Chapter Eight

Chapter Eight Highlights During the Dazhong Era

Complications In Wen’s Frustrated Efforts Wen did not return to the capital until the last years of the Huichang era, ¹ when Emperor Xuanzong (r. 847-60) ascended the throne, with the “support” of the eunuchs.

A son of Emperor Xianzong (r. 806-20) and an uncle of both Wenzong and Wuzong, Xuanzong cherished a bitter hatred for his nephew Wuzong, rooted in the oppression and humiliation he had suffered at the latter’s hands. In addition, he harbored the utmost loathing for Li Deyu, the powerful prime minister throughout Wuzong’s reign and head of the Li Faction. The Huichang era was remarkable for its military feats and civil successes, which paved the way for the last period of relative stability of the Tang Empire. However, while benefiting from what had been achieved by his predecessors, Xuanzong purposely abandoned most of the important policies pursued in the Huichang era and implemented a set of measures of his own. One of the results was that those who formerly could not take the civil service examination at all, such as Wen, now faced more favorable circumstances. Most conspicuously, Xuanzong offered particular patronage for the recruitment of Presented Scholars. According to Wang Dang’s Tangyulin (4:134), he even called himself a “Local Contributed Presented Scholar” and inscribed the title on a pillar in his palace. Sun Qi’s Beilizhui (1:2) described the situation with the following remarks:

The Dazhong Emperor was fond of Confucian statecraft, and he set the greatest store by the civil service recruitment. Thus the Presented Scholar degree became popular on an unprecedented scale (大中皇帝好儒術, 特重科第, 故進士此道尤勝, 曠古無儔).

Hence there appeared a glimmer of hope that Wen might be able to remount the “dragon’s gate”. However, the policies Xuanzong adopted did not mean a rehabilitation of Wen’s case. Despite a drastic shift in the political balance within the decision-making circle, an insurmountable obstacle–the eunuchs’ bitter hostility–still prevented him from passing.

As a consequence of Xuanzong’s ascension, the Niu Faction took over power from the Li Faction for the final time, even though the eunuchs’ political control remained as powerful and persistent as ever before. In dealing with the eunuchs, the Niu Faction, too, had to exercise extreme caution. Seen from the perspective of the factional conflicts, the new state of affairs was only marginally better for Wen’s political prospects than the old one. Despite his constant efforts in campaigning for patronage, as a politically sensitive figure, Wen could please neither Faction. Nor was it easy for him to make any progress in the political crevice between the factions. Put in his own words (Epistle Presented to the Vice-Minister, Salt and Iron Commissioner), Wen was in an awkward situation like this:

I, with the common quality of cogongrass and reeds, and from a debased stock like that of Zhu or Teng, have given up a life of ploughing and weeding in my humble town, and come to observe the rites and music in the Metropolitan capital (某菅蒯凡姿, 邾滕陋族, 釋耕耘于下邑, 觀禮樂于中都).

In Wen’s metaphor, once people have silk and hemp for clothing, they will treat him as though he was “cogongrass and reeds” ² (wild grasses of tough fiber), and will throw him away. For him to earn official standing in the aristocratic society and between the vying factions could be compared to small feudal states such as Zhu or Teng maintaining a precarious existence between the contending powers of Qi and Chu.³ Despite his remaining family influence and his good relationships with some figures in office, Wen’s efforts had little effect. In the factional struggles of the time, Wen subordinated himself to neither group, although he had to appeal more than once to members of both for help. And even though on more than one occasion he enlisted the support of (or more accurately, was employed by) one faction, to his dismay, it happened at the expense of offending someone on the opposite side, nullifying his endeavor. This is the second cause of Wen’s repeated failures.

Nevertheless, Wen’s efforts were not entirely fruitless. From the commencement of the Dazhong era, it took him more than ten years on an extremely tortuous path, before he finally “succeeded” in earning himself a mere and bare Presented Scholar degree.

From Wen’s epistles presented to various ministers during the Dazhong era (such as his “Epistle Presented to Prime Minister Linghu”, “Two Epistles Presented to Vice-Minister Jiang”, “Epistle Presented to Minister Feng”, “Epistle Presented to the Vice-Minister, Salt and Iron Commissioner”, “Epistle Presented to Secretary Du” and “Epistles Presented to the Prime Minister”), ⁴ we are able to obtain a full picture of Wen’s unremitting efforts. He tried everything he could, appealing to any minister who might help open up a way to an official career. Although things sometimes appeared fairly hopeful for our poet, the official he was dealing with would sooner break faith with Wen than take substantial step to help him. For, in the complex political struggles under the control of the eunuchs, a minister who did try to redress Wen’s injustice would endanger his own career and fall victim to yet another injustice. Such was the lesson the political realities had taught any Late Tang official to whom Wen might appeal.

To make better use of limited space, we will bypass a lengthy textual and factual investigation of the above-mentioned epistles, and proceed directly into his biographies in the standard histories to determine the reasons for Wen’s repeated failures.

One of the incorrigible defects of Wen’s biographies is that their authors rely on the information provided by unofficial histories, but fail to discriminate between what is true and what is false in them. In the face of the perplexing firsthand information, in addition to being misled by the contradictory Tang sources, the biographers were too constrained by their own factional and hierarchical biases to do Wen justice. If Wen’s biographies fail even to give a clear account of such basic information as Wen’s names and style names, we thus cannot expect much from their accounts of Wen’s life. However, in order to repudiate the slander, which has found general acceptance among later generations, and to clarify Wen’s experiences during the Dazhong era, we will undertake a study of these biographies.

In fact, Wen’s biographies in the two Tang Histories, apart from some comments written in a contemptuous tone, present concrete details for only three events in Wen’s life, all of which are frequent topics in unofficial histories written between the Tang and Song dynasties. The first of these concerns Wen’s performances in the Presented Scholar examinations in the Dazhong era, namely, the cheating incidents in which Wen took the examination on others’ behalf and suffered repeated failures. The second is a garbled version of the Jianghuai Incident, misdated as in the middle of the Xiantong era (860-873) and related to Linghu Tao. The third relates how Wen rushed about seeking for an official position in the Xiantong era, the last decade of his life. Since these amount to no more than a sketchy account of Wen’s alleged experiences during the Dazhong era and later, Wen’s biographies in the two Tang Histories are both incomplete and inaccurate. We will concentrate here first on Wen’s performances in the examinations.

The following is the first few lines of Wen’s biography in JTS (190: 5078), which, after introducing the name, recounts his basic experiences during the Dazhong era:

In the beginning of the Dazhong, he took the Presented Scholar examination. Due to his painstaking studies and practices, he was particularly conversant with the compositions of poetry and rhapsody. On his first arrival at the capital, he was appreciated and held in high esteem by many men of eminence (大中初, 應進士. 苦心研習, 尤長于詩賦. 初至京師, 人士翕然推重).

The record attests to Wen’s literary attainment and fame, a fact even the biased Song biographers did not deny. However, it contains a serious mistake in chronology. The correct way of expressing the fact is that, in the beginning of Dazhong era, on Wen’s arrival (rather than on his first arrival) at the capital, he once more took the Presented Scholar examination. By beginning Wen’s biography in this manner, JTS produces the false impression that Wen just embarked on his life career at the time and that accounts for a fallacy in determining Wen’s birth year, counting it to occur much later than it really did.⁵ Even were the remaining details all correct, a biography which begins from the time when its subject was already fifty years of age is, to say the least, incomplete.

The biography continues as follows:

But his behavior as a scholar was improper and impure, and he disregarded small niceties. He was capable of matching the music of stringed or wind instruments to obscene and florid words; and he often drank and gambled with the dissolute sons of high-ranking officials, such as Pei Cheng, Linghu Hao, and their ilk, carousing for a whole day at a time. Therefore, for many years, he failed to pass the Presented Scholar Examination (然士行塵雜, 不修邊幅. 能逐弦吹之音, 為側艷之詞. 公卿家無賴子弟裴咸、令狐 之徒, 相與蒲飲, 酣醉終日. 由是累年不第).

This passage (the only account dealing with Wen’s taking the examination in the biography) emphasizes Wen’s repeated failures, only to leave readers with the misrepresentation that never in his entire life did Wen pass the Presented Scholar Examination. To reveal falsehood of the preceding account, we will examine both the causes of Wen’s failures and the end results of all his efforts.

As we have seen clearly from Wen’s life up to now, the only reason Wen’s biographers might have for condemning his behavior as “improper and impure” is their distorted knowledge of the Jianghuai Incident. It was chiefly because of Wen’s unconventional marriage with a singer-prostitute and the many rumors that were spread on account of it, that Wen’s fame was tarnished. As for Wen’s disregard for “small niceties”, this was characteristic of the Late Tang literati, and not a viable reason to account for his failures. In the eyes of the biased and snobbish Song Dynasty historiographers, to neglect “small niceties” was virtue in a powerful figure, but spelled ruin for insignificant man such as Wen. For someone like Wen, moreover, skill in music and expertise at composing verses, labeled “obscene and florid”, could be taken as “evidence” of misdeeds and a cause of failure. Obviously, as the products of fabrication, these reasons must not be credited.

As for the problematic claims that Wen often drank and gambled with the dissolute sons of high-ranking officials, the logical confusions contained in them can attest to their fallacy, as is evident from the following story in Fan Shu’s Yunxi Youyi (65-6): Pei Xian (裴 咸) ⁶ and Wen were good friends because of their shared fondness for poetry, music and humor. Zhou Dehua, a famous singer, sang the poems of many celebrities of the time at a party, but she refused to sing either Wen’s or Pei’s version of “Branches of the Willows” and embarrassed both on the spot. Frankly speaking, we cannot give full credit to this story, nor can we credit the reputed sensitivity of a legendary singer, although very possibly this anecdote is one of the sources upon which Wen’s biographers drew. Pei Xian’s poems written for the occasion were particularly indelicate:

The sole ovary of lotus seeds none could eye, 獨房蓮子沒人看,

To pick a lotus on the quiet will exhaust all my might. 偷折蓮時命也拼. If anyone has a reason and asks you why, 若有所由來借問,

Tell him the lotus stealer is a low-ranking official guy. 但道偷蓮是下官.

Any connoisseur of poetry can surely see that this is written in the worst of taste. “Sole ovary of lotus seeds” and “low-ranking official guy” (=lower organ) are obscene homophones, punning on sex. The poem is an indecent joke, a nakedly sexual depiction and nothing more.

Wen’s poem subjected to the same censure, however, is a model of poetic originality:

In the bottom of the well, I light a lamp–deeply illuminate it: 井底點燈深燭 (囑) 伊, With my lad, I like “long travel”, not “encircling chess”. 共郎長行莫圍棋(違期) .⁷ A dainty die with red beans engraved in it, don’t you know, 玲瓏骰子安紅豆, Is a love yearning that penetrates to the bone? 入骨相思知不知?

“The bottom of the well” is a “deep” place to “light a lamp” and “illuminate it”; “deeply illuminate it” (深燭伊) puns on “affectionately exhort him” (深囑伊). Thus “In the bottom of the well I light a lamp” spells the message “affectionately exhort him” by means of homophonic puns. How does the lass express her love to the lad? Certainly there is something more to the point, behind the seemingly irrelevant remark of the second line. Substituting “miss the date [for return]” (weiqi, 違期) for its homophone, “encircling chess”, (weiqi, 圍棋) as the poet’s note suggests, we will understand “with my lad I like ‘long travel’” in a new light–the so-called “long travel” is no longer merely a game name, as is encircling chess, it spells its very connotation in our English translation. Thus the second line as a whole is the lass’ extortion that she would go with her lad in the long travel, [and if she could not], her lad must not miss the date for return.

In the second couplet, the die, a small cube bearing different numbers (from one to six) of spots, fits for the poet’s artistic imagination because of its two traits. First, it is made of bone; and second, engraved into the bone, its spots are dyed red and look like red beans, that is, the seeds of love pea and symbol of love yearning. Through such semantic and syntactic links, the red spots that are carved into the bone-made die become the synonym and pun for a love yearning that penetrates to the bone.

Every and each line of this poem can please both the eye and, on reflection, the heart of its reader: the punning homophones and double meanings are handled with masterful dexterity; the images are fresh and rich, teeming with resources and vitality; the poetic taste is refined and delicate. The poem exemplifies Wen’s proficiency in poetry, ci poetry par excellence, a result of his imitating and surpassing the urban folksongs, drawing from and excelling the Southern-Dynasty Music Bureau verses, an artistic creativeness that really deserves to be called original.

A comparison of the two works immediately brings to light their great differences in taste and quality. Pei’s composition can hardly be called a poem. However, even though Pei’s work is “indecent”, composing such works never prevented him from having a moderately successful official career, as is recounted in Yunxi Youyi and other sources. In addition, we can be sure that Pei would have functioned more as a friend contributing to Wen’s success than a bad companion adding to his failures. But Wen’s poems scarcely ever have the kind of indelicate implications found in Pei’s example. Otherwise, as “a scholar without virtue” presenting a target to hostile gossips, Wen would have been subjected to much greater moral censure than he was. Neither his “indecent” poems nor his friendship with Pei could have been serious obstacle to his gaining the Presented Scholar degree.

Wen’s associating and drinking with Linghu Hao and thus failing to pass is also a fiction. Linghu Hao was the son of Linghu Tao (803-80), and grandson of Linghu Chu (765-836), whom Wen also knew personally. ⁸ It was during Linghu Tao’s long tenure as Prime Minister (850-859) that Wen failed to pass as a Presented Scholar. In the meantime, Linghu Hao became a “White-robe Prime Minister”, notorious for assuming and abusing his father’s power, but never rendering Wen any help. The two men had totally different backgrounds and careers, and the baseness of one of them had no effect on the other. Linghu Hao was said to have frequented the pleasure quarters of the capital, as was then the vogue (see Sun Qi, 41). This is perhaps one of the reasons JTS puts his name in Wen’s biography, seeking to draw attention to Wen’s debauched way of life. However, Linghu Hao, too, was a man of letters, who had much more to do than merely idle away his time in drinking all day. The problem with JTS is that, piecing together scattered disparaging accounts concerning Wen, it tends to portray most of Wen’s friends unfavorably, or else to regard indiscriminately people of ostensibly bad repute as Wen’s friends.

Therefore, the biography gives no sound reasons to account for Wen’s repeated failures. The self-righteous biographers hardly offer anything plausible, and their sketchy biographies are full of inconsistencies and contradictions. But then the question is raised once more: what caused Wen’s repeated failures? We have no need to determine or discover other “right” answers, because, as we have repeatedly stressed, the cause was always the opposition presented by the eunuchs.

We thus have good reason to discredit the tale told in JTS, concerning the reasons why Wen failed to pass the examinations so many times. We will also disprove the notion that Wen never did acquire the Presented Scholar degree, a fallacy for which we hold JTS responsible. To this end, we can cite as evidence the following clear and exact sources:

It is in Tangzhiyan (2: 16), under the subtitle of “Pass the Presented Scholar Examination Only Long after Becoming Equivalent to Passing” (為等第久方及第) that we find: “Wen Qi fled helter-skelter as a commoner” (溫岐濫竄于白衣). We are given to understand that after a long period of frustrations earning no official position, Wen, with great difficulty at last, procured a Presented Scholar degree. Wen’s biography in JTS stresses his numerous failures but ignores the record that he finally did achieve a very special and narrow pass.

In Wen’s “Epistle Presented to the Censor-In-Chief” (Xu Shang), he also related in clear terms that he had gained the Presented Scholar degree indeed. Had he not really done so, it would have been ridiculous for him to refer to himself in the following manner:

It was by hanging burned reeds to illuminate the characters and weaving rushes to make writing paper that I succeeded in acquiring the state examination degree and benefited with an imperial salary (懸蘆照字, 編葦為資. 遂竊科名, 才沾祿賜). ⁹

When, then, did Wen gain the degree? We must look into Wen’s biography in XTS (91: 3788) for the information JTS fails to include:

As a man of marvelously quick wit, he often made compositions for others. Toward the end of the Dazhong era, he sat for the examination held by the governmen­t. As the invigilation was especially exacting, Tingyun was unhappy about it; but he presented a memorial of more than a thousand characters, while having stealthily helped eight persons. Those in power held him in contempt for his behav­ior, and appointed him Defender of Fangshan County (庭筠思神速, 多為人作文. 大中末, 試有司, 廉視尤謹. 庭筠不樂, 上書千 言, 然私相占授者已八人. 執政鄙其所為, 授方山尉).

In XTS, this passage comes after an ac­count similar to that found in JTS about Wen’s repeated failures in the examina­tions. It is a supplement to Wen’s experiences in the period, the only supplement contributed by XTS which improves JTS. Here, the first point calling for our attention is that the repeated blows dealt to Wen by fate incited him to a kind of abnormal protest. Knowing he was far superior to those who had passed while he was always rejected, Wen decided to give vent to his discontent by aiding others to pass and thus voicing his protest. To do Wen justice, he was determined to fight to the end of his life against the eunuchs’ persecution, letting his actions serve as a denunciation of the imperial state machine that had buckled under the pressure of the eunuchs’ power.

Here, however, the story becomes quite baffling: it is strange that Wen should achieve his goal of gaining a position merely by using fraud in the examinations. This is almost like saying that, the more he cheated, and the more those in power held him in contempt, the higher the position he would attain! We must quote additional details concerning Wen’s performance in his examination-related activities before we are able to shed more light on this problem.

Records in Tangzhiyan (13:146) also confirm the story that Wen cheated in the examinations by mischievously helping others:

In the year when Vice-Minister Shen ¹⁰ from Shanbei held the position of Examination Administrator, knowing that Feiqing used to be fond of helping others, he specially called him to be examined in front of (instead of behind) his carrel curtain. It so happened that Feiqing was unhappy on this day, and in the evening asked that the door be opened to let him out, whereupon he submitted a memorial of over a thousand characters. Some said that he had secretly managed to help eight candidates (山北沈侍郎主文年, 特召溫飛卿于簾前試之, 為飛卿愛救人故也. 適屬翌日庭筠不樂, 其日晚間請開門先出, 仍獻啟千 言, 或曰潛救八人矣).

Similar records can be found in Beimeng Suoyan (4: 29) and later Tangshi Jishi (54: 822) with more details added. Among them, Tangzhiyan and Beimeng Suoyan are earlier sources. All verify the credibility of the record that Wen’s eccentric cheating efforts in the examinations had become out of control and created troubles for the authorities. Evidently, it was not that Wen’s cheating caused his failures, rather, it was that his repeated failures provoked his cheating. Beimeng Suoyan contains the following account of the same fact:

Moreover, in every year’s examination, Tingyun often wrote for others. When Vice Minister Shen Xun was Examination Administrator, he put Tingyun in a seat not adjacent to those of the other examinees. On the following day, he told Tingyun in front of the examination carrel, “There have been a number of examinees attaining their goal with the aid of the essays and rhapsodies written by you, Academician.¹¹ This year the examinations are in my charge, and I will permit no interference from you, Academician. Mind yourself about this”. Therefore he rejected him and Wen always failed (庭筠又每歲舉場, 多為舉人假手. 侍郎沈詢知舉, 別施鋪席授庭筠, 不與諸公鄰比. 翌日于簾前請庭筠曰: 向來策名者, 皆是文賦托于學士; 某今歲舉場中, 并無假托學士. 勉旃. 因遣之. 由是不得意也).

It can be imagined that, prior to the ninth year of Dazhong, Wen had already annoyed the examination officials by cheating many times. What is represented in the above account, and incorrectly put forward as the basic cause of his failure, is only one instance among many acts of persistent mischief on Wen’s part.

From the following record of Dongguan Zouji, ¹² we find a full and exact account of how, by writing on other examinees’ behalf, Wen caused consternation among those concerned with the examinations.

In the beginning, Pei Shen was concurrently in charge of supervising the candidates and presiding over the two special examinations, the Erudite Literatus and the Preeminent Talent. In that year there were a great number of Presented Scholars vying for these honors.... Shen was of a lenient and beneficent nature, and it was rumored that the topic of examination rhapsody had been divulged. The Registered Presented Scholar Liu Han was the son of Liu Xi, Magistrate of the Metropolitan Prefecture. In accordance with the established rule, the examination of Erudite Literatus chose only three candidates, but Han was among them. Those who had failed to pass complained that Han had known the rhapsody topic by way of Shen and then asked the writer Wen Tingyun to compose the rhapsody for him. After Han was chosen, an incessant racket of protest was made, and words of the affair reached His Majesty (初, 裴諗兼上詮, 主試宏拔二科. 其年爭名者眾…諗寬豫仁厚, 有賦題不密之說. 前進士柳翰, 京兆尹柳熹之子也. 故事: 宏詞科只三人, 翰在選中. 不中者言翰于諗處先得賦題, 托詞人溫庭筠為之. 翰既中選, 其聲聒不止, 事徹宸聽).

For convenience’ sake, we will call this contretemps the Dazhong Ninth Year Incident. Ever since Wen renewed his attempts to gain the Presented Scholar degree in the beginning of the Dazhong era, he had experienced many frustrations. In his repeated failures, he had acquired the “dishonorable” habit of aiding other examinees who were also taking the examinations. His actions in this respect precipitated a dramatic climax in the Dazhong Ninth Year Incident. By now Wen’s voice was loud enough to get a nationwide hearing, and those in power could no longer ignore the question Wen raised by his actions: were the examinations controlled by the eunuchs or court officials loyal to His Majesty? In fact, Wen succeeded at this time in enlisting quite extensive support and sympathy from within the literati-officials’ group. Some officials, whose sense of righteousness had not yet been obscured by the ruthless and chaotic realities of the times, were inspired by Wen’s actions to stand up for social justice. Of course, enabling some to pass with assistance was not fair to those who lacked such assistance. But people might as well ask: since those aided by Wen could pass even the Erudite Literatus examination, one of the most difficult and advanced examinations, what were the special reasons that always served to prevent Wen from passing as a mere Presented Scholar?

The Dazhong Ninth Year Incident at the time had far-reaching consequences. It was recorded in JTS that because the candidates for the Erudite Literatus examination had learned the topic ahead of time, the Vice-Minister of the Ministry of Rituals, Pei Shen, was impeached by the Censorate and demoted.¹³ This irregularity was even taken as a manifestation of Heaven’s warning against human injustice: “At an earlier time, the Imperial Astrologer reported to His Majesty that the Literature Star had dimmed, presaging that there would be troubles in the examinations. Now what the Astrologer had reported proved true”. ¹⁴ Wen’s persistent efforts created turmoil and at last succeeded in shocking the ruling clique. As we have stated before, the fundamental political situation at the time remained largely unchanged. The eunuchs still exercised close control over court power and had the emperor in their hands. Despite his efforts, Wen could not rehabilitate himself and remained in disgrace for a long time. No Examination Administrator dared pass him, since the eunuchs were so opposed to him. Under such circumstance, Wen’s underhand performances amazed the world. This had the effect of appealing his case forcefully to those in power who had hitherto ignored it, and demanding a reasonable settlement.

There were undoubtedly disputes among those in power about the disposition of Wen’s case. For them, never to pass Wen or never to punish Wen for his cheating was equally annoying, in view of the ambivalent responses such actions evoked. They could no longer fail him, confronted by the troubles Wen made. But to pass Wen, in addition to offending the eunuchs, was to defy the imperial dignity, because Wen’s cheating was, after all, a violation of the law. After about three or four years’ suspension, in the thirteenth year of Dazhong (859), Pei Tan, the then Secretariat Drafter, issued the following edict on behalf of the emperor.

Edict for Demoting Wen Tingyun as the Defender of Suixian County: ¹⁵

Imperial behest to the Local Tribute Presented Scholar Wen Tingyun: At early age you followed the local representative and had long since built up a great reputation. You have vainly boasted of your unrestrained talent, which can scarcely suit the needs of the time. Therefore we exile a Qu Yuan by the banks of the Xiang River, and banish a Jia Yi at the marshes of Changsha. You can look forward to the day when the imperial mat will again be moved forward to you, and there is no hindering you from wielding your brush. Your appointment to Defender of Suixian County, Suizhou Prefecture is approved (敕鄉貢進士溫庭筠: 早隨計吏, 夙著雄名; 徒負不羈之才, 罕有適時之用. 放屈原于湘浦, 竄賈誼于長沙. 尚有前席之期, 未爽抽毫之思. 可隨州隨縣尉).

The most interesting remarks in this imperial edict to demote Wen Tingyun is that it likens Wen to Qu Yuan and Jia Yi, traditionally the typical worthy court officials well known for their great talent, loyalty and the injustice they suffered. Qu Yuan, the author of Lisao, was said to have been demoted to the banks of Xiang River. Jia Yi, toward whom the Han Emperor Wendi in an audience moved his mat forward (inquiring only, however, about the ghosts and spirits, but not about the people), was demoted to Changsha.¹⁶

The following points connected with this action merit our consideration:

First, as a result of Wen’s numerous participations in and failures of the examina-tions, especially his notorious episodes of cheating, and in view of the nationwide repercussions of his behaviors, those in power finally agreed to confer the Presented Scholar degree on him, as a concession to outraged public opinion. What makes this action confusing is that the conferment of the Presented Scholar degree was made public simultaneously with a demotion. Whatever demotion could be imposed upon Wen at the moment was at the same time an official appointment that, as a rule, was conferred only upon those who had passed the Presented Scholar examination and become a Presented Scholar. Wen’s pass, however, presented itself as a very particular case.

Secondly, the imperial edict announcing the conferring of the degree is accompanied by the emperor’s behest that Wen be appointed as Defender of Suixian County.¹⁷ This appointment was intended as a demotion brought by Wen’s lack of restraint. Demoting Wen to a remote county post would at the same time be acceptable to the eunuchs. Despite this, the edict is still confusing without further explanation. Prior to the Late Tang times, it was normal for a successful Presented Scholar to begin his official career with a lowly post such as Defender or something similar. How, then, had things progressed to the point that appointing a recently passed Presented Scholar, not yet possessing official standing, to the post of Defender, could amount to a demotion? We shall deal with the underlying reasons immediately below.

Thirdly, Pei Tan’s “Edict Demoting Wen Tingyun” sounds more like an official eulogy than an imperial censure of Wen for his faults. The only expression of censure, that Wen “can scarcely suit the needs of the time”, is painfully accurate–with his unruly and unconventional character, and his stubborn defiance of the eunuchs, Wen was born in the wrong time and his talent was doomed to be wasted, in spite of his desire to cure the maladies of his country.

Fourthly, the contradictory implications of the edict have their historical context. As we have seen, to meet the political demands of the contending sides, the drafter Pei Tan was facing a painful decision, and he was at pains to redress the balance in Wen’s particular case. In Tangzhiyan (11: 121), there is a passage concerning this:

Among those in power, there was one who had an aversion to Wen and reported to His Majesty about his making trouble in the examination carrels, and Wen was demoted to Defender in Suizhou. At the time, it was Secretariat Drafter Pei Tan who was to draft the imperial edict. Pei, hesitating and flustered, held his writing brush for quite a while, before he consulted an old clerk by his side, on the promotion and demotion in question. The clerk replied: “Your Excellency ought to make some terms of reproach. Why? A Presented Scholar presenting a memorial [to His Majesty] is hardly inferior to an Assistant Prefect or Aide Magistrate of superior prefectures”. Only then did Tan feel relieved. Therefore there appeared in his edict metaphors such as “Banks of the Xiang River” and “Marshes of Changsha” (執政間復有惡奏庭筠攪擾場屋, 黜隨州縣尉. 時中書舍人裴坦當制, 忸怩含毫久之. 時有老吏在側, 因訊之升黜. 對曰: 舍人合為責詞, 何者? 入策進士, 與望州長、馬一起資. 坦釋然, 故有澤畔長沙之比).

Here an old clerk conversant with the general rule governing official appointments came to the rescue of Pei Tan, who was at a loss as how to draft the edict. For the first official appointment of a successful Presented Scholar, however, minor the position might be, the edict ought to be filled with praise and encouragement. In Wen’s case, however, the appointment was disappointing and repulsive, as Pei Tan was fully aware. It defied common sense to use only positive language in an edict announcing such an appointment, while it was also contrary to the established rule to employ terms of reproach when appointing a Presented Scholar at the time. Since the old clerk pointed out bluntly the crux of the matter, namely, Wen’s attainment of Presented Scholar degree was more a demotion than a promotion, Pei Tan need no longer hesitate as how to balance his praise and blame. Consequently, Pei Tan criticized Wen as one who “can scarcely suit the needs of the time”; then, to make up for this, he likened Wen to Qu Yuan and Jia Yi. This accounts for Dongguan Zouji’s meaningful comment after quoting the edict:

His Majesty (Xuanzong) is a wise lord, yet Tingyun, quite unexpectedly, is demoted just because of his talent.... Isn’t it because His Majesty attached so much importance to literature that he thought literature is a consummate art and became stingy when granting the degree? It is really something we cannot ask and know (上明主也, 而庭筠反以才廢. 豈以文學為極致已靳于斯, 遂于祿位有所愛耶? 不可得而問矣).

To put it bluntly, Pei Tingyu had in mind something which it would be awkward to disclose, since he was unable to blame either Emperor Xuanzong or Tingyun. It could only be the eunuchs!

The old clerk’s remark suggests that, at least during a period covering the Dazhong era, the Presented Scholar degree had risen to such an unprecedented height that most of those who succeeded in achieving it had much better official prospects than had been true hitherto. In the light of this development, Wen’s passing was purposely undervalued. Indeed it was no more than a trick or an expedient resorted to in order to deceive the public. Nevertheless, the truth remained that Wen had passed, although in essence he was demoted. Pei Tan’s edict, however, was and is taken as evidence of Wen’s failure, and the clear evidence to the contrary in Tangzhiyan, has been left unaccountably neglected.

In handling Wen’s case in this manner, Pei Tan was making an effort to soothe his own conscience. However, he was, nevertheless, the dupe of those who manipulated the events behind the scenes, as is evidenced by the following passage in Tangyulin (7: 244):

During the reign of Xuanzong, Wen was demoted to Defender of Suixian County. The edict said: “We send into exile a Qu Yuan to the banks of the Xiang River, and demote a Jia Yi to the Marshes of Changsha”. This was Drafter Pei’s remark which men of the time found laughable (宣宗時, 謫為隨縣尉. 制曰 “放騷人于湘浦, 移賈誼于長沙”. 舍人裴坦之詞. 世以為笑).

Dongguan Zouji also records that “noble men held up Pei’s remarks to ridicule”. People seemed to have ignored the dilemma Pei faced when drafting the edict: he was exposed to both criticisms from the public and pressure from his superiors. Not knowing the real story, those who mocked Pei generally held the preconception that Pei ought to be speaking on behalf of the state dynasty, whereas the allusions to Qu Yuan and Jia Yi do imply that Wen is considered a talented man wronged by the officials responsible, which is a free confession that the official quarters were in the wrong. He was thus held up to ridicule. However, thanks to Pei’s conscience, we have in hand a picturesque literary sample reflecting realities that would otherwise have been even more difficult to discover.

The following weird and yet interesting poem cannot be omitted from our discussion. It may be the only extant poetic proof of Wen’s “cheating”, if our paraphrase of the poem is substantially correct. Here we will see how mischievous Wen Tingyun can be–it is not surprising at all that he has been misunderstood.

On A Casual Topic (偶題, j. 7, WFQ)

A peacock is sleeping in the tall tree, 孔雀眠高樹, A cherry is touching the short eaves. 櫻桃拂短檐, The painting shines with a golden sheen, 畫明金冉冉, The zheng murmurs from a plucker of dainty jade.¹⁸ 箏語玉纖纖. A fine drizzle does no harm to the candle [light], 細雨無妨燭, A gentle cold cannot be stopped from entering the curtain.¹⁹ 輕寒不隔簾.

I would like to send a bolt of red brocade, 欲將紅錦緞, To Jiang Yan by means of appearing in his dream.²⁰ 因夢寄江淹,

The allusion to Jiang Yan in the last couplet of this poem declares in unequivocal terms Wen’s wish to use his outstanding aptitude to aid those literary men who could not write well. It also reflects Wen’s conceit and condescension in so doing. According to Wen’s habitual practice of manifesting the motif of a poem only at its end, the lines that precede the last couplet must be a veiled account paving the way for the Jiang Yan allusion, although it is very difficult to substantiate this hypothesis. However, if the poem as a whole is to make sense, intrinsic connections with the ending poetic conclusion must underlie all the other lines, even though literally, these lines seem to be quite clear and to involve no identifiable poetic allusions. To this purpose, we strongly suggest that Wen’s forte, the employment of punning homophones, is at work here.

The images of candle (zhu, 燭) and curtain (lian, 簾), in the third couplet, the former for lighting and the latter for separating the examinees from one another in their assigned carrels, serve to direct our attention to the examination environment. Most remarkably, “candle”(zhu) was often used in classic Chinese poems (including Wen’s) as homonym of “to tell”(zhu, 囑). In order to determine the punned implication of the whole couplet, in addition to substituting “to tell” for “candle”, we must also find out correspondingly what other key words in the couplet might pun on or refer to. “Fine drizzle” (xiyu, 細雨) and “gentle cold” (qinghan, 輕寒), although at first glance seeming to speak about the weather, must also have some link with the punned “candle” and “curtain”. Reconsidering Wen’s behavior of aiding others during the examinations, we derive the following solution, which seems more reasonable than we first hoped.

“Fine drizzle” puns on “whispers” (細語), ²¹ i. e., whispers exchanged among the examinees; while the Chinese term for “does no harm to” (無妨) also means “does not matter”. So, the whole line of “Fine drizzle does no harm to the candle [light]” may have a punned meaning as “It does not matter to tell others in whispers” (細語無妨囑). In like manner, “gentle cold” (輕寒) puns on “short letters” (輕函), ²² i. e., something similar to notepapers with ready answers written on them. Thus, “A gentle cold cannot be stopped from entering the curtain” (輕寒不隔簾) can mean “Notepapers (messages) cannot be hindered from passing on (secretly) through the curtains” (輕函不隔簾). In other words, the perfunctory invigilation could not prevent candidates in different carrels from transmitting messages to one another “through the curtains”.

In so far as we can imagine a metaphorical reading of the first couplet, we find that the peacock sleeping leisurely in a tall tree becomes a humorous image of Wen himself, a brilliant talent overlooking the examination affairs from a superior vantage point. The cherry, as we have explained in “Twenty-Two Rhymes of the Arched Door”, presents itself as something attractive, say, the desired Presented Scholar degree. “Short eaves”, a term we have encountered before in “Hundred-Rhyme Poem”, here stands for a small and somewhat contemptible arena for the exercise of Wen’s literary capacities, the civil service examination system as a whole.

Thus far three couplets out of the four have been paraphrased and the motif of the poem is has been almost completely exposed, but as yet a tolerable explanation of how the second couplet uses homophones is yet to be propounded.²³ To avoid straining its meaning, we can proceed no further without more solid evidence. At any rate, only by paraphrasing the couplets in the light of the puns discerned above, are we able to make the last couplet, as a logical conclusion of the whole poem, stand on firm ground. It is obvious that leaving the allusions in this poem unsolved serves to perpetuate the misinformation found in the records in the two Tang Histories.

To sum up, after Li Yong death in 839, more than twenty years elapsed before Wen was finally awarded the Presented Scholar degree, along with the minor post of Defender of Suixian County (the lower ninth rank). This was a position much lower than the ones he had held in the Cassia Area, and a position which could be attained without possessing a Presented Scholar degree. It is understandable that Wen was unable to rest content. Therefore, having earned the degree, he embarked upon new efforts to obtain a better position more in keeping with his talents. Such efforts consumed the last years of his life.

After Wen was demoted to Suixian County in 859, according to JTS:

When Xu Shang was in charge of the garrison of Xiangyang, ²⁴ Wen went there to depend on Xu, who assigned him the post of local inspector ²⁵ (徐商鎮襄陽, 往依之, 署巡官).

From this time forward, as a man of over sixty years of age, Wen con­tinually directed appeals through those in power to the throne. The extant records reveal that he finally succeeded in finding a position in the capital, Instructor of the State Sons’ University (國子助教). Shortly after, as a result of his sympathy for literati of humble origins, he was once more sent into exile, and died while in the exile.

We do not have space to cover every detail of Wen’s experiences during this period, because confirming these details presents a whole series of challenging problems. We will, however, consider one additional example showing the result of Wen’s efforts in the third year of Xiantong (862), when he was demoted to Defender of Fangcheng. This example is the following poem by Ji Tangfu (紀唐夫, fl. 862):

Seeing Off Wen Feiqing to Be Defender of Fangcheng

(送溫飛卿尉方城, QTS, 542: 6257, Yunxi Youyi, 47)

Why, in a bright age, do you frequently weep over your jade? 何事明時泣玉頻? In Chang’an, you cannot see the Apricot Garden in spring.²⁶ 長安不見杏園春. Though the Phoenix Edict came down, conferring on you a degree, 鳳凰詔下雖沾命, “The Parrot” with its brilliant talent brought upon you mischief.²⁷ 鸚鵡才高卻累身. Please drink Green Wine, to assuage your pent-up rage, 且飲錄醑銷積恨, Don’t refuse the Yellow Ribbon, trailed in the dust of journey.²⁸ 莫辭黃綬拂行塵. How can Fangcheng be as distant as Changsha? 方城若比長沙遠? But it’s still a thousand hills and ten thousand streams away. 猶隔千山與萬津.

Ji likened Wen, with his unrecognized talent and loyalty to the empire, to the heartbroken Bian He whose priceless jade was left unappreciated, and to the outspoken Ni Heng whose daring spirit invited ruin. Though Wen had at last narrowly passed as a Presented Scholar, he did not benefit from the degree, upon attaining it, he received only demotions. All these misfortunes, Ji points out, occurred because of Wen’s unrestrained character, a character that did not allow catering the influential. In his efforts to comfort Wen, Ji suggests that he pour the Green Wine to assuage his grief, and that he make the best of a bad situation, by accepting the demotions. For, in Ji’s words, Fangcheng was after all not so far away as Changsha, the place to which Jia Yi, with whom Wen often identified, had been demoted.

As a very insightful summary of Wen’s life, Ji’s poem expressed public sympathy with Wen, and was very popular in Wen’s day. Tangzhiyan (11: 121) records: “When Wen went to the post of Defender of Fangcheng, men of letters and poets vied with one another in addressing him with poems as a farewell gift. Ji Tangfu’s poem was the most outstanding” (庭筠之任, 文士詩人爭為辭送. 惟紀唐夫得其尤). Yunxi Youyi (47) also comments: “Either that Tingyun became Defender, or that Ji Tangfu won fame, was a result of his literary compositions” (庭筠作尉, 紀唐夫得名, 蓋因文而致也). These provide evidence that Wen was popular among those who were out of power and had a sense of justice, and unwelcome among those who were in power and had reacted against this same sense. Depreciation of Wen’s character while ignoring this telling fact, therefore, indicates acceptance of the historical biases.

The Truth of the Fourteen Pusaman

In Chapter Four, we quoted accounts in the two Tang Histories, which are a misrepresentation of the Jianghuai Incident–not only misdated, as happening in the Xiantong era, but also mistaken, as relating to Linghu Tao. Now we need to clarify Wen’s relationship with the Linghu family, and, if possible, clarify the basic causes leading to the aforementioned fallacy in the standard histories.

In records such as Tongxin or Yuquanzi, which form the earliest sources about the Jianghuai Incident (836) and Wen’s change of name (839), the two affairs, which in reality occurred three years apart, were already intermingled. After initiating this confusion, these two sources of information about Wen’s life were quoted over and again, gradually and firmly establishing the false impression.

In other sources, such as Wang Dingbao’s Tangzhiyan (11: 121), we read:

During the Kaicheng years, Wen Tingyun became notorious because of his talent, but he rarely limited himself to small niceties, and made his compositions a kind of commodity. Men of good taste held him in contempt. Before long, among those in power, there was one who had an aversion to Wen and reported to His Majesty about his making trouble in the examination carrels (開成間, 溫庭筠才名藉甚. 然罕拘細行, 以文為貨, 識者鄙之. 無何, 執政間復有惡奏庭筠攪擾場屋).

Despite the correct statement that Wen became notorious in the Kaicheng era, Wen’s experiences at that time are confused, blended together with affairs occurring more than twenty years later in the Dazhong era. Similar mistakes also appear in Ji Yougong’s Tangshi Jishi (54: 822). Most probably, confusion occurred because the authors made no distinction between Wen’s two different behaviors when dealing with the examination: changing his own name in order to sit for the examination and assuming someone else’s name to take it. The former behavior was Wen’s attempt to escape the eunuchs’ hostile supervision and earn himself the degree, the latter, as we have pointed out, can be regarded as his special way of protesting long years of injustice. In any event, records in Tangzhiyan and elsewhere only succeeded in creating more confusion.

The authors of the two Tang Histories failed to make discriminating use of the above-mentioned sources. Faced with various distorted reports already circulating and wishing to establish their own version of Wen’s life, they bungled the disposition of their sources. As a result, the standard histories, which were originally intended to excel the anecdotal sources in accuracy, instead yield a glaring counterfeit, inferior in its authenticity to all earlier accounts of Wen’s life.

According to the editors of Siku Quanshu Zongmu Tiyao, the fundamental causes of the mistakes in the two Tang Histories are as follows: ²⁹

Ever since the Changqing (821-4) era, the state historiographers had been no longer functioning [as a result of the chaos of the time], and there were no reliable records [for composing the biographies]. [Liu] Xu et al (the authors of JTS) had to avail themselves of miscellaneous fiction or biographies in other sources, which, after some rearrangements, were compiled into the biographies of their works (長慶以後, 史失其官, 無復善本. 煦等自采雜說, 排篡成之).

These were the circumstances under which JTS was edited, and thus it is small wonder that there are serious errors in the biographies of many of the men of the time, especially men like Wen.

Most of the crucial events in Wen’s life occurred just after the Changqing era. These events, although they were closely connected to the corresponding political situations, were enveloped in the shadow of the struggles between the Southern and the Northern Offices and the strife between the Niu and the Li Factions. Even though some of the anecdotes about the factional strife occasionally mentioned some aspects of Wen’s life, more often than not, owing to the limited quantity of sources and the prejudices of their authors, their accounts of Wen’s actions appeared, on the whole, confusing and incredible. When the sources were contradictory, they left readers totally ignorant at what to believe. This is the congenital deficiency afflicting all of Wen’s biographies.

What is more, while attempting to gather more information from Wen’s own surviving works in an effort to make up for the scarcity of historical materials, the biographers were faced with an extremely ambiguous poet whose works were laden with allusions to the behind-the-scenes affairs of the political arena, which posed great difficulties for the historiographers composing his biography.

Because neither JTS nor XTS contains a reasonable account of Wen’s life, it is incumbent upon modern scholars to come up with one. The misinterpretation of the Jianghuai Incident by the two Tang Histories resulted from a failure to make effective use of historical materials and from an overemphasis on the factional strife, resulting in the neglect of the struggle between the court officials and the eunuchs. The picture the Song historiographers offered of the Incident therefore is totally inaccurate, ignoring the maneuvering eunuchs and illuminating only one individual of the Southern Offices– Linghu Tao. As we discerned before, other interested persons like Yao Xu, Han Yi, Linghu Chu and Li Shi, are ignored altogether.

The Jianghuai Incident occurred only a few years after Linghu Tao had passed his Presented Scholar examinations, ³⁰ making him unable to play a role in the Incident. His implication in the Incident may have resulted from his being mistaken for his father Linghu Chu, who became Salt and Iron Commissioner, following the murdered Prime Minister Wang Ya. Since Li Shi and Han Yi, both officials in the Salt and Iron Monopoly Bureau in the same period, were implicated either in the Sweet Dew Incident or in the Jianghuai Incident, it would not be surprising that Linghu Chu might also have become the target of rumors during the event. In the Song historiographers’ meager biography of Wen, it would not be uncommon for the father to be mistaken for the son. On the other hand, Linghu Tao rose to power in the Dazhong era, the time when Wen suffered his successive failures, and so Wen might have directed complaints against him then. Since Linghu Tao frustrated Wen’s good friend, Li Shangyin, ³¹ he would have been capable of treating Wen in much the same manner. It might be from this that Wen’s biographers seem to have drawn their inferences.

Actually, before the Kaicheng era, Wen could for a time have been possibly connected with Linghu Chu. According to Wen’s remark in his “Epistle Presented to Prime Minister Linghu (Tao)”: “I cherish a feeling to ask favor from my family’s old friend” (蓋牽求舊之情). Therefore we suggest that Wen’s friendship with the Linghus began much earlier, during his acquaintance with Tao’s father, Linghu Chu. After Linghu Tao ascended to the Prime-Ministership (in 850), Wen was initially accepted as a distinguished guest at Linghu’s mansion, when he came to the capital once more. As Xin Wenfang’s Tang Caizizhuan has it (8:135): “Wen frequented the study of Prime Minister Linghu and was very favorably accepted” (出入令狐相國書館中, 待遇甚優).

This being the case, why was Linghu Tao not able to help Wen to become a Presented Scholar? On Wen’s part, he could not have been contented with being the Prime Minister’s idle guest. On Linghu Tao’s part, he could not even allow his own son Linghu Hao to pass during his long tenure as Prime Minister, for fear of hostile responses from among the court officials. In Wen’s case, the situation was more complex. When the two men were on good terms with each other, Linghu simply was not able to help. Later when there appeared problems in their friendship, he was neither willing nor able to help. He was unable to help, because Wen was a thorn in the side of the eunuchs. He was unwilling to help, because Wen had a sharp tongue and often satirized the abuses of the time. Whether in good humor or bad, he frequently laid bare contradictions that Linghu Tao tried to cover up. In the eyes of many people in authority, Wen exhibited no understanding of the political affairs of the time, and talented poet as he was, he was regarded as incapable of accomplishing anything. Therefore, Wen’s friendship with the Linghus was not merely a question of personal relationships, but was tainted with the factional strife and shadowed by eunuch power. As to the degree of the deterioration of their relations, it was possible that Wen might pass Linghu’s mansion without asking for an audience (as JTS states), or that Linghu could cold-shoulder him as an unwelcome guest. Whatever might have happened between them, they were not enemies, and Linghu should not be held responsible for Wen’s career failures.

Now we are able to study the background and nature of the Pusaman series.

This is a question of lasting controversy and fascination and of considerable importance in Chinese literary history. We will attempt to reach a new conclusion through a restudy of the series, as a natural and logical outcome of our examination of Wen’s life and poetry. Sun Guangxian’s Beimeng Suoyan (4: 29) says: ³²

Emperor Xuanzong liked the singing of Pusaman. Prime Minister Linghu Tao took and secretly presented to His Majesty Wen Tingyun’s twenty compositions to the tune. Linghu warned Wen not let the affair leak out, but soon after, he told others. Because of this, Linghu became estranged from Wen. Thereupon Wen remarked, “In the Hall of the Secretariat there sits a general”, satirizing Linghu for his lack of learning（宣宗愛唱菩薩蠻詞. 丞相令狐 假溫庭筠手撰二十首密進. 誡令勿泄, 而遽言于人, 由是疏之. 溫亦有言 “中書堂內坐將軍”, 譏相國無學).

In studying this record, we find the following points meriting our attention.

First, we must stress that this record is trustworthy. The Tang emperors often ordered their literary servants to compose poems to be matched with music and sung in the inner court. There are numerous similar examples: Li Bai wrote “Qingping Yue”; Wang Jian (王建) presented one hundred “palace verses” (宮詞); Yuan Zhen’s poems were popular among the palace ladies, who nicknamed him “Talented Literatus Yuan” (元才子); Bai Juyi, while holding the position of Hanlin Academician, composed at the emperor’s order some palace-style verses. ³³ It was not strange that the Dazhong emperor ordered his prime minister to gather words to sing to Pusaman, his favorite tune.

Responding to the imperial order, Linghu Tao, having the wisdom to recognize Wen’s talent, chose Wen as the right man to carry it out. As his attendance on the Heir had demonstrated, Wen was adept at composing exquisite palace-style poems. Linghu Tao’s submission of Wen’s Pusaman poems indicates how much he appreciated Wen’s aptitude for writing; he must have also sympathized with Wen in his depression, and regarded Wen as his confidential retainer. But why did he present the compositions to the emperor secretly and warned Wen not to reveal any details of the affair?

Generally, during the Tang Dynasty, presenting poems to the emperors to be sung in the palaces was never a clandestine activity, nor did the emperors keep such presenta-tions a secret from other officials. A court official who received the imperial commission to create such poems was not doing anything wrong if he divulged the affair to the public. Moreover, if the verses were to be sung in the palaces and thus brought into fashion, it was only natural that the name of the author would publicized, just as in the cases of Li, Wang, Bai and Yuan. In Wen’s case, there must have been reasons for the secrecy.

In considering Linghu Tao’s personal background and situation, we must first determine whether it was possible that he wished to take credit for the authorship of Wen’s works, as a means of currying more imperial favor. Though this possibility can be easily inferred from the surface story, this was definitely not the case. According to his biographies, Linghu Tao ascended to the Prime-Ministership by dint of his partisanship, as the son of Linghu Chu, one of the most influential leaders of the Niu Faction, Linghu Chu. In his capacity as an expert politician rather than an outstanding literatus, he was already in high favor with Xuanzong, a favor on no account earned, or in need of buttressing, by his literary talent. On the contrary, as the leading prime minister throughout Xuanzong’s reign, he had been recommending eminent poets to His Majesty, because this was part of his official obligations and he wished to show that he was a competent and conscientious prime minister. Examples include his recommendation to Emperor Xuanzong two famous poets, Li Qunyu (李群玉) and Li Yuan (李遠), ³⁴ the latter of whom, as we have known from the title of “Hundred-Rhyme Poem”, was Wen’s good friend. There is no reason to believe that Linghu wished to plagiarize Wen’s works.

Obviously, Linghu Tao’s secrecy suggests that he wished to utilize Wen’s literary talent without letting the affair be publicized. Nobody at the time dared to promote Wen because of the risk of provoking the eunuchs’ political hostility and sensitivity. Even Xuanzong and this influential prime minister harbored enormous fear of the eunuchs.³⁵ Inevitably the eunuch’s rage would be aroused if Wen’s compositions were allowed to circulate in the palaces under his own name. The works would enjoy great popularity and bring credit upon Wen, their foe, a man driven by the desire to avenge himself and to rehabilitate himself for the injustices they had visited on him. In his compositions, whatever their form, Wen asserted himself by literary means, both overt and covert, investing them with deeply personal feelings stemming from the frustrations of his political life. We have seen assertions in many of his representative works. Could the Pusaman series be an exception?

Noticing that Wen composed the Pusaman poems while he was still on good terms with Linghu, that is, in about the middle of the Dazhong era, we realize that he was at the time impatient to rid himself of political pressures from the eunuchs, which had frustrated him for so many years. Now that his poems would be circulated in the palaces and he could use them to serve the emperor directly, he, very understandably, thought his chance had come. Unlike Linghu Tao, who desired only to delight the emperor with exquisite works while attaching little importance to who the author was, Wen desired to give voice to his feelings using his poems. It is small wonder that he, as the author, would not keep his identity hidden. To meet the demand of the emperor, he tried to his utmost to cater to the palace taste, bringing into full play his consummate literary skills in an attempt to court imperial favor. At the same time, he used the opportunity to give vent to his painful feelings and to bare his heart to His Majesty, in the same way as if he were presenting a memorial or rhapsody (獻賦), to explain himself. In these circumstances, a group of most exquisite, delicate, subtle and circuitous Pusaman ci poems were brought into being. However, the revelation that Wen was the author of these poems created troubles, and sowed discord between the two friends, one a prime minister and the other a commoner.

As Chinese literary appreciation and comments for more than a thousand years have evidenced, without knowing the authorship of the Pusaman poems, even Wen’s contemporary connoisseurs could not readily sense the deep implications contained in the series. They could at most reach an understanding that the author, as a frustrated man of letters, was very proficient at representing life and mentality of the palace ladies. To readers of later generations, who have remained ignorant of the hidden aspects of Wen’s life, Wen’s magnus opera are most attractive and baffling, and a matter of lasting controversy. They are attractive because of exquisite design and sentimental mood. They are baffling because they challenge pedestrian reading with aesthetic mystery. From the perspective of palace-style poetry, as Chen Tingchuo, the representative of the Changzhou School, suggests, “The fourteen Pusaman of Feiqing, all modeled on and changed from Lisao, are a consummate exemplar of all times. It is mistake if the reader only appreciates the freshness and beauty in them” (飛卿菩薩蠻十四首, 全祖離騷, 所以獨絕千古. 徒賞其芊麗, 誤也). ³⁶ In Chen’s terms, Wen’s masterpieces in the Pusaman series, with their picturesque depiction of the palace-lady and penetrating revelations of her mentality, “have reached an unattainable height, and none of the later writers can compose anything comparable to them” (已臻絕詣, 後來莫能為繼). However, because this series of poems is more densely conceived, it transcended the palace-style and was enduringly appreciated by later generations of readers.

We have every reason to take the fourteen pieces as a series. The techniques of composing shi poems in series had matured since Du Fu’s time, though it was Wen who was among the trailblazers in composing such series in the domain of ci poetry, expressing his personal feelings while covertly telling his story. Wen’s Pusaman series originally contained twenty pieces. Each poem in the series had to conform to the form of “palace-style verse” and be easy to sing. At the same time, each poem in the series had to be independent and the series as an artistic whole had to possess a consistent style. To put into the series the aesthetic burden of a lifetime, with every line saturated with feelings, and especially, with experiences imprinted on the poet’s mind by life, required amazing elaboration.

It can be imagined what the various responses were after “Wen told others” after the series was circulating inside and outside the palaces. Firstly, in so doing, Wen contravened Linghu Tao’s wishes, and invited trouble from the eunuchs. Secondly, the eunuchs would certainly not be content to let the matter rest. Since what had been done could not be undone, several pieces of the series, most probably the less veiled ones, were taken out of circulation in an attempt to cope with censure from the eunuchs. What we have available today are only fourteen Pusaman pieces, like a Venus without arms; and it is challenging to imagine what the original arms were like.

Another question can be raised: “Were these compositions (the fourteen pieces) presented as a series to the throne during Wen’s lifetime or were they simply an ensemble of all his works under the same topic composed at various moments of his life?” ³⁷ This seems easy to answer, for, in Jinlianji, there is another Pusaman piece (starting 玉纖彈處珍珠落, see WFQ, 228), which, despite being about a palace lady, was never compiled with the fourteen pieces under discussion here. Moreover, the fourteen Pusaman poems first appeared as a series in Huajianji, a collection edited by Zhao Chongzuo in the third year of Guangzheng of the Latter Shu Dynasty (940), only some seventy years after Wen’s death. From any perspective, it is impossible that the fourteen Pusaman poems could have been combined without a definite purpose. They form an inseparable artistic unity. In the series, from the beginning to the end, the narrative threads, subjective feelings, the thought of image, linguistic style, the prototype (of a palace lady) and even the mood and diction, are all consistent with one another.

Politics and love are the dominant concerns running through Wen’s whole life. Wen is an “orthodox” figure, because all his life he never gave up his ambition to serve his country and secure his fame for later generations, employing his literary talent, loyalty, conscientiousness and integrity. At the same time, Wen is also an unorthodox figure, because, driven by true love for the object of his affections, he acted like a man of modern times, regardless of the so-called niceties and decencies and in defiance of the social conventions of his day. Politics intruded into his private life, but on the other hand it was his private life that ruined his political career. Private love affairs and public political affairs were uniquely interwoven throughout his life, finding expression in Wen’s peculiar technique: “by means of the feelings between lad and lass, to speak about the affairs between monarch and subjects” (以兒女之情, 言君臣之事). Grounding ourselves on our observations in Chapter Six, we can further define Wen’s representative and characteristic poetic style: his preference for ornate appearances, in the shape of private love affairs, as vehicles for subtle ideas and feelings about his political experiences. The “Twenty-Two Rhymes of the Arched Door” has provided a most convincing example of this style. In Wen’s extant works, there are other examples even more revelatory of this style, i. e., many of the poems on the topic of the Heir Apparent. Before explicating the labyrinthine Pusaman series, let us study the following poem:

Jiangnan Air (j. 2, WFQ)

1 My abode is on White-Fern Bank, ³⁸ 妾家白蘋浦,

Every day I board a Hibiscus skiff. 日上芙蓉楫.

2 Row upon row, bending over my oars, 軋軋搖槳聲,

I move the vessel amid the wild-rice leaves. 移舟入茭葉.

3 The stream is long, the wild-rice deep, 溪長茭葉深,

Try as you can, it’s hard to find me. 作底難相尋.

4 To keep away from the lad and not let him see, 避郎郎不見,

I watch the wild-ducks swim and dip. 雞敕自浮沉. 5 I pick the duckweeds, duckweeds without root, 拾萍萍無限,

I collect the lotus, lotus with seeds.³⁹ 采蓮蓮有子.

6 I would rather die as a lotus flower, 不作浮萍生,

Than live as a floating duckweed. 寧為藕花死.

7 There is a riding lad near the bank, 岸傍騎馬郎,

In black gauze cap, a purple-roving-rein in hand. 烏帽紫游韁. 8 With unspoken sorrow and a forced smile, 含愁復含笑,

I turn away, to look for Cross Pond.⁴⁰ 回首向橫塘.

9 I used to live in Jinling riverside, 妾住金陵步,

In front of my door was Red Bird Ferry.⁴¹ 門前朱雀航.

10 With colored tassels decorating my bed-curtains, 流蘇持作帳,

And Hibiscus timber making the house beams. 芙蓉持作梁.

11 In and out went my carriage of golden calf canopy, 出入金犢憲,

My brothers were all court celebrities.⁴² 兄弟侍中郎.

12 In years past I learned to sing and dance, 前年學歌舞,

To make sure I would obtain my lad’s affections. 定得郎相許.

13 My eyebrows, dim and nice, curved like distant hills, 連娟眉繞山, My waist, slender and dainty, hardly thicker than a handspan. 依約腰如杵. 14 The phoenix pipe was so mournful it seemed to sob, 鳳管悲若咽, The simurgh string with its fragile chord was about to speak, ⁴³ 鸞弦嬌如語.

15 My fan is thin, the red powder on my face shown through, 扇薄露紅鉛, My silk robe is light, weighed down with golden threads. 羅輕壓金縷.

16 The bright moon shone over the Southwestern Palace, 明月西南樓,

Where the pearled-curtains were hooked with hawks-bill-shell.⁴⁴ 珠簾玳瑁鉤.

17 Bright waves in my eyes are capable of captivating smiles, 橫波巧能笑,

While my curved moth eyebrows knew no grief. 彎蛾不識愁.

18 After the flower withered, the fruits were left on the tree, 花開子留樹, And when grasses grow, their roots would be attached to clay. 草長根依土.

19 Had I known the Golden Ditch was this far away, ⁴⁵ 早知金溝遠,

Why would I have married myself off to my lad? 何事歸郎許?

20 But I won’t follow the example of White Flower Yang, 不學楊白花,

And shed tears like showers of rain, day after day.⁴⁶ 朝朝淚如雨.

This is a Music Bureau verse of a considerable narrative content. We will first take an overall look at the story employed by the poet in his depiction of the heroine.

At her first appearance, as a native of the “White-Fern Isle”, the lotus-gathering lady is paddling her dainty “Hibiscus” skiff into the depths of the water grasses to hide herself. She is a devoted lover who would rather die for her affection than indiscreetly change her resolution. When a riding lad with “purple-roving-rein in hand” comes in sight on the bank, she purposely turns away from him, and then recounts a story of her glorious past: she used to live in an extremely rich family at the capital Jinling and was in great favor with her beloved and eminent husband; but great joy turned to sorrow: she was reduced, with regret, to her old way of life. The life of the heroine can be divided into three stages: early maiden days, happy married days and present reflective days. Each of these “stands for” a period in Wen’s life: early years before serving in the court, attendance of the Heir and forced retreat to the south in the Huichang era.

Ambiguity enters this story when we try to discern the identity of the lady’s husband. But toward the end of the poem, we read: “Had I known the Golden Ditch was this far away \ Why would I have married myself off to my lad?” The Golden Ditch, the name of an imperial ditch, is used synecdochically here as a substitute for the imperial palaces or the royal family. Thus, this lady’s former husband is a member of royal family living in the imperial palace, as we can guess, at the moment.

When we trace back a little further, we find the evidence becomes clearer: The bright moon shone over the Southwestern Palace \ Where there were the pearled-curtains, hooked with hawks-bill-shell”–here there is no doubt that the lady in her former days lived in one of the palaces. The second line is even reminiscent of the Shaoyangyuan in “Twenty-Two Rhymes of the Arched Door”, the residence of the Heir Apparent. It is no wonder that her surroundings were so sumptuous and luxurious.

Is her late husband really an Heir Apparent? One more clue in the poem will bring home the inference that he is. Why does the lady under the poet’s writing brush “turn away” from the “riding lad” who holds the “purple-roving-rein”? It is because the riding lad is not the imperial crowned prince, as can be seen clearly in the following folksong which first used the special term “purple-roving-rein”: ⁴⁷

Green, green are the poplars on the imperial way, 青青御路楊,

There are your white horse and a purple-roving-rein. 白馬紫游缰.

Since you are not the imperial crowned prince, 汝非皇太子,

How can you gain the sweet dew libation? 安得甘露漿?

As a poetic clue, this offers much food for thought. It is evident that the man the lotus-gathering lady turns away from is one who is “not the imperial crowned prince”. In other words, the man she devotes her affections to is none other than the Heir.⁴⁸ As to why the lady lived in Jinling, the ancient capital of the Six Dynasties, instead of Chang’an, this substitution is one of Wen’s frequently used tropes to demonstrate rather than obfuscate his true meaning.

It might seem strange that a beautiful lady, having served in the palace, should have come back to her native place in the Yue region to engage once more in lotus-gathering.⁴⁹ We only know of the actual occurrence of the reverse: there had been a famous beauty Xi Shi (西施) who was sent from the Yue countryside to the Wu palace. The lady in question here even has had the remarkable experience of serving an imperial Heir, even though she is reluctant to speak about his death. Put in the context of the Late Tang times, such a tale is hardly imaginable. Even if such a situation were possible, Wen’s life experiences give the poetic subterfuge away. Wen finds it convenient to give expression to his feelings through such a story. The title of a Music Bureau topic provides him more freedom to compose poetry so as “to await collectors of poems” (以俟采詩者). ⁵⁰ Like the director of a film, he directs his actress to play the part he intends her to play. As a result, the beautiful lady was from the Yue region like Xi Shi and, like Wen, went into the palace in the service of the Heir Apparent, and then returned to her old way of life. Thus she became a “refurbished version” of Wen’s life. It becomes obvious that the lotus-gathering lady is an embodiment of Wen’s self-image, and the story of her entering the palace and coming back to Yue hints obliquely at Wen’s attendance upon the Heir and return to Jiangnan. In view of this, we infer that this poem must have been written during the Huichang era.

Closer scrutiny of each line uncovers the metaphorical details. One more example is: “The phoenix pipe was so mournful it seems to sob \ The simurgh string with its fragile chord was about to speak”. If we recall the legend (see Chapter Five) that Qiao, the Heir Apparent of King Ling of Zhou, liked playing the Sheng to imitate the cry of the phoenix, we immediately perceive the overtone of the so-called “phoenix pipe”, that the lady’s husband is a crowned prince. As to the “simurgh string”, it suggests a heartrending music. In the mournful notes of the flutes and chords, we sense the lady’s deep grief connected with her vain attempts to retrieve her failure. This is a figure for the grief resulting from Wen’s futile efforts to find any remedy for his situation.

Therefore, by pursuing the trail of poetic implications in the poem and comparing the narrative details with Wen’s actual experiences of attending the Heir, and by then taking into consideration the blank spaces in the poem’s narrative structure, we will come to realize the poem’s ingenuity and grasp its hidden motifs. Having realized this, it is worth our while to glance back at the image of the lotus-gathering lady. Among the elements constituting the image, some characteristics are unrealistic or idealized; and while some individual aspects may be realistic, the combined effect is surrealistic. A lady might have served in the palace, and she might have lived in the Yue region, but it is inconceivable that she could, after the remarkable event of having served an Heir in the royal palace, come back to Yue region still in the prime of life. Despite this, seen in its entirety, the image of the lotus-gathering lady possesses many realistic characteristics. Her peculiar experiences and mentality mirror exactly the poet’s life experiences; to such a degree that even concrete particulars in the poet’s political career were made manifest through the dramatic performance and exposure of the lady’s inner world. The unrealistic, idealized characteristics or the realistic, specific ones are the different sides of the same coin. The poet secretes in his poem a seemingly inscrutable riddle that forces the reader to think deeply in order to arrive, after painstaking labors, at an answer.

We remember that in “Twenty-Two Rhymes of the Arched Door”, Wen likened himself to the “Immortal Lad”, and the Heir to the “Jade Lass”. Here, with reference to the same affair, he changes his part, taking on the female role. Historically, in pre-Qin Chinese poetry, there is a tradition of likening courtship of a girl to serving one’s monarch. In poetry after the Tang Dynasty, as a result of the centuries-old moral demand that a wife serve her husband and that an official serve his monarch, it was more frequently the case that the poet likens himself to the woman. It is true that a court official was more subject to the wanton domination of his monarch than a woman was to the fickleness of her husband. In Wen’s poetry, however, even though he might assume the part of a woman, that role could hardly muffle his spirited, masculine voice. Nevertheless, pursuing the narrow artistic path of “speaking about the affairs between monarch and his subjects by means of the feelings between lad and lass”, Wen had arrived at an extreme point that was at the same time, both an insurmountable peak and also a dead end. With respect to sublimity of verbal beauty, richness of imagery and profundity of subject matter, we can say that Wen has really reached an insurmountable peak. However, faced with the narrative details cloaked in dense and subtle metaphors and allusions, readers could not always follow the ideas Wen meant to express. Such poetry, more often than not, was too obscure for uninitiated readers to fathom. In this sense, we opine that Wen has proceeded too far down his literary path and has encountered a dead end.

Now we are ready to attempt an overall explanation of the Pusaman series.

In the current state of studies of this series, four theories exist. Zhang Huiyan (1761-1837) and the Qing Dynasty Changzhou School of Ci-poetry represented by him, maintained that the series must have deeper theme than it exhibits on the surface (that is, it has jituo), ⁵¹ something concerned with the author’s political experiences. From the sixteen ci poems Zhang selected for discussion from Wen’s works, including the Pusaman series, Zhang claimed that the Pusaman series contains a motif in which “a scholar laments not meeting his lord” (此感士不遇也). As to the artistry used in the series, Zhang felt that “there are flashbacks along with the unfolding of every stanza” (用節節逆敘). Throughout the series runs the main thread of a dream, just as the series “opens with a scene of waking from the dream” (從夢曉領起). In this multi-act dream all the hidden yearnings of the heroine are implied, with an idea [as lofty as that] of Lisao’s “original raiment” ⁵² (離騷初服之意)–a token of Qu Yuan’s innate virtue. Scholars represented by Wang Guowei (1877-1927) were very opposed to Zhang’s theory; ⁵³ some of them even said that Wen “was nothing more than a frustrated literary man, so how could he have had such breadth of vision as to bewail the times and pity the people?” ⁵⁴ In order to discredit the “jituo” theory, even the authorship of the series was groundlessly denied. The third theory was represented by Professor Shi Zhecun, who thought that the “hidden-motifs” theory could be justified as a kind of normative reading, in that it fits with Chinese literary tradition. However, he continued, “It is a mistake to suppose that Wen had the intention to express his ‘hidden motifs’ when he set brush to paper”. ⁵⁵ A fourth tendency is to enjoy and value of this series without bothering to discern whether or not it has any hidden motifs at all, and, perhaps to make the readings easier, simply to regard the poetry as “purely objective”. ⁵⁶ These four theories share a common shortcoming: none of them is based on a sufficient understanding of Wen’s life and Wen’s literary theory. Although few critics have endorsed Zhang’s theory, we will see that he was basically correct. The only pity we feel for him is that he raised his theory without making adequate investigation of Wen’s life.

Our general understanding of the series, not conforming to any of the above theories, can be summarized in the following two points:

First, we should observe the series as an entirety not only as a lyric but also as a narrative. As we weave the narrative threads together, we will see the story that the series tells. We find that the heroine is a frustrated court lady as beautiful as Xi Shi. Originally, she “took residence in the curve of a Yue stream” (家住越溪曲, No. 9). She and her husband “Met each other in the season of the peonies \ But too soon were we forced to part” (相見牡丹時, 暫來還別離. No. 3). She had to return to her native place in the south of the Yangtze River: “From the painted tower no more news was heard \ Amid the fragrant herbs, by the southern bank of the River” (畫樓音信斷, 芳草江南岸. No. 10). She cherished a heartrending memory of the past: “In those days I knew to treasure myself \ but the past events I cannot bear to recollect” (當年還自惜, 往事哪堪憶? No. 12). Now that “The messages from the jade gate are scarce” (玉關音信希. No. 4), she can only lament the miserable status that “Wu Palace in my old country was far away” (故國吳宮遠. No. 14), and that “When I was yearning for you, I dreamed no dream” (相憶夢難成. No. 8). There is no mistaking the inferences that all these particulars are strikingly similar to the experiences of the lotus-gathering lady in “Jiangnan Air”, and it is irresistible to infer that the two poems share a same subject matter. We also find in the case of this lady a three-staged life similar to that of the lotus-gathering lady: her early years, service at the court and forced retreat to the south, hence yet another version of Wen’s life, although the narrative details here are scattered through the series, serving to divert the reader’s attention from discovering the story itself.

Secondly, the series is more than a palace style poetic account of the yearning lady’s feelings; it is also a political allegory of the frustrated Wen Tingyun. Throughout the series, the man who is the object of the heroine’s affections, like the lad in “Jiangnan Air”, never appears on the scene. There are, however, enough hints to suggest that he is no ordinary lad but a substitute for, or an incarnation of, the late Heir. As more examples will reveal, there are many clues in the series serving to bring out the hidden motifs, so many that they cannot merely be unintentional revelations of the author’s persona. Meanwhile, when reading the poem, we cannot rest content with enjoying the beauty of the heroine and being touched by the affective power of the images surrounding her. Instead, we must probe into the depths of her inner world, to determine why we involuntarily respond to the poem with sympathetic inspiration. In Wen’s poetry, the surface appearance of the poem often serves to create an ambience that at the same time moves and baffles the reader. Only by penetrating the surface, can we completely discover the buried aesthetic treasure. In illustrating these points, the following serves as our first example:

In my languorous dream, I recall the Golden Hall, 閑夢憶金堂, Facing a courtyard covered with luxuriant daylilies. 滿庭萱草長. (No. 13)

Understood literally, when the lady dreams of her past in “the Golden Hall”, the moving sight of the palace courtyard with its exuberant daylilies appear before her eyes. To grasp the figurative meaning of this couplet, we must trace the implications of the Chinese term “daylilies” (萱草), Hemerocallis. It was also known in ancient China as yinan（宜男), “good-for-bearing-sons herb”, or wangyou (忘憂), the “forgetting-sorrow herb”. In the Book of Songs, we have: “Where can I get a daylily \ To plant behind the house” (焉得萱草, 言樹之北); Kong Yingda’s annotation reads: “The daylily makes people forget their sorrow”. ⁵⁷ According to Yiwen Leiju (81: 1396) quoting Zhou Chu’s Fengtu Ji: “Yinan is the name of an herb.... with flowers like those of the lotus. Wearing it (at the belt) is good for a pregnant woman, who will be sure to give birth to a boy”. In the same page of the book, is also found Xiahou Zhan’s (夏侯湛, of the Jin dynasty) “Rhapsody on the Yinan Flower”(宜男花賦) and Cao Zhi’s “Hymn for the Yinan Flower” (宜男花贊). In the former, these lines occur:

Superior to all other herbs, it grows tall and graceful, 冠眾卉而挺生兮,

Imbued with the virtue of wood at the Shaoyang. 承木德于少陽.

…Served as the luxuriant adornments of the imperial harem, …充後宮之盛飾兮,

It ascends the inner chamber of the Purple Subtlety. 登紫微之內堂.

Here, very suggestively, Xiahou Zhan attributes to the daylily the virtue of wood, one of the Five Elements corresponding to the direction east. This reminds us the eastern palace, where Heir Apparent resides. Xiahou located the virtue of wood in Shaoyang, not accidentally identical with Shaoyangyuan, the Heir Apparent’s residence: Shaoyang is a term equivalent to the eastern palace, and thus to the Heir Apparent.⁵⁸

Briefly put, “daylily” has a wide range of meanings encompassing matriarchal affection, matrimonial harmony, imperial conjugal love and finally the blessings from Heaven for the imperial prince. In Wen’s unique diction, it becomes a poetic substitute for, or at least a reminder of, the Heir Apparent.

Wen uses the same designation on another occasion in his “Song on A Screen of [the Heir Apparent’s] Birth and Blessing” (j. 2, WFQ): “Good-for-bearing-sons herb, being as it is an inner palace-herb \ Cannot be as red as the thousand fruits of the cherry” (宜男漫作後庭草, 不似櫻桃千子紅). Professor Zhan Antai, who hypothesized that Wen had served the Heir Apparent Zhuangke, provided this poem as one of his proofs. “If the yinan herb could not even compare in redness to the cherry’s thousand seeds, is this not to say that the Heir Apparent was in a condition worse than that of the other princes”? ⁵⁹ Professor Zhan’s conjecture is well made, but he failed to support his inference with stronger proofs.

Now we can understand “Facing a courtyard covered with luxuriant daylilies”–the “court lady” recalls with nostalgia the days when the Heir Apparent and his mother both enjoyed imperial favor. These are the feelings that Wen imparts to the lady’s “languorous dream”, as a part of recollection of the “Golden Hall”. In reality, this was his own dream.

The next example contains the far-flung explanation of the term “painted tower” (畫樓). This term is used several times in the series, as in the following couplets:

For long I’ve been yearning for the painted tower, where 畫樓相望久, Beyond the balustrades, were drooping the silky willows. 欄外垂絲柳. (No. 4)

From the painted tower, no more news was heard, 畫樓音信斷, Amid the fragrant herbs, by the southern bank of the River. 芳草江南岸. (No. 10)

A spring love sickness is felt to the depths of my heart, amid 春恨正關情, The remaining drippings of the clepsydra in the painted tower. 畫樓殘點聲. (No. 14)

If “the painted tower” were the place where the court lady now lives, she would not say that “For long I’ve been yearning for” it, nor that she hears “no more news” from it. But if it was her boudoir in days past, why, in her present longing, does she say that she hears “The remaining drippings of the clepsydra in the painted tower?” In this series, even such common terminology forces us to seek out some deeper meaning.

We will read “painted tower” in conjunction with similar usage in “Song of A Screen of [the Heir Apparent’s] Birth and Blessing Prayer”) and “Song for the God of Marquis Jiang”). In the former, we have “The Painted wall in the gloomy Hall of the Nine Sons” (畫壁陰森九子堂), and in the latter, we have “In the Painted Hall was a forest of halberds with frosty blades” (畫堂列戟叢霜刃). It is not far-fetched to understand “painted tower”(畫樓) as a variant or a synonym for “Painted Hall” (畫堂) which is short for “Painted Hall of the First Abode of the Heir Apparent”, an inner-palace residence where the imperial sons and consorts lived since the Han Dynasty.⁶⁰ Since “painted hall” can have the special reference to “Painted Hall of the First Abode of the Heir Apparent”, we have no reason to exclude “painted tower” from similar usage, as they are under ordinary circumstances inter-changeable terms referring to the heroine’s boudoir.

Only by tracing the term’s connotations to their root, can we reach the hidden information it contains. Understanding it merely at its face value, however, we can still feel its rich connotation with all its links in the context, although at a relatively superficial level. For, after all, Wen was writing in the palace style, and he must in the first place, be able to cater to the palace taste, which did not value a show of erudition. We know that Wen seldom completely exposes his intention, instead, he always keeps it somewhat disguised; allowing for his on-stage performance with his persona disguised as a palace lady, his choice the words such as “painted tower” becomes understandable. The term both retains its underlying definition (as the residence of the Heir Apparent) and fits well in with a palace-style poetic environment.

Hence we emphasize once more that while we can read Wen’s political experiences and feelings into the series, we must also treat it as characteristic of palace poetry. What we have here is a poetry that is both pleasing to the eye and appealing to the mind.

Our third example is the following couplet:

Simurgh mirror and the flowering twig, 鸞鏡與花枝, This feeling of mine, who can get to know it. 此情誰得知. (No. 3)

The simurgh mirror alludes to a tragic story: ⁶¹ It was said that a king obtained a simurgh and tried to make him sing. Despite the golden cage and delicate food the king offered him, the bird was increasingly grieved and refused to sing. When placed before a mirror, however, he thought he had met another simurgh, and, watching his image in the mirror, he sent forth a sad cry that resounded through to the skies Then, with a last struggle for life, he died. The image has a strong sentimental burden, that of losing one’s “understanding friend”, and in “Simurgh mirror and the flowering twig”, implies that the husband of the lady was dead, otherwise she would not be in such a melancholy mood. The mirror before her and her own beautiful image in it bring out in stark relief a grief that, in view of the story alluded to, can be understood as occasioned only by the death of her husband. That the “husband” of the “lady” was none other than the Heir Apparent, will be adduced, as we employ more inferences. The court lady is a revelation of the poet, who designed this image to stand and to speak for himself.

Besides the above examples, as Zhang Huiyan suggests (p. 1): “The blue palace gate, the golden hall, the old country and the Wu palace disclose subtle hints to the effect that there are hidden motifs” (青瑣金堂故國吳宮, 微露寓意) Indeed, every line and every term in the series is rich with treasure waiting to be uncovered. Even the names of flora and birds are emblematic of affections and tragic happenings. Willow (柳, liu), appearing eight times in the series, on various occasions, is charged each time with the yearning of separation. Other plants, such as apricot (杏, xing, a token for passing the Presented Scholar degree), pear (梨, similar to, 李, plum, and also the royal surname), cordate telosma (夜合, yehe, symbol of happy married life), daylily, bamboo (竹, metaphorical substitute for a noble man), and fragrant herbs (symbolic of worthy gentleman), all abound in literary suggestiveness. Birds such as the mythical phoenix (鳳凰, fenghuang, imperial consort), simurgh (鸞鳥, luanniao, frustrated noble man), mandarin duck (鴛鴦, symbol of conjugal love), cuckoo (杜鵑, dujuan, spirit of tragedy), oriole (黃鶯, huangying, a sign of passing the Presented Scholar degree) and swallow (燕, the messenger of spring or political favor), wild duck (雞敕, jichi), partridge (鷓鵠), kingfishers (翡翠), appear throughout the series. Each of these has some symbolic import related to the concrete experiences of Wen’s life in the context.

To sum up, in this series Wen assumes the persona of a beauty, speaking through her about his life experiences and feelings up to the Dazhong era. The brilliance and inventiveness of the series lie in that Wen not only subtly places all his political experiences into the narrative of a frustrated court lady, but also depicts her in complete and authentic detail–with all her apparel, makeup, moods, yearnings and dreams. We suggest that Wen’s own life, a political life frustrated to a considerable degree by his marriage with a singer-prostitute, enabled him to gain a deep insight into both his own feelings and those of the opposite sex. He differs from many of his contemporaries in that he regarded the woman not as a temporary object of pleasure, but as a human subject sharing a fate similar to his own. Fusing his own character and personality with that of the heroine, he is able to sympathize and empathize with her. The Pusaman series is a consummate example of this practice since the poet’s personality and spirit merge with those of the court lady, to such a degree that the empathizer and the one empathized with are almost indistinguishable. At the same time, barriers of time and space, past and present, night and day, and dream and reality, become blurred, causing all description and narration to have a single referent–Wen’s feelings and the experiences that underlie his feelings.

Limited by space, we will examine only a few specimens: ⁶²

Within beaded crystal curtains are a cool porcelain pillow, 水晶簾里玻璃枕, And warm scented mandarin-duck brocade that courts dreams. 暖香惹夢鴛鴦錦,

On the river bank, willows appear smoke-like, 江上柳如煙,

Wild geese wing across the waning moon in the sky. 雁飛殘月天.

A lotus-silk skirt in a light hue of autumn, 藕絲秋色淺, And a headpiece of colored lace, in cunning pattern.⁶³ 人勝參差剪.

In each temple are flowers fragrant and red, 雙鬢隔香紅, Waving over the hair in a gentle breeze, a jade pin. 玉釵頭上風. (No. 2)

The first couplet of the first stanza (the first four lines) depicts a very sumptuous boudoir. The cool porcelain pillow and mandarin-duck brocade (quilt) are not only objects that once coaxed our heroine into her dreams in the former days, they are the images that emerge in her present–of a past when she was in possession of such items. “Mandarin-duck brocade” also appears in “Weaving Brocade” (j. 1, WFQ) written for the Heir Apparent. In that poem, it is the emblem of the weaving lady’s affections for her husband, a metaphor for Wen’s loyalty to the Heir. But here it is the token of the heroine’s enduring love. Even paying no attention to all this background information, we are still ushered into a highly suggestive ambiance where the exquisiteness of the objects throws into relief the captivating beauty of the heroine, even before she appears on the scene.

When we read the next couplet, we find to our puzzlement that the scene now shifts to a vast natural setting by the River. Zhang Huiyan was correct in considering it to be a dreamscape of the heroine (3), although he failed to point out that the first couplet is also what emerges from her dream, a dream about her past experience in the palace. Since both the first and the second couplets are but parts of a deliberately designed dream, we need to consider the foundation of reality on which it is constructed and take the shift from inside the palace to the banks of the river. This is actually an oblique reference at Wen’s returning to the south from the capital after serving the Heir Apparent.

A dream, in its own right, can defy logic. The poem becomes all the more true to life because the dream is in a jumble, despite the controlling logic of the poet, which governs the whole of the series. Whether this reality is his heroine’s dream or his own, given literary expression, these are at least Wen’s own creations. In fact, it is in lines such as the description of the dreamscape that Wen ignores the confinements of palace poetry, revealing himself as a writer whose ultimate concern is politics. For Wen, putting this unforgettable memory into his lady’s dream is an irresistible dictate of his innermost feelings rather than a spontaneous revelation of his mind.

It is not until the second stanza that we have a direct description of the heroine. Time and again, we are struck by the realistic and vivid depiction of her beauty (internal and external), conventionally understood as metaphor for the virtue and ability of an honest subject. The lady is now living in widowhood, as bereft as an honest subject who has lost his lord. Every line hints at her loneliness. For example, “lotus-silk” (藕絲) in line five, puns on “yearning for spouse” (思偶); her spouse, in any event, never materializes, but serves only as a foil to set off her beauty and sorrow. In comparison to the content of the dream (expressed in the first stanza), the image of the heroine (described in the second stanza) in her daytime dress seems a little pale. This is because, a dream, dreamed at night, is emblematic of her past; while awakening from the dream–her status during the daytime, stands metaphorically for her present situation. Her dream might have been a nightmare, or a reverie. Whatever the case, her awakening causes her to suffer her bereavement anew. Most of the fourteen poems of the Pusaman series follow this pattern, in which past and present, night and day, and dreaming and waking are interwoven and also interdependent.

Employing the same approach, we find the next example easier to fathom:

Stamen’s gold brightens the forehead, limitlessly fair, 蕊黃無限當山額,

In nightdress, inaudible laughter, from behind gauze windows. 宿妝隱笑紗窗隔.

We met in the bloom of the peonies; 相見牡丹時, Only too soon we bid each other farewell. 暫來還別離.

To the golden-stem is attached a hairpin of emerald, 翠釵金作股,

Atop the hairpin, frozen in flight, are two butterflies. 釵上蝶雙舞.

Who knows the innermost secrets of my heart? 心事竟誰知?

Flowers covering the branches in the moonlight. 月明花滿枝. (No. 3)

As was the case in the last example, this poem starts with a scene in the woman’s dream, a scene of better days, persisting in her memory. We see her dressed in her best, enjoying wedded bliss with her husband. His appearance in the dream, however, is only implied. To her regret, she met him at a late stage in her life, and their married life together was too brief. They met during “the bloom of the peonies”, namely, towards the end of spring.⁶⁴ This suggests, metaphorically, that the woman was at this time no longer young. Considering Wen’s age when he served the Heir–forty (837), we find the seasonal metaphor precise and effective. The shortness of the marital union figuratively refers to the brevity of Wen’s encounter with the Heir. We can see once more that all Wen’s emotions relating to his political experiences are fully articulated by the image of the court lady. Examples like this are too numerous to ignore.

As is the established pattern, the second stanza shifts to the lady’s makeup and her activities when she is awake. The image of “two butterflies” on her hairpin symbolizes a perfect couple in a happy marriage. But they are “frozen in flight” and cannot actually fly together. Here are precisely the lady’s “innermost secrets” which no one around her is aware of or cares about. Throughout her sleepless nights she can only empathize with the flowers that bloom in the moonlight.

Here the literary technique of “using the feelings of lad and lass to speak to the affairs between monarch and his subject” has reached a peak of perfection. The image is a highly realistic and picturesque representation of the court lady in her disappointment and love sickness, while it is also subtly and nimbly expressive of the poet himself, cherishing the memories of the dead Heir, which are combined with his political frustrations. Wen’s mastery of this traditional artistry is faultless; no one in Chinese literary history, either before or after, traveled as far along such a cryptic artistic path as Wen has. It is no wonder that few readers of later generations have been able to reach the innermost recesses of his hidden meanings. It is also not surprising that many scholars believe that he is only writing about a court lady, and not anything about himself. ⁶⁵

To do Wen justice, however, we ought to say that he is indeed writing about a court lady, so as to write about himself. We must agree that the lady imaged in his portrait is true to life, but this is no reason to infer that he is only writing about the lady. On the contrary, behind every line and every word describing the lady, there is a hidden import relating to himself. This is where the Pusaman poems surpass conventional palace poetry and where Wen distinguishes himself as a master of ci poetry. When we say that there are hidden motifs in Wen’s ci poetry, we mean that hidden behind the apparently “fragrant and gorgeous” diction devoted to a woman, are, a disguised political career, and, in addition, allusions to many major events and his responses to them.

The following example (No. 6) can more clearly illustrate this point:

In the moonlit jade tower, I always think of him, 玉樓明月常相憶,

The silken willows were delicate, the spring is lethargic. 柳絲裊娜春無力. Over the grasses growing lush and green outside the gate, 門外草萋萋, I sent you off, hearing the horses neigh. 送君聞馬嘶.

By the painted drapery patterned with golden kingfishers, 畫羅金翡翠, Fragrant candles melt into tears. 香燭銷成淚.

Amidst the falling blossoms, the plaints of the cuckoo, 花落子歸啼,

Behind her green-gauze window, her remaining dream was dazed. 綠窗殘夢迷.

The moonlit jade tower and silken willow always haunt the lady’s dream. The former, as we have seen repeatedly, is located somewhere in the palace. The image of “silken willows” is an image saturated with the sense of reluctance to part company with someone. In Wen’s poetry in particular, it is a cipher used frequently to symbolize his yearning for the Heir Apparent.⁶⁶

The first line in the next couplet, while presenting a general parting scene from the dream, also alludes to “Summons for A Recluse” in the Songs of the South:

A prince went wandering and did not return, 王孫游兮不歸,

In spring the grasses grow, lush and green.⁶⁷ 春草生兮萋萋.

Who was this prince? Since “Summons for the Recluse” was composed by one of the retainers of Liu An (劉安, 179-122, BC), the Prince of Huainan (淮南王), in a mournful endeavor to “summon the soul” for him after his death, the “prince” refers naturally to Liu An, ⁶⁸ employing him as an allusive surrogate here for the prince Wen had served. In reading Wen Tingyun we cannot afford to neglect such oblique implications.

“I sent you off, hearing the horses neigh” hints back to another poem of Wen’s, the second of “Two Dirges for the Late Heir Apparent Zhuangke”:

On the dusty road the capital people feel resentful, 塵陌都人恨,

In the frosty suburbs the mourning horses neigh sadly. 霜郊 馬悲.

This is no ordinary horse, but “mourning horse”. Hence “I sent you off” in this context can also mean as “I took part in your funeral procession” or “I sent you off [to the nether world]”. It is not out of the context to see a covert expression of Wen’s sad recollection of the late Heir’s funeral ceremony in this reference.

Of course, the reader can read something different into the couplet, depending on personal experience rather than knowledge of these hidden allusions, because, in accordance with modern hermeneutical theories, the work is, in its own right, an open artistic world to explore. However, the aesthetic standards of the Late Tang literati, governing the reading or composition of poetry, were far from free and open. Here we are seeking to reveal Wen’s original motivation, formed during his own courses of life in this era, as he set about creating this series. When we attempt to elicit Wen’s own motives of writing, it is therefore not applicable to give free rein to imagination.

Turning to the second stanza of poem No. 6, again the images are so arranged as to voice the lady’s present desire in contradistinction to her past dream. “Golden kingfishers”, like the image of the two butterflies in the previous example, symbolize an unrealized marriage, our heroine’s vanished dream. “Fragrant candles melt into tears” is similar to Li Shangyin’s “The candle will not dry its tears until it turns to ashes” (蠟炬成灰淚始乾), and both lines refer to a sorrow that the lover’s life would be dedicated to hopeless love. Now the cuckoo is heard again amidst the fallen flowers drifting away with the flowing water, as Li Shangyin put it, “Emperor Wang’s amorous heart in spring is entrusted to the cuckoo” (望帝春心托杜鵑). ⁶⁹ The cuckoo, spirit of tragedy, with its bleeding beak and grievous cries, now laments the heroine’s heartbreaking dream. The more she thinks, the more she dreams; the dream is broken, and only some debris “remain”; causing her thought to be confused, and her dream to be “dazed”. Here dream and reality, past and present, what was yearned for at night and sought after during the daytime are all merged into one, by a yearning and anxious mind. This poem is more a revelation of Wen’s inner world than that of the court lady, even though it is always presented in the guise of the latter.

The next example (No. 12) will present more indications to confirming this point:

Willow floss, piled up, covered the ground of the south garden, 南園滿地飛輕絮,

Sadly I listened to the torrents of rain in the Pure Bright season. 愁聞一霎清明雨.

After the rain, was the slanting sun, 雨後卻斜陽,

Apricot blossoms, withered and fallen, were more fragrant. 杏花零落香.

Silently I made up my sleepy face, 無言勻睡臉, About the pillow, behind the folding screen. 枕上屏山掩. The time of day is nearing dusky twilight, 時節欲黃昏, Listless and alone, I leaned by the gate. 無聊獨閉門.

The first stanza is a recollection or dream of some particular moment in her past, while the second stanza returns to her present situation. Her past always haunts her present dreams, while her present concerns are the consequences of her past.

The spring season’s splendor has nearly ended. The willow floss, completely fallen, covers the ground. A shower typical of the Pure Bright season adds to her sorrow. In Chinese tradition, this pessimistic picture toward the end of spring may awaken in a beautiful woman regretful feelings of having spent her youth in vain and can be used as a metaphor for a noble man’s aspiration to serve his country before it is too late.

During the Late Tang times, all the successful candidates who had passed as Presented Scholars would gather in the Apricot Garden to congratulate one another. So there may be more hidden import in Wen’s apricot blossom image, related to his experiences in the examination. For example, in representing his frustration at his failure to pass, one of Wen’s poems says: “I know I have no access to the Apricot Garden \To my chagrin, in front of my horse, red blossoms are all over the branches” (知有杏園無計入, 馬前惆悵滿枝紅). ⁷⁰ Now, after the wind and rain had passed and it had turned fine again, the apricot blossom in the slanting sun was devastated, though it still kept its fragrance. On the surface, this is a description of what happens in the natural world. But essentially, it gives at the same time, an account of what happened in Wen’s life. Thus, behind the metaphorical guise is revealed to us, how following the trials and tribulations of a political accident, the situation had become calm once more; and how Wen, now an old man, failed again and again to be passed as a Presented Scholar, even though his reputation as an honest and talented man was widespread.

The second stanza serves to compare the lady’s past frustration with her present distress. Wen seems to fear that he is putting too much of himself into the series, so now he turns back again to the beauty herself, with her languorous air. Why is she so downcast? Her own answer is that: “The time of day is nearing dusky twilight \ Listless and alone I leaned by the gate”. The meaning is that, she is growing old. Clearly, in the Dazhong era (847-60) Wen was already well into his fifties (birth year 798). His life had been wasted in pursuit of official recognition–in his striving for a Presented Scholar degree and an official post. This tragedy of a “worthy man” bears a strong resemblance to that of the abandoned beauty in her enduring sorrow.

To sum up, the Pusaman series is definitely closely connected with Wen’s unique experiences and, indeed, contains “hidden motifs”. As we have demonstrated, there are many allusions closely connected with the major upheavals in Wen’s life. If it had not been for his efforts to arrange clues in all kinds of disguises throughout the series, we could never have discovered them so easily. Because, however we try to force the language, we cannot create a story out of nothing. Our reading of the series, however, is not meant to deny the traditional readings. Rather, it can enrich these readings by taking into account more of the writer’s personal background and general poetic style. This study has concentrated on Wen’s life rather than his poetic style, thus we have not concerned ourselves with the complex hermeneutic theories of the modern West. In seeking to excuse myself, I hope that my “creative reading” is one roughly consistent with Wen Tingyun’s original creative process.

It is equipped with the clarified information about Wen’s life that we come to this new understanding of the Fourteen Pusaman ci poems. Taking into consideration the background against which the Pusaman series was composed, we employ Wen’s own poetic techniques to fathom his poetry and find that this series is much more than merely a group of palace-style poems. In the fourteen poems themselves, their shared leading actress, melancholy mood, and evasive and eager manner, combine to point to a hidden common motif. Looking more carefully into each line, examining the metaphors, analyzing the subtle shades of meanings in every word and allusion, we find implications in every line that suggest that theses are more than the typical palace-style poems. It is no accident that throughout the series we find messages redolent of the details of Wen’s life. Put together, these messages spell out all of Wen’s relevant experiences, although not explicitly and chronologically. Here Wen is not merely describing love, but is writing about political affairs under the guise of love. Although we should not take the poems as exclusively autobiographical, rich autobiographical elements can be found in them. We must forsake the barely viable theory that this series consists only of an objective, palace-styled description of a court lady. In addition to being such a description, the series is also Wen’s lamentation of his own life, a life characterized by an unyielding pursuit of love and truth.

In concluding, we will to add one additional argument. As mentioned earlier, Zhang Huiyan, and later, Chen Tingchuo, put forth the theory that the fourteen Pusaman poems must contain some hidden motifs related to Wen’s personal experiences. Rejecting this theory, however, some of the modern treatments of this series identify it as nothing more than an objective and picturesque description of a court lady. In doing so, however, they fail to offer a convincing account of the series’ aesthetic contents. Wang Guowei, an outstanding critic, once commented on Zhang’s theory: “How obstinate was Zhang Gaowen (Zhang’s style name) in making his running commentary! The fourteen Pusaman poems by Feiqing are nothing more than impromptu creations possessing some undefined mood, how can there be any special hidden motifs in them”(固哉張皋文之為詞也! 飛卿菩薩蠻十四首, 不過一時興到之作, 有何命意)? ⁷¹ In Wang’s view, Zhang’s mistake was that he used “the hereditary approach to the Book of Changes handed down from his family” (說易家 法) to study the literary pattern of Wen’s ci poems. Broadly speaking, it is perhaps best that academic approaches to philosophical texts such as the Book of Changes, not be employed in research on literature. Different objects of study require different study approaches. Aside from the fact that Zhang Huiyan was indeed an expert in the study of the Book of Changes, ⁷² the point needs to be made that Wen Tingyun was much influenced by this text. Indeed, the Book of Changes was a source of literary inspiration for countless generations. For the study of literature in general, and Wen’s ci in particular, we should avail ourselves of as many approaches as possible; why, then, should we exclude an approach related to that used in the study of the Book of Changes? Our only regret is that Zhang Huiyan did not make an analytical study of Wen’s life, leaving it for modern scholars to undertake.