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THE TRAGEDY OF PU FEI-YEN

 

Wu Kung-yeh of Lin-huai[1] was an administrative assistant of the Ho-nan Prefecture[2] during the Hsien-t’ung reign period [86o-873].[3] His favorite concubine was called Fei-yen, from the Pu family. So delicate and fine were her looks and manner, she seemed barely able to support the weight of a garment of thin silk. She was good at singing the tunes of Ch’in,[4] enjoyed literary pursuits, and was especially skilled at tapping the pitch cups to the harmony of strings and flutes. Kung-yeh doted on her.

 

Adjacent to their house was the residence of Chao of T’ien-shui,[5] also a member of a prominent family. His son Hsiang, both handsome and learned, had just turned twenty and at this time was at home observing mourning rites.

 

One day Hsiang happened to spy Fei-yen through a crack in the south wall, and from then on became so despondent that he began to lose sleep and neglected his meals. He offered a generous bribe to Kung-yeh’s doorkeeper to tell Fei-yen of his feelings. The doorkeeper appeared very reluctant at first, but finally gave in to the generous offer and told his wife to wait until Fei-yen had an idle moment, when she could tell her of Hsiang’s interest. When Fei-yen heard of this, she merely smiled and stared ahead fixedly without replying. The old servant conveyed all this to Hsiang, who went wild with joy, not knowing how to contain himself. He then chose a sheet of red, lined paper and wrote the following lines:

 

 

One look at your devastating beauty,

Has thrown my mind in confusion.

Since I cannot fly to heaven to meet with you,

I hope instead you will descend to earth.

 

He sealed the poem and asked the doorkeeper’s wife to take it to Fei-yen.

 

When Fei-yen read it, she sighed for quite a while and said to the old woman, “I, too, once had a glimpse of Mr. Chao. He is certainly talented and handsome. How unfortunate I am in this life not to have been given to him in marriage.” This was because she despised Wu for his rude ways and violent temper, feeling that it was a poor match. She then reciprocated with a poem, writing on gilt phoenix paper:

 

The gloom that furrows my brows,

Is only from the dark laments in the new poem.

Since your heart is so full of grief,

To whom will I unburden my passion?

 

She sealed it and gave it to the old woman to deliver to Hsiang.

 

When Hsiang opened the letter, he chanted it aloud several times and, chipping his hands, cried joyfully, “My affair is going well!” Then, on jade leaf paper, he wrote a poem to thank her:

 

Grateful I am to the lovely one who sent the welcome words.

Deep are the feelings in the tinted paper and scented ink.

On paper thin as cicada wings my grief is hard to convey.

In characters as tiny as a fly’s head, I cannot tell all that is in my heart.

Perhaps the fallen flowers have covered the path to the cave of the fairies.

I only sense the light rain seep beneath my co1lar.

Your image comes to me a hundred times at rest, a thousand times in my dreams.

I cut out paper for a long verse in which to open my heart.

 

For ten days after the poem had been sent, the doorkeeper’s wife did not return. Hsiang began to worry, fearing that either the affair had been discovered or Fei-yen had grown remorseful.

 

One spring evening sitting alone in the front courtyard, he wrote a poem:

 

In the green and ruddy darkness, dim clouds rise.

I am alone with my grief in the small front yard.

Immersed in this deep and lovely night, whom can I speak to?

A star is parted from the Milky Way and the moon is alone in the sky.

 

Hsiang got up early the next morning and was just reciting this verse when the old woman arrived. She had a message from Fei-yen: “Don’t feel upset because I’ve sent you no letter for the last ten days. I haven’t been feeling well.” She sent Hsiang a scented brocade purse and some green tinted paper on which was written a poem:

 

Too weak to finish dressing, I lean on the decorated window frame.

Burdened with emotion, secretly I inscribe a poem on the brocade.

I have of late been afflicted with spring longing,

Becoming like the weak willows and learning flowers that fear the morning breeze.

 

Hsiang tied the brocade purse close to his bosom. Carefully reading the note, he became fearful that Fei-yen’s brooding would worsen her condition. He then cut a sheet of thin silk paper to write her a reply note:

 

Spring is so prolonged, while the heart is so full of cares. Since my first glimpse of you, your image has dominated my dreams. Even if you were a fairy, it would still be difficult for me, a groundling, to meet you. My heart, however, is as true as the bright sun, and 1 vow to fulfill my hopes. Yesterday the green messenger bird of the Jade Terrace[6] suddenly descended, bringing word from you. The gift of the scented, brocade purse, 1 wear close to my breast, where its sweet fragrance makes you seem closer to me. When I heard that you were overcome with passion, and have been indisposed, that your de1icte nature is suffering, I was beside myself with worry, wishing I could fly to your side. I hope that you will relax and not become overwrought. Please do not be sparing with your short poems; I would rather break off some later appointment. How can I say everything in a letter with my mind so distracted? I enclose these meager lines of poetry and look forward to your reply.

 

You say you suffer at the coming of spring.

I imagine how you knit your dark eyebrows as you wrapped the brocade.

Respectfully I say to my dear Fei-yen,

This kind of involvement can cause the most pain of all.

 

The old woman went straight to Fei-yen’s chamber with this reply. In his job as an administrative assistant, Wu Kung-yeh was extremely busy. Sometimes he would not return home for a whole day; sometimes he would have a night shift once every few days. At this time, it just happened that he was on duty at his office. Fei-yen opened the letter and read it through carefully to catch all the subtler meanings conveyed. She then heaved a long sigh and said, “The inclinations of his heart are the very thoughts on my mind. We’re so alike in soul and spirit. Though we seem far apart, it is really as though we were very close.” She then closed the door, let down the curtains and wrote him a letter in reply:

 

I have been unfortunate in life. I was orphaned when young and later, deceived by a matchmaker, I was given to a despicable creature. On nights when the moon is bright and the breeze is crisp, I play the zither to unburden my heart. On bleak autumn days and dark winter nights, I entrust my grief to its tunes. Never had I expected that suddenly I would receive a message from you. When I read your letter, my thoughts flew to you; when I read your beautiful poems. I strained my eyes trying to see you. I only grieve that the Lo River has separated us. 1 would like to be the girl Chia Wu,[7] but the wall is too high to climb. Even traversing the clouds, I will never reach the Ch’in Tower.[8] The cavern where Ch’u encountered the goddess is beyond even my dreams.[9] I still hope Heaven will respond to my earnest plea, and the gods will grant us the chance to meet. Then should I die, it would be without regrets. I enclose a few short lines to confide my deepest feelings:

 

The spring swallows in the painted eaves must return together to nest.

Would the ducks from the Lo riverbank ever fly along?

Often I grieve at how the maidens of the peach valley

So carelessly sent their lover back home from amid the flowers.

 

Sealing the envelope, she summoned the old maidservant and told her to give it to Hsiang.

 

When Hsiang had read the letter and the poem, he felt that Fei-yen was expressing even greater intimacy and could not control himself in his joy. Then, in a quiet chamber he burned incense and made offerings, preparing for the right moment to come.

 

Suddenly one day toward evening the old maidservant arrived in haste. Smiling, she bowed and asked. “Does Mr. Chao wish to meet the goddess?” Startled, Hsiang plied her with questions. She then relayed Fei-yen’s message: “Tonight my master will be at his office. This will be the most opportune time. Our rear garden adjoins your front wall. If your feeling for me still remains, I’ll look forward to your coming. Ten thousand thoughts that fill my mind all await our meeting to be spoken.

 

When it grew dark, Hsiang climbed up the wall on a ladder. Fei-yen had already had thick bedding piled underneath. When he descended he saw Fei-yen, exquisitely attired, standing by the flowers. Exchanging bows, both were too overjoyed to speak. Arm in arm, they entered the house through the back door, lowered the curtains, covered the lamp, and gave themselves over to a night of consuming passion. Not until the morning gong sounded at the break of day did Fei-yen see Chao to the bottom of the wall. She took his hand and said amid tears, “Our meeting today was determined in a previous existence. Don’t ever think that I’m not of an upright and pure nature, or that I’m dissolute in behavior. It is only because of your noble manner and bearing that I haven’t been able to check my emotions. I hope you’ll understand this.”

 

Hsiang replied, “You’re so beautiful and so kind. I’ve already given my solemn pledge to serve you forever in happiness.” At this, Hsiang climbed over the wall and returned to his home.

 

The next day he asked the old maidservant to present Fei-yen with this poem:

 

Though the way to the dwelling of the goddesses is blocked,

One whose heart is true can still approach the Jade Terrace.

The breeze wafts a fragrance which recalls the deep night to mind,

And I know that in the palace of heaven the goddess is about to arrive.

 

Fei-yen smiled as she read it and then wrote the following poem in return:

 

Though we think of each other, I only fear we are barely acquainted.

When we meet, I still worry that in a moment we must part. I wish I could become a crane beneath a pine tree,

And together with my mate fly up into the clouds.

 

After sealing the letter she gave it to the maidservant, asking her to tell Hsiang, “How fortunate it as that I have a little knowledge of poetry. Otherwise, who would there be to appreciate your great talent?”

 

After this, no more than ten days would pass without the two meeting in the back garden to confide their intimate thoughts and long pent-up feelings, thinking that even the gods and spirits knew nothing of their affair, while all on earth and in heaven were helping them. They gazed at the scenes around them, and composed poems to express their feelings, unable to put down all they felt despite constant visits together. A full year passed in this way.

 

It happened that Fei-yen had on several occasions beaten one of her maids over some trifling mistake. For this, the maid bore a secret grudge and took an opportunity to tell all to Kung-yeh, who cautioned her, “Don’t speak of this. I’ll spy on her.”

 

Later, when it came time for him to be on duty, he made up an excuse and asked for a leave of absence. Toward evening, he set off for his office as usual but then hid himself near the outside gate. When the street gong sounded, he crept back along the wall to the backyard, from where he could see Fei- yen leaning against the window, humming softly. Then Hsiang peered at Fei-yen from over the wall. Unable to contain his rage, Wu lunged forward to seize him. Realizing what was happening, Hsiang fled. Kung-yeh grabbed at him but only caught hold of half his jacket. He then entered the room and called Fei-yen to question her. The color had drained from her face, and her yoke trembled. But she would not tell him the truth. More incensed than ever, Kung-yeh bound her to a tall pillar and whipped her until her blood flowed. All she said was, “Since my life has been blessed with love, I feel no regret at meeting death.”

 

In the middle of the night Kung-yeh became tired and left to sleep for a while. Fei-yen called her favorite maid and said, “Get me a cup of water.” When the water was brought, she drank it down and then expired. Kung-yeh arose and prepared to resume the whipping but found her already dead. He then undid the rope and carried her to her room where he called her name several times, and declared that she had died of a sudden illness. After several days, he buried her on the slope of the Pei-mang Hill.[10] All in the neighborhood, however, knew of her violent death.

 

Hsiang changed his clothes, assumed the name of Yüan, and escaped far away to the vicinity of the Yangtze and Che rivers.[11]

 

In Lo-yang were two scholars named Ts’ui and Li, who were regular companions of Wu. Ts’ui wrote a poem [when he heard the story of Fei-yen]. The last two lines were as follows:

 

After the flower-passing game,[12] the drinking guests departed; On an empty bed the most luxuriant branch was thrown.

 

That night Ts’ui dreamed that Fei-yen came to thank him. “Though my face cannot be compared with peach blossoms, I have suffered a fate much more wretched. I receive your beautiful lines with shame.”

 

The last lines of Li’s poem were as follows:

 

Her sweet soul and charming spirit seem to be present,

When she should be ashamed to meet the faithful wife Green Pearl.[13]

 

During the night he dreamed that Fei-yen pointed her finger at him: “It is said, ‘Scholars have a hundred virtues.’ Do you, then, possess them all? Why do you malign others with such scathing remarks? You should be called down to the court below for cross-examination.”

 

A few days later, Li passed away. His contemporaries found it all very strange.

 

Chao Yüan was later transferred to the Ju-chou Prefecture[14] to become the county registrar of Lu-shan; later when he was transferred again to another post, Li Yüan of Lung-hsi took over his old position. Toward the end of the Hsien-t’ung reign period, I in turn took over Li Yüan’s position, and because I had been close friends with Li since our youth, 1 came to know of this secret affair that had happened at Lo-yang. Li made a record of it, and thus it came to be passed down.

 

“The Fellow from San-shui”[15] remarks: “Alas! Every age has its captivating women, but one rarely hears of one who is truly pure and upright. Thus, just as scholars who boast of their own talents are lacking in virtue, those women who flaunt their beauty have illicit affairs. If both could be as cautious as one holding a full glass of water or one standing at the edge of a cliff, they would certainly become righteous men and virtuous women. Though one cannot disregard Fei-yen’s crime, if one were to examine the inner reaches of her mind, one would indeed find tragedy!”

 

[1] In modern Anhwei Province.

[2] Lo-yang was the site of the prefectural administration of the Ho-nan Prefecture in T’ang times.

[3] The only reign period of the T’ang emperor Yi-tsung.

[4] Approximately the present Shensi Province.

[5] In modern Kansu Province.

[6] An abode of the fairies.

[7] The girl Chia Wu of the Chin Dynasty stole some incense, given to her father by the emperor, for her lover.

[8] A tower built by Duke Mu of the state of Ch’in of the Spring and Autumn period for his daughter.

[9] This refers to the meeting between King Hsiang of the state of Ch’u and a goddess at the Wu Mountain.

[10] A hill outside the city of Lo-yang.

[11] In this context, “Chiang-che” cannot possibly stand for the present provinces of Chekiang and Kiangsu, though it refers to approximately the same geographical area.

[12] This was a party game. A bowl of lotus flowers was passed around, and each guest picked a petal. The first one to get the bowl after the last petal was gone had to sing.

[13] For the story of Green Pearl, see the preamble in the story ”Sung the Fourth Raises Hell with Tightwad Chang” in this anthology.

[14] In modern Honan Province.

[15] This is the pseudonym of the author, Huang-fu Mei. The location of San-shui is in the present Kansu Province.

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