Fragrant Princess: I also understand.
Chang: If you also understand, salute Pien Yü-ching as your tutor. [She does so.]
Chang [to Ting and Pien]: Help them change into Taoist robes. [They do so.]
Ting and Pien: Ascend to your seat, Your Reverence, so that we may present our disciples.
[Chang takes his seat, and Ting and Pien lead Hou and Fragrant Princess to prostrate themselves before him.]
Ting and Pien together [singing]:
Crop the sprouts of love
And see them wither, the sprigs of gold and jade.
Root out passion
From these descendants of the dragon and phoenix.
Life is brief as bubble of foam,
Short as spark, struck from stone.
Let them spend their remnant years
Following our doctrine.
Chang: For the male, let the south be his direction. Let Hou Fang-yü depart for the southernmost hills, there to cultivate the Way.
Hou: I go. Understanding the Way, I perceive the depths of my folly. [Ting leads Hou offstage.]
Chang: For the female, let her direction be the north. Let Fragrant Princess depart for the northernmost hills, there to cultivate the Way.
Fragrant Princess: I go. All is illusion; I know not that man before me.
[Pien leads Fragrant Princess offstage, the opposite side from Hou’s exit. Chang descends from his seat and utters three great shouts of laughter.]
Chang [sings]:
See them take their leave
With never a backward glance.
My task it was to shred the peach blossom fan,
That never more the strands of folly
Shall bind the heart of man and maid.
White bones are laid in the dust,
The southern realm concludes its span.
Dreams of revival fall to earth
In shreds with the peach blossom fan.
Illustration: Ts’ai Yi-so: “The altar is raised and furnished. All is ready.”
[1] From which, it will be recalled, the Emperor Ch’ung-chen hanged himself (see Scene 34, n. 2).
[2] The Three (Buddhist) Realms of Desire, Form, and Formlessness.
[3] Demon Messengers from Hades, in popular Buddhist belief.
[4] According to Buddhist legend, when the Abbot Kuang-ch’ang reached the climax of his exposition of the sutras, a shower of flower petals fell from the sky.
Epilogue
1648, NINTH MONTH
[Enter Su K’un-sheng in the guise of a woodcutter, a bundle of faggots on his back.]
Su [recites]:
At the limits of my vision
Hoary cliffs line the sky,
A thousand reddening branches
Touch my head as I go by.
[Speaks]: Wild tigers share this cloudy fastness, dodging as I do the arrows of the world. On Nanking’s wall the ghosts moan nightly, Yangchow’s wells are stuffed with corpses, and though my own life dangles from a thread, I am rich in stories of the fall of the South. [Pause.] Three years have passed since I accompanied Fragrant Princess into these hills. Rather than return home, I have lingered here on Bull’s Head Mountain, sleeping in the wilds and earning my keep by gathering wood. Liu Ching-t’ing made a similar resolution; he bought a little boat and works as a fisherman. We rejoice in these ancient forests deep in the hills, cut off from men by the broad river. Here at our daily meetings I beat out a rhythm with my axe-head on his prow, and we sing loud and free for our own pleasure. I have finished work early today, since I am expecting him to visit for a good chat. It is time he was here.
[Su sets down his load and naps for a while. Enter Liu Ching-t’ing as a fisherman rowing his boat.]
Liu [recites]:
Silver-haired old fisherman,
My tale already told,
But more content with this retreat
Than any hermit of old.
[Speaks]: It is three years since I escorted Master Hou Fang-yü into Taoist seclusion. I have stayed on to work as a fisherman while I spin the events of dynastic collapse into romantic tales. A day like this, with the sky clearing after autumn showers and the river shining like silk, is just right for a drink of wine and a heart-to-heart chat with Su K’un-sheng. [He points]: And look, there he lies wine-fuddled on the bank. I’ll wake him. [He mimes the act of mooring and stepping ashore, and rouses Su.]
Su: Good, you’re here.
Liu [folding his hands in salutation]: I see you’ve been drinking behind my back!
Su: Now where would I obtain wine, when I haven’t sold my firewood yet?
Liu: Nor have I sold any fish. Not a copper between us—what’s to be done?
Su: Here’s what we’ll do; you bring water and I’ll contribute firewood, and we’ll brew tea and have some “pure talk”!
[Enter the old Master of Ceremonies bearing lute and wine-jar.]
Master of Ceremonies [recites]:
Busy or idle,
By hill or stream,
Win or lose,
All’s a dream.
[Speaks]: So! Here are my old friends Su and Liu!
Su and Liu [greeting him with folded hands]: What brings you here, sir?
Master of Ceremonies: I have been residing by the Swallow Pier. Today being the seventeenth day of the ninth month, the birthday of the God of Wealth, I have visited his shrine with some friends in these hills. I am just on my way back.
Su: But why the lute and the jar?
Master of Ceremonies: Don’t laugh at me, but I have composed a “spirits’ song” which I have entitled “Questions to Heaven.” I played and sang it today, and when our little gathering broke up I was awarded this jar of wine. It is my good fortune to have chanced on you gentlemen. Please help me to drink a few cups.
Liu: Oh, we couldn’t do that.
Master of Ceremonies: This is what is known as “sharing each other’s good fortune.”
Su and Liu: Excellent, excellent! [They seat themselves and drink.]
Su: Could we please hear your “spirits’ song”?
Master of Ceremonies: Indeed yes. I should very much welcome your advice. [Su and Liu clap in rhythm as he strums his lute and sings]:
Fifth year of the new reign,
The era of Shun-chih,[1]
In autumn, the ninth month,
Day the seventeenth —
Fit time for celebration!
We beat the sacred drum,
Unfurl the spirit banners,
Neighbours here assembled.
Among them is this singer,
Ageing refugee,
White locks properly shorn.
Ancient shrine
Dating from Tsin and T’ang,
Beam and lintel
Of fragrant cassia,
Vessels of gold and jade,
Pillars of crimson lacquer,
Walls gleaming white,
Murals finely crafted.
Brilliant, awesome,
The tablet of the god,
Jewels of mine and ocean
In comprehensive display.
Where is the ancestral temple,
The shrine to prince or tutor,
That can boast such throngs of celebrants?
Friend vies with neighbour
To burn the most fragrant incense,
Offer the finest wine.
Under this bamboo rain-hat,
Here I stand,
Tug my beard and sigh:
Is it the Creator’s will
That the poor stay poor,
The rich continue rich?
Like you I was born
In this month
On this day,
But my purse is empty.
My stove is cold,
I live a mere beggar;
Already my span has filled
A cycle of sixty years,
And twilight swiftly nears.
“Rather a dog in days of peace
Than a man in troublo
us times,”
But no peace have I known.
This jade cup I offer.
Come sit on your jewelled mat,
I will attend your feasting.
Let it be clear determined
If I have spirit power
Or mortal ineptitude.
Knocking my head on the ground
I call on your palace attendants,
With open eyes and ears,
To re-examine my file,
Set the record straight,
Dispel discrimination.
Though distant your halls of gold,
Remote your purple portals,
In high Heaven, far as a dream,
We shall welcome your coming,
We shall escort your return
With coursers swift as the wind.
Dance and song will end,
Meat and fowl be cleared away,
Our company disperse.
Then I shall lean at sunset
Against an ancient trunk
In solitary thought.
Perhaps a true division
Gives riches to the turbid
And to the pure a fair name;
The balance must require
The man of inward wealth
To lack external goods.
Genial as fire
Is the God of Wealth,
Father and mother to common men;
Cold as ice
Is the God of Letters,
Patron and guide of the learned.
Even the spirits have their faults,
The sages their shortcomings,
And who fulfills his desires?
Earth has its hollows,
Heaven its cracks,[2]
This is the law of creation.
Having released
The troubles of my bosom,
I can smile again.
The river flows,
Clouds roll on;
Why should I doubt?
[He puts down his lute and says]: A very poor effort, I’m afraid.
Su: Brilliant! It vies with the songs of the great Ch’ü Yüan himself.[3]
Liu: We have failed to treat you with proper respect. We didn’t realize you were a reincarnation of the God of Wealth in person!
Master of Ceremonies: Please finish off this wine now.
Su [running his tongue round his lips]: It’s hard when there’s nothing to go with the wine.
Liu: I have a little something here.
Su: What do you have?
Liu: You must guess.
Su: If it’s yours, it has to be fish or shellfish of some kind.
Liu: Wrong.
Su: What else could it be?
Liu: My tongue.
Su: Well, of course, your tongue can go with the wine. But only for yourself. How can you offer it to others?
Liu: Don’t you know the old story about “reading the Han History as you drink?”[4] This tongue of mine can narrate the tales of the Han History, so it’s something to go with the wine.
Su: Then I’ll pour for you, and you can narrate the Han History for us.
Master of Ceremonies: Splendid! I’m only afraid it’s too long a story for the wine we have left.
Liu: If the Han History is too long, I’ve got a new ballad which I call “Nanking Autumn.” I can sing that instead.
Master of Ceremonies: It is about the events of recent years?
Liu: It is.
Su: These are all matters we ourselves have seen and heard. If you make a mistake, we shall demand a forfeit.
Liu: There will be no mistake, I can guarantee. [He strums and recites]:
A few plucks of the string
Convey six reigns’ vicissitudes,
The protests of a thousand ages.
A lifetime by lake and seashore
Makes the myriad hills resound.
[He sings to his lute in the manner of a blind girl ballad monger]:
A moonlit haze of grief recalls
When the house of Sui destroyed the Ch’en[5]
How powdered court ladies hid in the well
And the very earth was perfumed;
Willow floss clung to gleaming coiffures
And parrots squawked in doleful warning.
The glory of Ming moved south for a space,
And the heirs of disaster flourished like flame.
In courts of idleness patterned on Ch’en’s last ruler,
Little did they heed the threatening northern bows.
Beauties with eyebrows like moth antennae
Were chosen to sing The Swallow Letter,
Leading musicians and dancing-masters
Plied their skills for the royal delectation.
Porters in voluptuous late-T’ang styles,
Robes and coronets of the early southern courts.
In a hundred boudoirs, jewelled mirrors
Reflected the fondness of regal amours.
Warning beacons beyond the walls
Burned unseen by the revellers
On gilded barges off the Isle of Egrets.
Honest men feared the minister’s wrath,[6]
Saw through his lies, but fled to the hills.
Careless of past faults, Juan Ta-ch’eng
Fawned on the might of Ma Shih-ying,
Tricked and betrayed all who opposed him,
Slaughtered his foes with borrowed blade.
Marshal Shih wept on Plum Blossom Ridge,
General Tso bravely drove on Wuchang,
But unguarded crossings welcomed the foe,
Treacherous moves blocked the loyal defence.
Yangchow’s carved pillars crashed to the ground,
The singing stopped and the halls grew chill.
Friendless the dragon roamed through the seas;
Helpless the phoenix flapped in the dust,
Our Emperor was delivered up, a captive bound,
And Huang Te-kung’s blood by his own hand shed.
Weeds choked the springs of the royal pools,
Dusk hid the road to the Imperial Tombs,
To city after city the gates swung open,
Gallant defenders were foiled at every turn.
More than one lord of the Ming met disaster:
Chien-wen a wandering monk, Ch’ung-chen self-destroyed,
Cheng-t’ung a war captive, Cheng-te a degenerate.[7]
To these add Prince Fu, a twelve-month sovereign,
His memorial a line or two of bitter tears.
Su: Wonderful! Everything absolutely true!
Master of Ceremonies: Though it is no more than a ballad in form, it has the quality of a song by our distinguished contemporary Wu Wei-yeh.[8]
Su: Another cup of wine, to salute the progress of your art. [He pours.]
Liu: But I still have nothing to go with the wine.
Su: Well then, I have a little something to help it down.
Liu: If you’re to provide it, it’s bound to be coarse mountain fare of some sort.
Su: Not at all. I brought it back specially from Nanking yesterday, after selling my firewood.
Liu: Then let us enjoy it together.
Su [points to his own mouth]: It’s my tongue this time.
Master of Ceremonies: What do you mean?
Su: I’ll tell you: it was three years since I had been in Nanking, and I took a sudden notion to go there to sell my firewood. The road led past the tomb of the Founder of the Ming,[9] and I saw that sheep were grazing in the sacrificial halls.
Liu: Ai-ya! And what of the Imperial palace?
Su: Crumbling walls, ruined chambers, weeds and brambles everywhere.
Master of Ceremonies [brushes away tears]: Who could have forseen such a state!
Su: I went on to the Ch’in-huai pleasure-quarter, where I stood for hours without seeing a living soul.
Liu: You should have taken a look at the Longbridge district, where you and I spent so much of our leisure time.
Su: Don’t imagine I didn�
��t. Not a plank of the bridge left whole, and the old pleasure-houses just a heap of bricks and tiles.
Liu [beats his breast]: Ay, what dreadful news!
Su: As I hurried away, my heart was filled with grief, and I composed a song-set in Northern style which I have entitled “Lament for the South.” Let me sing it for you. [He beats a tempo for himself on a block.] Listen to this woodcutter. [Sings, in the Yi-yang style]:
From pine-clad hills and flowering meadows,
Back to Nanking, head raised in expectation.
Survivors camped in decaying forts,
Starved horses sprawled in deserted trenches;
And over the wasted suburbs,
The city wall reflected the setting sun.
Sporadic fires had blackened
Catalpas guarding the Founder’s Tomb;
Long fled were the eunuch attendants,
Their place assumed by shifting flocks of sheep.
Refuse of bird and bat littered the hall,
Dead leaves and dried twigs carpeted the steps.
Where acolytes should be sweeping,
Herdboys had made a mark of the dragon tablet.
Next, the royal palace:
White marble pillars in a heap of ruins,
Red-plastered walls a crumbling sea of dust,
Shattered tiles in profusion,
Hardly a glazed square left in any window.
None but the swallow posturing
Before the Screen of Audience,
Only the tall weeds marching
Down the central avenue;
And resident in the palace,
No one but beggars and men dead of starvation.
The Ch’in-huai pleasure-quarter, where we spent our days:
Torn window-papers rustled in the breeze,
The river lapped across broken sills,
No sight but filled the eye with sorrow.
Where now do flutes play soft
For the powdered beauties we knew?
At the Midsummer Feast the lantern boats are dark,
At Midautumn the wineshop flags stay furled.
White birds hover,
Green waves roll,
Butterflies woo the yellow blossoms,
Leaves turn red with none to notice.
Remember the bridge that crossed Green Creek?
Not one of its scarlet planks is left.
The stream flows on, but few men cross;
And in the cold sunset
Only a single willow dances slow.
I came to the old pleasure-house :
No need to knock,
No fear the dog would bark.
A dried-up well, an abandoned nest,
Moss-covered tiles, the steps sprouting weeds.
The Peach Blossom Fan Page 32