasties and the Late Tang Periods, also published by SUNY Press. A volume in the SUNY series in Chinese Philosophy and Culture Roger T. Ames, editor

State University of New York Press www.sunypress.edu