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dankodesAfter a delay in which I came down with various interesting illnesses, we return to The Works of Li Qingzhao, freely available via De Gruyter's Library of Chinese Humanities in Mandarin and English and via several publication formats, including two open access options (the pdf appears to be better formatted than the ebook). This week we're reading the prose chapter: 2.1 through 2.5, inclusive.
This collection uses footnotes and end notes to explicate the work. A few of this week's poems have footnotes, so look out for that.
CLP has an episode on Li Qingzhao you might find relevant.
This collection uses footnotes and end notes to explicate the work. A few of this week's poems have footnotes, so look out for that.
CLP has an episode on Li Qingzhao you might find relevant.
2.1 詞論 On Song Lyrics
樂府聲詩並著，最盛于唐。開元，天寶間，有李八郎者，
能歌擅天下。時新及第進士開宴曲江，榜中一名士先召
李，使易服隱名姓，衣冠故敝，精神慘沮，與同之宴所，
曰「表弟願與座末。」眾皆不顧。既酒行樂作，歌者進。
時曹元謙，念奴為冠，歌罷，眾皆咨嗟稱賞。名士忽指李
曰「請表弟歌。」眾皆哂，或有怒者。及轉喉發聲，歌一
曲，眾皆泣下，羅拜，曰:「此李八郎也。」自後鄭衛之
聲日熾，流靡之變日煩，已有《菩薩蠻》，《春光好》，
《莎雞子》，《更漏子》，《浣溪沙》，《夢江南》，
《漁父》等詞，不可遍舉。
五代干戈，四海瓜分豆剖，斯文道熄，獨江南李氏君
臣尚文雅，故有「小樓吹徹玉笙寒，」「吹皺一池春水」
之詞，語雖奇甚，所謂「亡國之音哀以思」也。
逮至本朝，禮樂文武大備，又涵養百餘年，始有柳屯
田永者，變舊聲，作新聲，出《樂章集》，大得聲稱於
世，雖協音律，而詞語塵下。又有張子野，宋子京兄弟，
沈唐，元絳，晁次膺輩繼出，雖時時有妙語，而破碎何足
名家。至晏元獻，歐陽永叔，蘇子瞻，學際天人，作為小
歌詞，直如酌蠡水於大海，然皆句讀不葺之詩爾，又往往
不協音律者。何耶?蓋詩文分平側，而歌詞分五音，又分
五聲，又分六律，又分清濁輕重。且如近世所謂《聲聲
慢》，《雨中花》，《喜遷鶯》，既押平聲韻，又押入聲
韻;《玉樓春》本押平聲韻，又押上去聲韻，又押入聲。
本押仄聲韻，如押上聲則協，如押入聲則不可歌矣。王介
甫、曾子固，文章似西漢，若作一小歌詞，則人必絕倒，
不可讀也。乃知別是一家，知之者少。後晏叔原，賀方
回，秦少游，黃魯直出，始能知之。又晏苦無鋪敘，賀苦
少典重。秦即專主情致，而少故實，譬如貧家美女，雖極
妍麗豐逸，而終乏富貴態。黃即尚故實，而多疵病，譬如
良玉有瑕，價自減半矣。
On Song Lyrics
The complementary forms of Music Bureau songs and poems set to music reached their apogee during the Tang. During the Kaiyuan and Tianbao reigns, there was a certain Li Balang, who was the most talented singer in the entire empire. Once, when those who had just passed the jinshi examination were being fêted at Serpentine River, among the honored guests was a gentleman of renown who, before the feast, had summoned Li and told him to change his clothes and disguise his name. The clothes he wore that day were particularly tattered, and he affected a mournful and dispirited expression as he accompanied the gentleman of renown to the feast. The gentleman announced to the other guests, “My younger cousin wants to sit at the end of the table.” The others paid no attention to him. After the wine was passed around and music began, the singers entered. At the time, Cao Yuanqian and Niannu were the most celebrated singing girls in the capital. When they finished singing, the assembled guests all sighed with admiration and gave shouts of approval. The renowned gentleman suddenly pointed at Li and said, “Let’s have my cousin sing.” The guests looked at Li and sneered, and some even became angry. But Li cleared his throat and began to sing, and by the time he finished one song, the guests were all moved to tears. Gathering around him they bowed and exclaimed, “This must be Li Balang!”1 Thereafter the “music of Zheng and Wei” became more popular by the day, and ornate new musical tunes multiplied.2 These included the tunes “Bodhisattva Barbarian,” “The Spring Scene Is Lovely,” “The Katydid,” “The Waterclock,” “Sands of the Washing Stream,” “Dreaming of the Southland,” “The Fisherman,” and others, too many to fully list.
During the warfare of the Five Dynasties, the empire was sliced up like a melon and peeled apart like a bean, so that culture and learning were extinguished. Yet the Jiangnan kingdom ruled by the Li clan and its min- isters still prized literary elegance.3 They wrote songs that had such lines as “Played no more in the low tower, the jade flute is cold” and “Wind- blown ripples fill the whole pool of spring waters.” The language is cer- tainly marvelous; still, these are what are known as “the sorrowfully nos- talgic melodies of a realm going to ruin.”
When our present dynasty arose, the rites, music, literary learning, and military prowess were fully restored. After some one hundred years of beneficent influence, Liu Yong, the Military Farms officer, appeared. He rewrote old songs and composed new tunes, producing his Song Lyrics Collection, which was acclaimed by the age. Although his works meet the prosodic rules, his diction is down in the dirt. After him there was Zhang Ziye [Xian 先, 992–1039], Song Zijing [Qi 祁, 998–1061] and his brother, Shen Tang, Yuan Jiang, and Chao Ciying; and their kind ap- peared one after the other. Although here and there they too produced marvelous lines, yet their works are so fragmentary that they hardly could be considered major writers. Next came Yan Yuanxian [Shu 殊, 991– 1055], Ouyang Yongshu [Xiu], and Su Zizhan [Shi]. Their learning plumbed the extremes of heaven and humankind. When they composed little song lyrics, it was like adding a gourd-full of water to a great ocean.1 Still, what they wrote reads like nothing more than shi poetry that has not been properly polished, and frequently their lines violate the pro- sodic rules. Why is this? It is because while shi poetry distinguishes be- tween “level” and “oblique” tones, the song lyric distinguishes five notes. It also distinguishes five tones, six musical modes, and the difference be- tween “clear” and “turgid,” and “light” and “heavy” syllables. Moreover, the tunes known today as “Sound after Sound: Long Form,” “Blossoms in the Rain,” and “Enjoying the Darting Oriole” may, in addition to using the “level” tone rhyme, also use the “entering” tone rhyme. “Spring in the Jade Tower” originally required the “level” tone rhyme, but it may also use the “rising” or the “falling” tone rhymes, as well as the “entering” tone rhymes. Songs that require the “deflected” tone rhymes may accord with the rules if written to “rising” tone rhymes, but may become impos- sible to sing if a writer sets them to “entering” tone rhymes. The writ- ing of Wang Jiefu [Anshi 安石, 1021–1086] and Zeng Zigu [Gong 鞏, 1019–1083] resembles the style of the Western Han period. But when they write little song lyrics, people fall down laughing because their songs simply cannot be recited aloud. We can see, therefore, that this form of writing is a field unto itself, and those who understand it are few. Later, Yan Shuyuan [Jidao 幾道, 1038–1110], He Fanghui [Zhu 鑄, 1052– 1125], Qin Shaoyou [Guan], and Huang Luzhi [Tingjian 庭堅, 1045– 1105] appeared, and they were the first to truly understand the genre. But Yan’s works suffer from lack of narrative exposition, and He’s suffer from inadequate substance and classical style. Qin cares only about emo- tions and has too few literary references. His works are like a beautiful girl from a poor family. Although she may be gorgeous and radiant, she will never have the bearing of a lady from an affluent and high-ranking clan. As for Huang, although he prizes literary allusions, his works have many defects. They are like jade that has blemishes, reducing its value by half.
Re: 2.1 詞論 On Song Lyrics
How do you peel apart a bean? Like a pod, or? What is up?
Tbh this feels like an evenhanded evaluation of pros and cons of writers, if a bit spicy. Not too bitchy.
Re: 2.1 詞論 On Song Lyrics
Re: 2.1 詞論 On Song Lyrics
2.2 投翰林學士綦崈禮啟 A Letter Submitted to Hanlin Academician Qi Chongli
清照啟:素習義方，粗明詩禮。近因疾病，欲至膏肓，牛
蟻不分，灰釘已具。嘗藥雖存弱弟，應門惟有老兵。既爾
蒼皇，因成造次。信彼如簧之舌，惑兹似錦之言。弟既可
欺，持官文書來輒信;身幾欲死，非玉鏡架亦安知?僶俛
難言，優柔莫决。呻吟未定，強以同歸。視聽才分，實難
共處。忍以桑榆之晚節，配兹駔儈之下才。
身既懷臭之可嫌，惟求脫去;彼素抱璧之將往，决欲
殺之。遂肆侵凌，日加毆擊。可念劉伶之肋，難勝石勒之
拳。局天扣地，敢效談娘之善訴;升堂入室，素非李赤之
甘心。
外援難求，自陳何害?豈期末事，乃得上聞。取自宸
衷，付之廷尉。被桎梏而置對，同凶醜以陳詞。豈惟賈生
羞絳灌為伍，何啻老子與韓非同傳。但祈脫死，莫望償
金。友凶橫者十旬，蓋非天降;居囹圉者九日，豈是人
為?抵雀捐金，利當安往?將頭碎璧，失固可知。實自謬
愚，分知獄市。
此蓋伏遇內翰承旨，搢紳望族，冠蓋清流，日下無
雙，人間第一。奉天克復，本原陸贄之詞;淮蔡底平，
實以會昌之詔。哀憐無告，雖未解驂;感戴鴻恩，如真
出己。故兹白首，得免丹書。清照敢不省過知慚，捫心識
媿。責全責智，已難逃萬世之譏;敗德敗名，何以見中朝
之士!雖南山之竹，豈能窮多口之談?惟智者之言，可以
止無根之謗。
高鵬尺鷃,本異升沉;火鼠冰蠶，難同嗜好。達人共 悉，童子皆知。願賜品題，與加湔洗。誓當布衣蔬食，溫 故知新。再見江山，依舊一瓶一鉢;重歸畎畝，更須三沐 三薰。忝在葭莩，敢茲塵瀆。
A Letter Submitted to Hanlin Academician Qi Chongli
Qingzhao reports: For a long time I have sought to learn right from wrong and have gained some crude understanding of the Songs and the Rites. Recently, an illness I contracted was nearly fatal. I could no longer distinguish oxen from ants,1 and the ashes and nails for the coffin were made ready. Although I still had my brother to taste medicine for me, there was only one old soldier to answer our door. Being so hard-pressed, I became imprudent. I trusted words that were as melodious as the notes of a flute and was beguiled by speech as alluring as a piece of brocade. My younger brother was tricked into thinking that the letter of official appointment was genuine.2 I myself was on the point of death; who would have thought it was not his jade mirror stand?3 The quickness of it all would be hard to describe, and there was hesitancy and indecision. Then while I was still fraught and sighing, he forced me to go off with him as wife. But once my eyesight and hearing became clear, I realized it would truly be difficult to live together. To my dismay, I realized that at an advanced age, when the sun hung in the mulberry and elm, I had married a worthless shyster of a man.
Abhorring the stench that now clung to my body, I sought only to break away. But he held fast to the jade disk, determined to kill its owner.1 He then began to abuse me freely, and his blows came down daily. It made one recall Liu Ling’s chicken ribs; how could they have withstood Shi Le’s fists?2 Crouching under heaven and stepping timidly on the earth, I presumed to emulate the moving complaints of the woman who chattered to herself. Advancing from the great hall to the inner apartment, I was not so eager as Li Chi.
With no one to turn to for help, it seemed best to present my own case. Never did I expect that this trivial problem would be heard so high above. The Celestial Mind received my request, and the matter was turned over to the Office for Law Enforcement. We faced each other, bound in manacles; together with the vile one I put forth my case. Was it only Master Jia who was ashamed to associate with Jiang and Guan?5 Are Laozi and Han Feizi the only incompatibles who have circulated to- gether?6 I prayed only that I escape death and had no expectation of cash compensation. My companionship of the wayward and vile one had lasted one hundred days; surely it was not a calamity sent down from heaven. Captivity in prison was to last but nine days; who could say it was all human doing?7 If you spend a fortune to shoot down a sparrow, where is the profit to be found? But splitting one’s head against a pillar will surely bring about a loss. Truly there was perversity and obtuseness; both the good and bad commingle, after all, in the courts and the marketplace.
It was then that I bowed before the palace writer and recipient of edicts [Qi Chongli], he the scion of an esteemed clan of the official tablet and sash, a man of impeccable background who has the cap and carriage insignia of high position. Under the sun he has no equal; among men he is number one. The imperial victory at Fengtian was rooted in phrases drafted by Lu Zhi; the pacification of Huai and Cai was actually brought about by the Huichang decrees.3 He treated the pitiable person who had no one to appeal to with a degree of generosity like that of unbridling one of the team of horses.4 His kindness was as lofty as the wild goose in flight, and he truly seemed to have personally accomplished the deed. So it happened that my white head was spared the vermilion writing brush.5 How should I, Qingzhao, presume not to reflect upon my errors and feel a sense of shame, or not place my hand on my heart in acknowledgment of my disgrace? Measured against either common principles or good sense, my actions have made it impossible for me to escape the censure of ten thousand generations. My virtue ruined, my name ruined, how could I ever bear to meet gentlemen of the central court? All the bamboo on South Mountain, converted into writing slips, would be insufficient to record the insults that the crowd hurled at me. Only a wise man’s words could put a stop to their baseless slander.
The towering Peng bird soars high above, whereas the little quail sinks to the ground. The fire mouse and the ice silkworm can hardly share the same preferences.6 This is as obvious to little boys as it is to wise men.
I ask that you confer your evaluations upon me and that you share with me your purifying influence. I swear that dressed in plain cloth and eat- ing vegetarian meals, I shall devote myself to “knowing the new by keep- ing the ancient fresh in my mind.” If ever I get to see the old rivers and mountains, it will be as before, with a single pitcher and a single rice bowl. Should I be able to return to our ancestral home, I will be sure to bathe and perfume myself three times before proceeding in. I have brought shame upon my distant relative and have presumed to defile his name.
[see endnote]
Re: 2.2 投翰林學士綦崈禮啟 A Letter Submitted to Hanlin Academician Qi Chongli
‘Parallel prose’
‘The footnotes identify only those that may be needed to make sense of what is being said.’ Isn’t this a little irresponsible, in maybe the only major English version of her works? Shouldn’t SOME access to her full endeavour here be possible?
‘to taste medicine for me,’ ?
‘when the sun hung in the mulberry and elm’ ?
‘The Celestial Mind received my request,’ is this the emperor hearing it or the heavens?
This rhetorical style does overdo admissions of humility a bit
Are quails where we get ‘to quail’ from?
‘the fire mouse thrives in southern extremes and the ice silkworm thrive when caked in ice’ are these real??
‘I shall devote myself to “knowing the new by keep- ing the ancient fresh in my mind.’ A bitch is gonna keep Confuciasmass in her heart all year ‘round
‘it will be as before, with a single pitcher and a single rice bowl.’ ?
Re: 2.2 投翰林學士綦崈禮啟 A Letter Submitted to Hanlin Academician Qi Chongli
Baike says something about 'vertical' and 'horizontal' composition elements and how skillfully they are combined, but frankly, that was no more illuminating than 'parallel prose'
Gloss on 'to taste medicine for me': ancient rite/etiquette, when one's elders have medicine, the younger tastes it before offering it to them
Gloss on 'mulberry and elm': once referred to a tree where the sunset dwelled. Later, the light in the trees became likened to old age.
'the celestial mind': the original uses a word which my dictionary says is 'imperial apartments' and Baike clarifies refers to the emperor
Gloss on 'fire mouse / ice silkworm': from folklore, one is birthed from fire, one from ice, together they represent totally different natures.
Gloss on 'single pitcher / single rice bowl': indicates living a simple, ascetic life
Re: 2.2 投翰林學士綦崈禮啟 A Letter Submitted to Hanlin Academician Qi Chongli
I guess that the self deprecation and abasement sound really off and weird in english bc it’s like.....only literati hearkening to these super mannered forms that says shit like this [忝在葭莩，敢茲塵瀆] it’s worded into elegant four word phrases..,,,：「孩兒叨賴母親福庇，忝中狀元，欽賜遊街。」basically I’ve only seen this character ‘shame’ used by scholar characters being formal; in the other sentence there “shamefully I became zhuangyuan” its direct equivalent there is “for my sins”.
but bc english goes for literal meaning alone it gets out of context a bit?
I could be wrong though about all of that, it’s just that the intensity of expressions used here is part of how they (the literati tend to say things) which isn’t to say that other people wouldn’t also say cringing things, but gushiwen words the meaning of the last sentence as “I’m fortunate to be the distant relative of (guy), sorry to have bothered you.”
Everything in this is in the kind of hugely....formal parallelism that novels have conditioned me to find hot....man really devastating stuff narrated with refined elegance and restraint is my kryptonite
aaaa /o\ she’s admitting to all this but in a virtuoso display of wordsmith skills, girlboss something idk XD
Re: 2.2 投翰林學士綦崈禮啟 A Letter Submitted to Hanlin Academician Qi Chongli
2.3 金石錄後序 Afterword to Catalogue of Inscriptions on Metal and Stone
右金石錄三十卷者何?趙侯德父所著書也。取上自三代，
下迄五季，鍾、鼎、甗、鬲、盤、匜、尊、敦之款識，豐
碑大碣、顯人晦士之事蹟，凡見於金石刻者二千卷，皆是
正偽謬，去取褒貶，上足以合聖人之道，下足以訂史氏之
失者皆載之，可謂多矣。嗚呼，自王涯、元載之禍，書畫
與胡椒無異;長輿、元凱之病，錢癖與傳癖何殊。名雖不
同，其惑一也。
余建中辛巳，始歸趙氏。時先君作禮部員外郎，丞相
時作吏部侍郎。侯年二十一，在太學作學生。趙、李族
寒，素貧儉。每朔望謁告出，質衣取半千錢，步入相國
寺，市碑文果實歸，相對展玩咀嚼，自謂葛天氏之民也。
後二年，出仕宦，便有飯蔬衣綀，窮遐方絕域，盡天下古
文奇字之志。日就月將，漸益堆積。丞相居政府，親舊或
在館閣，多有亡詩逸史、魯壁、汲塚所未見之書，遂盡力
傳寫，浸覺有味，不能自已。後或見古今名人書畫，三代
奇器，亦複脫衣市易。嘗記崇寧間，有人持徐熙牡丹圖，
求錢二十萬。當時雖貴家子弟，求二十萬錢，豈易得耶?
留信宿，計無所出而還之。夫婦相向惋悵者數日。
後屏居鄉里十年，仰取俯拾，衣食有餘。連守兩郡，
竭其俸入，以事鉛槧。每獲一書，即同共校勘，整集籖
題。得書、畫、彝、鼎，亦摩玩舒卷，指摘疵病，夜盡一
燭為率。故能紙札精緻，字畫完整，冠諸收書家。余性偶
強記，每飯罷，坐歸來堂烹茶，指堆積書史，言某事在某
書某卷、第幾頁第幾行，以中否角勝負，為飲茶先後。中
即舉杯大笑，至茶傾覆懷中，反不得飲而起。甘心老是鄉
矣，雖處憂患貧窮，而志不屈。收書既成，歸來堂起書庫
大櫥，簿甲乙，置書冊。如要講讀，即請鑰上簿，關出卷
帙。或少損污，必懲責揩完塗改，不復向時之坦夷也。是
欲求適意而反取憀憟。余性不耐，始謀食去重肉，衣去重
采，首無明珠、翠羽之飾，室無塗金、刺繡之具。遇書史
百家字不刓闕、本不訛謬者，輒市之儲作副本。自來家傳
周易、左氏傳，故兩家者流，文字最備。於是几案羅列，
枕席枕藉，意會心謀，目往神授，樂在聲色狗馬之上。
至靖康丙午歲，侯守淄川，聞金人犯京師，四顧茫
然，盈箱溢篋，且戀戀，且悵悵，知其必不為己物矣。建
炎丁未春三月，奔太夫人喪南來，既長物不能盡載，乃先
去書之重大印本者，又去畫之多幅者，又去古器之無款識
者，後又去書之監本者，畫之平常者，器之重大者。凡屢
減去，尚載書十五車。至東海，連艫渡淮，又渡江，至建
康。青州故第尚鎖書冊什物，用屋十餘間，期明年春再具
舟載之。十二月，金人陷青州，凡所謂十餘屋者，已皆為
煨燼矣。
建炎戊申秋九月，侯起復知建康府。己酉春三月罷， 具舟上蕪湖，入姑孰，將卜居贛水上。夏五月，至池陽， 被旨知湖州，過闕上殿，遂駐家池陽，獨赴召。六月十三 日，始負擔，捨舟坐岸上，葛衣岸巾，精神如虎，目光爛 爛射人，望舟中告別。余意甚惡，呼曰:「如傳聞城中緩 急，奈何?」戟手遙應曰:「從眾。必不得已，先棄輜重， 次衣被，次書冊卷軸，次古器，獨所謂宗器者，可自負 抱，與身俱存亡。勿忘也。」遂馳馬去。途中奔馳，冒大 暑，感疾，至行在，病痁。七月末，書報臥病。余驚怛， 念侯性素急，奈何!病痁或熱，必服寒藥，疾可憂。遂解 舟下，一日夜行三百里。比至，果大服茈胡、黃芩藥，瘧 且痢，病危在膏肓。余悲泣，倉皇不忍問後事。八月十八 日，遂不起。取筆作詩，絕筆而終，殊無分香賣履之意。
葬畢，余無所之。朝廷已分遣六宮，又傳江當禁渡。
時猶有書二萬卷，金石刻二千卷，器皿、茵褥，可待百
客，他長物稱是。余又大病，僅存喘息。事勢日迫，念侯
有妹壻任兵部侍郎，從衛在洪州，遂遣二故吏，先部送行
李往投之。冬十二月，金人陷洪州，遂盡委棄。所謂連艫
渡江之書，又散為雲煙矣。獨餘少輕小卷軸書帖、寫本
李、杜、韓、柳集，《世說》、《鹽鐵論》，漢、唐石刻
副本數十軸，三代鼎鼐十數事，南唐寫本書數篋，偶病中
把玩，搬在臥內者，巋然獨存。
上江既不可往，又虜勢叵測，有弟迒任勅局刪定官，
遂往依之。到台，台守已遁。之剡，出陸，又棄衣被，
走黃巖，雇舟入海，奔行朝，時駐蹕章安。從御舟海道之
溫，又之越。庚戌十二月，放散百官，遂之衢。紹興辛亥
春三月，復赴越。壬子，又赴杭。
先侯疾亟時，有張飛卿學士，攜玉壺過視侯，便攜
去，其實珉也。不知何人傳道，遂妄言有「頒金」之語;
或傳亦有密論列者。余大惶怖，不敢言，亦不敢遂已，盡
將家中所有銅器等物，欲赴外廷投進。到越，已移幸四
明，不敢留家中，並寫本書寄剡。後官軍收叛卒，取去，
聞盡入故李將軍家。所謂巋然獨存者，無慮十去五六矣。
惟有書畫硯墨可五七簏，更不忍置他所。常在臥榻下，手
自開闔。在會稽，卜居土民鍾氏舍。忽一夕，穴壁負五簏
去。余悲慟不得活，重立賞收贖。後二日，鄰人鍾復皓出
十八軸求賞，故知其盜不遠矣。萬計求之，其餘遂牢不可
出。今知盡為吳說運使賤價得之。所謂巋然獨存者，乃十
去其七八。所有一二殘零不成部帙書冊，三數種平平書
帖，猶愛惜如護頭目，何愚也邪!
今日忽閱此書，如見故人。因憶侯在東萊靜治堂，裝 卷初就，芸籤縹帶，束十卷作一帙。每日晚吏散，輒校勘 二卷，跋題一卷。此二千卷，有題跋者五百二卷耳。今手 澤如新，而墓木已拱，悲夫!
昔蕭繹江陵陷沒，不惜國亡而毀裂書畫;楊廣江都傾
覆，不悲身死而復取圖書，豈人性之所著，死生不能忘
歟?或者天意以余菲薄，不足以享此尤物耶?抑亦死者有
知，猶斤斤愛惜，不肯留人間邪?何得之艱而失之易也!
嗚呼!余自少陸機作賦之二年，至過蘧瑗知非之兩
歲，三十四年之間，憂患得失，何其多也!然有有必有
無，有聚必有散，乃理之常。人亡弓，人得之，又胡足
道。所以區區記其終始者，亦欲為後世好古博雅者之戒
云。
Re: 2.3 金石錄後序 Afterword to Catalogue of Inscriptions on Metal and Stone
What is this book, Catalogue of Inscriptions on Metal and Stone, in thirty chapters? It is a work written by Zhao Defu [Mingcheng]. Taking as his subject two thousand inscriptions carved on bronze vessels and stelae dating from the Three Dynasties of high antiquity all the way down to the Five Kingdoms of recent times, including both interior and exterior inscriptions on bells, ding tripods, steamers, li tripods, basins, water ves- sels, wine beakers, and grain containers, as well as those concerning the lives of both eminent officials and obscure scholars found on rounded or rectangular stelae, he corrected their errors, distinguished the authentic from the spurious, and evaluated their historical value. He composed colophons on all those inscriptions that suffice either to affirm the Way of the sages or to emend mistakes in the historiographical record. The contents are rich indeed. The calamities suffered by Wang Ya and Yuan Zai show that there is no difference between hoarding works of art and hoarding pepper.1 Likewise, both Changyu and Yuankai were sick men. What does it matter that one was obsessed with money and the other with the Zuo Commentary?2 Their sicknesses went by different names, but their delusion was the same.
It was in the xinsi year of the Jianzhong period [1101] that I married into the Zhao family. At that time, my late father was serving as vice director of the Ministry of Rites, and the grand councilor [her father-in- law, Zhao Tingzhi] was vice director of the Ministry of Personnel. My husband, twenty-one years old, was a student in the National University. The Zhaos and Lis are undistinguished families that have always been poor. On the leave days of the first and fifteenth of every month, when he requested holiday leave, we would pawn some clothes to raise five hundred cash. Then we’d walk to Xiangguo Monastery to buy fruits and rubbings of inscriptions. We’d take them home, sit down together, and spread them out, savoring them. We felt that we were living in the har- monious era of Getianshi.1 Two years later, my husband came out to serve as an official. We then resolved to eat vegetarian meals and wear clothes of coarse cloth, so that we might fulfill our intent to gather from every distant place and remote region as many of the empire’s ancient inscrip- tions and rare engraved works as we could. As the days and months passed, our collection grew. The grand councilor stayed in the imperial city, and many of our relations worked in the palace libraries and archives. They had access to lost odes, little-known histories, and such books as those recovered from the walls of Lu and the tomb of Ji.2 When we came upon such rare works, we exerted ourselves to make copies of them. Once awakened to the flavor of this activity, we could not stop. Later, when- ever we came upon a piece of calligraphy or a painting by a celebrated artist, whether ancient or recent, or a precious vessel from the Three Dynasties, we would take off a layer of clothing to pawn for it. I re- member that once during the Chongning period [1102–6] someone brought a peony painting by Xu Xi [10th c.] to show us. He was asking two hundred thousand for it. In those days it would have been hard even for young persons in eminent officials’ families to come up with such a sum. The man left it with us for two days, but we finally decided we could not purchase it and returned it to him. Afterward, my husband and I looked at each other dejectedly for several days.
Later, we lived in seclusion in our hometown for ten years.1 By manag- ing our expenses carefully, we had more than enough for food and cloth- ing. Then my husband served successively as prefect in two separate places, and we devoted all of his salary to purchasing books and writing materials.2 Whenever we obtained a new book, the two of us would col- late together, comparing other editions, then produce a corrected copy with a new title page. When we obtained a calligraphic scroll, painting, or ritual bronze, we would also pore over it to amuse ourselves, identify- ing any defects we could find. Our custom was to limit ourselves to the duration of one candle per night. In this way, we were able to gather works with a quality of paper and completeness in their texts and brush- work that were superior to those of other collectors. It happens that I have a good memory, and in the evenings after dinner we would sit in our hall named Returning Home and brew tea.3 We’d point to a pile of books and, choosing a particular event, try to say in which book, which chapter, which page, and which line it was recorded. The winner of our little contest got to drink first. When I guessed right, I’d hold the cup high and burst out laughing until the tea splattered the front of my gown. I’d have to get up without even taking a sip. Oh, how I wished we could grow old living like that! So even though our lives were fraught with apprehensions and poverty, what we valued and strove for was never compromised. When our books were complete, we built a library in Returning Home, with large cabinets marked with numbers. We arranged the books ac- cordingly inside. Whoever wanted a book to read would have to get a key and record the book’s number in a log before taking it out. If the borrower made the slightest mark or smudge on a page, it was his or her responsibility to repair or clean it. We were no longer as easygoing as at first. In this way, what had started as an amusement turned into a source of vexation. I couldn’t stand it, so I decided that we would eat no more than one meat dish per meal and dress in no more than one colored gar- ment at a time. I wore no pearls or feathers in my hair and kept no gilded or embroidered article in my household. Whenever we came across a book of any kind whose text had no lacunae and was free of misprints, we would buy it on the spot to use as a back-up copy. Our family special- ized in the study of the Classic of Changes and the Zuo Commentary, and so our collection was particularly complete with regard to scholarship on those two works. Eventually, books were scattered all over our desks and were stacked in piles on our pillows and mats. Our thoughts met with those in the books, and our minds communicated with their authors. Our eyes went forth among their pages, and our souls were enriched by them. Certainly the joy that they gave us was superior to that of dancing girls or raising dogs and horses.
In the bingwu year of the Jingkang period [1126], when my husband was serving as prefect of Zichuan, we heard that the Jin armies had at- tacked our capital. We had no idea what to do. We gazed at our overflow- ing boxes and brimming trunks with both fond attachment and distress. We knew they would not be ours for long. In the third month of the dingwei year of Jianyan [1127], we hurried south for my mother-in-law’s funeral. Realizing that we could not take all those superfluous things with us, we first set aside the large printed books, then we set aside the paintings with multiple panels, and then we set aside the ancient vessels with no inscriptions. Finally, we set aside books in National University editions, ordinary paintings, and all heavy vessels. But even after these many reductions, we still traveled with fifteen carts of books. When we reached Donghai, we crossed the Huai River in a string of boats. Then we crossed the Yangzi River and arrived at Jiankang [Nanjing]. We had left under lock and key more than ten rooms of books and other items at our old residence in Qingzhou. We planned to return the following year and transport them south by boat. But in the twelfth month, the Jin sacked Qingzhou. The more than ten rooms of belongings were reduced to ashes.
In the ninth month of the wushen year of Jianyan [1128], my husband came out of mourning and was appointed prefect of Jiankang. His ap- pointment ended in the third month of the following year.1 We prepared a boat to take us to Wuhu and into Gushu, intending eventually to find a new place to live along the Gan River. But in the fifth month, when we had reached Chiyang, my husband received an imperial command ap- pointing him prefect of Huzhou and was summoned for an audience before the imperial throne.2 So we decided to make our home in Chiyang, with my husband going on by himself in response to the summons. On the thirteenth day of the sixth month, he was packed and, having left our boat, sat on the bank. Dressed in coarse clothes with a kerchief around his head, his mood that of a tiger on the prowl, his eyes darting and flashing, he looked toward our boat and bid farewell. I was in a ter- rible state of mind and shouted to him, “What shall I do if I hear the town is threatened?” He pointed at me and answered from afar, “Go with the crowd. If you must, discard the household belongings first, then our clothes, then the books and paintings, and then the ancient vessels. But the ritual vessels, be sure to take them with you wherever you go. Live or die with them. Don’t forget!” With this, he galloped off. Hurrying toward his destination, he paid no attention to the summer heat and, as a result, fell ill. By the time he reached the traveling court, his sickness was serious. A letter from him at the end of the seventh month informed me that he was confined to bed. I was frightened, knowing that, as he was high-strung by nature, any illness would be dangerous. If he developed a fever, he was bound to take cooling medicines, and then his condition would become worse. I had our boat untied and sailed day and night to be with him, covering three hundred li a day. By the time I arrived, he had in fact taken large doses of bupleurum and scutellaria.3 His fever was constant now, and he had also developed dysentery. His condition was beyond treatment. I wept bitterly and was too upset to ask what plans he had made for me after he was gone. On the eighteenth day of the eighth month [of 1129], he could no longer get up. He picked up a brush and wrote out a poem. When he finished the poem, he died. He had no final instructions regarding “dividing up the incense or selling sandals.”
After I buried him, I had nowhere to go. The court had dispatched the empress and palace ladies to
a separate location, and it was said that crossing the Yangzi River would soon be prohibited. At the time, I still had twenty thousand books, two thousand folios of inscriptions on metal and stone, and enough utensils and bedding to receive a hundred guests. My other superfluous things were comparable in quantity. I my- self was very sick, and my breathing was extremely weak. I thought of my late husband’s brother-in-law [Li Zhuo], who was vice minister of the Ministry of War and was then protecting the empress at Hongzhou. I dispatched two trusted clerks to him, sending along a portion of our pos- sessions with them for safekeeping. In the twelfth month of 1129, the Jin armies sacked Hongzhou, and everything I had sent was lost. The books that had been ferried across the Huai River in a string of boats were turned into smoke and clouds. All I had left were a few small, light- weight scrolls of calligraphy inscriptions; manuscript copies of the works of Li Bai, Du Fu, Han Yu, and Liu Zongyuan; A New Account of Tales of the World and Discourses on Salt and Iron; a few dozen mounted rubbings of stone inscriptions from the Han through Tang dynasties; some ten bronze vessels from the Three Dynasties; and a few cases of manuscripts from the Southern Tang. From time to time I would amuse myself with these during my illness. These were the only remnants I had left, as I lay sick in bed.
It was impossible to go farther up the Yangzi River, and moreover the invaders’ movements were unpredictable. My younger brother Hang was serving as reviser in the Law Code Office, and so I decided to go seek refuge with him. By the time I got to Taizhou, the prefect there had fled. When I got to Shan, I proceeded over land. I discarded my clothes and beddings as I hurried to Huangyan, where I hired a boat and set out to sea, hoping to catch up with the traveling court.1 At the time the emperor had docked at Zhang’an. I followed the imperial ship to Wenzhou and from there went back to Yue. In the twelfth month of the gengxu year [1130], when the officials were dismissed, I proceeded to Quzhou. In the third month of the xinhai year of Shaoxing [1131], I went again to Yue. In the renzi year [1132], I returned to Hangzhou.
Previously, when my husband was extremely ill, a certain Academician Zhang Feiqing came to see him bringing a jade pitcher that he then took away with him. The pitcher was actually made of jade-like stone. I do not know who started the rumor, but it was falsely said that there was talk of “an imperial behest of gold.”3 Some even said there was going to be a secret inquiry into the matter. I was terrified. I did not dare to speak out, but I also did not dare do nothing. I decided that I would take all my household’s bronze vessels and other objects and present them to the traveling court. By the time I got to Yue, the emperor had already moved to Siming.4 I did not want to keep those things in my house, and so I stored them all in Shan, together with the book manuscripts. Subse- quently, when the imperial army was rounding up rebels, what I had stored there was all taken away. Later, I heard that it ended up in the household of the old general Li. Of “the remnants I had left,” fifty or sixty percent was now lost. All that remained were some six or seven boxes of calligraphy, paintings, inkstones, and ink. I could not bear to put them anywhere else, so I kept them beside my bed, where I’d open them occasionally. At Kuaiji (Yue), I resided in a place owned by a local named Zhong.5 One night, a thief broke in through a wall and carried five of my boxes off. I was so grief-stricken I thought I’d die, and I offered a handsome reward to get them back. Two days later my landlord, Zhong, brazenly produced eighteen scrolls, asking for the reward. So I knew the thief was not far away. I tried everything I could to recover the rest, but nothing would free it up. Today I know that eventually Wu Shuo, the assistant fiscal commissioner, bought everything for a low price. At this point, seventy or eighty percent of “the only remnants I had left” was lost. What remained were just one or two random and fragmentary vol- umes that did not make any complete title or set, together with just a few common calligraphy manuscripts. Yet I still treasured them as if they were my life itself. How foolish I am!
Today when I chance to open one of my books, it is like meeting an old friend. I remember when my husband sat in Quiet Governance Hall in Donglai.1 Each folio of an inscription was mounted on scented paper and tied with a silken cord. Ten folios were bound together as a single volume. Every day in the evening, after the clerks had gone home, my husband would add editorial collations to two inscriptions and would write a colophon for one. Of the total of two thousand inscriptions, only 502 have colophons. Today the brush strokes in his colophons still look freshly made, but the tree trunks beside his grave are already thick. How sad it is!
Re: 2.3 金石錄後序 Afterword to Catalogue of Inscriptions on Metal and Stone
From the time I was two years younger than Lu Ji when he wrote his rhapsody until I was two years older than Qu Yuan when he perceived the error of his ways, that is, in thirty-four years, how numerous have been the worries and losses I have suffered!1 Nevertheless, possession is always followed by loss, just as the act of gathering always gives way even- tually to dissolution. It is a fundamental principle of things. One man loses a bow; another man finds it. What does it matter? The only reason I have taken the trouble to record all this here is to warn persons of later generations who are learned and fond of ancient things.
[see endnote]
Re: 2.3 金石錄後序 Afterword to Catalogue of Inscriptions on Metal and Stone
‘colophons on all those inscriptions that suffice either to affirm the Way of the sages’ ? so just–salutary moral shit?
A scholar so inclined could get something out of this and working with Anglosphere writing on misers such as the titles cited in Our Mutual Friend (lives of the misers, et al)
‘The Zhaos and Lis are undistinguished families that have always been poor.’ Bitch you JUST SAID—
‘ Once awakened to the flavor of this activity,’ curious phrasing
This is dumb to say but it really is interesting that someone in 1134 has a concept of earlier writing as *ancient*.
I still don’t have a clear concept of these nobles’ functional relationships to their ancestral homes: the extent to which they live there, their relationship to these places’ rents and governance.
The transition into this ‘no more than one meat dish’ bit was awkward in the intro, and it’s awkward now. It seems to relate to frugality in order to buy books, the theme of this section of the essay, but to have an strange causal relationship to the rest of the paragraph it sits in.
What IS the Zuo Commentary?
“Formerly, when Xiao Yi was conquered at Jiangling, he did not regret the loss of his kingdom, but he did destroy his books and paintings [so that his enemies would not obtain them]. When Yang Guang was over- thrown at Jiangdu, he did not bemoan his own death, but he did arrange to take his books and paintings with him into the afterlife.” This is the stupidest shit I ever heard, I am appalled
I think you can read her husband as careless, but perhaps also read both of them as completely unprepared for and ignorant of the scale of the coming conflict. And honestly, who can prepare for or immediately gauge and adapt to that level of crisis? Ought we to live in expectation of it?
Re: 2.3 金石錄後序 Afterword to Catalogue of Inscriptions on Metal and Stone
Zuo Commentary: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Zuo_Zhuan
2.4 打馬圖經序 Preface to a Handbook for Capture the Horse
慧則通，通即無所不達;專則精，精即無所不妙。故庖丁
之解牛，郢人之運斤，師曠之聽，離婁之視，大至於堯舜
之仁，桀紂之惡，小至於擲豆起蠅，巾角拂棋，皆臻至理
者何?妙而已。後世之人，不惟學聖人之道不到聖處，雖
嬉戲之事，亦不得其依稀彷佛而遂止者多矣。夫博者，無
他，爭先術耳，故專者能之。予性喜博，凡所謂博者皆耽
之，晝夜每忘寢食。且平生多寡未嘗不進者何?精而巳。
自南渡來，流離遷徙，盡散博具，故罕為之，然實未
嘗忘於胸中也。今年冬十月朔，聞淮上警報，江浙之人，
自東走西，自南走北，居山林者謀入城市，居城市者謀入
山林，旁午絡繹，莫不失所。易安居士亦自臨安泝流，涉
嚴灘之險，抵金華，卜居陳氏第。乍釋舟楫而見軒窗，意
頗適然。更長燭明，奈此良夜何。於是博奕之事講矣。
且長行、葉子、博塞、彈棋，近世無傳。若打揭、
大小豬窩、族鬼、胡畫、數倉、賭快之類，皆鄙俚不經
見。藏酒、摴蒲、雙蹙融，近漸廢絕。選仙、加減、插關
火，質魯任命，無所施人智巧。大小象戲、奕棋，又惟可
容二人。獨采選、打馬，特為閨房雅戲。嘗恨采選叢繁，
勞於檢閱，故能通者少，難遇勍敵。打馬簡要，而苦無
文采。
按打馬世有二種:一種一將十馬者，謂之「關西 馬」;一種無將二十馬者，謂之「依經馬。」流行既久， 各有圖經凡例可考;行移賞罰，互有同異。又宣和間人取 二種馬，參雜加減，大約交加僥倖，古意盡矣。所謂「宣 和馬」者是也。予獨愛「依經馬」因取其賞罰互度，每事 作數語，隨事附見，使兒輩圖之。不獨施之博徒，實足貽 諸好事，使千萬世後知命辭打馬，始自易安居士也。
時紹興四年十一月二十四日，易安室序。
Preface to a Handbook for Capture the Horse
“Insight leads to penetrating understanding, and with penetrating under- standing there is nothing to which the mind cannot reach”; concentration leads to refined skill, and with refined skill everything one does will be at a level of marvelous excellence. Therefore, whether it be Cook Ding’s carving of oxen, the man of Ying’s wielding of the ax, the hearing of Musician Kuang, the eyesight of Lilou, matters of such great import as the humaneness of Yao and Shun or the wickedness of Jie and Zhou, or matters of such little import as throwing beans and catching flies or mov- ing chess pieces with the corner of a handkerchief, they all arrived at the ultimate principle of things.1 Why? Because each attained marvelous ex- cellence at what he did. But as for people of later ages, not only did they fail to reach the level of the sages in their learning of the sagely Way, even in amusements and games, most of them gave up their cultivation before ever achieving even a semblance of what earlier men had achieved. Now, board games can be reduced to this: techniques for striving to win. Any- one who gives them his concentration can master them. By nature I am fond of board games. I can lose myself in any of them so that I can play all night long without thought of food or sleep. My whole life I have won most of the contests I have played. Why? Because my level of refined skill.
Since crossing the Yangzi River southward, I have been separated from loved ones and forced to wander here and there. I have seen my board games lost and scattered, and so seldom have I had any chance to play. But in my heart I have never forgotten them. This year on the first day of the tenth month, winter, we heard that military emergencies were re- ported on the Huai River. Those who lived in the Yangzi River and Zhe River regions fled westward from the east and northward from the south. Those who live in the hills and forests made plans to flee into cities, while those who live in cities made plans to flee to hills and forests. In this protracted flight, with everyone hurrying this way and that, ultimately there was no one who was not displaced. I myself, the Resident Scholar of Yi’an, traveled upstream from Lin’an. I crossed the river amid the high terrain of Yan Rapids and proceeded to Jinhua, where I found a place to live in the home of the Chen family. Having recently exchanged the comforts of verandas and windows for the hardships of boat and oar, I feel quite content. But “the night watches are slow and the lamp burns bright”2—how can I pass the long night? So I resolved to write an account of board games.
Now, Long Walk, Leaves, Borderlands, and Pellets, these games are no longer known. Strike and Lift, Big and Little Pigpen, Ghost Clans, Bar- barian Drawings, Storehouse of Numbers, and Fast Bets, these kinds of game are vulgar and not often seen. Storing Ale, Clutch the Reed, and Double Alert have been abandoned and forgotten in recent times. Pick the Immortal, Add and Take Away, and Insert the Flame are simple, dull games that depend on luck and leave no room for people to apply their knowledge or ingenuity. Large and Small Ivories and Weiqi can only be played by two persons at a time. It is only Selecting Colors and Capture the Horse that can be considered elegant games of the women’s inner quarters. But I dislike how complicated Selecting Colors is, requiring so much looking up. Few people can really master it, and so it is difficult to find an able opponent. Capture the Horse, by contrast, is simple and straightforward, although it is somewhat lacking in color and style.
I note that there are two versions of Capture the Horse. One version uses one general and ten horses. It is known as Horses West of the Passes. The other version has no general but uses twenty horses. This one is known as Horses By the Handbook. Having been around for a long time, both versions have handbooks and rules that can be consulted. The two have some different moves, rewards, and punishments. There is also another version developed during the Xuanhe reign period [1119–25] that uses two types of horses in different quantities. This version depends more on luck, and the ancient flavor of the game is completely lost. It is known as Xuanhe Horses. The version I like is Horses By the Handbook. Here, I have made estimates of some scenarios for reward and punish- ment, and have composed a few lines on each one, which are appended to each of the named arrangement of the pieces on the board. And I have had a youngster draw a diagram of each. This work may be transmitted not only to players of the game, but also to other interested persons so that a million generations hence everyone who hears of Capture the Horse will know that writings about the game began with the Recluse Scholar Yi’an.
The twenty-fourth day of the eleventh month of the fourth year of the Shaoxing period [1134], by Lady Yi’an.
Re: 2.4 打馬圖經序 Preface to a Handbook for Capture the Horse
“the Resident Scholar of Yi’an” is this any kind of real post?
It’s interesting that there seems to be a kind of developed game culture, she rattles off a score of titles.
Re: 2.4 打馬圖經序 Preface to a Handbook for Capture the Horse
Re: 2.4 打馬圖經序 Preface to a Handbook for Capture the Horse
2.5 祭趙湖州文(斷句) Eulogy for Zhao, Governor of Huzhou (fragment)
白日正中，嘆龐翁之機捷
堅城自墮，憐杞婦之悲深。
Eulogy for Zhao, Governor of Huzhou (fragment)
...
The bright sun was just at its noontime height, we admire Pangweng’s wit and quickness;
The sturdy city wall abruptly collapsed, we pity Woman Qi for the depth of her grief.
Re: 2.5 祭趙湖州文(斷句) Eulogy for Zhao, Governor of Huzhou (fragment)
Re: 2.5 祭趙湖州文(斷句) Eulogy for Zhao, Governor of Huzhou (fragment)