“Waiting for the Unicorn” | Open Indiana

(18 OCTOBER 1866–14 SEPTEMBER 1911)

Hsüeh Shao-hui (Hsiu-yu, Nan-ssu), a native of Foochow, Fukien, came from an impoverished scholar’s family. A child prodigy, she was given instruction in embroidery, along with the flute and the singing of K’un-ch’ü (K’un-style opera). At thirteen, she startled the literary society of Foochow, which was known for its tradition of poetry contests, or shih-chung (literally, “poetry bell”), by winning prizes with her verses, submitted incognito at first (by using the name of her brother as a contestant). Soon she attracted the attention of a brilliant young graduate of the new Naval Academy, ten years her senior, Ch’en Shou-p’eng (1856-?), who admired her poetic genius and sent matchmakers to propose marriage. The wedding took place in 1880, when Hsüeh was only thirteen years old, and the occasion became a literary event celebrated by still another poetry-writing contest. The contest called for specimens to be judged—which were written in accordance with an announced topic and rhyme—to be placed in a box atop a stand from which a bell (chung) was hung, the clapper of which was attached by a piece of string to an incense stick. When the incense burned down, the bell struck and the lid of the box closed to further entries.

After marriage, Hsüeh continued her literary and artistic pursuits while keeping house for her husband who frequently was away, studying in Japan (1883) or traveling as an interpreter in England and France (1868–1889). Ch’en Shou-p’eng, a geographer, returned home with a large library of Western books and made his living by translating classics from abroad. Meanwhile, Hsüeh Shao-hui’s reputation as a painter, poet, and a writer of Parallel Prose (p’ien-wen) continued to grow. Among Ch’en’s works is a book of world geography entitled Chiang-hai T’u-chih, and the husband and wife jointly produced such works as Wai-kuo lieh-nü chuan (Biographies of Famous Women in Foreign Countries) and (Pa-shih-jih yu-chi) (Around the World in Eighty Days).

Despite her exposure to Western ideals and ideas, Hsüeh remained a product of strict traditional upbringing. For example, she was opposed to modern education for women, and she proclaimed Virtue, Speech, Arts and Crafts, and Beauty as the four desiderata of womanhood. She brought up her several children according to these beliefs. Her youngest daughter, in order to demonstrate her filial piety, committed suicide after forty days of mourning following her mother’s death. A woman of weak constitution, Hsüeh contracted consumption at twenty; still she devoted herself tirelessly to her work and left a large corpus of writings, all published posthumously under the title Tai-yün-lou yi-chi (Posthumous Poems from the Pavilion of Brow-black Clouds), containing eight chüan of shih, two chüan of tz’u, and two chüan of Parallel Prose. She also edited the volume Kuo-ch’ao kuei-hsiu chi (Selected Lyrics by Women Poets of the Ch’ing Dynasty), in addition to completing the anthology Kung kuei tz’u (Lyrics by Palace Ladies), started by her sister-in-law. Although her poems sometimes contain references to foreign events, such as the assassination of the Japanese Premier, Itō Hirobumi (1841–1909), or the sale by auction of Empress Josephine’s jewelry, the range of subject matter in her works is confined chiefly to family events, daily life, and occasional travels to cities like Shanghai or Peking. A note of perfect conjugal bliss runs throughout her poems and serves as a constant reminder of the close bond that always existed between living one’s life and the writing of poetry in traditional China. Readers of Chinese poetry will recall the history of the Sung woman poet Li Ch’ing-chao and her husband, Chao Ming-ch’eng (1081–1129), an antiquarian scholar. Much of Li’s poetry was inspired by her devotion to her husband. The same close bond between husband and wife existed in the poetic works of women poets until the very end of the imperial period in China.

(Irving Lo)

Ancient Sentiments

Wish to embroider a twin-budded flower?

First grow a pair of loving silk cocoons.

Unbroken is the thread of love

Which blunts the spring wind’s cutting edge.

(No. 1 from a series of 4; TYLSC, 1:1b)

(Tr. Irving Lo)

After Rain

What’s to be done about the scorching heat after a rain?

Overflowing gullies seem like rivers.

A frayed carriage’s like a steamer drawn by lean horses;

Broken bells capturing the wind, scabby camels approach.

Dozing dogs, in a daze, resemble lazy servants;

Buzzing, buzzing, flies outnumber the officials.

Under a wine-dark sky, all black dust is cleansed.

Let the Dragon King never be amused with a song!

(TYLSC, 3:19b-20a)

(Tr. Irving Lo)

Emperor Wen¹

Emperor Wen of his generation, trusting in reform,

Blindly cast to the ground a time-honored tradition.

Craving a nice posthumous title and history’s praise,

None but he brought untold suffering to all the people!

Returning to a debt-ridden court without a single plan,

He naively invoked an ancient law to set up an infant ruler.

Pity, all the iron cast could not open a road to Szechwan;

He’s left to hum: the “Song of Sorrow” by the River Hsiang.

(TYLSC, 4:8a)

(Tr. Irving Lo)

In Honor of My Husband’s Fiftieth Birthday

Faster than arrows race the rook and hare,²

And ruddy cheeks change unnoticed in the mirror.

Take pleasure where you can in this world:

A moment of bliss is better than taking the elixir.

I’ll empty the goblet and drink deep the grape wine,

And arise to dance in honor of your birthday;

I wish you luck and good fortune for a million years,

That we may live together till our heads turn white.

You’ve enjoyed fifty springs and I forty;

Our allotted span has entered its ninety-first year.

The harvesting season is on, and a sunny day too,

And frolicking children all around our knees.

I recall the time when we exchanged marriage vows,

Your talents and expectations shone like the rays of the morning sun.

Even today your fame embraces north and south;

People of rank all yield to you, a commoner.

Have you not seen the pine trees of the Southern Mountain?

Beneath thick green canopies, their roots coiled like a dragon.

No carpenter’s ax will tap them to make posts and beams;

By rocks and streams, they feed on rain and dew forever.

Have you not seen the cranes of the Southern Mountain?

Combing, ruffling their long white feathers at leisure?

Provided with no food, they know heaven and earth to be wide;

By flying high, they will never be caught by net or snare.

Both the pine and the crane live to a thousand years;

Abandoned and unknown, their destiny is secure.

Poor we are, but luckily we are rich in books;

The older we grow, the firmer set we are in virtue.

Our native hills may be thousands of miles away,

But birthdays celebrated far from home also bring joy.

Yonder Heaven quietly shows a tender love for good men:

It won’t deny you an inkstone for an abundant life.

My only wish is that year after year it will stay the same:

With salt and rice, pestle and well water, I’ll serve you.

At other times, we’ll link our arms to pull a deer cart³

Or, stepping outside, view the peonies in bloom, all smiles.

(TYLSC, 3:10a-10b)

(Tr. Irving Lo)

Tune: Mu-fu-sha (A Persian Song)⁴
Title: For My Husband Who Sent Me Several Rubbings of
Ancient Egyptian Stone Tablets

Every word a worm, a fish, an elephant;

Then, these strange images of spirits of snake or bull!

I ask how letters come from the tracks of birds—

Who, after all, was the chief inventor?

Unless the gods had yielded to each other,

How could anyone imitate this Kharosthi script?⁵

Reputed to be the first beyond the western sea,

They altered their shapes due to disputes among nations.

Phonemes? Or pictograms?

Su Che is long dead,

And so is Yang Hsiung.⁶

In vain will bamboo scripts hold the secret of ancient kings.⁷

Even though I may be another Ch’ing-chao,⁸

And you familiar with bronze and stone scripts,

The most learned must be baffled.

From ten thousand miles away, I watch the sea and the sky;

I see the vast and indistinct clouds and mist.

I laugh at the halberds and lances of the kingdoms of Man and Chu,⁹

A mirage of the ancients and the moderns:

A thousand years in an instant of time.

Left are fragments of inscriptions, chips of tablets.

Admiringly, I inquire into those former days:

Where did that heroic spirit go?

Might they not resemble the omens of dragons and phoenixes?

Only broken tiles and chipped bricks!

Neither Yin nor Hsia has left any record,

Who’s to sacrifice to Chi and Tseng?¹⁰

Where once the wheat and barley grew, I face a scene of desolation.

How do those stone figures differ from our bronze camels

Still slumbering among briars and thorns?

(TYLTC, A:9b-10a)

(Tr. Irving Lo)

NOTES

1. Literally, “the Literary Emperor,” the posthumous title for Yi-chu, whose reign title was Hsien-feng. The last line of the poem alludes to the Li Sao by Ch’ü Yüan.

2. I.e., the sun and moon.

3. A deer cart is narrower and smaller than ordinary carts. The story refers to the wife of Pao Hsüan of the Han dynasty who once took off her jewelry, changed into a short tunic, and stepped down to help her husband pull such a cart out of a rut.

4. The tune Mu-fu-sha is a T’ang dynasty Chiao-fang or Music Academy title, originating from Persia. Mu-fu is a corrupt version of “Molkgu,” or “Magu” in ancient Persian, meaning a priest of the Mani religion who flourished in the third century.

5. The text reads Ch’ü-lu, referring to Kharosthi, an ancient Aramaic script used between the fifth century B.C. and the third century A.D.

6. Su Che (?-after 300) and Yang Hsiung (52 B.C.-A.D. 18) were both distinguished Chinese phonologists.

7. The text reads Li-wang, the king of Li. Li is the name of a kingdom mentioned in the Shan-hai-ching, an ancient book of Chinese mythology.

8. The poetess Li Ch’ing-chao, whose husband was an authority on ancient bronze and stone scripts and an avid collector.

9. Mentioned by the Chinese Taoist philosopher Chuang-tzu in a parable purporting to narrate the battles between two kingdoms which occupied the space within a snail.

10. Yin and Hsia are the two oldest dynasties in Chinese history; Chi and Tseng and the two kingdoms conquered by the state of Ch’i (in modern Shan-tung) in the seventh century B.C. Bronze camels are symbols of royal power, usually erected in front of a palace gate.

Waiting for the Unicorn