“Waiting for the Unicorn”
Cheng Hsiao-hsü (Su-k’an, T’ai-yi; HAI-TS’ANG), calligrapher and poet, was a native of Foochow, Fukien, and were it not for his monarchist principles and political ambitions, he would have endeared himself to more of his contemporaries during the Republican era. He earned first-place honors when he passed the chü-jen examination in 1882, the same year as his fellow townsman Lin Shu (1852–1924), who later distinguished himself by translating the works of Charles Dickens and Alexander Dumas fils and many other Western writers into literary Chinese. For several years, Cheng served in diplomatic posts in Japan where he became proficient in Japanese and befriended many Japanese men of letters.
Cheng remained loyal to the Manchu dynasty even after the establishment of the Republic in 1912. Upon the founding in 1932 of the Japanese-sponsored state of Manchukuo, embracing the three northeastern provinces of China, Cheng, who had played a key role in negotiations with the Japanese, was named prime minister in the court of the puppet emperor Henry P’u-yi. For this reason, he was widely regarded as a traitor to the Chinese people. Inevitably, his reputation as a poet also suffered. For example, the eminent poet and critic Ch’en Yen (1856–1937) once thought so highly of Cheng’s poetry that he began his commentaries on various poets in his Shih-yi-shih shih-hua (Poetry Talks from the Studio of Shih-yi), a work composed in 1914–1915, with an entry on Cheng. And throughout this book, he frequently discussed the accomplishments of Cheng, whom he considered to be a worthy follower of Liu Tsung-yüan and Meng Chiao among the T’ang poets and of Mei Yao-ch’en and Wang An-shih among the Sung masters. But when Ch’en Yen published his massive Chintai shih-ch’ao (Anthology of Contemporary Poetry; preface dated 1937), a work that contain selections from the works of 369 poets beginning with Ch’i Chün-tsao (1793–1866) and ending with his contemporaries, not a single selection of Cheng Hsiao-hsü’s works was included (although the poet’s brother, Cheng Hsiao-ch’eng, was represented)! Such a dramatic reversal of judgment may be cited as clear evidence of how literary criticism in China is often beclouded by irrelevant issues, such as a writer’s political sympathies or his personal character.
Cheng left thirteen chüan of verse, all chronologically arranged and published under the title Hai-ts’ang-lou shih (Poems from the Studio of [Someone] Hiding in the Sea [of Humanity]), taken from a line by Su Shih: “Alone in a sea of 10,000 people.” Cheng as a poet is especially adept in the five-word meter, and his style bears some resemblance to the yüeh-fu poetry of the Han, Wei, and Six Dynasties periods. The modern critic Ch’ien Chi-po says the following about Cheng’s verse: “His words may be plain and simple, but they evoke a distant spirit; they are lean in outward appearance but abundantly rich in the essence [of what poetry should be],” (Hsien-tai Chung-kuo wen-hsüeh shih, p. 235).
(Irving Lo)
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1. BDRC. 1:271–275.
After rain, the fitful cries of wild geese fill the hall in autumn;
By water’s edge a poet’s sentiments drift into the chill sky!
For such moods and feelings, what better than a grove of maple trees?
In one night the frost of Soochow mirrors their crimson shadows.
(HTLS, 1:1b)
(Tr. Irving Lo)
Written on the Wall of Ku Tzu-p’eng’s Studio1
A guest leaves; the window gleams in the twilight;
Walking and humming a verse, I’ve startled the wild birds.
A mountain peak stands peaceful in the setting sun;
After an autumn shower, the tarn water is only half clear.
By tea tables and mat, manuscripts are scattered around;
Nearby is the temple in honor of the Three Elders.
Returning to silence and quietude, this we all know,
Yet, always with feeling we set out on our trail.
(HTLS, 1:1b)
(Tr. Irving Lo)
9. Hanging scrolls by Cheng Hsiao-hsü, originally written for and presented to Mr. Frank B. Dunn (1886–1949) of Shanghai, whose courtesy name appears in the upper colophon. From the collection of Irving and Lena Dunn Lo.
Not a thousand gold will make me part with the moon tonight;
All the kalpas I’ve lived through can’t destroy my past affections.
Don’t say that a man’s life is not as pleasant as a dream:
Life is a dream. Saddest of all, it can’t ever be found.
(HTLC, 13:11a)
(Tr. Irving Lo)
A moon, sinking, drops beside my pillow—
Pitying in vain this unworthy self.
Here I lie in the bright moonlight,
Only to be startled when the moon leaves me.
I would lift myself up and follow it,
But where can I find a pair of wings?
Mountains and rivers aren’t hard to cross;
Troubles and woes can sometimes be overcome.
Better yet to fly away in an airplane,
But that would spread consternation among people.
It’s hard to forget the world, even in a dream;
Bitter regrets drive me into lengthening shadows.
(No. 3 from a series of 4; HTLS, 12:11a)
(Tr. Irving Lo)
The north wind shakes my studio window,
Bitterly, the snow weighs down the spotted bamboo.2
Wayfarers return home late in the evening,
To a window glowing red and the bamboos still green.
(HTLS, 2:16b)
(Tr. Irving Lo)
Upon Returning to the Capital in 19233
Living useless to the world is more abhorrent than death;
Among these “bending ears of millet”4 and brambles, I come back.
Here I search for faded dreams from a brass imperial carriage,
But the kalpa ashes of K’un-ming Pool5 are too familiar an omen.
True, I’ve harbored the intent of swallowing coal or painting my body,6
But hurtling myself against mountains or chasing the sun is not in my bag of tricks.7
With the hollow name of a courtier under two dynasties,
My brittle bones could still be likened to those of Kuo Wei.8
(HLTS, 10:4b)
(Tr. Irving Lo)
NOTES
1. The poet Ku Yün (1845–1906), whose courtesy name was Tzu-p’eng, was a native of Shang-yüan, Kiangsu, and Cheng Hsiao-hsü’s best friend. The title of this poem is followed by a note of the author, indicating that the studio was located in Lung-p’an Alley, next to the temple built to the memory of Tseng [Kuo-fan], Shen [Pao-chen], and Tso [Tsung-t’ang]. All were eminent statesmen of the mid-nineteenth century. The area where this temple once stood is part of the compound of Peking’s Tiao-yü-t’ai Guest House, which is used by the Chinese government to house distinguished visitors from abroad.
2. The spotted bamboo (pan-chu) was commonly believed to have been caused by the tears of the two sisters whom the mythical Emperor Shun married, the spots being the tear stains wept by the consorts upon the emperor’s death.
3. The prose preface to this poem reads:
I first left the capital in the ninth month of 1898, returning to it in the seventh month of 1910 after an absence of thirteen [inclusive] years—all recorded in my poems. I again was forced to leave the capital in the ninth month of 1912, and now I returned in the seventh month of 1923, again after an absence of thirteen years. Pondering my fate in this troubled world and my age and poverty, I wrote this poem.
4. Alluding to Ode 65 in the Shih-ching, traditionally taken as a lament for the removal of the capital in Eastern Chou.
5. Referring to the sack of the Yüan-ming Yüan (q.v.).
6. Alluding to the story of Yü Jan in the Warring States period who disguised his identity by turning himself into a deaf mute and a leper to carry out his revenge against his patron’s enemy. (Cf. Shih-chi, chüan 86.)
7. The phrase “antagonizing mountains and chasing the sun” (ch’u-mu chu-jih) is a paraphrase of ch’u-mu tao-jih, taken from Liang shu (History of Liang). According to the biography of Liu Chün (462–521), he was a man of education who lived under three dynasties and was summoned for an audience with Emperor Wu of Liang because of his reputation. What he said at the interview offended the emperor and he was ultimately rejected. He submitted to his fate and wrote a discourse on fate, in which he said: “Fate is that which thrives with heaven’s mandate; even a force that antagonizes a mountain can’t be resisted, and even a zeal for overturning the sun’s course won’t be effectual.”
8. Referring to Kuo Wei in the Warring States period, a wise statesman of Yen who successfully sold himself to King Chao of Yen and was immediately recruited for the king’s service. As a result, other wise statesmen gathered in the court, and the king was finally enabled to defeat the state of Ch’i.
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