Anonymous (5th century)
Preface
At the close of the Han Dynasty, during the years of 196–220 C.E., the wife of Chiao Chung-ch’ing, the magistrate of Luchiang prefecture, whose maiden name was Liu, was dismissed from home by her husband’s mother. She swore to herself that she would never remarry, but her own parents and family brought a great deal of pressure to bear on her. So she committed suicide by drowning herself. When her husband, Chung-ch’ing, learned of this, he also committed suicide by hanging himself from a tree in the garden. A contemporary poet felt deep sympathy for these two and composed a poem about them. It goes as follows:
A peacock southeast flew,
After five leagues it faltered.
“At thirteen I could weave white silk,
At fourteen I learned to make clothes.
At fifteen I played the many-stringed lute,
At sixteen recited Odes and History.1
At seventeen I became your wife
And my heart was full of constant pain and sorrow.
“You became a government clerk,
I kept chaste, my love never straying.
At cockcrow I went in to weave at the loom,
Night after night found no rest.
In three days I cut five lengths of cloth,
Mother-in-law still nagged at my sloth.
It wasn’t my weaving that was too slow,
But it’s hard to be a wife in your home.
I don’t want to be driven out,
But there’s no way I can stay on here.
So please speak with your mother
To let me be sent home in good time.”
The clerk heard these words
And up in the hall spoke with his mother.
“As a boy my physiognomy chart was unlucky,
I was fortunate to get such a wife as she.
We bound our hair,2 shared pillow and mat,
Vowed to be lovers till Yellow Springs.3
We both have served you two years or three,
From the start not so long a time,
Yet the girl’s conduct is not remiss,
Why do you treat her so unkindly?”
His mother said to the clerk,
“How can you be so soft!
This wife has no sense of decorum,
Whatever she does she goes her own way.
I’ve borne my anger for a long time now,
You must not just suit yourself!
Our east neighbors have a good daughter,
Her name is Ch’in Lofu.4
So pretty her body, beyond compare,
Your mother will seek her for your wife.
It’s best to dismiss this one as soon as we can,
Dismiss her, we won’t let her stay!”
The government clerk knelt down in reply,
“Now I only have this to say, Mother.
If you dismiss this wife today,
For the rest of my life I will not remarry!”
His mother heard these words,
Thumped her bed, then in a fierce rage:
“My son, have you no respect?
How dare you speak in your wife’s defense!
I have lost all feeling for you,
On no account will I let you disobey me!”
The government clerk silent, without a word,
Bowed twice and went back within their doors.
He started to speak to his new wife,
Stammered, unable to talk.
“I myself would not drive you away,
But there’s my mother, scolding and nagging.
You just go home for a little while,
Today I must report to the office.
It won’t be for long, I’ll soon be coming home,
And when I come back I’ll be sure to fetch you.
So let this put your mind at rest.
Please don’t contradict me!”
His new wife said to the clerk:
“No more of this nonsense!
Long ago in early springtime
I left home to come to your gates.
Whatever I did I obeyed your mother,
In my behavior never dared do as I pleased.
Day and night I tried hard at my work.
Brought low I am caught in a vice of misery.
My words have been blameless,
I fulfilled my duties diligently.
Why then, as I’m being summarily dismissed,
Do you still talk of my coming back here?
I have embroidered tunics,
Gorgeous they shine with a light of their own;
Red silk funnel bedcurtains,
At the four corners hang scent sachets;
Dressing cases sixty or seventy,
Green jasper, green silk cord;
Many, many things, each of them different,
All sorts of things in these boxes.
I am despised, and my things also worthless,
Not worth offering your next wife,
But I’ll leave them here as gifts.
From now on we’ll never meet again,
But it will be a constant comfort for me,
If you never, never forget me!”
The cock crew, outside it was getting light.
The new wife got up and carefully dressed.
She puts on her broidered lined gown
And four or five different things.
On her feet she slips silk shoes;
On her head tortoise-shell combs gleam;
Round her waist she wears flowing silk white,
On her ears wears bright moon pendants.
Her hands are like pared onion stems,
Her mouth seems rich scarlet cinnabar.
Svelte, svelte she walks with tiny steps,
Perfect, matchless in all the world.
She went up the high hall, bowed to Mother.
The mother heard she was leaving, didn’t stop her.
“Long ago when I was a child,
I grew up in the countryside.
I had no schooling from the start,
On both counts would shame the man of a great house.
I received from you, Mother, much money and silk,
I do not want to be summarily dismissed;
Today, though, I am going back home.
I am afraid I have brought trouble to your house.”
She withdrew and took leave of her sister-in-law.
Tears fell, beads of pearl.
“When I first came as a bride
You were beginning to lean on the bed.
Now as I am being dismissed,
You are as tall as I, sister.
Care for Mother with all your heart,
Be nice and help all you can.
On the first, seventh, and last ninth5 of the month,
When you’re enjoying yourself, don’t forget me!”
She left the gates, climbed the coach, departed,
Tears fell in more than a hundred streams.
The clerk’s horse was in front,
The new wife’s coach behind.
Clatter-clatter, how it rumbled, rumbled!
They met at the mouth of the main road,
He dismounted, got into her coach.
With bowed head he whispered these words in her ear:
“I swear I won’t be parted from you,
Just go home for a little while.
Today I am going to the office,
But I’ll return before long.
I swear by Heaven I’ll not betray you!”
His new wife said to the clerk:
“I feel you love me fondly,
And you seem to hold me in high esteem.
Before long I hope you will come for me.
You must be rock firm,
I must be a pliant reed.
The pliant reed is supple as silk,
The firm rock will not be rolled away.
I have my father and brothers,
Their temper is wild as thunder;
I fear they will not abide by my wishes,
But oppose me, destroy my hopes.”
They raised their hands in a long, long farewell,
For both loves the same wistful longing.
She entered the gates, went up the family hall,
Approaching, withdrawing with expressionless face.
Her mother beat her fist loud:
“We didn’t plan for you to return on your own!
At thirteen I taught you to weave,
At fourteen you could make clothes,
At fifteen you played the many-stringed lute,
At sixteen you knew ceremonial rites,
At seventeen I sent you off in marriage,
Telling you to swear not to give offense.
What have you done wrong now that
Uninvited you come home yourself!”
“I, Lanchih, have brought shame on my mother,
But your child has truly done no wrong.”
Her mother’s heart was broken with deep sorrow.
She had been home more than ten days
When the district magistrate sent a matchmaker.
He said, “We have a third young master,
Charming beyond compare in all the world!
He is barely eighteen or nineteen,
Eloquent, very talented he is!”
Mother said to daughter:
“Go, you may answer ‘yes.’”
Her daughter choked back the tears:
“When I, Lanchih, first came home,
The clerk showed me great kindness,
Swore on oath he’d never desert me.
If I were now to betray our love,
I fear this act would be wrong.
Let’s break off the betrothal talks.
In good time we’ll discuss the matter again.”
Her mother explained to the matchmaker:
“In all humility, I do have such a daughter,
She went away in marriage, but is returned to our gates.
She was reluctant to be an official’s wife,
How would she please a fine gentleman’s son?
I hope you will be successful with other inquiries.
We cannot at present give permission.”
The matchmaker was gone many days,
Then a deputy was sent for, asked to reconsider.
“They say they have a daughter, Lanchih,
Whose forefathers for generations have held office.
Say, ‘My master says he has a fifth son,
Elegant, refined, not yet married.
My deputy I’ve sent as matchmaker,
And a secretary to bring his message.’”
Immediately they put their case: “The prefect’s family
Has such a fine son,
He wishes to take solemn vows of marriage
And so we are sent to your house.”
The mother refused the matchmaker:
“My daughter has already sworn an oath.
What dare a mother say?”
When her brother learned of this
He was disappointed and furious in his heart.
He broached the matter, telling his sister:
“In these arrangements, why are you so unreasonable?
First you married a government clerk,
Later you might marry a squire.
Fortune is like Heaven and Earth,
It can bring glory to your person.
Not to wed this lord now,
What will happen in the future?”
Lanchih looked up and replied:
“In fact what my brother says is right.
I left home to serve my bridegroom.
Midway I returned to my brother’s gates.
It’s my place to follow my brother’s wishes,
Why would I do as I please?
Though I made a vow with the government clerk,
I may never chance to meet him again.
Tell them straight away I agree to marry,
They may arrange a betrothal.”
The matchmaker got down from the ritual couch:
“Yes, yes!” and “Quite, quite!”
He went back to the office and explained to the prefect:
“Your servant has carried out your command.
Our discussion has met with great success!”
When the prefect heard this
He rejoiced in his heart.
He scanned the calendar, opened the almanac:
“It will be auspicious this month,
The Six Cardinal Points are in conjunction.
The luckiest day is the thirtieth,
Today it’s now the twenty-seventh,
You may go and conclude the nuptials.”
Discussions on both sides hastened the wedding gifts,
In succession like floating clouds.
A green sparrow and white swan boat,
At the four corners were dragon banners
Softly curling in the wind.
A gold coach of jade its wheels,
Prancing piebald horses,
Colored silk threads and gold stitched saddles.
A wedding gift of three million cash,
All strung on green cord.
Assorted silks, three hundred bolts,
From Chiaokuang6 a purchase of fine fish.
A retinue of four or five hundred men
Densely massed set out to the palace.
Mother said to daughter:
“I have just received a letter from the prefect,
Tomorrow he will come to invite you in marriage.
Why aren’t you making your clothes?
Don’t fail to start now!”
Her daughter, silent, without a word,
Sobbed with her kerchief stifling her mouth.
Tears fell as if poured.
She moved her seat of lapis lazuli,
Set it near the window.
Her left hand held shears and rule,
Her right hand took the sheer silk.
By morning she finished an embroidered robe,
Later she finished an unlined dress of silk.
Dim, dim, the sun was about to darken,
With sad thoughts she left the gates and wept.
When the government clerk heard of this affair
He asked for furlough to go home a while.
Before he had come two or three leagues
His wearisome horse sadly whinnied.
His new wife recognized his horse’s whinny,
Slipped on her shoes and met him.
Sadly from a distance they gazed at each other,
She knew it was her long lost one coming.
She raised her hand, patted his horse’s saddle,
Her loud sighs tore his heart.
“Since you parted from me
Unimaginable things have happened!
Things have turned out not as we once wished,
Nor could I make you understand.
I have had my parents—father and mother,
Bringing pressure to bear joined by my brother,
To make me consent to marry another man.
You have come back, what do you hope for?”
The government clerk said to his new wife:
“Congratulations for winning such high promotion!
The firm rock square and strong
Could have endured a thousand years.
The pliant reed, once so supple,
Is reduced to this in the space of dawn to dusk!
You may reign supreme like the sun,
I will face Yellow Springs alone.”
His new wife said to the government clerk:
“What do you mean by such words?
Together we have suffered this great crisis,
First you, and then your wife.
Down in Yellow Springs we will meet,
Don’t betray our vow made this day!”
They held hands, then went their separate ways,
Each returning to their different gates.
For the living to make a parting unto death
Is more hateful than words can tell.
They think of their farewell from this world,
Never in a million years to be brought back to life.
The government clerk went back home,
Up in the hall he bowed to his mother:
“Today the great wind is cold,
Cold winds have crushed a tree,
Harsh frosts grip the garden orchid.
Your son today goes to darkness,
Leaving Mother to survive alone.
For I must carry out a most unhappy plan;
Torment our souls no more!
May your life be like South Mountain’s7 rock,
Your four limbs healthy and strong!”
When his mother heard these words
Teardrops fell with each word:
“You are the son of a great family,
With official position at galleried courts.
Don’t die for the sake of that wife!
About noble and base are you so naive?
Our east neighbor has a good daughter,
Meek and mild, the loveliest in town.
Your mother will seek her for your wife,
All will be arranged between dawn and dusk.”
The government clerk bowed twice and went back
Sighing long sighs in his empty rooms.
The plan he made was fixed as ever.
He turned his head toward the door,
Slowly he watched, grief’s oppressive rage.
That day horses and cattle lowed,
His new wife goes into her green hut.
After dusk had fallen
A quiet hush, people start to settle down.
“My life will end today,
My soul will vanish, my corpse will linger a while.”
She lifts her skirt, removes her silk shoes,
Stands up and goes toward the clear lake.
When the government clerk hears of this act,
His heart knows it is the long separation.
He hesitates under a garden tree,
Hangs himself from a southeast branch.
The two families asked for a joint burial,
A joint burial on the side of Mount Hua.8
East and west were planted pine and cypress,
Left and right catalpa were set.
Branch with branch joins to form a canopy,
Leaf with leaf meets in wedlock.
Among them is a pair of flying birds,
Called mandarin ducks, drake and hen,
Lifting their heads they call to each other,
Night after night until the fifth watch.9
Passersby stay their steps to listen,
Widows get out of bed and pace to and fro.
Be warned, men of the future,
Learn this lesson and never forget!
Translated by Anne Birrell
This is a long narrative poem—rare in Chinese literature (it is unique for this early period). Though it is usually assigned to the third or fourth century, linguistic evidence points to a somewhat later origin. The extreme length and narrative properties of the poem, as opposed to the brief lyrical and descriptive quality of typical Chinese verse, have prompted some historians to posit Indian influence. Kan Pao (fl. 317 C.E.), however, records in scroll 11 of Search for the Supernatural (see selection 204) a story of marital fidelity that contains numerous parallels: a devoted couple, the wife torn from her husband, vows of eternal love despite separation, separate suicides, graves joined by overarching trees, sad chorus of mandarin ducks, and the sympathy of the public for the dead couple. The content of the narrative therefore appears to be Chinese, unless Kan Pao’s tale (like many others in his collection) was also influenced by a foreign source. Indeed, many of the themes and features in this extraordinary poem, including the regal bird mentioned in the title and first line, seem to indicate some sort of connection with India.
The poem also goes by another, more Chinese-sounding, title: “An Old Poem Written for Chiao Chung-ch’ing’s Wife.” The formulaic opening of the narrative contains an image popularly used in the folksong tradition—a bird which becomes separated from its mate or its flock. The theme of separation is echoed toward the end of the story, when Chiao Chung-ch’ing commits suicide on a “southeast” bough of a garden tree.
The preface, of unknown date, appears to have been composed separately. The Luchiang prefecture mentioned in the preface was located in what is now Anhwei province.
1. Two of the Confucian classics.
2. At the age of puberty, boys and girls bound their hair. The phrase comes to mean marriage. It is sometimes used with another ritual, the first wine of marriage.
3. The land of the deceased that lies beneath the earth.
4. See selection 134.
5. On the seventh and twenty-ninth days of each lunar month, women were permitted to rest from their work.
6. Chiao-chou and Kwangchow on the far southern seacoast.
7. Occurs early on in the Classic of Odes, song 172, where the blessings of long life and happiness are invoked. A symbol of longevity, the mountain stood south of Ch’ang-an.
8. A sacred mountain in Shensi (see selection 42).
9. Just before dawn (3–5 A.M.).