Chen Jiru (1558-1639) (Sinica Leidensia)

Chen Jiru (1558–1639)

Sinica Leidensia Edited by

Barend J. ter Haar In co-operation with

P.K. Bol, D.R. Knechtges, E.S. Rawski, W.L. Idema, E. Zürcher, H.T. Zurndorfer

VOLUME 81

Chen Jiru (1558–1639) The Background to Development and Subsequent Uses of Literary Personae

By

Jamie Greenbaum

LEIDEN • BOSTON 2007

On the cover: Huang Cunwu 黃存吾, Qinglin gaohui tu 青林高會圖 [A Gathering of Nobles in the Dark Forest]. Minneapolis Institute of Arts, Gift of Ruth and Bruce Dayton This book is printed on acid-free paper. Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data A C.I.P. record for this book is available from the Library of Congress

ISSN 0169–9563 ISBN 978 90 04 16358 4 Copyright 2007 by Koninklijke Brill NV, Leiden, The Netherlands. Koninklijke Brill NV incorporates the imprints Brill, Hotei Publishing, IDC Publishers, Martinus Nijhoff Publishers and VSP. All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, translated, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without prior written permission from the publisher. Authorization to photocopy items for internal or personal use is granted by Koninklijke Brill NV provided that the appropriate fees are paid directly to The Copyright Clearance Center, 222 Rosewood Drive, Suite 910, Danvers, MA 01923, USA. Fees are subject to change. printed in the netherlands

For my parents, Geoffrey Greenbaum and Elizabeth Scarlett

CONTENTS Preface ....................................................................................... Acknowledgements ................................................................... Ming (1368–1644) Reign Periods .............................................. Commonly Used Abbreviations ................................................ Works Commonly Cited ...........................................................

ix xix xxi xxiii xxv

Introduction .............................................................................. xxvii Fame, Renown, and Celebrity .............................................. xxvii The Environment of Late-Ming Jiangnan ............................ xxxiv Biographies of Chen ............................................................. xli Chapter One The World that Was Not Comes to Pass ......... Family and the Early Years ................................................... Friendships and Work ........................................................... Burning Scholars’ Robes .......................................................

1 1 8 18

Chapter Two Reclusion and Participation ............................. The Construction of the Recluse .......................................... Buddhists and Daoists ........................................................... Local Participation ................................................................ Declined Invitations ..............................................................

27 28 37 44 55

Chapter Three Chen Jiru and Publishing .............................. Late-Ming Printing ............................................................... Chen and Printing .................................................................

59 59 67

Chapter Four The Established Figure .................................... Property, Buildings, and Objects ........................................... From Visitor to Visited .......................................................... Chen’s Death and the Legend ...............................................

83 83 90 95

Chapter Five The Commissioned Writing ............................. The Genre of Biography and Chen’s Biographies ............... Chen’s Social Involvement as a Professional Writer ............. The Language of the Biographies ........................................

101 101 104 108

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Chen’s Skill as a Biographer: The Biographies of Merchants ........................................................................... Biographies of Women ........................................................... Biographies of Men ................................................................ Other Concerns in the Biographies ........................................

114 119 124 130

Chapter Six Marketable Writings ............................................ Xiaopin ...................................................................................... Chen’s Self-Representation: Tasteful, Moral, and Unique ..... Cultural Primers ...................................................................... Chen as Aesthete .....................................................................

137 143 150 153 158

Chapter Seven Late-Ming Early-Qing .................................... The Grand Councillor in the Mountains ............................... Chen’s Work in Other Collections .......................................... Spurious Editions and False Attributions ................................ Chen’s Celebrity ......................................................................

171 171 190 195 202

Chapter Eight Mid- and Late-Qing ......................................... Private Criticism of Chen ....................................................... Ofcial Praise .......................................................................... Re-printings of Chen’s Works ................................................. The Clandestine Jottings ..............................................................

205 206 212 216 219

Chapter Nine The Modern Periods ......................................... Chen in Republican China: The 1920s and 1930s ................. Chen Jiru Today ......................................................................

231 231 241

Concluding Remarks ...................................................................

255

Appendix One When and How Chen Disposed of His Robes ....................................................................................... Appendix Two Xu Yisun .........................................................

259 263

Bibliography ................................................................................ Index ...........................................................................................

267 287

PREFACE Outside the specialised worlds of Chinese calligraphy and painting, Chen Jiru 陳繼儒 (1558–1639) is these days best known as a writer, and the work that carries his name furthest into the public domain is unquestionably the Xiaochuang youji 小窗幽記 [Clandestine Jottings from My Little Window] (hereafter Clandestine Jottings). Indeed, so popular has this book become that for the past two decades any medium-sized Chinese bookshop has probably had a copy on the shelves. Despite the fact that Chen neither wrote nor compiled the Clandestine Jottings, were he alive today he may not be overly surprised to learn that his most renowned work is one that more likely than not never lay on one of his studio tables. Although four centuries have elapsed since Chen was at the height of his creative powers and production, the literary and publishing worlds of the 1620s exhibited a number of characteristics that are still with us today: the most pertinent in the case of the Clandestine Jottings being the power of a name to sell a book. Today, in the larger Chinese bookshops, in addition to being able to purchase multiple editions of the Clandestine Jottings, it might be possible to pick up a copy of a relatively neglected late-Ming work called the Zuigutang jiansao 醉古堂劍掃 [The Scouring Blade from the Hall of an Infatuation with Antiquity] (hereafter The Scouring Blade) by Lu Shaoheng 陸紹 珩 (. 1620s). Outside this work, Lu Shaoheng remains quite on the margins of the historical record, but this book of his, The Scouring Blade, is certainly not without interest—the twelve thematic headings happen to be the same as those in the Clandestine Jottings. A more detailed examination reveals that the similarity is not conned to the chapter headings; the text of the two works is almost identical. It is clearly the same book, but with two different titles and two different authors. The provenance of the two books is suggestive. Modern editions of The Scouring Blade can be traced back to the late-Ming period, and from the many forewords in the original version it is clear that the work was rst published in China in the 1620s. In contrast, the origin of the Clandestine Jottings is ambiguous. It only ever comes with one dynastic-period foreword, dated 1770, and there the trail goes cold. As will be seen from the arguments advanced in chapter eight, The Scouring Blade is the original work, a fact that can stand in history as a

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small footnote. More interesting are the mechanisms that allowed the Clandestine Jottings, now Chen’s most famous work, to appear under his name for the rst time over a century after his death. To understand those mechanisms it was necessary to nd out how Chen’s name came to be associated with the text. That in turn led to a study of Chen’s literary persona and the milieu in which it took shape: the world of the Lower Yangtse Valley, or Jiangnan 江南 region; specically the area around Songjiang 松江 (also known as Huating 華亭), Chen’s hometown, at the end of the sixteenth century and the beginning of the seventeenth. In that environment a series of circumstances, economic, cultural, and social, made it possible for a scholar to make a good living as a professional writer, catering to an avid reading audience, and although Chen split little ink on his occupation, that was precisely what he did. The present study, then, seeks to examine the background to, and the development and subsequent uses of, the literary personae of the late-Ming writer Chen Jiru. Situating the Work The amount of literature that focuses on Chen is quite modest. There is but one modern published work exclusively devoted to Chen, and that is an annotated collection of his writing. While the annotations are helpful in understanding the allusions in that particular selection of Chen’s writing, there is no critical interpretation of the literature, no essaying of the veracity of the selections, nor any attempt to understand what factors may have led Chen to write some of the pieces in the collection.1 There is a modest number of unpublished theses that concentrate on Chen, but their concerns are not directly related to this study.2 In 1 Hu Shaotang 胡紹棠, Chen Meigong xiaopin 陳眉公小品 [Chen Meigong’s Xiaopin] (Beijing: Wenhua yishu chubanshe, 1996). This book is, as the title suggests, a compilation of Chen’s xiaopin 小品. It is one of a series of ten on late-Ming writers of xiaopin. I have left the term xiaopin in its romanised form. Sometimes translated as ‘belles-lettres’, that translation may be suitable for Republican-era writings but is too narrow in the late-Ming context—a discussion of the term can be found in chapter six. 2 Li Feng-p’ing’s 李鳳萍 thesis Wan-Ming shanren Chen Meigong yanjiu 晚明山人陳眉 公 研究 [Research into Chen Meigong, the Late-Ming Hermit] (Taipei: Dongwu daxue, 1984) is a useful compendium of information about Chen, but without any particular argument. A series of unfortunate circumstances has prevented me from reading Xu Lisha’s 徐麗莎 thesis, Chen Jiru ji qi huihua sixiang 陳繼儒及其繪畫思想 [Chen Jiru and his Theory of Painting], held at the Chinese University of Hong Kong. From a synopsis of the thesis and email communication with the author it would appear to be a more specic study

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modern critical writing the most attention that Chen commands is an occasional chapter in a book or, increasingly, a number of specialised academic articles.3 Nowadays comments on Chen, and excerpts from his writing, are mostly found in works that can be loosely described as histories of literature. Some of these books are plainly composed as histories of different genres of writing and their respective rise and fall, such as the 1991 publication Zhongguo xiaopinwen shi 中國小品文史 [A History of Chinese Xiaopinwen].4 Other comments appear in larger literary critiques, such as the Republican-era critic Ah Ying’s 阿英 (Qian Xingdun 錢杏邨, 1900–1977) essay “Ming ren biji xiaohua” 明人筆記 小話 [“Comments on the Notebook Literature of Ming-era Writers”]. In this essay, for example, Ah Ying compares and comments on two compilations, both of which contain Chen’s Dushu shiliu guan 讀書十六 觀 [Reading: Sixteen Views].5 Finally, short notes and comments on Chen often appear in literary anthologies from the twentieth century. These anthologies, such as Zhu Jianxin’s 朱劍心 Wan Ming xiaopin xuanzhu 晚明小品選注 [Selected and Annotated Late-Ming Xiaopin] are collections of writing on themes, or particular writers, and function as a form of literary history through their selection and omission of texts.6 These works all encourage particular views of Chen; presenting him as a writer of a particular type of literature; as a writer of a certain period with specic political and social conditions; or as a writer of ‘good’ literature. One thing they do not do is encourage us to think of Chen as a professional writer catering to a commercial reading market, nor do they question the relationship of his literary personae to either

than Li Feng-p’ing’s, but still concerned with the real Chen and his artistic endeavours, rather than his reputation or literary undertakings. 3 A recension of the famous drama Pipa ji 琵琶記 [The Story of the Lute] that is attributed to Chen gets a modest chapter in a critical history of editions of the drama, see Huang Shizhong 黃仕忠, Pipa ji yanjiu 琵琶記研究 [Research into The Story of the Lute] (Guangzhou: Guangdong gaodeng jiaoyu chubanshe, 1996). In Wan-Ming xiaopin yu Ming ji wenren shenghuo 晚明小品與明季 文人生活 [Late-Ming Xiaopin and the Livestyle of Ming Dynasty Literati ] (Taipei: Daan chubanshe, 1992), by the Taiwanese historian, Chen Wanyi 陳萬益, Chen Jiru, representing one of the two types of late-Ming xiaopin writers, shares a chapter with the other, Li Zhi 李贄 (1527–1602). 4 Chen Shuliang 陳書良 and Zheng Xianchun 鄭憲春, A History of Chinese Xiaopinwen (Changsha, Hunan chubanshe, 1991). 5 Ah Ying, “Comments on the Notebook Literature of Ming-era Writers” in Jiang Deming 姜德明 ed., Ah Ying shuhua 阿英書話 [Ah Ying’s Notes on Literature], (Beijing, Beijing chubanshe, 1996), p. 99. 6 Zhu Jianxin, Selected and Annotated Late-Ming Xiaopin (Taipei: Taiwan shangwu, 1964).

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his own work or that same market. The economic, cultural, and social relationships pertinent to Chen’s literary personae and the literary market are germane to this study; a study which would t neatly in a history of literary celebrity, dealing with questions such as how reputations are assembled and then change over time, and why they do so. Fame, celebrity, and associated issues are not especially well-researched areas in the history of Chinese literature, and Chen’s celebrity was of a novel type in its day. Those issues are advanced in the introduction. The Structure of the Study The study comprises nine chapters. Chapters one to four are an introduction to signicant aspects of Chen’s life, including the area he lived in and his activities. They examine the environment in which Chen constructed his literary personae. Chapter one covers his family background, education, and entrance into the social and cultural worlds of the elite of Jiangnan. It concludes with Chen’s decision to eschew a government career. Chapter two examines the genesis of Chen’s public image. It examines the type of reclusion that Chen adopted, his relations with Buddhists and Daoists, and the overt form his participation in or rejection of social, political, and cultural activities took. As I have indicated, Chen is best known as a writer, and chapter three examines his lifelong relationship with the worlds of printing and publishing. It looks at the various roles that Chen played in the printing and publishing industries, from the production to the consumption of texts. Chapter four examines Chen’s positions later in life, after he became nancially secure and socially and culturally celebrated. It looks at his land holdings, the activities and buildings on them, and his students. It concludes with the records of both his real and self-imagined deaths. Chapters ve and six deal in detail with the construction of the two distinctive literary personae that Chen developed for two different markets. Chapter ve is based on a little over one hundred biographies that Chen was (mostly) commissioned to write. It looks at the topoi he wrote about, how he wrote about them, and the extent to which he aligned himself with orthodox notions of biography. Chapter six examines the persona of the author through the works that Chen produced for a commercial market. This is done through a selection of thematic cultural behaviours in which Chen represented himself as an authority in the eld. In this chapter I discuss the type of literature that Chen was

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producing for the commercial reading market, I look at an individual work, as well as themes that reoccur in different works. Chapters seven to nine cover the period from the late Ming to the present day. They examine the uses that people and institutions, since the late Ming, have made of Chen’s reputation and writings down to the beginning of the twenty-rst century. In these chapters we hear from Chen’s critics and admirers and, of course, note the uses publishers have made of his reputation and his works. A division into the three chapters has been determined by the content of the material on Chen, rather than by traditional dynastic historiography. Chapter seven looks at the late-Ming and early-Qing periods. It looks at Chen’s name being used in situations outside his control—on cakes and other foods, on books that had nothing to do with him, and in visual representations and dramatic works. Chapter eight looks at the mid- and late-Qing periods in much the same format as the previous chapter. Here Chen’s name becomes enmeshed with state political considerations, such as his place in ofcial histories. I look at this question, as well as the issues surrounding his works being placed on various lists of banned books. This chapter also examines in detail the work that engendered this study, the Clandestine Jottings. Chapter nine looks at Chen’s image, and publications of his works in the 1930s and 1990s—two periods of heightened interest in late-Ming xiaopin. The chapter concludes with an assessment of the modern versions of the Clandestine Jottings. The material in these latter three chapters is far from exhaustive. A full account of the transmogrications in Chen’s image for the past four hundred years would involve a detailed study of the social, political, and literary questions over that period. They are sketched here in what I hope is a readily recognisable if somewhat abridged and generalised form. I have, for example, summarised the literary scene of the 1930s in a few paragraphs, a length that cannot do justice to the complexity of the period, but which hopefully is not misleading. Methodology The methodology I have employed is predominantly empirical and textual. I have read Chen’s work extensively—though by no means have I closely read all that may be reasonably ascribed to him. Partly this has been brought about by repetitions within the material itself. Having read the eight chapters of biographies in the Chen Meigong quanji

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陳眉公全集 [Collected Works of Chen Meigong] (hereafter Collected Works) I have not done much more than skim through those chapters devoted to epitaphs, except where I have recognised a direct relevance. The content of the epitaphs, Chen’s motivations for composing them, and the persona of the author within them does not differ, for the purposes of this study, in any meaningful way from that of the biographies. Other genres of Chen’s writing are tangential to the study; Chen was a prolic poet and attached considerable importance to his own verse. I have browsed through it and used it where it is of relevance to people or issues but, aside from noting that he wrote and published a certain amount, the quality and content of his poetry are marginal to my concerns—Chen’s poetry was rarely commissioned by others, and in relation to the goals of this study amounted to little more than a readily understood form of cultural behaviour. While poetry undoubtedly reinforced Chen’s position as part of the cultural elite, a question that I look at in the context of his publishing activities in chapter three, Chen’s image neither rose nor fell on account of it. One methodological problem has been working out whether any given text was a forgery or not. My focus on Chen’s reputation and image immediately obviates some questions surrounding the authenticity of authorship: if a publication carries his name then it is related to his literary renown, and thus falls within the scope of this study. However, as I make a point of contrasting works that borrowed his reputation for their own purposes with those that he promoted himself, I have accordingly attempted to verify Chen’s association with any given work under discussion. That is ne as far as it goes, yet there are other issues surrounding authenticity. In some cases there is no doubt that a work was Chen’s. It is obvious that writing that came from Chen’s own hand, such as letters to friends, and diary-like jottings of his excursions, are indubitably his. It is equally clear that works which someone else, unknown to Chen, compiled from other writings, and which Chen never saw, yet which were published under his name or with a spurious foreword purporting to be his, are clearly not his. There are, however, categories of works between these two extremes where it is not immediately clear whether they should be considered as Chen’s or not. The distinction I have adopted relates to publication. Works that were prepared in Chen’s studios, by Chen or other writers, and which Chen corrected before sending to the printers, I have ascribed to him because of the lack of outside contact. In this instance,

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Chen maintains control over the compiling process and to a certain degree over the product that bears his name. (To what degree Chen exercised control in all cases cannot be known. That he did check work going to the printers closely is beyond question as he complains bitterly that despite the same work going back and forth to the printers several times there were still typographical errors occurring.)7 Books that were compiled solely from the works of other writers, under Chen’s direction, may be completely without a single word from Chen. Yet he brought them out under his name and so I have also considered them to be his. In contrast to this, a book composed of nothing but Chen’s own writing, with all of the typographical errors corrected, brought out in his own day by someone else, without Chen’s permission or knowledge, I have not considered to be Chen’s, even though it may stand as a critical edition. For my purposes such a publication belongs to the use someone else has made of Chen’s name. Here follows a general indication of the major publications that I accept as Chen’s work. I regard all of the large collections as Chen’s, they are: the Collected Works, the Baishiqiao zhengao 白石樵真稿 [The True Manuscript of the White-Stone Woodcutter] (hereafter White-Stone Woodcutter), the Wanxiangtang xiaopin 晚香堂小品 [Xiaopin from the Hall of Evening Incense] (hereafter Hall of Evening Incense), and the works attributed in the various instalments which we know today under the title Bao Yan tang miji 寶顏堂祕笈 [The Secret Satchel from the Hall of Treasuring Yan] (hereafter Secret Satchel).8 Other works have been considered on their merits. Wherever possible original sources have been used. However, a substantial number of Chen’s works were reprinted during the twentieth century. The 1920s reprinting of the Secret Satchel, which included many of Chen’s shorter works, for example is a reliable edition with respect to the textual veracity of Chen’s works. Much the same can be said for the many short pieces that appeared in the xiaopin collections of the 1930s and the past two decades. I have relied on these editions when I have not had access to the Ming editions.

7 Chen once observed that even after a work had been corrected three times for errors after copying, cutting, and printing, there were still two or three mistakes in every hundred characters. See Chen Jiru, Taiping Qinghua 太平清話 [Clear Words from a Peaceful World] 2:9b. 8 The ‘Yan’ here refers to the famed calligrapher and martyr, Yan Zhenqing 顏真卿 (704–784). Chen was so thrilled with a calligraphic specimen by Yan that he obtained, that he stored and viewed it in the hall so named.

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Chen’s calligraphy and painting, and his writing on these subjects have not been considered in any great analytical detail. These artefacts and essays no doubt both supplemented and complemented the image Chen developed. We know that there was a demand for his calligraphy as there is evidence that his style was closely copied by forgers in order to enhance the supposed authenticity, and thus the sales, of spurious works.9 Today Chen is still regarded as a magnicent calligrapher and painter.10 While I have noted his authority in those elds I offer no aesthetic appreciation of his artistic skill or detailed examination thereof. Chen’s art critiques are important both for what they tell us about his social and cultural position, and also because they alert the reader to access to such objects and, thus, his cultural cache. These facets are mentioned in the study, but I have not utilised this material to the degree that it could be employed. Such material could be used, for example, to demonstrate that Chen was not writing for a reading market composed solely of his peers, but I have made that point through references to other late-Ming themes. While this study is overwhelmingly text based, be they Chen’s own writings, writings attributed to him, or others writing of him, I have discussed several images of Chen. I have also included word of other pieces of evidence that no longer exist. Late-Ming records mention bean cakes and other comestibles with Chen’s name on them. I have found neither the original wrappings nor any modern reproductions in what pass for the ‘cake’ shops in present-day Songjiang. Nevertheless, I have taken those records at face value, and used them where appropriate. Notes Pinyin has been used for the transliteration of all Chinese names, places, titles, and terms, with the exception of usages already otherwise known or used in English. Ming writers sometimes used variant place names 9

Frederick W. Mote et al., Calligraphy and the East Asian Book (Boston: Shambhala, 1989), pp. 189–92. 10 Chen’s works sells for substantial prices, with a painting selling for just under ¥100,000 and a small scroll for ¥110,000, both in the past few years. See Xin Hong 欣弘 ed., Shuhua paimai jicheng —Mingdai huihua 書畫拍賣集成—明代繪畫 [Painting and Calligraphy Auctions—Ming Painting] (Changsha: Hunan meishu chubanshe, 2003), p. 46, and Xin Hong ed., Shuhua paimai jicheng—Ming Qing shufa 書畫拍賣集成—明清書法 [Painting and Calligraphy Auctions—Ming and Qing Calligraphy] (Changsha: Hunan meishu chubanshe, 2003), p. 9.

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and here I have intervened. Hangzhou 杭州 is frequently referred to as Wulin 武林 in late-Ming works. Ofcially Wulin was to the west of Hangzhou, but writers did not feel obliged to follow that distinction. Whenever ‘Wulin’ was used to indicate Hangzhou I have rendered it as Hangzhou. The same practice has been followed for other alternative names such as Baixia 白下 for Nanjing 南京, Chang’an 長安 (the capital) for Beijing 北京, and so on. In the translation of book and article titles I have tried to follow established convention wherever possible. All terms have English translations with the exception of instances where I have used the Chinese to mark a physical position in a text, e.g. ‘the line beginning with the characters . . .’, in these instances the meaning is irrelevant and I have not provided a translation. Ofcial titles are translated in the rst instance according to Charles O. Hucker, A Dictionary of Ofcial Titles in Imperial China. Where known, dates for individuals have been included with the rst usage, dates for reign periods have been given more frequently. If dates for individuals are not known, but the year they passed the palace examination is known then I have indicated this with js. followed by the year. Unless otherwise noted all translations are mine.

ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS It is a rather convoluted track along which this once almost accidental project has sauntered, to now nd itself inside a book jacket. Two people who were present when this study began, twelve years ago, have all along freely and readily tendered their advice and appraisal; for this I would like to extend my deep gratitude to Bill Jenner and Mark Elvin for making this study much better than it would otherwise have been. Over the years, many other scholars have provided timely ministrations; their wisdom distilled frequently granted me more intellectual sustenance than could be absorbed: Ch’en Kuo-tung, in a series of conversations, possibly inadvertently but very helpfully set a number of parameters for the study; Craig Clunas and Timothy Brook both offered valuable observations at different times; Matthew Fryslie, my ‘same window’ from Taipei, so patient with my intellectual tardiness, encouraged me, without much success, to think in ways to which I was not accustomed, yet still improved this work; and most recently a reader for Brill proffered some pertinent observations that have tightened the study. The errors of commission and omission remain mine alone. A textual study such as this owes much to the unseen, and sometimes unbidden, support of library staff and I would like to record particular thanks to those at the National Central Library in Taipei and the Menzies Library at the ANU; unstintingly helpful, their hospitable reception and the generous access to materials in those two institutions was instrumental in the construction of this study. I was fortunate enough to receive the same welcome and assistance at the National Palace Museum Library and at Academia Sinica. In China, more recently, the staff at the National Library in Beijing, and at the Shanghai Public Library, have also been generous with their time and assistance. My family, far and near at different times, have given me love and support for all of these years. Although they may not see it directly, this study, in its own humble way, owes more than they think to their care and attention. I am also indebted to support in varying forms from Craig Cork, Ben Donaldson, Hashida Emi, Hojo Yuki, Huang Liling, Noah McCormack, Craig Meer, Kiri Paramore, and Tanji Miyume, and especially to Angela Kim, to them I extend my thanks and gratitude. Finally, the process of turning this study into a book has tried the

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patience of two people in particular; for their continual good-natured help I would like to express my thanks to my colleague Jennifer Took, and Patricia Radder at Brill.

MING (1368–1644) REIGN PERIODS

Name Zhu Yuanzhang Zhu Yunwen Zhu Di Zhu Gaochi Zhu Zhanji Zhu Qizhen Zhu Qiyu Zhu Qizhen Zhu Jianshen Zhu Youtang Zhu Houzhao Zhu Houcong Zhu Zaihou Zhu Yijun Zhu Changluo Zhu Youjiao Zhu Youjian

Reign Period 朱元璋 朱允炆 朱棣 朱高熾 朱瞻基 朱祁鎮 朱祁鈺 朱祁鎮 朱見深 朱祐樘 朱厚照 朱厚熜 朱載垕 朱翊鈞 朱常洛 朱由校 朱由檢

Taizu Huidi Chengzu Renzong Xuandi Yingzong Daizong Yingzong Xianzong Xiaozong Wuzong Shizong Muzong Shenzong Guangzong Xizong Sizong

太祖 惠帝 成祖 仁宗 宣帝 英宗 代宗 英宗 憲宗 孝宗 武宗 世宗 穆宗 神宗 光宗 熹宗 思宗

Hongwu Jianwen Yongle Hongxi Xuande Zhengtong Jingtai Tianshun Chenghua Hongzhi Zhengde Jiajing Longqing Wanli Taichang Tianqi Chongzhen

Dates 洪武 建文 永樂 洪熙 宣德 正統 景泰 天順 成化 弘治 正德 嘉靖 隆慶 萬曆 泰昌 天啟 崇禎

1368–1398 1399–1402 1403–1424 1425 1426–1435 1436–1449 1450–1457 1457–1464 1465–1487 1488–1505 1506–1521 1522–1566 1567–1572 1573–1620 1620 1621–1627 1628–1644

Taken from Wu Zeyan, Ciyuan (Hong Kong: Shangwu yinshuguan, 1979), revised edition.

COMMONLY USED ABBREVIATIONS QJ CHC7

CHC8

CHC12

DMB ECCP

MS NP BSQ BYT WXT

Collected Works of Chen Meigong [Chen Meigong quanji] Ming ed. D. Twitchett and F. Mote eds., The Cambridge History of China: The Ming Dynasty, 1368–1644, Part 1 (vol. 7) (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1998) D. Twitchett and F. Mote eds., The Cambridge History of China: The Ming Dynasty, 1368–1644, Part 2 (vol. 8) (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1998) D. Twitchett and John K. Fairbank eds., The Cambridge History of China: Republican China 1912–1949, Part 1 (vol. 12) (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1983) L. Carrington Goodrich ed. The Dictionary of Ming Biography (New York: Columbia University Press, 1976) A.W. Hummel et al. eds., Eminent Chinese of the Ch’ing Period (1644–1912), (Washington: U.S. Government Printing Ofce, 1943–44) Zhang Tingyu ed., Ming shi [History of the Ming] (Beijing: Zhonghua shuju, 1974) Chen Meigong nianpu [Chronological Biography of Chen Meigong] Ming ed. Baishiqiao zhengao [True Manuscript of the White-Stone Woodcutter] (Shanghai: Shanghai zazhi gongsi, 1935) Bao Yan tang miji [The Secret Satchel from the Hall of Treasuring Yan] (Shanghai: Wenming shuju, 1922) Wanxiangtang xiaopin [Xiaopin from the Hall of Evening Fragrance] Ming ed.

WORKS COMMONLY CITED Unless noted otherwise, references to the following works refer to the editions indicated here: Zhang Tingyu 張廷玉 ed., Ming shi 明史 [History of the Ming] (Beijing: Zhonghua shuju, 1974) Feng Dinggao 馮鼎高 ed., Huatingxian zhi 華亭縣志 [Huating District Gazetteer] (1791) (Taipei: Chengwen chubanshe, 1983) Sun Xingyan 孫星衍 et al. eds., Songjiangfu zhi 松江府志 [Songjiang Prefectural Gazetteer] (1817 ed.) (Shanghai: Shanghai shudian, 1991) Wang Zushou 汪祖綬 et al. eds., Qingpuxian zhi 青浦縣志 [Qingpu District Gazetteer] (1879) (Shanghai: Shanghai shudian, 1991) Chen Meigong quanji 陳眉公全集 [Collected Works of Chen Meigong] Ming ed. Chen Meigong nianpu 陳眉公年譜 [Chronological Biography of Chen Meigong] Ming ed. in Collected Works of Chen Meigong Baishiqiao zhengao 白石樵真稿 [True Manuscript of the White-Stone Woodcutter] (Shanghai: Shanghai zazhi gongsi, 1935) Bao Yan tang miji 寶顏堂祕笈 [The Secret Satchel from the Hall of Treasuring Yan] (Shanghai: Wenming shuju, 1922) Wanxiangtang xiaopin 晚香堂小品 [Xiaopin from the Hall of Evening Fragrance] Ming ed.

INTRODUCTION Histories of literary personae and the changing nature of literary reputation bring to mind works like Gary Taylor’s Reinventing Shakespeare. Taylor’s 1989 book investigated the inuence that different periods, since the early seventeenth century, had brought to the changing public assessments of, and scholarly works on, Shakespeare. In the Chinese context, Laurence Schneider’s work, A Madman of Chu, is a study in a similar vein to Taylor’s. Here the subject is Qu Yuan 屈原 (339 B.C.–278 B.C.), the famously tragic gure from the court of the southern state of Chu, and the reputed author of much of the Chu ci 楚辭 [The Songs of the South], an early collection of poetry and invocations. Schneider examined varying perceptions of Qu and what use was made of them. This study of Chen Jiru follows some leads set by Taylor and Schneider yet, as Chen played an active role in shaping his literary personae, not only for his peers but for a wider audience as well, it is distinctive. That Chen was able to actively and purposely contribute to his literary personae had much to do with the nature of fame, renown, and celebrity in the late-Ming world. Fame, Renown, and Celebrity The concepts of fame, renown, and celebrity are drawn from Latin: fama, a word with connotations related to a person’s reputation or public standing, frequently but not limited to a circumscribed world; renown, with the same root as ‘name’, yet with the ‘re’ adding intensity, also usually conned to a particular group or mileau; and cÚlÚber, meaning celebrated beyond the constraints of renown, naturally involves fame in a world or with an audience beyond one’s specialty, and is wedded to the living subject. It is notable that in English the word ‘celebrity’ came into common usage as the phenomenon it described conspicuously outgrew the margins that fame or renown delineated. In the late Ming, the use of terms such as shanren 山人 and shiyin 市隱, to describe new understandings of reclusion, demonstrates a similar linguistic reection of changing social conditions. However the arrival of celebrity in China was not accompanied by an overt linguistic reection. Indeed, in the late Ming, writers mostly used, and used interchangeably, ming

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名, shengyu 聲譽, mingsheng 名聲, or mingyu 名譽 to describe the territories covered by the three English words. This is also the case when they came to write on Chen Jiru, whose celebrity clearly slipped the bounds of fame and renown. That is to say there are no terms in the late Ming that expressly point to the emergence of Chen’s celebrity as a distinct phenomenon; a celebrity with a market value linked to certain social and economic conditions, as there are with the emergence of the term in nineteenth-century Europe. In writing the history of the book, including motivations for publishing and so on, while one should not necessarily conate the Chinese and Western cases, the development of a sophisticated market economy that allows for mass sales and author recognition involves characteristics that are initially not culturally determined. Distribution networks for mass manufacturing, for example, are a necessary element in the organisation of the book as commodity, and such characteristics may provide a useful template over which to place culturally specic practices. While in the pages of the study proper the Western world is just as absent as it should be, an overview of how the terms fame, celebrity, and renown are understood in Western critical literature provides a coherent structure in which to grasp the unique place that Chen Jiru occupies in Chinese cultural history. That renown is a type of fame, within the world pertinent to the achievements or deeds that engendered it, and that celebrity is when this fame is transferred to a wider audience, is clear from the literature. Two observations on mid-nineteenth century celebrity in the West are directly relevant to the distinguishing of these terms and to Chen’s situation. In his discussion of a recent work on Charles Dickens, the contemporary writer and critic David Lodge wrote that: Celebrity is not the same thing as fame . . . Celebrity entails a certain collaboration and complicity on the part of the subject. It can bring great material rewards and personal satisfactions, but at a cost: the transformation of one’s “self ” into a kind of commodity. It requires conditions that did not exist before the Industrial Revolution hit its stride: fast and exible means of production, transportation, and communication, which circulate the work widely and bring the author into actual or virtual contact with his or her audience . . . It is Dickens who stands symbolically on the threshold of the modern literary era, and whose career embodies the difference between being famous and being a celebrity.1

1 David Lodge, “Dickens our Contemporary” in The Atlantic Monthly, vol. 289:5, p. 92.

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Celebrity, by its nature, was not only literary.2 In 1838, the year following the publication of the nal instalment of The Pickwick Papers which made the twenty-ve year-old Dickens famous, Franz Liszt began a frantic decade of performing all over Europe: From 1838 to 1847 he criss-crossed Europe with frenetic energy, presenting more than 1,000 concerts from Madrid to St Petersburg . . . In 1838, a series of six concerts in Vienna became ten by popular demand; Berlin in 1841–2 enjoyed a ten-week stretch of twenty-one concerts, lled to overowing, at which Liszt performed some eighty works. Especially in that city, Liszt seems to have aroused a kind of hysteria . . . Well-situated women collected the pianist’s hair-clippings, it was said, and wore his discarded cigar butts on their persons; he . . . departed the city along Unter den Linden in a procession of thirty carriages drawn by white horses, as the King and Queen of Prussia waved from a palace window.3

Of course, Dickens and Liszt are but two of the many names from the 1830s and 1840s whose contemporary celebrity was attested. The India-born novelist Thackeray achieved a comparable celebrity with the serialisation of Vanity Fair in the late 1840s. One commentator, with Thackeray in mind, noted that it was not only the physical infrastructure that permitted the rise of celebrity, social conditions were also pertinent; and that what Thackeray garnered was not fame, but: “. . . a new category of public experience called the celebrity, unmoored from the political or aristocratic underpinnings of older forms of public notoriety”.4 The suggestion that a form of social change was also necessary for the advent of celebrity can be seen in the comment that celebrity suggests: “. . . representations of fame that ourish beyond the boundaries of religion and Court society. . . . that celebrity only becomes a phenomenon in the age of the common man.”5

2 Even if it began as literary it was not conned to that world. Lord Byron, of course, came to public attention through his writing, but his celebrity quickly eclipsed its literary foundations with: “. . . the phenomenon of ‘Byromania’, the term rst used in 1812 . . . to describe the contemporary rage for Byron and the Byronic.” Frances Wilson, “Introduction: Byron, Byronism and Byromaniacs” in Frances Wilson ed., Byromania: Portraits of the Artist in Nineteenth- and Twentieth-Century Culture (London: Macmillan, 1999), p. 3. 3 Leon Plantinga, “Napoleon of the Piano” The Times Literary Supplement October 14, 2005, p. 3. 4 Nicholas Dames, “Brushes with Fame: Thackeray and the Work of Celebrity” Nineteenth-Century Literature, 56:1, p. 25. 5 Chris Rojek, Celebrity (London: Reaktion: 2001), pp. 9 and 28. Rojek does note the apparent exceptions to the rule in the celebrity of Dante, Michelangelo, and others, but maintains that they were “ . . . always under strong pressures to conform to the established procedures and conventions set by the Court.” (p. 28).

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These studies suggest that economic, social, and cultural conditions had to be met before celebrity could arise distinct from fame and renown. It is the contention of this study that Chen’s celebrity represents such a break from the past, and should be viewed as the emergence of true celebrity in China. In early-seventeenth century Jiangnan, the period of Chen’s rise to renown and celebrity, the conditions that Lodge ascribes to the era of Dickens were already present. This is to say that seventeenth-century China had, to a degree, the socio-economic pre-conditions necessary for ‘celebrity’ to come into being. The printing industry of the late Ming enjoyed a ‘fast and exible means of production’, and historians have noted the development of transportation and communication, especially in Jiangnan during this period.6 We have no records of well-situated women collecting Chen’s old clothing or anything else, but we do know that throughout the empire his books were ‘hidden under pillows’, and that his name was attached to comestibles. The emperor may have never waved from a window, but invitations were sent from the court, and ofcials formed a queue outside Chen’s door, all on account of his fame. To show how novel Chen’s celebrity was in his time, and the socio-cultural changes that accompanied it, let us turn to the traditional cultural mechanisms that contributed to determining fame. For most of the imperial period, fame occupied a crucial position in the world of the Chinese scholar-ofcials. Hubris was unacceptable, but fame could be combined with modesty, and reect glory back onto the wider clan and one’s ancestors. It was one component of a socially cohesive environment that allowed individual ambition to ourish and others to share in it, and as such it almost became a duty for the lial man to achieve. A man’s reputation during his own life could subsequently be immortalised in print, most notably in ofcial records, and bestow upon the subject, and family and clan, a kind of fame. The cultural mythology upon which the early Chinese socio-philosophical theories on the ordering of society are based promoted this use of reputation and fame. An examination of how this cultural feature functioned with respect to the written record will both highlight some features of Chen’s historiographic details, as well as underpinning the analysis of the biographies Chen wrote.

6 See Han Dacheng 韓大成, Mingdai Chengshi yanjiu 明代城市研究 [Research into Ming Dynasty Cities] (Beijing: Zhongguo renmin daxue chubanshe, 1991), pp. 237–271.

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The wedding of a person’s reputation to the societal and familial worlds, and away from the individual’s embodied persona, was famously juxtaposed in the Warring States’ (453 B.C.–221 B.C.) work, the Dao De Jing 道德經 [The Book of the Way and its Power], where it asks: “Your fame or your body, which is dearer to you?”7 Other contemporaneous texts suggested that an individual’s reputation had the power to drive the moral engine of the earliest empires.8 Such ‘reputation’ was not long conned to the ruler alone. Moral qualities were soon a prerequisite for those who aspired to occupy a high position, and they became an integral, publicly-expressed aspiration of the governing class. Onto the use of reputation, as a symbolic political means that could be utilised during one’s own lifetime, was grafted a record for posterity in the histories and annals. This text ‘eternal’ became the record and stood as an exemplar, in place of the living individual, for those whose ambition was strong and who would aspire to a form of non-corporeal immortality. In practice one’s reputation was decided by the governing class, the common people were rarely included in the annals as individual actors with individual reputations, and they certainly were not editing any documents.9 They appeared en masse in text, for example, when the dynasty changed and their presence was required to demonstrate historiographic acclamation for the new ruling house. Fame had both a proximate genesis in the approbation of one’s peers, and a more general manifestation in the histories, gazetteers, and miscellaneous biographical records that enshrined a reputation. Those records were written by scholar-ofcials for scholar-ofcials, they 7 As this passage appears on the Guodian 郭店 bamboo strips this distinction was present before 278 B.C. (the terminus ante quem of the strips). For an incisive and elegant analysis of this passage, with the direct correlation between one’s fame and excelling, see Rudolf G. Wagner, The Craft of a Chinese Commentator: Wang Bi on the Laozi (Albany, NY: State University of New York Press, 2000), p. 82. 8 The Meng Zi 孟子 [Mencius] notes that it was the reputation of the early mythological ruler, Shun 舜, which led to his predecessor, Yao 堯, to recommend him to Heaven. Heaven allowed Shun to rule the empire, and the same process took place when Shun passed the empire on to Yu 禹. See Mencius V.A. 5., and V.A. 6. 9 Phenomena such as the ubiquitous popularity of the dish Dongpo rou 東坡肉 [Su Shi’s Braised Pork Slices], named after its creator, and the gures from the Sanguo yanyi 三國演義 [Romance of the Three Kingdoms] and the Xiyou ji 西遊記 [ Journey to the West] certainly stand as testament to the possibility of enduring fame in the popular imagination, and what can be called the cross-pollination between history, myth, and the common imagination. For more on this see Robert Ruhlmann, “Traditional Heroes in Chinese Popular Fiction” in A.F. Wright ed., The Confucian Persuasion (Stanford: Stanford University Press, 1960), pp. 141–176. However, the numbers of such phenomena are insignicant when weighed even against just the biographies in the standard histories.

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determined how you would be remembered. The records of individuals’ fame and reputation were not limited to one singular genre. In the section of the Ming shi 明史 [History of the Ming] devoted to individual biographies [liezhuan 列傳], there are categories that are delineated by birth or marriage: Consorts, Princes, and Princesses; and categories that are assigned by the editors: Confucians, Writers, and Hermits. Some categories, ‘Flatterers’ [ningxing 佞倖], for example, recall biographical distinctions made as early as the rst-century B.C. Shi ji 史記 [Records of the Historian], while other genres appear and disappear during the course of the historical record; ‘Bandits’ [liuzei 流賊], for example, are a category specic to the History of the Ming. If the historical annals, from dynastic histories through local gazetteers, to singular records on steles or in epitaphs, constitute the halls of elite fame, then we can argue that Chen became known within them for his fame and celebrity. Indeed, the biographies of Chen in the History of the Ming and other biographical records describe Chen in a range of ways, but his celebrity remains a common theme through all of them. During the sixteenth century fame could still be reected upon one’s ancestors through these traditional channels; however the parameters that determined and mediated what fame or celebrity was, as well as the possible individual paths to it, changed during this period; and Chen Jiru is a fascinating and important locus of this change in both social and cultural terms. Chen’s Celebrity The celebrity that emerged in the late Ming was not as pure as the incarnation we know today: “Once one becomes a celebrity, from whatever eld, then one’s membership in that eld is less relevant than one’s status as celebrity . . . a celebrity above all else.”10 This is not entirely true of Chen, whose celebrity remained predicated on his renown as a cultural gure. In the late-Ming world, celebrity could, and had to, accrue from the actions of people who were not part of the group that had traditionally dened fame and overseen the written records. During the late Ming, one new ‘author of fame’ was the expanding book-reading and buying public, a group that was increasingly composed of those

10

Nicholas Dames, “Brushes with Fame”, p. 33.

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who were not scholar-ofcials. It was this group that would contribute strongly to the development of Chen’s celebrity. What type of fame and celebrity was it that Chen came to enjoy? It certainly covered a considerable geographical area. We know that in the late Ming Chen was known far beyond the Jiangnan area, not only throughout the empire, but also on or across the border regions. Mu Zeng 木增 (1587–1646), for instance, an aboriginal leader in Yunnan 雲南 who co-operated with the Ming, asked Chen to write a foreword to a collection of his writings. Chen did so and entrusted it to the famed traveller and diarist, Xu Xiake 徐霞客 (1586–1641), who was setting off on another of his remarkable peregrinations.11 Chen also wrote biographies of subjects who were from outside the Jiangnan area, and with whom he had no personal contact; his reputation was widespread enough for him to be in demand in areas with which he had no direct connection.12 Chen’s celebrity also enjoyed a temporal longevity; while some records note that he was only a celebrity for a time [ yishi 一時], he appears to have enjoyed a long period of literary renown.13 In the 1580s, Chen was already known among his peers for his literary abilities. By the 1600s, with the publication of the volume of the Secret Satchel devoted to his works, his fame had found an audience well beyond the circle of literati (see chapter three). Chen’s works were still being

11 Xu, unfortunately, was robbed while on the road and the foreword was stolen from him. See Chen Jiru, “Da Xu Xiake” 答徐霞客 “Replying to Xu Xiake” in QJ, 56:21a– 23b. Xu may have lost possession of the foreword, titled “Mu Lijiang quanji xu” 木麗 江全集序 “Foreword to the Collected Works of Mu of Lijiang”, but it is well preserved in QJ, 6:22a–24b. It is as much a sketch biography of Mu Zeng as it is an introduction to his work. Chen makes it clear that he heard of Mu Zeng through Dong Qichang 董 其昌 (1555–1636) and another Huating gure, Feng Shike 馮時可 (1547?–?). Feng had been posted for some years to the south-west and enjoyed a reputation as a lover of scenic travel. He often went on excursions to see places and people of interest and may well have met, or at the very least, heard of Mu at that time. Mu was also well known in ofcial circles, especially in the capital, for his successful repression of ‘rebellions’ and for his donations to the state from around 1618. It is quite possible that Dong Qichang would have heard of him there. See Chaoyang Fang and L. Carrington Goodrich, “Mu Tseng” in DMB, pp. 1076–9. 12 See, for example Chen Jiru, “Zhonglie Dasima Jianping Zhang gong zhuan” 忠烈 大司馬見平張公傳 “Biography of the Honourable Zhang, Styled Jianping, the Minister of War, Posthumously Honoured as a Loyal Martyr” in QJ, 39:27a–30b, Zhang was from what is today Shanxi Province. 13 Some records such as Sun Jiasui 孫家遂, Huang Zongxi quanji 黃宗羲全集 [Complete Works of Huang Zongxi] (Hangchou: Zhejiang guji chubanshe, 1985), p. 340, and Guoli Zhongyang tushuguan 國立中央圖書館, Mingren zhuanji ziliao suoyin 明人傳記資料索引 [Index to Materials on Ming Biographies] (Taipei: Guoli Zhongyang tushuguan, 1965), p. 608, both use ‘for a time’. Other records use similar terminology.

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frequently reprinted in the 1630s, giving him nearly half a century of literary fame. His celebrity was still thriving when he was in his seventies: the philosopher Huang Zongxi 黃宗羲 (1610–1695) records having encountered Chen on a painting trip on the West Lake in Hangzhou in 1628, accompanied by a large entourage and admirers and hangers-on.14 Chen’s celebrity was naturally one that reached across class or social boundaries. We know that he was known outside of the world of the elite, to urban workers and, as his name was used to promote the sales of cakes and coverlets, presumably even among those who were illiterate.15 This was a very particular type of celebrity and one that was probably not earlier possible as the renown that underpinned it relied partly on a social desire in the late Ming for certain forms of writing, a desire that developed as part of an expanding commodity market and social deracination. The Environment of Late-Ming Jiangnan The late-Ming environment most relevant to Chen Jiru and his writing is that of the Jiangnan area. He was born, lived, and died there. In contrast to most of his contemporaries, Chen had no reason to go to the imperial capital of Beijing: he neither sat the palace examination [dianshi 殿試], nor served in a central government position. As he never took any ofcial position, he never had cause to go elsewhere in the empire on ofcial matters; and while he frequently went on excursions close to home, and was a friend to and corresponded with the most renowned traveller of his day, Xu Xiake, he never left the Jiangnan region. This area was the locus of an economic and cultural environment that facilitated Chen’s development as a commercially successful writer. I will make some general comments about the Jiangnan world here, detailed comments of particular aspects relevant to Chen, such as the printing industry, or Buddhism, appear in the corresponding sections of the study. First to ‘things’, Timothy Brook has written of the late-Ming economy that:

14 Huang Zongxi, Si jiu lu 思舊錄 [A Record of Considering the Past] 1b, in Lizhou yizhu huikan 梨洲遺著彙刊 [Collection of Neglected Writings of Huang Zongxi ] (Shanghai: Shizhong shuju, 1909). 15 Shen Defu 沈德符, Wanli yehuo bian 萬曆野獲編 [Private Gleanings from the Wanli Reign] (Beijing: Zhonghua shuju, 1997), p. 664.

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In the matter of commodity production and circulation, the Ming marked a turning point in Chinese history, both in the scale at which goods were being produced for the market, and in the nature of the economic relations that governed commercial exchange.16

Each element of this quotation is directly relevant to Chen and his works. Books were a repository of various kinds of knowledge, and entertainment, they were in high demand and were printed in large numbers.17 They were also readily available for purchase, for the Jiangnan area was the centre of a thriving publishing industry.18 Jiangnan was the hub of Ming commerce, and Fu Yiling 傅衣凌 (1911–1988), the economic and social historian, began his explanation of why the Jiangnan area was so well developed by the late-Ming period, by quoting the Ming essayist, Gui Youguang 歸有光 (1507–1571): “The land in Jiangnan is fertile. There are numerous rice elds, the abundance of the sea, rivers, dams and lakes . . .” But, as Fu suggests, it was not just the natural condition of abundance producing a surplus that ensured development, there had to be individuals with the wherewithal to take advantage of these conditions. Fu credits the genesis of the development of Jiangnan to the southern shift of the Song dynasty in the twelfth century which set in motion a process of concentrating wealth which neither the Yuan dynasty (1280–1367), nor the two forced relocations of wealthy households out of the area in the early Ming, could disrupt.19 Further to that, the Jiangnan region recovered well from the world-wide

16

T. Brook, “Communications and Commerce” in CHC8, p. 580. Chow Kai-wing notes that: “In addition to the great demand for books published for the civil service examinations, publishers and printers produced books such as mountain gazetteers, almanacs, encyclopedias, morality books, and medical manuals . . . guides for writing letters, performing rituals, . . . guiding travellers, merchants, connoisseurs, and even for identifying methods of cheating commonly used by dishonest merchants and rogues.” Chow Kai-wing, “Writing for Success: Printing, Examinations, and Intellectual Change in Late Ming China” Late Imperial China 17:1, p. 123. 18 Though Dorothy Ko has suggested that from the limited amount of information on wages and book prices available that “. . . paying one ounce [of silver] for a book was a considerable expense, but not a prohibitive one, for a family of some means. It was, however, still out of reach for a lower-class family.” D. Ko, Teachers of the Inner Chambers: Women and Culture in Seventeenth-Century China (Stanford: Stanford University Press, 1994), p. 37. True as that may be, Chow Kai-wing’s compilation of prices paid for books that appeared in a notable late-Ming collection indicate that good books could be had for a tenth of that price. Chow Kai-wing, Publishing, Culture, and Power in Early Modern China, p. 255. 19 Fu Yiling, Mingdai Jiangnan shimin jingji shitan 明代江南市民經濟試探 [A Provisional Examination of the Urban Economy of the Jiangnan Area during the Ming Dynasty] (Shanghai: Shanghai renmin chubanshe, 1963), pp. 24–5. 17

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mid-fteenth century depression, the early re-legalisation of silver for land purchases and tax payments was in place, silver was once again produced domestically in volume and later imported, international trade resumed, and the Jiangnan area was pre-eminent in specialising in textiles and luxury items, leading to developments in transport infrastructure.20 The historian Martin Heijdra produced a map of the empire-wide market during the late Ming. The map includes cotton, cotton cloth, rice and other foodstuffs, and silk. From this it is clear that the Jiangnan area was the largest focal point of commercial transactions at the time. Indeed, an article on rural credit in the area includes the point that even farmers there could make a monetary prot over the year (and were better off than farmers elsewhere in China).21 Heijdra describes the Jiangnan area of the late Ming as being: . . . the most economically advanced region of China. Rice productivity was highest there, and rice was part of the produce marketed. Cash transactions were more frequent, and the urban population was more numerous, resulting in a higher demand for food crops and other products. More artisans producing more non-agricultural goods worked there.22

Supplementing the internal economic dominance of the Jiangnan area was the rise of overseas trade particularly from the latter half of the sixteenth century.23 The increasing introduction of New World silver from the 1570s, and the trend, especially in Jiangnan, toward replacing ‘in kind’ transactions with cash, also produced a market receptive to the exchange of economic capital for products, such as books, that brought

20 See William S. Atwell, “Time, Money, and the Weather: Ming China and the ‘Great Depression’ of the Mid-Fifteenth Century” The Journal of Asian Studies 61:1, pp. 98–103; William Atwell “The T’ai-ch’ang, T’ien-ch’i, and Ch’ung-chen reigns, 1620– 1644” in CHC7, pp. 587–90; and Richard von Glahn, Fountain of Fortune: Money and Monetary Policy in China 1000–1700 (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1996), chs. 3 and 4. 21 Pan Ming-te, “Rural Credit in Ming-Qing Jiangnan and the Concept of Peasant Petty Commodity Production” The Journal of Asian Studies 55:1, pp. 94–117. 22 M. Heijdra, “The Socio-Economic Development of Rural China during the Ming” in CHC8, pp. 536–7. Note also the following summary: “. . . the machine making industry . . . can be inferred from accounts that mention that Suzhou and Lu’an prefecture in Shanxi each had several thousand to ten thousand looms, costing 5 to 25 taels of silver apiece. On the output side, many secondary industries sprang up to process the products of these industries into specialised commodities . . . In western Songjiang in Nanzhili, the cotton hub, a hundred shops sold summer-weight socks manufactured by residents . . .” James Tong, Disorder under Heaven: Collective Violence in the Ming Dynasty (Stanford: Stanford University Press, 1991), p. 143. 23 Han Dacheng, Research into Ming Dynasty Cities, p. 158.

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their purchasers social or cultural benets. It is, I believe, co-incidental that Chen manages to give up tutoring and make a living entirely from his brush just before the beginning of the greatest silver inux in the 1610s. Nonetheless, this abundance of silver certainly did nothing to hamper Chen’s publishing activities. A signicantly monetized economy, if it were to have played any role in Chen’s decision to publish the larger collections that he did later in life, would have supported rather than inhibited that process. I make no claim that the silver and cash available played a direct role in the development of Chen’s literary career; but it did provide a ready form of currency in which the purchasing of goods such as books was facilitated: anyone with money could begin to imitate the cultural proclivities of the gentry, and one such proclivity was books. It was a habit of the gentry class, who, in concert with the state, monopolised the surplus of wealth from agricultural production in Jiangnan, and expended it: “. . . in economically unproductive ways—not as investment in agriculture or manufacture, but as luxury consumption, ceremonial expenditures, and the like.”24 Chen’s published material counts as a form of luxury consumption. When we match an increasingly monetized economy with a cash surplus, with a cultural tendency to consume knowledge in book form, it is clear that there was a market in Jiangnan for what Chen was producing. One caveat: this phenomenon was not equally spread through the Jiangnan region: During the sixteenth century, the locus of economic and social power in Jiangnan steadily gravitated toward the cities. Absentee landlordism, the emigration of patrician families to towns and cities, and the increasing control that merchant capital exercised over land contributed to the political as well as the economic domination of the cities over the countryside.25

Chen spent much of his life around the main urban areas in Jiangnan where, running parallel to that economic wealth, there was an urban concentration of cultural activity. This cultural activity, like the economy, owed some of its richness to the Southern Song (1127–1279) and the Yuan dynasties. When the Song moved south in the twelfth century many leading cultural gures relocated with it. The Yuan established

24 Daniel Little, Understanding Peasant China: Case Studies in the Philosophy of Social Science (New Haven: Yale University Press, 1989), p. 126. Little is summarising an argument by Victor Lippitt on the elite consumption of economic surplus. 25 Richard von Glahn “Municipal Reform and Urban Social Conict in Late Ming Jiangnan” The Journal of Asian Studies, 50:2, p. 301.

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their capital in the north, but many of the wealthy and talented Chinese scholar-ofcials pursued cultural activities in the south. The relocation of the dynastic capital from Nanjing to Beijing, by the third Ming emperor (Yongle 永樂 r. 1403–1424) early in the fteenth century, only served over time to highlight the cultural pre-eminence of the Jiangnan area. By the late Ming, the wealth of cultural activity in Jiangnan was astounding. A large range of recreational activities was available, and they were concentrated in the urban areas. The Ming historian, Xia Xianchun, mentions theatres, booksellers, tea and wine houses, and courtesan houses. In addition to Nanjing, Xia describes Suzhou 蘇州 and Hangzhou, two of the other major urban centres of Jiangnan, as sharing a similar urban environment.26 The same cultural loading is apparent in the debates surrounding literature and painting. Those cultural debates took place in Jiangnan, and were mostly engaged in by those with an attachment to the region. This can be seen in the composition of the two groups that dominated the literary scene from the beginning of sixteenth century, the essayists known as the Earlier Seven Masters and the Later Seven Masters. The former included a number of northerners, but the latter were mostly from the Jiangnan area. The ve central members of the Gongan 公安派 and Jingling 景陵派 schools of literature, the most prominent during the late Ming, were all from Jiangnan. Despite spending some early years in Beijing, the foremost Ming dynasty philosopher, Wang Yangming 王陽明 (1472–1529), was originally from, developed his philosophy in exile in, and then mostly worked in the south. The same can be said for his most noted disciple, Wang Gen 王艮 (1483–1541). This concentration of economic and cultural forces made Jiangnan an exceptional area, with possibilities not open to other areas of the Ming empire. As noted, it is not an aim of this study to make any comparison between the Jiangnan culture of the late Ming and any part of the non-Chinese world.27 Nevertheless, one comment made with

Xia Xianchun 夏咸淳, Wan-Ming shifeng yu wenxue 晚明士風與文學 [Late-Ming Literati and Literature] (Beijing: Zhongguo shehui kexue, 1994), p. 13. 27 China was of course attached to the outside world through trade, and one economic historian has even suggested that: “. . . the severe depression of the Atlantic economy in the middle decades of the seventeenth century, compounded by disruptions of the ow of silver from Japan and the Philippines starting in the late 1630s, was a proximate, if not the principal, cause of the collapse of the Ming in the 1640s.” Richard von Glahn, Fountain of Fortune, p. 5. There were of course many domestic reasons for the 26

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respect to the social anxiety of the ‘aristocracy’ in France and England of a similar period is so apposite to some of the issues involved here that it is well worth quoting. Writing on the increasing difculty members of the nobility had in distinguishing themselves from those who now had money by nancial means alone, one historian wrote of the nobility that: They held one advantage, however, which was impregnable: unlike the parvenus, they were already in possession of the territory, and had been for some time. And this is where “good taste” and manners come in: taste (that great culinary metaphor) implies experience, direct acquaintance and familiarity with what is desirable—whether this be food or pictures or music or clothes.28

To which we could add, to supplement the specic late-Ming context, a long list of desirable activities and bodies of knowledge such as: how to hang scrolls, how to view them, how to drink tea, and how to talk to monks in the hills. In addition to the ‘parvenus’ staking their claim of entry to the world of the cultural elite, the economic development that enabled them to do so also drove a self-reassessment within the cultural elite. The reassessment clearly involved the reverse process in which, for example, scholar-ofcials took up merchant activities, and in chapter ve I discuss biographies Chen wrote of gures from the scholar-ofcial class who became merchants. This process also involved stark changes in the cultural habits of the literati, from the new ‘vulgar’ activities that they participated in, such as dramatic troupes, to the forms of literature they adopted.29 The form of literature that best represents this phenomenon

decline of the Ming and my purpose in quoting von Glahn is to underscore the direct economic relationship between the Ming and the outside world. The impossibility of positing a comparable argument for the cultural or social worlds gives an indication of how divorced the Ming empire truly was from the rest of the world. 28 M. Visser, The Rituals of Dinner (Harmondsworth: Penguin, 1992), p. 71. 29 In his recent study of Ming drama Grant Shen concluded: “By the mid-Ming, gifted literati like Kang Hai and Wang Jiusi, among others, started serious efforts to learn musical instruments (usually the lute) and singing. This was unthinkable in the early Ming when attempting the performing arts was a criminal offence, except for those who were assigned by the government ‘Household Registration System’ to perform.” Grant Guangren Shen, Elite Theatre in Ming China, 1368–1644 (London and New York: Routledge, 2005), p. 29. By the late Ming, however, taking part in dramatic troupes had become a popular activity for the literati. Zhang Dai 張岱 (1597–1679), for example, was the third generation in his family to cultivate this activity, and he trained the actors in his troupe himself. Other famous gures to take on roles in dramatic performances

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is known as xiaopinwen 小品文, and I will discuss it at length in chapter six. The blurring of strict social distinction reects both the immediate environment in which economic prosperity enabled social advancement, but it also reects a much longer process of social readjustment that perhaps we can trace to the decline of the great northern families during the Tang (618–907). This decline was partly caused by the new emphasis on examination by merit and then, post-Song, the legal right of those from artisan and merchant families to sit the imperial exams. This social change was mirrored seventeenth-century thought, and Yu Ying-shih’s comments on the two main explanations advanced for the developments in seventeenth-century Chinese thought are apt: One is the internal interpretation which sees these developments as germinating from the inner growth of the Sung-Ming Neo-Confucian tradition. Another is the environmental interpretation which takes them as responses to external changes in late Ming and early Ch’ing society . . . [and they] are by no means mutually exclusive.30

The social change can be viscerally appreciated with specic reference to the imperial examinations. Ho Ping-ti’s study of the family backgrounds of the Presented Scholars [ jinshi 進士] in late-Imperial China lists: “. . . hunters, three categories of horse-breeders, boatmen in government postal and transportation services, textile workers, private astrologers,” and so on.31 From this short summary it is clear that Chen grew up in the economic and cultural centre of the empire, and that this world determined many of the possibilities of his literary activities. As mentioned above, the relationship between Chen’s works and the commercial world is usually paid but passing attention in literary assessments. One place where there are pointers to Chen’s activities as a literary gure, with certain economic relations to those who commissioned and bought his work, is Chen’s biography in the History of the Ming. To supplement that record, Fang Chao-ying’s biography of Chen in the Eminent Chinese of the Ch’ing Period suggests how he managed to become such a popular writer. I will

included Li Kaixian 李開先 (1502–1568), He Liangjun 何良俊 (1506–1573), and Fan Yunlin 范允臨 (1558–1641). See Xia Xianchun, “Wan Ming wenshi yu shimin jieceng” “Late-Ming Literati and the Urban Population” in Wenxue yichan 1994:2, p. 88. 30 Yu Ying-shih, “Toward an Interpretation of the Intellectual Transition in Seventeenth-Century China” Journal of the American Oriental Society, vol. 11:2, p. 116. 31 Ho Ping-ti, “Aspects of Social Mobility in China, 1368–1911” Comparative Studies in Society and History, vol. 1:4, p. 338.

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quote a passage from each biography as a way of introducing some of the issues that will be taken up in this book. Biographies of Chen The following is an excerpt from the biography of Chen that appears in the History of the Ming: Some have criticised the selecting of triing words and common affairs that he annotated and collected into books. From far away and near people vied with each other to purchase his writings. Not a single day passed without his being requested for some writing, be it a poem or some other piece.32

The “selecting of triing words and records of common affairs” being “annotated and collected into books”, collectanea or anthologies, was a well-established literary habit by the late Ming. The collections that Chen compiled were directly descended from early collections of anecdotes such as the fth century Shishuo xinyu 世說新語 [New Account of Tales of the World], and the sixth century Yin Yun xiaoshuo 殷芸小說 [Yin Yun’s Anecdota]. Chen assembled some of his own anthologies from earlier compilations, making them second or even third generation works. Books with short entries that imparted a type of guidance or knowledge, played a central role in the development of Chen’s image at the time, and reinforce it to this day. The biography continues: “. . . from far away and near people vied with each other to purchase his writings”. This comment could be interpreted either as praise or as a condemnation. Was it written to exalt Chen’s writing, or to be dismissive of those who wanted to read his books, with the suggestion that his books were not worth reading? I will examine Chen’s posthumous reputation in the latter chapters, here I note that the biography informs the reader that works attributed to Chen were popular, indeed very popular. We know from other contemporary sources that Chen’s books were in demand as Chen’s younger townsman, Chen Zilong 陳子龍 (1608–1647), once commented that everyone in the world read Chen.33 The History of the Ming biography also notes that Chen’s books were freely available, and suggests that supply sometimes did not keep 32

MS, p. 7631. Chen Zilong, “Shou Chen Meigong xiansheng bamao xu” 壽陳眉公先生八耄序 “Foreword to Birthday Greetings for Chen Meigong’s Eightieth Birthday” in Anyatang ji 安雅堂集 [Collection of the Peaceful and Elegant Hall ] Ming ed., 6:11b–13b. 33

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pace with demand. The biography also implies that there was a demand for a type of literature that Chen was able to provide, that of ‘triing words’ and ‘common affairs’. The biography then engages with the nebulous world of non-monetary transactions: “Not a single day passed without his being requested for some writing, be it a poem or some other piece.” Some of Chen’s writings (biographies, for example) were clearly done for nancial remuneration. Evidence suggests that Chen Jiru did write many prefaces for publishers who offered him the right “price of letter”. By his own account, he was a professional writer who lived entirely on remuneration for his literary services.34

How was this possible? The growth of a semi-industrialised urban society produced enough wealth, temporal, spatial, and nancial, for many inhabitants to give over nancial resources to activities not strictly related to the primary needs of survival. This enabled people who were not within the traditional elite to attempt an imitation of the behaviours appropriate to those who enjoyed both the incumbent monopoly on taste and the attendant attitudes and goods. Chen contributed to this in two ways: he wrote books for general consumption, and he produced specic pieces on commission. These two distinct literary activities were inextricably connected to his lifestyle, and the Eminent Chinese of the Ch’ing Period biography of Chen states that he was: Living the life of the literary man who has ostensibly retreated from public life, [and that] he utilized that situation to advance his own fame and fortune.35

Chen’s fame as a recluse, a man detached from politics, has persisted down to the present day, and it has given rise to an extraordinary array of comments about his style of reclusion and exactly what it meant. Few of those who have written about Chen in the past four hundred years have managed to approach him without basing their appreciation in some way on his ‘reclusion’, no matter how it is understood (see especially chapters two and seven). This study it has been strongly inuenced by a number of works on late-Ming culture, and the social and economic conditions that accompanied it. These works have provided a means for me to think beyond

34 35

Chow Kai-wing, Publishing, Culture, and Power in Early Modern China, p. 103. Fang Chao-ying, “Chen Jiru” in ECCP, p. 84.

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the constricted parameters that traditional historiography has allowed Chen Jiru. They are James Cahill’s The Painter’s Practice, with its emphasis on reintegrating the nancial considerations of some seventeenth century painters with their lives and work practices, Craig Clunas’ Superuous Things, with its sensitivity to the increasingly porous class boundaries, and attention to the consumer culture of the same period, and Timothy Brook’s Confusions of Pleasure, with its exploration of the relationship between a Ming historian, Zhang Dao (. 1607), and his view of the course the Ming dynasty took from its beginnings through to the time he was writing in the early 1600s. Although not printed until this study was quite complete, Chow Kai-wing’s masterly view of the late-Ming world as seen through the prism of the publishing industry, Publishing, Culture, and Power in Early Modern China, has conrmed many of my own conclusions and forced me to re-think others. Finally, the collection of monographs in the recently published Printing and Book Culture in Late Imperial China has also allowed me to better place Chen Jiru in the world of his choosing. I have not been able to replicate the depth of those works, though I hope that some of the material I present will make a modest contribution to the innovative work that they have essayed.

CHAPTER ONE

THE WORLD THAT WAS NOT COMES TO PASS Chen was born in Songjiang, in the Lower Yangtse Valley, in 1558, in a period when the area was undergoing a hitherto unseen expansion in urbanisation and prosperity.1 He was born into a family that was reasonably well placed: his mother was a secondary wife and Chen had no childhood duties other than to be educated, indicating a wealth of time if not necessarily nances. The family was apparently lacking in illustrious ancestors and ofcials; the lack of a historical record on either side of Chen suggests that the family came from obscurity and, after Chen, returned there. Although no one from Chen’s family appears in sufcient detail in the records that remain to allow us to gauge with any certainty their inuence on him, or on the development of his personae, they do provide some information about his early environment. Family and the Early Years Chen’s father appears in a handful of essays that often spend as much time lauding his son as they do him.2 In a celebratory piece written to

1 The prefecture of Songjiang was in the vanguard of the process of urbanisation. The degree of change was both commented on and lamented by a prominent local gure, He Liangjun. His description captures the sense of unease and foreboding such changes bring in their wake: “Up until the Zhengde [1506–1521] era, ten percent of the population worked in government ofces and ninety per cent worked in the elds. The four classes of people each had their own xed occupations, and the commoners were contented with farming and did not have any other ambitions.” Quoted in T. Brook, The Confusions of Pleasure—Commerce and Culture in Ming China (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1998), p. 145. Brook goes on to paraphrase He Liangjun, noting that in that period 60 percent to 70 percent of the local farmers abandoned the land for other activities. 2 This is a common device in biographies or other works where the exceptional quality of the subject is portrayed through their relationship with someone else. This is a biographical technique well utilised by Chen himself, often when there does not appear to be much information on the subject. See, for instance, Chen Jiru, “Feng Jishizhong Dachun Yu gong jipei zeng Wu Yiren hezhuan” 封給事中大椿虞公暨配 贈吳宜人合傳 “A Composite Biography of Yu Dachun from the Censorate and his wife, the Lady Wu” in QJ, 45:4a–6a. In this biography, collected in a chapter devoted to biographies of women, which suggests that it was commissioned as a biography of

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commemorate his eightieth birthday, one writer described Chen senior as: “A gentleman whose virtuous conduct remains hidden”, a polite way of not being able to say anything substantive.3 Another essay while giving no indication of how Chen senior made ends meet, nonetheless recorded his disdain for fame and wealth. It also noted his admiration for Confucius, Lao Zi, and the Buddha, and went on to say that he was happy to live in poverty, and had been a talented youth.4 These are standard compliments and, as Chen’s father’s ‘success’ in life is not later noted, we can surmise that his worth and talent remained unused. Glimpses of the father’s personality do occasionally break through this patina of a modest existence, and when they do it is possible to gain a sense of the inuence he may have had on Chen. One record has it that when Chen decided against following an ofcial career, and informed his father of this decision, the latter literally replied: “If you have chicken bones in your mouth and feel like spitting them out, then do so . . . beginning today I feel as though I have a son.”5 This was exceptional support for the son most likely to pass the imperial examinations, gain a government position, and provide the family and clan with wealth and prestige. In his turn, Chen is recorded as being just as fond of his father. The Chronological Biography of Chen that appears in the Collected Works records this,6 as does another record that reads: “When the father was in his cups the son supported him, when the son sang the father whistled along.”7 Chen senior died in 1602, when Chen was in his mid-forties.8

Lady Wu, it is not until the last of ve pages that any real information is given about her. The rst four pages are wholly devoted to the husband. In those pages the wife appears twice, once to get married, and once to die. 3 Shen Maoxiao 沈懋孝, “Chen chushi shouxu” 陳處士壽序 “Introduction to Birthday Greetings for Chen, the Disengaged Scholar” in Shen Sizheng ji 沈司成集 [Collected Works of Shen Maoxiao], Ming ed, 20a. 4 Wang Heng 王衡, “Zeng Chen Lianshi xiansheng ge” 贈陳濂石先生歌 “Songs Presented to Mr. Chen Lianshi” in Wang Goushan xiansheng ji 王緱山先生集 [Collected Works of Wang Heng] (Taipei: Wenhai chubanshe, 1970), 4:28b–29a. 5 Wang Heng, “Shou Chen Lianshi xiansheng xu” 壽陳廉石先生序 “Foreword to Birthday Greetings for Mr. Chen Lianshi” in Collected Works of Wang Heng, 8:14a. ‘Chicken bones’ indicated Chen’s professional writing. Chen senior’s admiration for his son is also duly recorded in Wang Xijue 王錫爵, “Ji Chen Lianshi wen” 祭陳廉 石文 “Dedication for Chen Lianshi” in Wang Wensu Gong wenji 王文肅公文集 [Collected Works of Wang Xijue], Ming ed, 12:18a. 6 NP, 14a. 7 Wang Heng, “Foreword to Birthday Greetings for Mr. Chen Lianshi” in Collected Works of Wang Heng, 8:15a. 8 NP, 13b.

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3

However humble the father’s unrecorded position he had at least two wives, and Chen’s mother was the second wife. If little is known of the father and the role he may have played in Chen’s development, then even less is known of his mother. Chen senior married her apparently because his rst wife had not produced any heirs.9 Chen’s mother fullled her role in this respect at least twice for, in addition to Chen, she gave birth to his younger brother, Jinru 縉儒.10 Chen also had an elder brother, Shaoru 紹儒, adopted from a family friend when Chen’s father was having difculty producing a son with the rst wife.11 If there were any sisters, records of their existence do not survive. Although the Chronological Biography mentions that Chen remained close to his brothers throughout his life, he does not mention them to any meaningful degree in his writing. Whatever inuence they may have had on him remains unknown. In 1572, at the age of fourteen, Chen was betrothed to the daughter of a neighbour, Wei Yizhu 衛怡竹, and the marriage took place in 1579.12 Ten years after that, and seven years before Chen’s mother died, Chen’s wife took over the running of the household.13 Chen’s wife died in 1623 at the age of 64. The Chronological Biography notes that Chen never took a concubine, and that he and his wife regarded each other with mutual respect throughout their lives.14 Respected she may have been, yet like Chen’s mother she is insubstantial. Chen was married for nearly fty years but did not write much of length about her. Information about their relations comes from Chen’s friend, Dong Qichang 董其昌 (1555–1636), who wrote an essay of congratulations for 9

Ibid., 2b–3a. Chen Jinru was born four years after Chen, in 1562. He became a Government Student at the prefectural level. See NP, 1b. The term used here for Government Student is fu xiangsheng 府庠生. There were different classications of students during the late Ming. A comprehensive treatment of the nomenclature, social status, and responsibilities for students is given in Chang Chung-li, The Chinese Gentry (Seattle: University of Washington Press, 1955). Although Chang’s study focuses on the Qing, many terms, and the position indicated within the education system, were little changed from the Ming and I have used Chang to supplement Hucker where appropriate. 11 NP, 2b–3a. The character shao 紹 was used in Shaoru’s name because it was his original surname. A technically illegal but not uncommon practice during the Ming, see Ann Waltner, “The Loyalty of Adopted Sons in Ming and Early Qing China” Modern China vol. 10:4, p. 454. The Chronological Biography passage goes on to state that when Shaoru died he was buried beside the Chen family ancestral tombs. Shaoru became an Added Student [zengsheng 增生]. 12 NP, 5a. 13 Ibid., 8b. 14 Ibid., 27a–28a. 10

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her sixtieth birthday. Dong noted that Chen treated his wife as well as he would treat a guest (this was meant as a compliment), and then lets slip that when Chen moved to his property at Mount Dongshe 東佘山 around 1610, his wife stayed behind in the city and they rarely saw each other. Dong also praised her fortitude and simplicity, but one gets the feeling from reading the entire essay that she did whatever Chen told her to without complaint.15 A marriage without any recorded passion, perhaps, but also apparently one without any dramatic recriminations or accusations. Education Chen began his education at home and was a studious enough child to attract the attention of his future father-in-law. Wei Yizhu often passed by Chen’s house and was impressed at invariably hearing Chen reciting his lessons. So much so that in addition to giving his daughter in marriage, he sent his own son over to study with Chen.16 The records of Chen’s progress in his studies follow the formula commonly used to describe those who are born to be educated: “At the age of four he studied characters . . . At ve years of age he received instruction on his father’s knees, and could recite what he was taught . . . At the age of six his teacher [a family member] frequently praised him, calling him a “colt that sweats blood”; that is to say that he was an exceptional student.”17 Chen soon proved to be worthy of more than the ministrations of the family teacher, and with the family apparently wealthy enough, he was sent to a professional teacher. Chen had two teachers outside of his family in his youth, and they both had a considerable inuence on his development. At the age of

15 Dong Qichang, “Shou Chen zhengjun yuanpei Wei ruren liushi xu” 壽陳徵君元 配衛孺人六十敘 “Foreword to Birthday Celebrations for the Sixtieth Birthday of the Child Nurturess Wei, the Wife of Chen, the Summoned Gentleman” in Rongtai wenji 容臺文集 [Literary Collection from the Ministry of Rites], 2:55a–57a. 16 NP, 3a. 17 Ibid., 1b–2a. At the age of six Chen was given his style of Zhongchun 仲醇. Zhong here means ‘middle’ or ‘second’. This has occasionally been the cause of some confusion. The Qi Zhen yesheng 啟禎野乘 [Unofcial Annals of the Final Two Reign Periods of the Ming], by Zou I 鄒漪, published in 1644—almost contemporaneous with the Chronological Biography, records Chen’s style with the homophone ‘important’ [zhong 重]. Some other records follow this usage. The Unofcial Annals of the Final Two Reign Periods of the Ming is an important document as it is the earliest biographical record of Chen after the one in the Collected Works, in this instance however it is wrong.

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eight Chen went to study under his rst teacher, Zhou Yunting 周雲汀. Chen later wrote, recalling Zhou, that: In front of his window there was a small patch of ground, to one side there was a trellis for growing beans which one could sit under and escape the heat . . . Zhou would sit there and intone poetry, the sound of which could often be heard beyond the fence. He introduced me, when I was young, to the Lanting Stele, ancient writings, and the poetry of the Seven Masters . . . he instilled in me a love of the classics.18

In this recollection Chen depicted Zhou as an educated man of leisure, living a simple life. If this were a true recollection, then Zhou’s inuence on Chen’s later attitudes to holding government ofce may have been considerable (see below). Zhou not only introduced Chen to the world of the past, but also the world of the present in the form of gures locally famed for classical scholarship.19 When Zhou arrived in Huating he had became good friends with Mo Ruzhong 莫如忠 (1508–1588), and it was possibly through Zhou that Chen came to know this family. Mo Ruzhong was the father of Mo Shilong 莫是龍 (1552–1587), the famous aesthete, who became Chen’s friend.20 The Mo family had a 18 Chen Jiru, “Shu Zhou shi” 書周師 “Letter to Teacher Zhou” in BSQ, pp. 352–3. The same work recalls Chen’s fondness for this early teacher in the party he threw for him when he (Chen) passed the juvenile examination. Thirty years after nishing his teacher’s lessons Chen came across a painting that had been presented by a certain Zhou Shaogu 周少谷 to his former teacher. Chen had the painting properly mounted and then hung it in his hall and poured libations to it. NP, 2b. 19 Chen Jiru, “Shou Lu Bosheng xiansheng liushi xu” 壽陸伯生先生六十序 “Foreword to Birthday Greetings for Mr. Lu Bosheng” in QJ, 16:27a–28b. Zhou also introduced Chen to other colourful gures such as the ‘semi-sequestered’ scion of a well-lettered family who rode around on a donkey for fteen years, being too ill to walk unaided. Despite his apparent inrmity, this Old Man of Yanzhou [Yanzhou weng 雁洲 翁], as Chen refers to him, managed a vigorous fraternisation with the local gentry. Years later Chen recorded this when he wrote an acclamatory composition for the Old Man’s seventieth birthday. Chen Jiru, “Shou Sun Taigong qishi shou” 壽孫太公 七十敘 “Foreword to Birthday Greetings for Sun Taigong’s Seventieth Birthday” in WXT, 15:33a–34a. 20 Mo Shilong was the central gure a new form of art criticism that arose in the late-sixteenth century and is generally credited with the development of an artistic theory that separated painting into the northern and southern schools. Chen and Dong Qichang also wrote similar essays. The question of primacy is one that has caused some controversy, but most critics agree that Mo’s work came rst. Mo died in 1587 and an entry in Chen’s book Yanbao tanyu 偃曝談餘 [More Talks with Our Backs to the Sun], which is where he published his own theory (2:19b), is dated 1594. So we know that Chen’s work was published after Mo’s, although it could conceivably have been written earlier. While there is no irrefutable proof that the theories of the northern and southern schools came from Mo, and not Dong, a colophon that Chen added to a painting by Mo, dated 1581, is certainly suggestive of Mo’s technical pre-eminence

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substantial history of accomplishments in the arts over several generations and were at the summit of the cultural circles of Jiangnan.21 It was also to their household that Dong Qichang moved, shortly after his arrival from Shanghai, to study. Under Zhou’s guidance Chen became conversant with the Shi jing 詩經 [Book of Songs] by the age of nine and, most importantly, began studying for the examinations three years later. By thirteen he was familiar with what was considered the wider canon—the works of the philosophers and the histories. One small point worthy of note here concerns a visit to the house of a military ofcial when Chen was fourteen.22 Chen borrowed the Zhanguo ce 戰國策 [Stratagems of the Warring States], copied out some passages and secreted them away.23 As this book was not traditionally given to children, its inclusion in the Chronological Biography is indicative of the way that the editors wanted to present Chen: primarily as someone with a strong individual character. However, there is another side to this anecdote. The Stratagems of the Warring States was clearly anathema to the Song Neo-Confucians, and that it is referenced so prominently in Chen’s early years in his biography I take it as a clear sign that Chen’s editors wanted him portrayed as antipathetic to many of the strictures of the Neo-Confucians. In 1573 Chen had nished studying under Zhou and was sent to the north of Huating to study with his second teacher, He Sanwei 何三畏 (1550–1624). It is during this period, as He’s student, that Chen’s life begins to be enmeshed in other recorded histories. He Sanwei, though himself only eight years older than Chen, was already a well-known literatus. A native of Huating, he had been

among them. The colophon begins: “Mo Tinghan’s [ Mo Shilong] calligraphy and painting brought about a revival [of those arts] in our district. Xuanzai [Dong Qichang] was one of those who followed him.” See W.K. Ho ed., The Century of Tung Ch’i-ch’ang (Kansas City, Mo.: Nelson-Atkins Museum of Art; Seattle: University of Washington Press, c1992), vol. 2, p. 94. 21 L. Carrington Goodrich, “Mo Shih-lung”, in DMB, p. 1073. 22 ‘Regional Commander’ is the translation Hucker gives for zongrong 總戎. However he records it only for the Qing dynasty. He denes the position as being: “. . . in general charge of martial matters” Charles O. Hucker, A Dictionary of Ofcial Titles in Imperial China (Stanford: Stanford University Press, 1985), p. 531, and says that it is an unofcial reference to a Ming ofce which he characterises as “. . . an indenite-tenure duty assignment . . . during most of the dynasty for somewhat less eminent military ofcers . . .” (p. 533) While the position was subordinate to many civil and military authorities, it was yet a position of some local importance. How Chen initially gained entrance to this ofcial’s house is unrecorded. 23 NP, 3a–b.

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7

taught by their fellow townsman, the former grand secretary, Xu Jie 徐階 (1503–1583).24 After successfully sitting the provincial examination [xiangshi 鄉試] he was appointed to a position in Shaoxing 紹興 Prefecture. But it was not to his liking; He Sanwei soon abandoned his ofcial career and, after his mother’s death, swore that he would not engage with the world again. He spent most of his time with friends, indulging in alcohol and poetry, in his Sesame Garden [zhiyuan 芝園].25 Even if apocryphal, this was a style of living that Chen would sometimes emulate in his depiction of himself and praise in others.26 What He Sanwei taught Chen has not been recorded, but as Chen later sat the imperial examinations, it must have included works prescribed for them. He Sanwei knew many of the families that Chen later became close to, and may have also provided Chen with introductions to many of the elite gures in the area such as Wang Shizhen 王世貞 (1526–1590).27 The two became friends, and Chen stayed in touch with him throughout his life.28 24 Chen Jiru, “Shou Sheng Wenghe laoshi qishi xu” 壽繩翁何老師七十序 “Foreword to Birthday Greetings for Teacher Sheng Wenghe’s Seventieth Birthday” in QJ, 17:11a–13b. 25 Songjiangfu zhi 松江府志 [Songjiang Prefectural Gazetteer], 54:19b–20a. Chen would later show respect for this teacher of his youth by contributing to publications of He Sanwei’s writing. Chen wrote a foreword to and annotated the six-chapter compilation of poetry called Yongwu shi 詠物詩 [Humming over Matters], published either in 1597 or soon after. Chen also proofread another work of He Sanwei’s, rst published in 1608, titled Shuliuzhai quanji 漱六齋全集 [Collected Works from the Studio Cleansed by the Six Arts]. For an account of He Sanwei retiring from ofce see his biography in the Qingpuxian zhi 青浦縣志 [Qingpu District Gazetteer], 19:14a–b. This biography also notes that Dong Qichang thought highly of He Sanwei and, although noting that his retirement preceded the death of his wife and his mother, Dong suggested that their deaths may have strengthened He Sanwei’s resolve to remain out of ofce. 26 See Chen’s legendary tale of debauchery and poetry among the owers in Chen Jiru, “You taohua ji” 游桃花記 “Record of Wandering among the Peach Blossoms” in WXT, 19:28a–29b. 27 He Sanwei wrote biographies of two gures Chen was close to at different times. In these two biographies the frequent reference to gures such as Wang Shizhen, Xu Jie, and Tu Long 屠隆 (1542–1605) indicates an intimacy with the Songjiang circle. (See separate entries on these gures below.) See He Sanwei, “Xu Taixue Zefu zhuan” 徐太 學澤夫傳 “Biography of Xu Zefu, Student”, and “Xu Taixue Mengru gong zhuan” 徐 太學孟孺公傳 “Biography of Xu Mengru, Student” in He Sanwei, Yunjian zhi lüe 雲間 志略 [Outline Gazetteer of Yunjian], Ming ed, 23:1a–2a, and 22:33a–34b, respectively. 28 Many years later Chen composed an essay celebrating his erstwhile teacher’s seventieth birthday. By convention a laudatory piece, it is steeped with examples of He Sanwei’s bonhomie and how people from both within and beyond the ofcial world came to rely on and trust him. Chen irts with calling him a sage yet settles on noting his sagacious even-handed attitudes, his child-like mind, and suggests that He Sanwei’s longevity (he lived to seventy-four) was heaven’s reward for his excellent

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One last aspect of Chen’s early years can be mentioned here, it is a minor theme that appears from time to time in records of Chen: his supposedly frail constitution. Chen’s rst recorded occurrence of serious illness occurred in the winter of 1574 when he contracted malaria.29 He soon recovered and continued studying, just as intently as before. Later in life Chen would use the well-understood pretext of illness as an excuse to refuse political and social invitations but, when truly ill, he would apparently be found reading and writing.30 The interpretation of Chen’s periods of illness was disputed among later commentators, some seeing it as only an excuse for cowardice, others seeing it as expedient (see chapter nine). Friendships and Work During the late-1570s Chen made a friend for life.31 Dong Qichang was three years older than Chen and on the way to shrugging off, denying, and obfuscating his modest Shanghai origins. Having gained access to one of the leading houses of Huating, that of Mo Ruzhong, Dong began his remarkable rise.32 There is no record of the rst meeting between

qualities. Chen Jiru, “Shou Shengweng He Laoshi qishi xu” 壽繩翁何老師七十序 “Foreword to Birthday Greetings for Teacher Sheng Wenghe’s Seventieth Birthday” in QJ, 17:11a–13b. Chen makes good use of this correlation between personal qualities and longevity. Elsewhere he suggests that the continuing youthful appearance, longevity, and subsequent death without major illness, of the two famous artists Mi Youren 米友仁 (1085–1165) and Huang Gongwang 黃公望 (1269–1354) is directly attributable to the nourishment provided by the mists and clouds in their paintings. See the Nigu lu 妮古錄 [Record of Fondness for Antiquity], 3:1b. 29 A quarter of a century later, in 1597, Chen suffered a recurrence of malaria. See NP, 11b. Also recorded in the Record of Fondness for Antiquity, 3:3b, and his foreword to the Hu hui 虎薈 [Tiger Compendium]. 30 See, for example, Chen Jiru, “Hu hui xu” 虎薈序 “Foreword to the Tiger Compendium” in the Tiger Compendium. 31 Nelson Wu calls Chen “Tung Ch’i-ch’ang’s closest friend throughout his life.” Nelson Wu, “Tung Ch’i-ch’ang (1555–1636): Apathy in Government and Fervour in Art” in A.F. Wright and Denis Twitchett eds., Confucian Personalities (Stanford: Stanford University Press, 1962), p. 277. Chen called Dong his admired and venerable friend. See Chen Jiru, “Taizi Taibao libu shangshu Sibai Dong gong ji yuanpei—gaofeng yipin furen Gong shi hezang xingzhuang” 太子太保禮部尚書思白董公暨元配—誥 封一品夫人龔氏合葬行狀 “An Account of Conduct for Dong Qichang, the Grand Guardian of the Heir Apparent, the Minister of the Ministry of Rites, and his Wife, Bestowed with a Title of the First Rank, née Gong” in QJ, 36:1a–6b. 32 Dong entered Mo Ruzhong’s household school in 1572, and stayed until 1585. See Dong Qichang, “Xihongtang gao zixu” 戲鴻堂稿自序 “Foreword to the Manuscript from the Hall of the Playful Swan” in Dong Qichang, Literary Collection from the Ministry

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Chen and Dong, yet their early association is another indication that Chen was already mixing in the prominent social and cultural circles of his area before his twentieth year, for Dong was an indefatigable parvenu.33 Though Dong was to spend many years in ofce away from Jiangnan, he and Chen stayed close throughout their lives. Their activities together were those of the elite: throughout their lives they wrote inscriptions for each other’s paintings,34 and they often went on excursions to visit collectors and appraise paintings together; these activities were the preserve of those with cultural status and with both money and time on their hands.35 Dong wrote of a boating excursion they took around the Jiangnan area: In the eleventh month Zhongchun [Chen Jiru] and I set forth on the Chunshen River [the Huangpu River, owing past Shanghai]. For ten days we drifted, a hundred miles [li] from home, following the wind east and west, with the clouds [as our companions] from dawn to dusk. We

of Rites, Ming ed, 2:7a–8a. (Another source gives 1571 as the date of entry to the school. See C.C. Riely, “Tung Ch’i-ch’ang’s Life” in W.K. Ho ed., The Century of Tung Ch’i-ch’ang, vol. 2, p. 389.) For an account of Dong’s rise see Fang Chao-ying, “Tung Ch’i-ch’ang” in ECCP, p. 787. Dong lived in retirement from 1605 to 1622 before once again holding government ofce. 33 Firm evidence for Chen and Dong having met at such an early date comes from an essay for birthday celebrations written for Dong’s (rst) wife that Chen wrote for her sixtieth birthday. The piece is dated 1616 and in it Chen claims to have known Dong for over forty years. It follows that they must have met by 1577, when Chen was nineteen. See Chen Jiru, “Shou Dong Taishi yuanpei Gong Furen liushi xu” 壽董太 史元配龔夫人六十序 “Foreword to Birthday Greetings for the Lady Gong, the Grand Astrologer Dong’s Wife’s Sixtieth Birthday” in QJ, 19:15a–b. If Chen’s memory was not entirely accurate, or if he were just making an approximation, then he and Dong were certainly familiar by 1580 when they are recorded as spending time together. (See NP, 5b.) A chronological biography of Dong interpolates the dates that Chen sat for exams, yet it does not mention direct contact between the two until 1587. See Zheng Wei 鄭威, Dong Qichang nianpu 董其昌年譜 [A Chronological Biography of Dong Qichang] (Shanghai: Shanghai shuhua chubanshe, 1989), p. 16. Further evidence that they may have met as early as 1577 comes from Dong spending a short period, beginning that year, at the writer Lu Shusheng’s 陸樹聲 (1509–1605) place. It is not clear when Chen rst met Lu, but Chen and Dong could well have met at Lu’s place. See Shi-yee Liu Fieldler, “Dong Qichang shuhua jiancang tiba nianbiao” 董其昌書畫鑑藏題跋年 表 “Chronology of Tung Ch’i-ch’ang’s Works and Inscriptions” in W.K. Ho ed., The Century of Tung Ch’i-ch’ang, vol. 2, p. 489. 34 For a listing of Chen’s colophons and inscriptions appearing on Dong’s paintings see the entries in the catalogue in W.K. Ho ed., The Century of Tung Ch’i-ch’ang, vol. 2, pp. 13, 41, 48, 51, and 87. 35 See Chen’s work, the Record of Fondness for Antiquity, a collection of four chapters of Chen’s opinions on various artworks and records of visiting collections. References in this work to Dong, be they of Chen and Dong together or Dong alone, appear on almost every page.

10

chapter one gathered uninvited friends, and rode upon our unmoored boat. With cup and jug we drank together, now and again plying our brushes.36

As a measure of their friendship Dong specially built the Inviting Chen Tower [Laizhong lou 來仲樓] to view paintings there with Chen.37 And Chen eventually described their friendship in the following passage: We joined hands in youth, grown up we stayed close, always in touch and drawn together. So many decades, without the slightest argument between us, one of the wilds and one of the court; two towers in the world of men.38

In a most telling sign of the strength of their friendship Chen, for all of his supposed aversion to engagement with the political world, wrote a letter to the notorious late-Ming eunuch, Wei Zhongxian 魏忠賢 (1568–1627). In this letter Chen extricated himself and Dong from having to write commemorative essays for a temple for Wei that was to be built in Songjiang.39 Chen’s concern for his friend is also shown in the tact displayed in a colophon he wrote on one of Dong’s scrolls which he, Chen, later owned. The inscription obviously dates from after 1616 when the local populace became so enraged at the Dong family’s appalling behaviour that they razed the main Dong residence

36

C.C. Riely, “Tung Ch’i-ch’ang’s Life”, p. 409. Chen Jiru, “Laizhong lou suibi xu” 來仲樓隨筆序 “Foreword to the Notes on the Laizhong Tower” in QJ, 5:20a–21a. 38 Chen Jiru, “Ji Dong Zongbo wen” 祭董宗伯文 “Dedication for Dong Qichang” in BSQ , p. 147. 39 Nelson Wu, basing his account on the record in the Songjiang Prefectural Gazetteer, 81:9b (itself drawn from Nan Wu jiuyu 南吳舊語 [Old Notes from Southern Wu]), writes of this that: “The victorious eunuch Wei Chung-hsien (1568–1627), after having bloodily subdued the scholars, noticed with pleasure the numerous temples then being built in his honour by sycophantic ofcials. When such a temple was proposed for his hometown, Ch’en Chi-ju [Chen Jiru], as a celebrated local writer, was requested to write a commemorative essay. He wanted no part of it. How he avoided that infamous chore is still something of a mystery. He is reported to have replied that not only was he, a commoner with no titles, too insignicant an author for such a piece of literature, but also Tung Ch’i-ch’ang [Dong Qichang] should not be considered qualied. Indeed, Tung Ch’i-ch’ang is one of the most famous writers and has occupied high ofces, but he is now retired and living in the woods. To Lord Wei, he is but another man in the mountains, except that he has been qualied to wear the ofcial hat and belt. . . . and thus saved both his best friend and himself from disgrace, a deed much appreciated by Tung.” Nelson Wu, ‘Tung Ch’i-ch’ang (1555–1636): Apathy in Government and Fervour in Art’, pp. 278–9. 37

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to the ground.40 Chen stood by his friend during this incident and his inscription on the painting has been translated as follows: This is Xuanzai’s [Dong Qichang’s] sketch of the trees and rocks done by various old masters. Whenever he made a large composition, he copied from sketches [such as this one]. After his house was burned down, I chanced to acquire [this scroll] from a professional mounter. It must not be shown [to Dong] lest it provoke his anxiety.41

Chen and Dong stayed close throughout their lives despite the early divergence in their paths, but when they met they were both preparing for the examinations. The juvenile exam [tongzi shi 童子試 ]42 exam that Chen passed in 1578, at the age of twenty, gave him the status of a Supplementary Bachelor, [bu zhusheng 補諸生], meaning that he was eligible to receive a government stipend.43 The City Magistrate of Huating rewarded Chen, and through his father Chen had an audience with Xu Jie. For Chen’s biographers, and us, that the meeting with such an eminent gure took place at all overshadowed whatever happened during it. There is a touching kindness in the description of the meeting:

40 Dong had become incensed at an anonymous work which narrated how his son ‘kidnapped’ a young beauty for him. This anonymous work also described how this led to tension with another member of the elite, who also desired the girl. Matters went from bad to worse, and before long Dong’s household abused some petitioners who had gone to his residence for a hearing in the matter. Much of the town rose against the Dong family, and people came from surrounding towns to join in. Though Dong escaped with his life, his art collections and property were destroyed. For a full account of these events see Nelson Wu, “Tung Ch’i-ch’ang (1555–1636): Apathy in Government and Fervour in Art”, pp. 286–9. 41 W.K. Ho ed., The Century of Tung Ch’i-ch’ang, vol. 2, p. 29. 42 For English translations of terms related to the examination system not covered elsewhere I have followed those in Endymion Wilkinson, Chinese History: A Manual (Cambridge, Mass.: Harvard University Asia Center for the Harvard-Yenching Institute, 2000), p. 529. 43 Translation after Robert M. Marsh, The Mandarins (New York: Free Press of Glencoe, 1960), p. 55. According to Chang Chung-li, The Chinese Gentry, p. 9, this places Chen in the Lower Gentry stratum. I have taken the term Supplementary Bachelor, as the description of his status, not from the Chronological Biography, as it is not used in that record, but from one of Chen’s own pieces where he writes that in the year 1578 he became a Supplementary Bachelor. See Chen Jiru, “Letter to Teacher Zhou”, in BSQ , pp. 352–3.

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chapter one Chen dressed in his ofcial student robes and a small cap and went to Xu Jie’s residence. He announced himself to the gatekeeper and was soon greeted by Xu Jie, who was wearing his ceremonial ‘python’ robes [mangyi 蟒衣]. They talked together about contemporary studies and so on . . .44

Chen is seen, dressed in his new uniform, as an eager young gentleman, ready to engage the world. The exam of 1578 was the last exam that Chen passed. He failed the provincial examination twice, the second time in 1585, with profound consequences.45 This was of some importance as before the second failure Chen’s family was growing. He had married in 1579, and in 1582 his rst son, Menglian 夢蓮, was born.46 Chen had two other sons, Mengsong 夢松, born in 1591, and Mengcao 夢草, in 1594.47 The three sons, along with Tang Dajie 湯大節, a son-in-law, were later responsible for compiling and publishing, posthumously, the rst volume of Chen’s Collected Works. They also collaborated, Menglian in particular, on other literary projects with him. By the mid-1590s Chen had at least four children, a wife, two parents, and possibly other siblings to look after. If he was not going to pass the examinations and serve in the government he had to nd another way to support them. In 1579 Chen had begun tutoring children of the local gentry, and this kept him on a moderately secure nancial footing. He kept tutoring for about thirty years, until his late forties, by which time his writing was bringing in enough of an income to obviate the need for it. A list of the residences at which he tutored, or studied with others, reads like a Who’s Who of the elite in the area. His rst appointment was at the house of an ofcial called Fan Yunlin 范允臨 (1558–1641).48 Subsequent

44 Records say little of the conversation the two had, the little that was recorded seems to be what we would expect in a standard account: they discussed the state of contemporary studies and bemoaned their times’ inadequacy compared to that of the ancients. See NP, 5a. 45 There is some confusion over which years Chen failed the examinations. The Chronological Biography only mentions the second failure and dates it 1584. Chen’s own record states that it was 1585. See Chen Jiru, “Ji Jingshi Wang Xianggong wen” 祭荊 石王相公文 “Dedication for Wang Jingshi” in BSQ , p. 137. Another source also gives the dates as 1582 and 1585 respectively. See Geng Xiangyuan 耿湘沅, “Meigong Yanqi youshi suo fanying zhi chushi taidu” 眉公{巖棲幽事}所反映之處世態度 “The Attitude of a Disengaged Scholar as Reected in Meigong’s Secret Matters from the Majestic Perch” Zhonghua xueyuan 中華學苑, 48, 1996, pp. 1–18. 46 NP, 6a. 47 Ibid., 9a–b. 48 Ibid., 5b. Records of Fan Yunlin contain major discrepancies, but most agree that he was a painter from the Wu District. He rose through various government positions

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appointments included the houses of Wang Xijue 王錫爵 (1534–1611), Xu Jie, and Wang Shiqi 王士騏 (1554–?), the son of Wang Shizhen, all wealthy and powerful families. It should be noted that while Chen may have had regular access to these households through his employment as a tutor, it was not only in that capacity that he was there. In many cases, that of Wang Shizhen’s family for example, he was already welcome in the household as a guest before he began instructing.49 This seems to have been a consequence of his early brilliance and engaging personality, with records stating that even in his youth many of his own generation ‘vied’ for his friendship.50 In 1583 Chen began tutoring in the household of the former grand secretary Wang Xijue. Wang had been at home for ve years since his opposition to the powerful grand secretary, Zhang Juzheng 張居正 (1525–1582), had made a temporary retirement expedient. Recognising Chen’s talents, Wang soon arranged for Chen to read with his son, Wang Heng 王衡 (1561–1609), at a family property at Mount Zhixing 支硎山, west of Suzhou.51 Wang Heng became and remained Chen’s close friend until his death in 1609.52 When together they often went

to become the Assistant Transmission Commissioner in Fujian. One source claims that his fame in painting was equal to that of Dong Qichang, see the Index to Materials on Ming Biography, p. 361. A slightly different account can be found in the Songjiang Prefectural Gazetteer, 54:32a–b. In this record Fan hails originally from Huating and later moves into his wife’s family house. She is a poet and together they make albums, she providing the text and he the accompanying pictures. Fan’s family later became joined to Chen’s when Chen’s granddaughter married Fan’s son, sometime during the 1630s. An event celebrated in a poem by Chen, see QJ, 31:44b. 49 Chen did not begin tutoring there until 1599, after Wang’s death, when he began to instruct Wang’s grandchildren. See NP, 12a–b. 50 MS, p. 7631. 51 NP, 6b. Another source says that Wang Xijue rst heard Chen’s name in 1584, and called him to read with his son at Mount Zhixing. He had a notion of Chen’s brilliance and thus went to the trouble of correcting Chen’s writings himself. See Li Feng-p’ing, Research into the Late-Ming Hermit Chen Meigong, pp. 45–7. Wang was certainly effusive about Chen’s literary abilities; in an essay to the memory of Chen’s father he described them as sublime. See Wang Xijue, “Dedication for Chen Lianshi” in Collected Works of Wang Xijue, 12:17b–18b. 52 Wang Heng, as with many of Chen’s friends who pursued conventional careers in the government, spent considerable periods away from Huating. Wang stayed for some years in the north, pursuing an ofcial career, and Chen notes that during this period they did not see each other and only resumed their friendship in 1601. See Chen Jiru, “Wang Taishi Zhenyu ji xu” 王太史辰玉集敘 “Foreword to the Collected Works of Wang Heng” in Collected Works of Wang Heng, 27:3b. Wang himself noted this in a foreword to one of Chen’s works where he said that they took different career paths yet had always had the same aspirations. See Wang Heng, “Yimin shi xu” 逸民史序 “Foreword to the History of Ofcials in Retirement” in Collected Works of Wang Heng,

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on excursions, and numerous poems and prose pieces from Wang’s hand describe their travels and their partings.53 Wang wrote forewords to some of Chen’s major works and Chen, in turn, a foreword to the posthumous collection of Wang’s writings.54 Wang Heng’s life came to a premature end in 1609 at the age of forty-eight, two years before his father passed away.55 It was also during his youth that Chen met the high ofcial and famed litterateur Wang Shizhen. It is perhaps this relationship that best allows us to witness Chen’s acceptance into the elite cultural and social world of Jiangnan. The rst record of contact between Wang and Chen in the Chronological Biography occurs in 1587. Wang was compiling biographical notes of famous worthies, and was so enamoured of a line of poetry that Chen had composed that he used it in the book.56 Perhaps Wang had only read Chen’s poetry, without having met him in person, but in all likelihood they met some years prior to this.57 Wang died in 1590 so the period in which Chen may have known him was probably less than a decade. The impression that one gets is that Chen was welcome in

6:6b–8b. Although Chen was not invited to study with Wang Heng at Mount Zhixing until the mid-1580s they probably rst met in 1581. See Xu Shuofang 徐朔方, Wan Ming qujia nianpu 晚明曲家年譜 [Chronological Biographies of Late-Ming Dramatists] (Hangzhou: Zhejiang guji chubanshe, 1993), vol. 1, p. 361. 53 See the many examples to be found in the Collected Works of Wang Heng, particularly chapters three to ve. It seems they were fast friends within two years of meeting as Chen’s foreword to this collection mentions that the two of them went travelling together to Hangzhou in 1585 after sitting the examination. Chen Jiru, “Foreword to the Collected Works of Wang Heng” in QJ, 6:12b. 54 The forewords that Wang Heng wrote for Chen are evidence of the regard in which Chen held him as they include forewords to two of the most extensive compilations that Chen made: Guwenpin wailu 古文品外錄 [Collection of Unusual Classical Literature] and the Yimin shi 逸民史 [History of Ofcials in Retirement]. In his foreword to Wang’s collection, Chen recalls the days when the Wang clans were together, noting how inspiring the gatherings were for he and Wang Heng. Wang Heng’s father Wang Xijue, uncle Wang Dingjue 王鼎爵 (1536–1585), Wang Shizhen, and his brother Wang Shimao 王世懋 (1536–1588), were collectively known as the ‘four Wangs’. Chen wrote again about the four of them and Wang Heng. See Chen Jiru, “Lu Zhongming Jiguang ji xu” 陸仲鳴吉光集敘 “Foreword to the Collected Works of Lu Zhongming” in QJ, 8:35a–36a.) 55 Despite his short life, Wang Heng was evidently well known from an early age. One recorder observed that he was already famed in the capital before he was twenty. Xu Shuofang, Chronological Biographies of Late-Ming Dramatists, vol. 1 p. 358. 56 NP, 7b. 57 Chen also records that in 1585 Wang Shizhen invited him over to his residence. See Chen Jiru, “Chongyang piaomiao lou” 重陽縹緲樓 “The Misty Tower on the Double-Ninth” in WXT, 24:67b–68a.

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Wang’s residence without any social awkwardness or obvious inequality.58 It has been suggested that Chen, along with Wang Xijue and Wang Heng, were constant guests in Wang Shizhen’s household in Taicang 太蒼, some twenty-ve miles from Huating. (Wang was out of ofce, at the Wanli Emperor’s 萬曆 direction, for the twelve years from 1576 to 1588, and so was frequently at home.)59 A true estimation of the regard in which Chen was held at such an early age is evident from two invitations he received in 1590. In 1589 Gu Xiancheng 顧憲成 (1550–1612), the leader of the Donglin Academy 東林書院, unquestionably one of the leading socio-cultural organisations in the empire, had made a special trip to Songjiang to meet Chen. They renewed their acquaintance the following year and Gu invited Chen to join the Academy. This was a considerable personal invitation and I will take it further in the following chapter, here I note in passing Chen’s early intellectual reputation. The second matter concerned the death of Wang Shizhen. Chen was invited, by Wang Shizhen’s eldest son, Wang Shiqi, to write a tomb epitaph, [muzhiming 墓志銘], for Wang Shizhen after his death in 1590. Chen complied with a lengthy composition of nearly four thousand characters. Chen was only thirty-two, and still working as a tutor.60 The writing of this epitaph for such an eminent cultural gure, especially at an early age, indicates both literary talent and an acceptance by cultural elites as one of their own. This is especially so in this instance as Wang Shizhen was a focal point of the late-Ming literary scene. His family had ready access to a large number of exceptional writers, senior to Chen in both social status and literary reputation at that time, yet they chose Chen.61

58 This familiarity is also obvious in the ease with which Chen writes of his relationship with Wang Shizhen in Chen Jiru, “Yanzhou shiliao xu” 弇州史料序 “Foreword to Historical Materials on Wang Shizhen” in QJ, 4:15a–17a. 59 The suggestion is made in Li Feng-p’ing, Research into the Late-Ming Hermit Chen Meigong, p. 45. Unfortunately, this comment is not referenced, perhaps she took it from a passage where Chen does note much the same, see Chen Jiru, “Maocai Wang Zhengshu Jipei Shi ruren hezang muzhiming” 茂才王征叔暨配史孺人合葬墓誌銘 “Joint Tomb Epitaph for Wang Zhengshu and his wife, née Shi” in QJ, 35:36a–38a. 60 See Chen Jiru, “Wang Yuanmei Xiansheng muzhiming” 王元美先生墓誌銘 “Tomb Epitaph for Wang Shizhen” in QJ, 33:1a–11b. Chen also edited and wrote a foreword for a collection of Wang’s works, Yanzhou shanren dushu hou 弇州山人讀書後 [The Hermit of Yanzhou After Reading], see QJ, 4:18a–19b. He also worked on the Chongzhen period edition of the Sibu xugao 四部續稿 [Continued Manuscript of the Four Classications], edited by Wang’s grandson.) 61 Chen’s contact with the family continued after Wang Shizhen’s death, and in 1599 Wang Shiqi asked Chen to instruct his two sons, an offer Chen accepted. See NP,

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This was a remarkable honour, and Chen saw it as such, as he referred to himself in the tomb epitaph by his given name, Jiru. Finally, a small note on some of the friends that Chen did not make through his life, for that is as telling as those he did. As one of the most celebrated writers of his day, it is curious that Chen did not have more contact with members of the late-Ming literary schools. He knew Wang Shizhen, of course, and Wang certainly had an enormous inuence on literary theory, but this friendship seems to have come about more because Wang lived close to Chen, and was part of the elite network in the Songjiang area. Interestingly, while Chen had some contact with Zhong Xing 鍾惺 (1574–1624) and Tan Yuanchun 譚元春 (1585–1637) of the Jingling school, he had less with the three Yuan brothers of the Gongan school, and none whatsoever with Li Zhi 李贄 (1527–1602).62

12a–b. Once again, regardless of the basis of their friendship, a family such as this one would not have given over the duty of instructing their children for the examination system to just anyone. This demonstrates substantial condence in a man who failed twice and withdrew. 62 Contact of any form between Chen and the two major literary schools of the late Ming appears to have been minimal. He does not appear to have written to any of the three Yuan brothers who made up the Gongan school, neither they to him. This is remarkable; Chen certainly knew of the Yuan brothers, and the youngest of the three, Yuan Zhongdao 袁中道 (1570–1624), did not die until 1624, by which time Chen was a well-known public gure. Yuan certainly knew of Chen as he recorded coming across a forgery of one of Chen’s books. (See Jiang Deming ed., Ah Ying’s Notes on Literature, p. 113.) Two works suggest that Chen and Yuan Hongdao 袁宏道 (1568–1610) collaborated on a work called Ming wen jun 明文譎 [Illuminating Literary Oddities]. Both Wang Zhongmin 王重民, Zhongguo shanbenshu tiyao 中國善本書提要 [A Précis of Chinese Rare Books] (Shanghai: Shanghai guji chubanshe, 1983), p. 480, and Ji Yun 紀昀 et al., Siku quanshu zongmu 四庫全書總目 [General Index to the Complete Library in Four Branches of Literature] (Beijing: Zhonghua shuju, 1981), 193:12a–b, state that the work was edited and selected by Yuan Hongdao. Qiu Zhaolin 丘兆麟 (1572–1629) collated it, while Chen added comments. The only difference in the records is that the former states that the date of publication was not before 1620, when one of the forewords was written. As Yuan Hongdao died in 1610 there is every possibility (assuming that Yuan did indeed select and edit the work) that Chen’s involvement only came after Yuan Hongdao’s death. The only suggestion that Chen and one of the Yuan brothers may have crossed paths is a reference to an excursion in 1589 that Dong Qichang went on with several other literati to a temple close to Songjiang. Among those who accompanied him was Yuan Zongdao 袁宗道 (1560–1600), the eldest of the brothers. This excursion was mentioned in a foreword Chen wrote to a collection of Dong’s writings. See Chen Jiru, “Dong Zongbo Rongtai ji xu” 董宗 伯容臺集序 “Foreword to Dong Zongbo’s Collection from the Ministry of Rites” in QJ, 6:7a–9a. Another record of the same excursion, this one by Dong, suggests that both Chen and Yuan Zongdao were present and so they must have met on at least one occasion (although this record gives the year as 1588). See Dong Qichang, Rongtai bieji 容臺別集 [A Further Collection from the Ministry of Rites] (Ming ed.), 3:11–12. Finally, Ah Ying (Ah Ying’s Notes on Literature, p. 107) suggests that Chen wrote a foreword to

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This suggests that Chen was not a serious literary thinker, and that this conception of Chen must be separated from his fame as a writer.63 As will be clear when we consider Chen’s participation in his local community in the following chapter, Chen retained an interest in everything local, however worlds further aeld – be they political or cultural, seemed to hold no especial allure for him. By his late twenties, in the mid-1580s, Chen had made his way into the highest circles of the socio-cultural elite in his area, and his writing skills and intellectual prowess had been acknowledged. This was despite his tutoring duties, and apparent lack of ownership of common

one of Yuan Hongdao’s works, Shanhu lin 珊瑚林 [The Coral Grove]. But this foreword is not in any of Chen’s main collections, nor does it appear in Qian Bozheng 錢伯城 ed., Yuan Hongdao ji jianjiao 袁宏道集箋校 [Yuan Hongdao: A Critical Collection] (Shanghai: Shanghai guji chubanshe, 1981). Similarly, there appears to have been little contact between Chen and the two central gures of the Jingling school. Zhong Xing wrote a letter to Chen that survives in a collection of Zhong’s works. In the letter Zhong regrets that the two of them met so late in life. See Zhong Xing, “Yu Chen Meigong” 與陳眉公 “To Chen Meigong” in Zhong Bojing ji 鍾伯敬集 [Collected Works of Zhong Bojing], Ming ed, 2:19a. In a graverecord, Dong Qichang noted that both Chen and Zhong were good friends with a third party, so they may have had regular contact even though they met late in life. See the entry under “Zhongshu sheren Xu Xuanyou muzhiming” 中書舍人許玄祐墓志銘 “Tomb Epitaph for Xu Xuanyou, the Secretariat Drafter” in Xu Shuofang, Chronological Biographies of Late-Ming Dramatists, vol. 1, p. 468. The other linchpin of this late-Ming school was Tan Yuanchun. I have not seen any letters between Tan Yuanchun and Chen, or poems in which they mention each other, but they shared several friends in common, including Zhong Xing of course, and presumably met. 63 Here I would note that while Chen appears in histories of literature, he does not appear in histories of critical literary theory. This is not to say that literary theory is wholly absent from his writings, rather that critics have not found his literary critiques of value. Writing that contains literary theory and criticism is not difcult to nd in Chen’s works, it is usually in the form of pithy comments embedded in other texts, often forewords to other literary collections. For example, in one work Chen makes clear his belief in the transformative power of literature in the world of man. (See Chen Jiru, “Bai renzhen xu” 百忍箴序 “Foreword to Exhortation for Patience” in QJ, 10:13a–14b.) In another Chen noted the use of literature as a thaumaturgic agent. (See Chen Jiru, “Xiao Jing pangxun xu” 孝經旁訓序 “Foreword to Instructions to Accompany the Classic of Filial Piety” in QJ, 1:19a–20a.) However, I am yet to locate an extended piece of his writing that is exclusively devoted to literary criticism. Chen’s presence on the literary stage is considerable. But that presence forms a curious contrast with his inability to articulate a critical argument on literature that would remain to be passed on to modern literary historians. While Chen is invariably either modestly or well represented in collections of xiaopin, a genre that many commentators regard as Chen’s forte, it is signicant that he does not get one single article into a modern collection of Ming literary criticism which counts over one thousand entries. (Ye Qingbing 葉慶炳 and Shao Hong 邵紅 eds., Mingdai wenxue piping ziliao huibian 明代文學批評資料彙編 [Collected Materials of Ming Dynasty Literary Criticism] (Taipei: Zhengwen chubanshe, 1978)).

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cultural markers of elite status such as collections of paintings, artefacts, or property. At this time he made a remarkable decision. Burning Scholars’ Robes Chen did away with his scholar’s robes in 1586, the year after he had failed the provincial examination for the second time.64 In doing so he publicly renounced any possibility of holding an ofcial position. As it is this event more than any other that determined his life for the following years, and how he came to present himself in public, it is necessary to look at the incident itself, and the environment in which it occurred, in some detail. There are some discrepancies in the records of how Chen destroyed his clothing. Some records say that he tore his cap, others that he burnt his gown and cap.65 What is not contested is the text that Chen handed to the local authorities in which he provided the rationale for his rejection of an ofcial career. Chen presented this document to the local Prefect, Yu, who, among other ofcials, tried to dissuade him from such a course of action. The text as it has come down to us merits being quoted in full: To participate in worldly affairs makes for a life full of clamour, to dissociate oneself from them makes for a peaceful life. To support one’s parents through working in the government, or to do so through personal attendance, amount to the same thing. My father is approaching seventy and I would like to sweeten his later years. I, myself, am not yet thirty but already dislike the vulgar world. To spend one’s life in a calculating way [reproducing examination papers] is like the image of a ower reected in a mirror, it is insubstantial. I intend to take the rest of my life into my own hands and spend it happily, communing with nature.66

64 Though he did not burn his robes until 1586 there is evidence from his own hand that he had already given up any thought of pursuing an ofcial career almost immediately after he failed the provincial exam for the second time in 1585. See Chen Jiru, “Dedication for Wang Jingshi” in BSQ, p. 137, where he writes that: “In 1585 . . . Zhenyu [Wang Heng] and I sat the exams together. . . . Zhenyu had the mind to try again but I had my mind set on a rustic, simple life.” 65 See Appendix One. 66 NP, 7a. Most biographical records of Chen that carry the text of his renunciation are taken from this source. While not reproducing the text in full they use it accurately. There is however another record of this event. Called “Chen Meigong gao yijin” 陳眉公告衣巾 “Chen Meigong Farewells His Robes and Cap”, it appears in a work called Liunan xubi 柳南續筆 [Further Jottings from Liunan] by Wang Yingkui 王應奎

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From the nal line it seems that Chen’s fundamental concern was his own happiness. However, he situates this happiness within the traditional Confucian framework of care for one’s parents. This Confucian outlook has an approval of, and understanding for, a son taking time to look after his father, and as the examination system was situated deeply within the Confucian discourse of the responsibility of service, Chen’s explanation is wholly appropriate. However, the text is not only couched in orthodox Confucian terminology. Chen’s desire to avoid the ‘vulgar world’ has a strong resonance with Buddhist and Daoist thought. Chen’s suggestion that his decision to abjure an ofcial career is solely predicated on concern for his father, is blatantly contradicted a few lines further on when he makes clear that he has no intention of coming back into the ‘ofcial’ world, presumably, one imagines, even after the death of his father. Nevertheless, and crucially, there is no indication that Chen was going to renounce entirely the society he moved in. As we will see, he would not forsake all forms of social action at all; but nor would he participate in either the elite or broader societies regardless of the circumstances. In his selection of action, Chen sought a very personal adaptation to the situation of his day. This leads to a consideration of the possible reasons for Chen’s actions, above and beyond the reasons he suggests himself. First, Chen had, close at hand, examples of those who either did not have, or who had refused government employment. His father was described as a recluse, which merely tells us that he did not have a government position. But, as there is no indication that Chen’s father ever passed any of the examinations, the examples of Chen’s two aforementioned teachers may be of more relevance here. Both of Chen’s childhood teachers had passed exams and were therefore eligible for government posts. Zhou had never had much desire for an ofcial career, and He Sanwei actively abandoned one. Even if Chen

(1683–1760?). Wang’s foreword to his own work is dated 1757 so he was presumably using earlier sources. The text is by and large the same: a few alternate characters are used. However, it does have an extra line after “I, myself, am not yet thirty yet already dislike the vulgar world” It reads: “Life is transient, why bother with ofcial honours” Both this text and the one quoted in the body of the thesis go on to mention that the local authorities tried to dissuade Chen from taking this course of action. However, another source records that in the aftermath the local scholars and people of social standing thought highly of Chen’s actions. See Wang Heng, “Foreword to Birthday Greetings for Mr. Chen Lianshi” in Collected Works of Wang Heng, 8:13b.

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did not want to follow directly in their footsteps, they were examples of an acceptable life lived outside government service. By his late twenties, when he made the decision to renounce any thought of entering ofcialdom, Chen knew many people who either were serving or who had served, so he was certainly not turning his back on a life he did not understand. Furthermore, the ambition for government service of some of his contemporaries, such as Dong Qichang, would have been obvious to him. He was in a milieu conducive to pursuing an ofcial career, which he did for a time by participating in the exams. What could have turned him away? We know he was regarded as a brilliant writer and he was well-connected socially. Within a few years he would more likely than not have passed the examinations and had a foothold on the lower rungs of ofcialdom. Chen’s antipathy to endlessly writing and re-writing practice exam papers were hardly unique, and there were many other aspects of the examination environment that could have dissuaded Chen, and did dissuade others, from continuing. I raise them here because I want to suggest that Chen’s motives for withdrawing were not simply negative. I am not suggesting that Chen had any idea of the fame and celebrity that would later come his way, but I am suggesting that he saw an alternative life to that of a government ofcial. The availability of ofcial positions was limited during the late Ming. During the Wanli reign period (1573–1620) the number of positions in the bureaucracy did not keep pace with population growth.67 More importantly, many positions in the bureaucracy were not lled when they fell vacant, and this attrition occurred at the same time that there was a rise in the number of graduates eligible for a position in the bureaucracy.68 Lower graduates, with few prospects of gaining government service, had to nd alternative methods of employment, and Chen, having not passed the provincial examination, belongs to this anxious group. But his rapidly growing access to those in positions of

67

See G. William Skinner, “Introduction: Urban Development in Imperial China” in G. William Skinner ed., The City in Late Imperial China (Stanford: Stanford University Press, 1977), pp. 19–20. Skinner notes that in the Han dynasty there were 1,180 county-level bureaucracies for around 60 million people. With the population around 200 million by the beginning of the Wanli reign period that would seem to necessitate around 4,000 county-level bureaucracies when in fact their number had only increased to 1,385. 68 M. Heijdra, “The Socio-Economic Development of Rural China during the Ming” in CHC8, p. 561 notes that “. . . while the number of ofcials hovered between 25,000 and 40,000, the number of degree holders increased from 100,000 to 550,000.”

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political and social power should have surmounted this difculty had he wished to presume on them.69 Assuming that Chen could have had a position had he wanted, he may have harboured doubts about the quality of his colleagues and serving with them. Such an attitude is certainly reected in the comment that Chen made about disliking the vulgar world. However, it was a common enough sentiment in the scholar-ofcial world to belittle one’s own generation. Timothy Brook quotes Liao Ji 廖紀 (1474–1527), an earlier Minister for Personnel, as saying that: During the reigns of earlier Ming emperors, those qualied to hold ofce were not as numerous as they are today, and their customs were simple and pure. They were devoted to their proper vocation, not fraudulently clever or pursuing empty fame. The state could rely on them, and so political affairs were properly handled and the people were at peace.70

The implication was that in Liao’s day ofcials looked to their own affairs and no longer had the interests of the empire at heart. If this were a motivating factor in Chen’s withdrawal, Chen clearly had to hand strong cultural precedents for not participating in government. One passage in the Lunyu 論語 [The Analects] records Confucius saying: “How gentlemanly Ch’ü Po-Yu is! When the Way prevails in the state he takes ofce, but when the Way falls into disuse in the state he allows himself to be furled and put away safely.”71 A clear sanction for a scholar-ofcial to perfect his own moral rectitude in private if the political environment was not suitable for him assume the responsibilities of ofce. Dovetailing with that cultural habit was a social change. The historian Cynthia Brokaw has studied the notions of self-worth and social status during the late-Ming period and concluded that: The real social changes of the mid- and late-sixteenth century served to undermine faith in the commonly drawn correlation, so attering to the scholar-ofcial elite, between moral worth and social place. With

69 A recent article essaying Chen’s possible reasons for refusing to continue with the examination system has pointed, inter alia, to the corruption of governance, and the difculty of gaining promotion as a likely cause. See Li Jing 李菁, “Chen Jiru fangqi juye yuanyin chutan” 陳繼儒放棄舉業原因初探 “An Exploratory Essay of Chen Jiru’s Reasons for Abandoning an Ofcial Career”, in Gannan shifan xueyuan xuebao 贛南師範 學院學報 2006:2, p. 35. While those circumstances are hardly controversial, it is, as I have indicated, easy to imagine Chen surmounting them had he wished to. 70 T. Brook, Praying for Power: Buddhism and the Formation of Gentry Society in Late-Ming China (Cambridge, Mass: Harvard University Press, 1993), pp. 312–3. 71 D.C. Lau trans., The Analects (Harmondsworth: Penguin, 1979), p. 133.

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chapter one mercantile wealth frequently honoured now over scholarly attainments, and with greater tenant and bondservant demands for economic independence and higher social status, thoughtful men had even greater reason to re-examine this principle, particularly as it was expressed through the civil service examination system, the primary channel to high status.72

However, this certainly did not prevent many of Chen’s peers, people he respected, from persevering with that system. Nor did it prevent Chen becoming friends with ofcials, so he cannot have regarded them all as venal and corrupt, he also could have served. There is the related possibility that Chen rejected the examination system on moral grounds. The late Ming was notorious for the practice of buying and selling degrees and positions.73 One recent article on the political machinations of this period stated that a disgraced former Minister of Rites, Dong Fen 董份 (1510 –1595), paid 20,000 taels of silver to ensure that his grandson was awarded the jinshi degree in 1580 at the age of just 20.74 During the Wanli reign period, claims were made that up to two-thirds of the National University students were no better than louts with money, and that success at the examinations was gradually becoming a matter of how wealthy one’s family was. There is ample empirical and anecdotal evidence for this.75 However,

72 Cynthia Brokaw, The Ledgers of Merit and Demerit: Social Change and Moral Order in Late Imperial China (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1991), p. 18. 73 The rst recorded instance of this practice during the Ming is 1450, and although it has been suggested that the Jiajing Emperor (嘉靖 r. 1522–1566) regarded such abuses as perdious, there is evidence that sales were never truly eliminated. See A.Chan, The Glory and Fall of the Ming Dynasty (Norman: University of Oklahoma Press, 1982), p. 291. 74 Chieh Chao, “Ties that Bind: The Craft of Political Networking in Late Ming Chiang-nan” T’oung Pao, 86, 2000, p. 142. 75 Ho Ping-ti notes that rank at a level that entitled the holder to government ofce had been sold by the government since the 1450s, and a marvellous example of how much matters were deteriorating toward the end of the dynasty can be seen in the provincial examination in Honan in 1642, when the qualication was available to anyone who could afford it. See Ho Ping-ti, “Aspects of Social Mobility in China”, p. 341, and A. Chan, The Glory and Fall of the Ming Dynasty, pp. 290–324 respectively. For a more anecdotal approach to how this practice was viewed by the succeeding generation see the early-Qing novel Zui chun feng 醉春風 [The Intoxicating Spring Breeze], set during the late Ming. It recorded how the eldest son of one Gu, on hearing that a Superintendent of Training was examining at Mount Kun 崑山 (close to where Chen lived), and knowing that his father wanted a graduate in the family, spent a little over 300 ounces of silver and became one. Jiangzuo shuian 江左誰菴, The Intoxicating Spring Breeze (Taipei: Shuangdi guiji chubanshe, 1996), pp. 41–3. The introduction to the work notes suggests that it was most likely penned by someone from Suzhou or thereabouts early during the Kangxi reign period [康熙 1662–1722], which begins about forty

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if Chen were to have stopped sitting the exams and burnt his robes as a protest against this he would have made the reason public, if not in his resignation letter, then at least in correspondence to others or in his own writing. I have not found any comments in his writings along these lines and we can discount that possibility. Another possible reason for withdrawal could have been fear of the ruler and senior ofcials. In general, relations between the ruler and ofcials had been troubled since the founding of the dynasty; Zhu Yuanzhang’s 朱元璋 (1328–1398) antipathy to and distrust of ofcials is well documented. Ye Boju 葉伯巨 (. early Ming), an ofcial who often spoke his mind, and who died on account of it, once wrote in a memorial that: “The scholar today regards obscurity or failure in examinations as good fortune. He regards expropriation of land and hard labor as inevitable punishments and court ogging as common humiliation.”76 There are conicting views on how serious this antipathy was during the Wanli period. The historian Chieh Chao writes that during this period the emperor managed to do away with the institutional restraints that the Grand Secretariat had formerly had on his power, meaning that the whims of the emperor were difcult to circumvent.77 However, Nelson Wu’s comments on this subject are apposite to Chen, for he points out that: “. . . even at the height of political strife and in full awareness of the dangers of the emperor’s court, waves of young men took the examinations and entered government service.”78 While Chen’s decision to withdraw can be viewed, in hindsight, as a way of eschewing the injurious world of factional politics, we should keep in mind that Chen made his decision in 1586, only four years after the death of Zhang Juzheng, and well before the extreme dangers of court intrigue became manifest.79 While some of Chen’s later actions can be regarded as being primarily motivated by a wish to avoid trouble, that

years after the end of the Wanli reign. The author may have been drawing on his own knowledge, or certainly that of the previous generation. 76 Quoted in Li Chi, The Travel Diaries of Hsü Hsia-k’o (Hong Kong: Chinese University of Hong Kong, 1974), p. 23. 77 Chieh Chao, “A Decade of Considerable Signicance: Late-Ming Factionalism in the Making, 1585–1593” T’oung Pao 88, 2002, pp. 115–6. 78 Nelson Wu, “Tung Ch’i-ch’ang (1555–1636): Apathy in Government and Fervour in Art”, p. 266. 79 Though Chen himself, over forty years later, would gently castigate the subject of one of his biographies by writing that his (the subject’s) downfall at the hands of the eunuchs may have been averted had he been less outspoken and brave, and kept a lower prole. See Chen Jiru, “Te zeng gongpu zhushi Yiming Wu gong zhuan” 特贈

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interpretation is wanting here. There is no tangible evidence that a fear of conict with those wielding power was the driving motivation behind his robe-burning. If the reason for Chen’s withdrawal is not to be found in the characteristics of the ofcial world, then perhaps it lay in his personality. Chen was later described by some as a coward (see chapters seven and eight), and according to this interpretation Chen’s actions in refusing an ofcial career can be regarded as reecting a desire to remain outside the faction-ridden web of intrigue and deceit that characterises contemporary and later accounts of the late-Ming political world. It is true that such a desire is found throughout much of Chen’s writing, and that it directly informed the timbre of works such as the Yanqi youshi 巖棲幽事 [Secret Matters from the Majestic Perch] where, for example, Chen wrote that: People have said that one ought to . . . spend less time in groups and more time alone, . . . seek less fame and endure insults, do more good deeds and seek less for a salary. [I say that] having few matters to attend to is better than being busy.80

But while a philosophy of withdrawal from political matters, and a form of quietism can be noted in his work Chen, as we have seen from the letter he wrote to Wei Zhongxian, excusing Dong Qichang and himself from having anything to do with Wei’s temple, can hardly be considered a coward. There is also the question of Chen’s status after his withdrawal, and whether considerations for the ramications of changing status had any bearing on his decision. Nelson Wu commented on the consequences of not participating in the examination system that: . . .before choosing to stay away from these examinations, one would think twice. To live as a commoner, without a degree or an ofcial title, one had more taxes to pay and fewer ways to pass them on to the less fortunate. Moreover, the commoner was expected to perform labour services for the government and its ofcials.81

工部主事翼明吳公傳 “Specially Presented Biography of the Honourable Wu Yiming, the Secretary of the Ministry of Works” in QJ, 43:6a–8b. 80 Chen Jiru, Secret Matters from the Majestic Perch, 1b. 81 Nelson Wu, “Tung Ch’i-ch’ang (1555–1636): Apathy in Government and Fervour in Art”, p. 266.

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It is important to observe that with the destruction of his robes Chen was not merely refusing to serve, but also renouncing his status as a holder of the rst degree.82 In becoming a commoner Chen was putting himself in a situation in which he had increased obligations to the state, obligations that could have been avoided had he remained in the examination system.83 So not only is it difcult to ascribe any of the more common motivations for withdrawal to Chen, there were also nancial and other considerations in place that should have acted as a restraining force when he considered abandoning his status. Chen’s refusal to be caught up in court politics lasted his entire life, and was a sentiment that he would reafrm some decades later in another work: If one nds what one aims for, that is a cause for joy; if one does not, however, that is a cause for anger. When one is blown hither and thither how could one be the master of one’s own fate? Beasts of burden wear nose rings for us, we have them start and stop at our wish. And those who would have me sent here and there, they would just be pulling on my nose ring. From dawn to dusk, from youth to old age this would go on, how is this not like a beast of burden? Alas!84

Despite the unwelcome consequences of refusing to participate any further in the examination system, Chen clearly had no wish to continue on a path that he saw leading to a life as a ‘beast of burden’. By his late twenties Chen had spent nearly twenty years studying for the examinations. Of course, many candidates spent much of their lives seeking success in that eld, repeatedly sitting exams, in a process often only terminated by their death.85 Chen was not alone among his peers in facing these setbacks. Even his good friend, the brilliant Dong Qichang,

82 Ch’en Kuo-tung 陳國棟, “Kumiao yu fen rufu—Mingmo Qingchu shengyuan ceng de shehui xing dongzuo” 哭廟與焚儒服明末清初生員層的社會性動作 “Temple Lamentation and Robe Burning—Gestures of Social Protest in Seventeenth-Century China” Xin shi xue 新史學, vol. 3:1, p. 74. 83 See the discussion on tax regimes in M.Heijdra, “The Socio-Economic Development of Rural China during the Ming” in CHC8, pp. 561–4 where he mentions, inter alia, that at one point holders of juren 舉人 degrees enjoyed up to ten times the exemptions on land tax that National Academy students received. 84 Chen Jiru, An de chang zhe yan 安得長者言 [How Does One Hear the Words of the Elders], 14b. 85 Chen’s attitude to people who persisted in the examinations cannot be completely gauged, though there are strong hints. In one biography he wrote that after several failed attempts a son (who had already passed the Palace Examination) dissuaded his father from sitting yet again by saying that he, the father, already had much knowledge and that the exams were no more than empty fame. See Chen Jiru, “Baowo Zhang taigong zhuan” 葆我張太公傳 “Biography of Zhang Baowo” in QJ, 41:10a–13a.

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failed the metropolitan examination [huishi 會試 ] several times.86 Chen gradually became disillusioned with studying for and then taking the exams, so much so that even the likely promise of a government position was not enough to sustain his interest.87 The suggestion that at the moment of his withdrawal Chen had decided on a lucrative career as a popular writer and thus had no need of the examinations is simply not tenable.88 Chen had no inkling of the fame and celebrity that he would later enjoy, he may have had some alternative in mind to have completely renounced his position, but he left no record of what it was. I think that having discounted the many possible motivations for withdrawal, Chen’s letter to the Prefect explaining his actions should be taken at face value. He could full his lial obligations in ways other than government service, and life might be much more pleasant if he were to do so. But if Chen was not going to be an exam candidate, and then an ofcial, he had to nd another socially acceptable role for himself, a matter addressed in the following chapter.

86 Dong eventually passed the palace examination in 1589 (MS, 288:7395). He had failed the Metropolitan Examination in 1579 and 1585, nally passing in 1588. 87 Chen makes a passing comment on what he saw as the changing nature of lial piety and the importance of success at the examinations. See Kuangfu zhi yan 狂夫之言 [A Madman’s Words], 2:14a–15a, where Chen complains that while in antiquity lial children were only afraid that they may not be worthy enough, in his own day children are only afraid of not gaining success in the higher examinations. 88 Comments such as “Chen Meigong’s reclusion can be regarded as a wise and skilful way of dealing with the world”. In Duan Jiangli 段江麗, “Lun Chen Meigong zhi ‘yinyi’ ” 論陳眉公之‘隱逸’ “On Chen Meigong’s ‘Reclusion’” in Zhongguo dianji yu wenhua 中國典籍與文化 1994:4, p. 23 are accurate in hindsight, yet we must remember that Chen worked as a tutor for more than a decade before being able to make his living from his artistic endeavours. There was no guarantee that ‘reclusion’ would initially bring him anything except an acceptable public alternative to government service.

CHAPTER TWO

RECLUSION AND PARTICIPATION After his second failure at the provincial examination Chen and his good friend Wang Heng went on an excursion. Chen wrote of the trip that: In 1585, after coming back from the examination we travelled to Hangzhou. There we lodged with some monks. The hills around were empty and the moon was bright, tigers roared outside the door. We drank, and toyed with difcult rhymes that we turned into song. The rules of the game were that if the wine was cold by the time your song ended then you had to pay a penalty. Time and again we would be searching for rhymes as if in the wind and rain, putting our brushes to paper just as falcons and rabbits chase and pull away from each other . . .1

There is no hint of Chen’s dramatic withdrawal or his coming reclusion in this trip, but a second excursion soon took place, and this time it was directly related to Chen’s adoption of reclusion. In the spring of 1586 Chen went on an excursion to Little Mount Kun 小崑山, close to Huating, with Wang Shizhen and Xu Yisun 徐益孫 (. 1580s).2 Xu, like Chen, was from Huating and had also gained the rst degree.3 He was already active in the publishing world having edited the Zhou Shuye xiansheng ji 周叔夜先生集 [Collected Works of Zhou Shuye], by their townsman Zhou Sijian 周思兼 (1519–1565),

1 Chen Jiru, “Foreword to the Collected Works of Wang Heng” in QJ, 6:12b. Wang Heng left a poem describing the same trip, see Xu Shuofang, Chronological Biographies of Late-Ming Dramatists, vol. 1, p. 364. 2 Little Mount Kun rises to a height of several hundred feet above the surrounding rice paddies and is the southernmost tip of the range of hills that run down from Mount Kun. I walked up it late in 1997. The base of the hillock was surrounded by a wall. A small pavilion on the summit affords a ne view across the elds back toward Huating. Unsurprisingly, no traces remain of Chen or his property. The base of the mound has become a place for tractor drivers to wait for business, and the ‘ofce’, where you buy a ticket to gain entrance to the hill, is dank and shabby but alive with tea, cigarette smoke, and the sound of cards slapping the table. 3 In addition to joining Chen at Little Mount Kun, Xu had also burnt his robes. Detailed information on Xu’s life is not plentiful, even the year in which he burnt his robes remains unknown. These matters are addressed in Appendix Two.

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and was known in local literary circles. Wang Shizhen recorded that the three of them spent a pleasant day amid beautiful scenery. He also noted that Chen and Xu were keen to purchase land at Little Mount Kun, especially after nding that a site on the hillock, which they later named the Field for Suppliants with Flowers [Qihua chang 乞花場], had previously belonged to the third century poet Lu Ji 陸機 (261–303). As it happened, they bought this property for thirty ounces of silver.4 The Construction of the Recluse It was at Little Mount Kun that Chen’s invention of a public persona of himself as a recluse began. He later recalled that: The Field for Suppliants with Flowers was on Little Mount Kun, where the Lu brothers had once studied. I had nothing to venerate them with and so collected rare owers in place of duckweed and beech wormwood.5

Chen also dedicated a small shrine to the Lu brothers, with the occasion celebrated in verse by his friend Wang Heng.6 To further the connection with reclusive gures from the Wei-Jin period (220–420), the name of the well, the Well for Watering Flowers [ Jiaohua jing 澆花井], also on the property, was a direct borrowing from Pan Yue 潘岳 (247–300) who had a place of the same name on his property.7 These few comments make Chen’s reclusion seem familiar, yet it would become strikingly different to the styles of his predecessors, even of those but a generation or two before him. There were three factors operating on Chen’s adopted form of reclusion (and it was the third that would nally exert the greatest inuence and give rise to controversies over his reclusion that continue to this day). The rst factor was the many traditional forms of reclusion that Chen could choose to adopt, the second was the aggressive attitude against the practice taken by

4 Wang Shizhen, “Xiao Kunshan dushuchu ji” 小昆山讀書處記 “Record of a Place for Reading at Little Mount Kun” in Wang Shizhen, Yanzhou shanren xugao 弇州山人續稿 [Further Manuscripts of the Hermit of Yanzhou] (Taipei: Wenhai chubanshe, 1970), 62:12b–13a. 5 Chen Jiru, Clear Words from a Peaceful World, 1:3a. 6 Wang Heng, “Er Lu zi” 二陸祠 “Shrine to the Lu Brothers” in Collected Works of Wang Heng, 1:20b. 7 Li Bin 李斌, “Chen Meigong zhushu weimu kao” 陳眉公著述偽目考 “An Examination of Works Spuriously Attributed to Chen Meigong” Xueshu jiaoliu 學術交流, 134:5, p. 149.

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the dynastic founder, and the third was the new social and economic relations, burgeoning in Jiangnan in the late sixteenth century, and the corresponding changes in Neo-Confucian philosophy. This is not the place to rehearse a sustained history of reclusion in China.8 However, I will mention some of the predecessors to and patterns of traditional forms of reclusion Chen referenced, as they are vital to appreciating the latter two reasons. Many late-Ming writers took inspiration from the writings and attitudes of gures from the Wei-Jin period, and it is no surprise that Chen’s reclusion was related to forms prominent in those dynasties. One long-standing form of reclusion, relevant to Chen, involved the search for immortality through alchemic techniques. This enterprise is best known to the Chinese reading world through the Records of the Historian biography of the First Emperor of Qin 秦始皇帝 (259 BC– 210 BC) who reportedly mobilised many people in his search.9 Alchemy as an individual endeavour, however, is exemplied by Ge Hong 葛洪 (284–363), who despite being at best a dilettante, remains the representative gure of this endeavour.10 Ge’s quest for immortality involved the seeking and ingestion of various rare plants and owers and so on, a pursuit that pays no heed to the mundane world of politics at all. However, most forms of reclusion in China, clearly including Chen’s, involved an attitude to government service; so although Chen advanced 8 For an overview of the early development of reclusion see the two complementary and incisive works: Aat Vervoorn, Men of the Cliffs and Caves (Hong Kong: The Chinese University Press, 1990), and Allan Berkowitz, Patterns of Disengagement: The Practice and Portrayal of Reclusion in Early Medieval China (Stanford: Stanford University Press, 2000). The lecture by A.R. Davis, “The Narrow Lane: Some Observations on the Recluse in Traditional Chinese Society” reprinted in East Asian History, 11, June 1996, also provides pertinent comment on early forms of reclusion. 9 To give an idea of the scale of this enterprise as recorded for posterity here are a few extracts from the biography: “Hsu Fu of Chi and others presented a memorial saying, “In the ocean are three fairy islands called Penglai, Fangchang and Yingchou, where immortals live. We beg to be sent in search of these with some young boys and girls after fasting and purication.” Accordingly the emperor sent Hsu Fu with several thousand boys and girls out to sea to nd the immortals.” . . . “In the thirty-second year the emperor went to Chiehshih and sent a scholar of Yen named Lu to nd the immortals Hsien Men and Kao Shih.” . . . “The emperor ordered Han Chung, Hou and a scholar named Shih to go in search of the elixirs of the immortals.” Yang Hsien-yi and Gladys Yang translated, Selections from Records of the Historian by Szuma Chien (Beijing: Foreign Languages Press, 1979), pp. 173, 175–6. 10 His reputation stands on his best-known work, Baopu zi 抱朴子 [The Master Who Embraces Simplicity]. However he twice: “. . . informs his readers that he has never been rich enough to carry out the alchemical formulas which he has compiled.” N. Sivin, “On the Pao p’u tzu nei pien and the Life of Ko Hung (283–343)” Isis, 60, p. 389.

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his ties with the ‘alchemic search’, his reclusion was often set against the background of government service. It was with the quandary of to serve or not to serve that Tao Yuanming 陶淵明 (365–427), the most famous recluse in Chinese history, composed the following lines: Better be rm in adversity and preserve one’s ideals, Than compromise and trouble oneself. When carriage and cap are no glory, How should a hemp-quilted gown be a shame?11

As can be seen from that description, the life of a recluse could be juxtaposed against that of an ofcial. The tension between the two lifestyles remained a constant theme from that time on, and as was evidenced in Chen’s letter of withdrawal it occupied the primary place in the initial presentation of his reclusion. The modern historian Liu Wengang, writing of the Song dynasties (960–1279), has noted that: “Living in reclusion and serving in ofce were complimentary pairs. In general, the disadvantages of serving in ofce were the advantages of living in reclusion, and vice versa.”12 Their complementary nature can be seen in the statement Chen presented to the local Prefect when he wrote that; “To support one’s parents through working in the government, or to do so through personal attendance, amount to the same thing.” A related form of reclusion to the one just considered brings us to the second factor. This style of reclusion allowed political comment to be combined with a type of political withdrawal. This long-standing cultural habit can be seen in the historian Fan Ye’s 范曄 (398–445) biography of the official and sometime recluse, Chen Shi 陳寔 (104–187), which read in part that it: “. . . became the custom to regard withdrawal from the world, speaking out while remaining fastidiously pure, as lofty . . .”13 In other words, one could refuse any active role in government, but still claim the right to comment on political matters. The ethical stanchions for behaving in that manner during the Yuan dynasty (1279–1368), were quite clear. Regardless of one’s motivations for a reclusive life during the Yuan, the mere fact that there were foreign rulers automatically provided a rationale to any Chinese gure

11 A.R. Davis, “The Narrow Lane: Some Observations on the Recluse in Traditional Chinese Society” in East Asian History, 11, June 1996, p. 43. 12 Liu Wengang 劉文剛, Songdai de yinshi yu wenxue 宋代的隱士與文學 [Hermits and Literature of the Song Dynasty] (Chengdu: Sichuan daxue, 1992), p. 133. 13 Aat Vervoorn, Men of the Cliffs and Caves, p. 159.

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who had no wish to participate in public life. However, the Ming ruling house was ethnically Chinese, and this in and of itself forced any public adoption of reclusion back into narrower and riskier territory. In addition to that, a proscription of the rst emperor, Zhu Yuanzhang, severely prohibited ‘speaking out while remaining fastidiously pure’. Indeed, he instituted severe punishments for any ofcials who refused the call to serve.14 While the threat that proscription carried weakened over time, the late-Ming situation was further complicated by changes that took place in Neo-Confucian philosophy, and by the rising commercialisation and industrialisation, the third factor to consider in Chen’s reclusion. The historian Duan Jiangli argues that these phenomena, absent from traditional motivations for reclusion, must be taken into account in any explication of the form of reclusion adopted by gures such as Chen Jiru. Duan suggests that the teachings of, inter alia, Wang Yangming, permitted the rationality of ardour and the desire for gain, as well as allowing oneself an unrestrained outlook on the world and society. In conjunction with that, the rise of the mercantile class and a commodities market forced a re-evaluation of the self-worth of the literati. From those two causes came a rejection, by a number of literati, Chen among them, of the necessary connection between principled reclusion and material poverty.15 That is to say it became possible to be fastidiously pure, yet wealthy. A related change that came to the forms of reclusion in the late Ming was the locus of such behaviour. In his work on the changing nature of gardens during the Ming, the art historian Craig Clunas has written that: “Ming writers employed a term, rst coined in the Southern Song, which contained within itself the oxymoron of simultaneous withdrawal and social engagement, the term shi yin, ‘city recluse’ [市隱].”16 This opposition of the urban and rural environments became part of the late-Ming debates about forms of reclusion centred on the term shanren [lit. man of the mountains],

14

MS, p. 7623. See Duan Jiangli, “On Chen Meigong’s ‘Reclusion’”, pp. 20–1. 16 C. Clunas, Fruitful Sites: Garden Culture in Ming Dynasty China (London: Reaktion, 1996), p. 91. It cannot be overlooked that one understanding of the term ‘city recluse’ during the late Ming referred to: “. . . patrician champions of populist causes”, those who had ostensibly retreated from public life yet who were deeply involved in local issues. See Richard von Glahn “Municipal Reform and Urban Social Conict in Late Ming Jiangnan”, p. 288. This understanding can be protably tied to Chen’s actions on behalf of those suffering or oppressed in his immediate environment, see below. 15

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(see chapter seven). Clunas goes on to suggest that the two main forms of reclusion, one of self-sufciency in material things derived from Tao Yuanming, and the other more mystically informed and concerned with alchemy, related to gures like Ge Hong, were still distinct in the earlysixteenth century. Later in the sixteenth century however, those two forms coalesced, and reclusion was no longer especially predicated on a location remote from the city.17 Although Chen enjoyed a reputation as a recluse, he spent his entire life living beside, and moving in and out of, the major developing urban centres of the day. He did in fact acknowledge this, writing of his own reclusion that: “I am a recluse in the city, the city where men tread; I am a recluse in the mountains, the mountains where men tread.”18 It appears that Chen was not overtly interested in political power or accumulating vast sums of money, however he was certainly not opposed to either endeavour, and was deeply involved in enmeshing himself in the highest social circles of his area and nourishing his own cultural reputation. In short, his reclusion was underpinned by a philosophy that accepted the accumulation of economic, social, cultural, and political capital, at multiple residences either in or close to urban centres. It is in this way that his reclusion was substantially different from both earlier forms, and from his own initial public presentation. This latter point is clear when we turn to the portrayal of Chen in the Chronological Biography subsequent to his withdrawal. The entry for 1587 shows how traditionally Chen’s initial style of reclusion was presented. It states that he: . . . became absorbed in the quest for immortality and had a hall built in a small winding lane. Within a short while all the students in the area knew that a renowned scholar had bought the Field for Suppliants with Flowers at Little Mount Kun. The property had an abundance of bamboo, and a thatched hall of but a few rafters. From the four directions Chen gathered owers to venerate, and make sacrice to, the Lu brothers.19

Many of the elements of traditional reclusion are present in this passage. The quest for immortality; a small, winding lane with its connotations of a secret and valued place; the name of the property itself with its

17

C. Clunas, Fruitful Sites, p. 148. Chen Jiru, “Furong zhuang shi xu” 芙蓉庄詩序 “Foreword to the Poetry Collection from Hibiscus Mansion” in WXT, 12:12a–13a. 19 NP, 7b. 18

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reference to the association between owers and famous recluses in general; the thatched hall [caotang 草堂] which also has implications of living in seclusion;20 owers again, but now associated with the reclusive Lu brothers in particular. All of these give the impression that Chen was living a simple, uncluttered life, occupying himself with immortal elixirs and rare owers. The reference to the Lu brothers was anything but accidental or passing; their reputations were important in bolstering Chen’s initial presentation of reclusion. The two brothers, Lu Ji and Lu Yun 陸雲 (262–303), were often alluded to during the late-Ming period. Many references come from the cultural elite in Chen’s area, and Chen himself mentions a local Terrace for Reading [Dushu tai 讀書台] associated with the brothers.21 Poems commemorating the sites where the brothers had formerly lived, and of their ‘thatched cottage’ include one by Chen’s literary mentor, Lu Shusheng 陸樹聲 (1509–1605).22 Tu Long 屠隆 (1542–1605), who came to the area as an ofcial and became Chen’s friend, also wrote a piece called the “Er Lu ci ji” 二陸祠記 “Record of the Temple of the Lu Brothers”.23 Chen, in addition to having bought land that once belonged to the Lu brothers, proofread a work by his erstwhile teacher, He Sanwei, called Collected Works from the Studio Cleansed by the Six Arts. The name of the studio in the title came from the famous third century prose-poem of literary criticism, the Wen fu 文賦 [Descriptive Poem on Literature] by Lu Ji.24

20 The term ‘thatched hall’ appeared during the Qi 齊 Dynasty (479–502) and became popular during the Tang 唐 (618–907) when it was used by such gures as Du Fu 杜甫 (712–770) and Bai Juyi 白居易 (772–846). Despite the modesty that the term implies, often occurring with phrases such as “. . . having but a few pillars”, they could be considerable structures, functioning as primary residences. 21 Chen Jiru, Clear Words from a Peaceful World, 2:6b. 22 For more detail see Songjiang Prefectural Gazetteer, 7:3b–4a. Lu Shusheng was also from Huating. Some fty years older than Chen he had risen to the post of Minister in the Ministry of Rites. Chen mentions meeting him and discussing the Yi Jing 易經 [Book of Changes] with him. Chen later wrote a biography of Lu Shusheng: “Lu Wending gong zhuan” 陸文定公傳 “Biography of Lu Wending” which he included in the Hall of Evening Fragrance. Chen’s children placed this biography rst in the eight chapters of biographies in the Collected Works, possibly because Lu was then, and remains to this day, the most famous of Chen’s biographical subjects. 23 See Songjiang Prefectural Gazetteer, 73:20b. 24 The title of the studio, the Studio Cleansed by the Six Arts, later took on a life of its own. An early-nineteenth century Vice-Director of the Ministry of Justice who hailed from Jiangsu 江蘇, Wu Kuntian 吳昆田 (. 1870s), chose it as his studio name. At the same time the Prefect of Songjiang, Yuan Fangying 袁芳瑛, is recorded as

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Chen’s engagement with the Lu brothers is important in two ways: they were models to be emulated, and they were a potent symbol within the elite of the area, such that references to them showed afliation in a shared cultural world. The brothers provided a good model for the young Chen Jiru, who had just renounced a government career. Both Lu brothers had endured political vicissitudes and spent periods out of ofce. During those periods they devoted themselves to their private studies and writing. One of these periods coincided with their relocation to the area where Chen and Xu purchased land. Lu Ji has always been the better known of the two brothers and his own activities when he was out of ofce, when his energies were directed to literature, could have acted as a publicly acceptable template of behaviour for Chen. Although Chen was basically making a living as a teacher, he began his professional writing around the time he moved to the property at Little Mount Kun, and these references to the Lu brothers functioned as a social presentation of elite cultural norms: by referring to the Lu brothers in his writing, and constructing a shrine to them, Chen was asserting his place in the world of the cultural elite. Chen’s association with them was not a passing interest, a decade later, in the late 1590s, he had a hut built on the north side of Little Mount Kun with the name, The Agreeable Thatched Hut [wanluan caotang 婉孌草堂], taken from Lu Ji’s writing.25 A general reason for making public references to such gures as the Lu brothers is because they were from the Wei-Jin period; a period in the Chinese historiographical record often characterised by political instability, intrigue, and social anxiety. Those who elected to observe some form of reclusion in that earlier period left, en masse, a large inuence on those who would later follow them. Alan Berkowitz, in his study on early Chinese patterns of reclusion, noted of the characteristics of recluses in this period that: . . . we observe both prominence and obscurity; wealth and privation; conservative behaviour and eccentricity; secular pursuits and religious devotion; sociality and solitude; state support and self-sufciency; manorial estates and caves for residence, etc. Further, we observe three general

having ‘Cleansed by the Six Arts’ [Shuliu 漱六] as his courtesy name [zi 字], as did the Qing gure Chen Fangsheng 陳芳生. 25 NP, 11a.

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characteristics: the individuals deliberately and habitually shunned a life of service to the state; they did not compromise their principles; they displayed commendable conduct.26

While the Wei-Jin period exhibited nothing of the mercantile eruption that so thoroughly affected the gentry of the late Ming, the sense of a world in ux with no singular correct approach to it was certainly a common point between the two periods. Chen’s approach to reclusion had two other especially noteworthy aspects to it that found resonances in the earlier Wei-Jin conceptions of reclusion. The rst was that in burning his robes Chen explicitly augmented the process of withdrawal. It was a public renunciation of any thought of government ofce; there could be no going back on this decision. It was a shocking social action that harked back to the ‘outrageous’ behaviour of gures like Ruan Ji 阮籍 (210–263) and Xi Kang 嵇康 (223–263)—the latter being executed for his actions.27 The second important characteristic of Chen’s reclusion was that he was becoming known, if not as an alchemist, then certainly as one who was interested in alchemic matters, and this highlights the difference between a persona or reputation and what one actually did. From the information available it seems that Chen’s interest in alchemy never went beyond collecting owers and taking an occasional interest in supervising his gardeners.28 If Chen’s energies had truly been consumed by the search for the elixirs of immortality and alchemic arcana he would never have enjoyed the type of fame that he later did. Indeed, had he relentlessly pursued such a reclusion he would perhaps have almost vanished from the historical record and in doing so fullled Lu Xun’s 魯迅 (1881–1936) dictum that: “Real recluses, of course,

26 Alan J. Berkowitz, Patterns of Reclusion in Early and Early Medieval China: A Study of the Formulation of the Practice of Reclusion in China and its Portrayal (Ann Arbor: University Microlms International, 1991) PhD Thesis 1989, p. 375. 27 Chen and Xu Yisun appear to be the rst examples of this type of action. The Taiwanese economic historian Ch’en Kuo-tung examined the issues surrounding robe burning during this period in his article “Temple Lamentation and Robe Burning”. For further comments relevant to Chen Jiru see Appendix One. 28 In one record Chen commented that; “During the day I send my servants to move or plant owers.” Chen Jiru, “Huashi tici” 花史題詞 “Inscription for A History of Flowers” in WXT, 22:3a–b.

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are never seen.”29 There our story may have ended. Had Chen only been partly successful in separating himself from the world he may have evolved into a gure like the Daoist, Tousled-hair Yan 閻蓬頭, mentioned in the following section; having entrée to the garden parties of the elite, as a legitimate stage prop in that world, but not an important cultural gure. It must be stressed that the paragraphs above draw heavily on the written record, a record that often turns to reality for inspiration, but which presents a certain style to the reader as a symbolic description of the subject. In fact, when we come to examine Chen’s activities ‘reclusion’ is not the rst word that comes to mind. As will be made quite clear in the section on his participation in his local area, Chen was for all intents and purposes acting as a local ofcial would, petitioning the authorities when natural disasters struck, observing the structure of local defences and suggesting improvements, and commenting on the efcacy or otherwise of nancial policy and scal structure. In the end, Chen’s reclusion involved little more than not serving in ofce. The depiction of Chen’s reclusion in the Chronological Biography neglects to mention that it would have been noisy and bustling, with many people living with and visiting him. Presumably his wife and ve year-old son were there. (Perhaps he already had more than one child; because of the existence of a son-in-law we know that there was a daughter, but it is not known when she was born.) There were also, of course, students who came for instruction, not to mention servants. Finally, as mentioned above, Chen was not alone in this move, he was of course accompanied by his companion in robe-burning and tutoring, Xu Yisun.30 Chen did not make a living from his reclusion, but his reclusion made possible a certain type of living. Adopting the role of a recluse gave Chen an image presentable both to his peers, and to the wider world. It acted as a screen behind which he could make a living by other means. Chen maintained and had recourse to this image at various times throughout his life, and this will be revisited later on. For the moment there are other aspects of Chen’s life that intersect with late-Ming forms of elite behaviour. One of these, closely related

29 Lu Xun, “Yinshi” 隱士 “Hermits” in Lu Xun quanjii 魯迅全集 [Collected Works of Lu Xun] (Beijing: Renmin wenxue, 1973), vol. 6, p. 228. 30 NP, 7b.

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to reclusion, is the nexus between the scholar-ofcial class and Daoists and Buddhists. Buddhists and Daoists The philosophical syncretism of Buddhism and Daoism with Confucianism was a notable feature of late-Ming culture. Many writers have discussed this at length. Judith Berling, for example, has written of the religious gure Lin Zhaoen 林兆恩 (1517–1598) that he: . . . was educated to take government examinations and become an ofcial, but he abandoned that career to devote himself to attaining the enlightened mind of the sage. After a long search, he achieved understanding into the true state of mind as taught by all Three Teachings. This spiritual breakthrough was accompanied by a call to teach the truth of the mind to others. Assuming the title Master of the Three Teachings, he established a religious organization that came to include members of all three religions and all social classes.31

For his part, Chen made clear, in a description he once wrote of Dong Qichang, that a complete man would borrow from all three teachings yet be devoted exclusively to none: “He (Dong) was not a Zen monk”, Chen wrote, “yet he attained spiritual freedom through Zen Buddhism; he was not a Daoist, but he achieved the unaffected spontaneity of Daoism; he was not a Confucian teacher, but he embodied the Confucian virtues of perfect balance, uprightness, loyalty, and compassion.”32 To show how porous the boundaries could be between these teachings Chen referred to himself as a Buddhist layman [ jushi 居士] in his introduction to the Xiang’an du 香案牘 [Fragrant Archives], a work wholly concerned with Daoists. In true late-Ming style, Chen sometimes placed Buddhism above Confucianism when discussing people’s attitudes to life, he once wrote of the great Tang dynasty poet Bai Juyi 白居易 (772–846) that while he was a Confucian on the outside, he was a

31 Judith A. Berling, The Syncretic Religion of Lin Chao-en (New York: Columbia University Press, 1980), p. 3. To give another charming example of this fertile crosspollination, Chow Kai-ming, citing Yao Wenwei’s 姚文蔚 preface to an edition of the four books, noted that Yao: “. . . explicitly stated in the preface that it was through Buddhism that the author came to understand Confucian teachings.” See Chow Kaiwing, “Writing for Success”, p. 140. 32 W.K. Ho ed., The Century of Tung Ch’i-ch’ang, vol. 1, p. 38.

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Buddhist on the inside.33 The emphasis Chen placed on Confucian values, or those of Buddhism and Daoism, will be further developed in chapters ve and six. For the moment I note that in a letter to his friend, Wang Siren 王思任 (1575–1646), Chen approvingly quoted Su Shi 蘇軾 (1037–1101): “The only worthwhile thing to do is to meet with those who follow the Way”.34 In that instance Su Shi was referring to Buddhists, and it is to them that we turn. During the late Ming, Buddhism was enjoying a resurgence of popularity among the elite. While the ruling house made repeated attempts to restrain and control religious organisations, they were not only deed openly from without but undermined from within. The mother of the Wanli Emperor, and a number of other court gures, were prominent in the support and encouragement of developing the Baoming Temple outside Beijing, for example.35 Timothy Brook analysed the role Buddhism seemed to ll in the late-Ming world, and concluded that: “Buddhism mapped an alternative world, not just of belief, but of action: a world of associational undertakings through which elite status could be cast in high-cultural terms that did not rely on denitions handed down by the state . . . Society was challenging the state, and Buddhism furnished a context in which that could happen.”36 Chen had no need to use Buddhism as a direct challenge to the state; his reclusion already provided him with a secure identity and status within a cultural world that was not beholden to government directions. However, Chen clearly recognised that an institutionalised Buddhism could be complementary to the state and Confucian concerns when he noted that it was the Buddhists who often took care of the elderly and

33

Chen Jiru, Secret Matters from the Majestic Perch, 26a–b. Chen Jiru, “Yu Wang Jizhong” 與王季重 “To Wang Jizhong” in QJ, 58:23a. 35 Thomas Shiyu Li and Susan Naquin, “The Baoming Temple: Religion and the Throne in Ming and Qing China” Harvard Journal of Asiatic Studies, vol. 48:1, pp. 141–3. 36 T. Brook, Praying for Power, p. 316. We should not forget that fraternising with monks during this period is far from indisputable proof that one was mixing with the virtuous. Becoming a monk brought some substantial advantages in the form of exemption from land taxes and corvée. This naturally attracted people who were still interested in indulging in all the pleasures that the sensual world had to offer. One commentator on this period has said “. . . honest families repeatedly warned their descendants not to have frequent communications with Buddhist priests and nuns.” See A. Chan, The Glory and Fall of the Ming Dynasty, p. 318. The famous traveller Xu Xiake recorded an incident in which he was having difculty in getting the monks in a temple where he was staying to give him a particular type of fruit. Bribery got him the fruit. Quoted in Li Chi, The Travel Diaries of Hsü Hsia-k’o, pp. 160–1. 34

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inrm where state organisations failed them.37 But when we turn to Chen’s literary persona, Chen’s relationship with Buddhism was plainly associated with considerations of elite status and his place within the elite. It is noteworthy that a number of substantial works by Chen, produced with both elite and popular audiences in mind, carried within the title the words “wan xiang” [晚香 evening incense], a reference to the lighting of incense toward evening in Buddhist temples.38 The forms that interaction between the elite and Buddhist monks took are well described in an article on tea. The article touches on eight main areas of dealings between monks and literati during the late Ming under the following headings: appraisal of tea; sitting cross-legged and talking about Zen Buddhism; studying silence and maintaining one’s original pure character; seeking and purchasing famous teas; travelling together to scenic locations; seeking out and drawing water from famous springs; studying and discussing the Way; dispelling disease and seeking health.39 Chen’s relationships with Buddhist monks, and the activities they engaged in, were very much of the types mentioned above. Of the Buddhist monks Chen knew, the most senior in age was Xuequan 雪泉. Like Chen, Xuequan was a native of Huating. By the time Chen met him in a temple in the hills outside Huating, Xuequan was known to and mixing with local elites such as Xu Jie and Lu Shusheng (who probably effected Chen’s introduction to Xuequan). Xuequan’s temple was close to Chen’s house, and as the monk’s erudition in Buddhist thought was widely recognised, Chen often went to pay his respects and converse with him.40 The most renowned of the

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Chen Jiru, A Madman’s Words 4:8b–9a. Li Bin, “Chen Jiru shiming kaolüe” 陳繼儒室名考略 “A Brief Look at the Studio Names used by Chen Jiru” Xueshu yanjiu 學術研究 2003:8, p. 147. 39 See Wu Zhihe 吳智和, “Mingdai sengjia, wenren dui cha tuiguang zhi gongxian” 明代僧家, 文人對茶推廣之貢獻 “The Contribution of Monks and Literati to the Popularisation of Tea during the Ming Dynasty” Ming shi yanjiu zhuankan 明史研 究專刊 (Taipei: Mingshi yanjiu xiaozu, 1980), pp. 16–21. 40 Chen recorded this in his congratulatory seventieth birthday greetings to the monk. See Chen Jiru, “Shou Xuequan chanshi qishi xu” 壽雪泉禪師七十序 “Foreword to Birthday Greetings for the Zen Master, Xuequan’s Seventieth Birthday” in QJ, 17:37a–38a. There is a short biography of the monk in the Huatingxian zhi 華亭縣志 [Huating District Gazetteer] 14:20b–21a. This biography records his name as Qingyuan 清源 and that notes that he had wanted to be a monk since the age of seven. Chen certainly either knew him, or knew of him, by 1594, and very likely earlier as Xu Jie had died in 1583, ve years after Chen’s interview with him. The reference to Chen visiting him in 1594 comes from Chen Jiru, Record of Fondness for Antiquity, 4:4b–5a. 38

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monks Chen knew was Qiutan 秋潭, a much sought-after writer.41 When Qiutan published a volume of his own poetry Chen wrote a foreword for it.42 Despite Chen’s effusive praise in this foreword, placing Qiutan alongside the Tang masters Meng Haoran 孟浩然 (689–740) and Wei Yingwu 韋應物 (737–?), Qiutan’s poetry was not as highly regarded by anthologists from that or any subsequent period.43 Still, this was a friendship of several decades; Chen knew him by 1595 and they were still in contact in the 1610s. Their friendship, of course, was not only literary. The details of their meeting in 1595 indicate that Qiutan had fallen ill and could not accompany Chen on a planned excursion to view paintings.44 The following year, however, Qiutan visited Chen and they went travelling though the hills in the Songjiang area, calling on friends and visiting scenic sites, including graves and temples.45 Another monk with literary abilities who also travelled with Chen was Xuelang 雪浪. They visited the West Lake (of Hangzhou) together, boating and tasting tea in the vicinity. The two travelled together and also shared at least one student. Chen’s respect for this monk is evident in his crediting Xuelang with the transformation that he effected upon an illiterate young man who studied under him for the better part of a decade.46 Chen sometimes travelled in a group of several monks, once

41 Qiutan most likely took his name from the pool outside the Guyang Gate [Guyang men 谷陽門] of Songjiang. The location, while then known by that name is now known as the White-Dragon Pool [Bailong tan 白龍潭]. His real name was Shi Zhixian 釋智舷. 42 Chen Jiru, “Huangyean shi xu” 黃葉庵詩敘 “Foreword to Huangyean’s Poetry” in QJ, 7:27a–28a. This was not the only time that Chen and Qiutan worked together on a literary project. In 1596 Qiutan was involved in the publication of a book to which Chen had written a foreword. See NP, 10b. 43 Qiutan did not make the short list for the collection Chongzhen bada shixuan 崇 禎八大詩選 [Selection of Poems from the Eight Masters of the Chongzhen Period ]. He is not represented in Mingshi biecai 明詩別裁 [An Alternative Scission of Ming Poetry] by Shen Deqian 沈德潛, printed in the late 1730s. Neither is he in Pan Jiezhi 潘介祉, Ming shiren xiaozhuan gao 明詩人小傳稿 [Draft Biographies of Ming Poets] (Taipei: Zhongyang tushuguan, 1986). He has not fared any better in modern editions being overlooked for Jin Xingyao 金性堯 ed., Ming shi sanbai shou 明詩三百首 [Three Hundred Ming Poems] (Shanghai: Shanghai guji, 1995). 44 Chen Jiru, Record of Fondness for Antiquity, 3:5b. 45 This was in the autumn of 1611. See Chen Jiru, “Yu Qiutan shi Yunjian you shan ji” 與秋潭師雲間游山記 “To Master Qiutan, a Record of Excursions in the Hills around Yunjian” in QJ, 22:37a–39a. 46 The same man later became a student of Chen’s, and produced a volume of poetry. Chen recorded this in a foreword to a collection of poetry by Chao Ran 超然, the student in question. See Chen Jiru, “Chao Ran shi xu” 超然詩敘 “Foreword to Chao Ran’s Poetry” in QJ, 11:23a–b. (This student’s real name was Sun Hongfan

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spending the entire summer in the hills with three of them, Huzhi 扈芷, Cangxue 蒼雪, and Kuangyun 匡雲.47 Chen wrote about this lengthy excursion in a foreword written for Huzhi, noting in passing that they, along with Dong Qichang and some others, were all boon companions in poetry.48 Even in death monks could inspire Chen to travel; one record has Chen and Dong Qichang going to the graveside of a monk who had been a friend to both, and pouring a libation of alcohol to him.49 Chen’s relationship with Buddhist monks was not merely a passing interest. After Chen’s fame was widespread those who came to his door importuning written pieces were not always welcome, but the Fujianese monk, Master Shanmu 山木子, was an exception. Finding him a wealth of information on Buddhist texts and practices Chen detained him and would not hear of his departure. He later demonstrated his esteem for this monk by writing a foreword to a collection of Master Shanmu’s writings.50 Perhaps the strangest Buddhist monk that Chen met was one well known in the capital. There this monk had been presented with alms bowls, robes, and, on one occasion, twenty horses, by members of the ruling family. Known as the Master of Night Meditation [Yechan Shi 夜禪師] he, contrary to his name, spent his nights travelling and meditated during the day. Chen had met him in Songjiang, and the monk later came to visit Chen at the nearby Mount She 佘山. The monk’s life, according to Chen’s record, was full of drama: he persuaded a tiger to not eat him; had continual hallucinations of curious animals and spirits, and women naked from the waist down carrying children. Knowing his end was near, the Master of Night Meditation caught a boat with some merchants, but soon leapt into the water where he sat

孫弘範. More information about him and his family from Chen’s hand can be found in Chen Jiru, “Chao Ran tu ji” 超然圖記 “Record of Chao Ran’s Sketch” in BSQ , pp. 98–9.) 47 Huzhi travelled some distance to get there, see the poem written to the tune of “Zui luopo” 醉落魄 “The Drunken Wretch” that Chen wrote for him, in QJ, 32:26a. 48 Chen Jiru, “Huzhi ouan cao xu” 扈芷偶菴草敘 “Foreword to Huzhi’s Draft from the Accidental Monastery” in QJ, 7:39a–40a. 49 See the entry beginning “Mayi heshang” 麻衣和尚 “The hemp-cloth monk” in Qingpu District Gazetteer, 29:39a. 50 Chen Jiru, “Dongshan chan yu ji xu” 洞山禪餘集敘 “Foreword to the Beyond Zen at Dongshan Collection” in QJ, 7:29a–b.

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in meditation on the waves, then waved his hand saying: “. . . we all return” before being swallowed by the mist.51 There is little doubt that Chen delighted in spending time with gures like the Master of Night Meditation and other monks, and his enjoyment of his conversations with them is readily evident in works like the Secret Matters of the Majestic Perch. These interactions also affected Chen’s writing inasmuch as they allowed him to speak with the authority of an insider. When it came to interpreting the wisdom of Buddhist thought and applying it to one’s life, Chen was able to present himself to his reading audience as a voice of authority. Here I should mention that Chen’s interaction with Buddhism also involved spending time in temples. Perhaps the closest Chen ever came to a truly uncluttered rustic existence was when he stayed in the Chengjian Temple 澄鑒寺 by the waters of the Mao River 泖江 in the years after he nished tutoring. Financially secure with the income his writing was then generating, Chen spent eighteen months on and off at this temple over the years 1610–11, apparently receiving few visitors.52 He described the atmosphere as follows: A perpetuity of mist on the water, The clouds, half curled, hide the monks’ huts. The railing on the balcony is crooked, Secluded and hidden among owers and trees. Three times the wind has blown, Sending me to seek lodging here. There is bamboo in the western window, A bright moon and hot tea, Oranges and pomelos, and buds atop the walls.53

Chen’s interest in Buddhism and Buddhist monks, however, never really went beyond that of a lay acionado. Chen never underwent a tonsure ceremony nor, despite his occasional periods of residence in Buddhist temples, do we hear of him chanting sutras all day, or truly cutting himself off from the world. His relations with the monks and temples were strictly social and cultural. This was also the case with the Daoists. 51 Chen Jiru, “Yechan shi zhuan” 夜禪師傳 “Biography of Master Yechan” in QJ, 41:35a–37b. 52 NP, 19a. 53 Chen Jiru, “Dian jiang chun (Guo Maoqiao Chengjian si)” 點絳唇 (過泖橋澄 鑒寺) “Crossing the Mao River Bridge at the Chengjian Temple, to the tune ‘Dian jiang chun’ ” in QJ, 32:21a.

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During the Ming, the Daoists rarely enjoyed an organizational or institutional sophistication, or the social, political, and economic prominence of the Buddhists.54 Sometimes they were in a position to wield exceptional temporal power, such as during reign of the Jiajing Emperor (r. 1522–1566), just before Chen was born, but these were rare periods. Nonetheless, Daoists could certainly gure in the elite world and would often mix with scholar-ofcials and other cultural gures in garden gatherings and so on. Chen, as part of the cultural elite, came into contact with them from time to time and counted some as friends. One of the oddest Daoists to catch his attention was Tousled-hair Yan. They rst met at the residences of Wang Shizhen and Wang Heng. When they met again, in a garden in Changzhou, where Yan was dispensing some standard sage advice on how to rule the empire, Chen wrote of him that: . . . he could spend the entire day sitting outside in the heat of the summer sun. Whenever he went out wandering, hoards of children would follow him around playing a game to see who could touch him. Sometimes he would sit cross-legged in a Buddhist pose, completely naked, sometimes he would bathe in hot water, sometimes he would get thoroughly drunk.55

Chen wrote several attering biographies of people like Tousled-hair Yan, but just being a Daoist did not automatically gain Chen’s favour.56 On one occasion Chen was visited by one of Yan’s disciples, Xiaodian 小顛. Xiaodian had come to ask Chen for a piece of writing. A disciple of a friend should be welcomed so Chen invited him in and they drank together. Xiaodian soon became drunk and obstreperous and once

54

For an account of the Jiajing Emperor’s attachment to Taoist practitioners see Lienche Tu and Chaoying Fang, “Chu Hou-ts’ung” in DMB, pp. 315–322. 55 Chen Jiru, Jianwen lu 見聞錄 [A Record of what was Seen and Heard ], 6:9a–b. Mere entrance as a guest to a private garden did not necessarily indicate high social status. For a discussion on the social implications of access to gardens in the Lower Yangtse Valley during the late Ming see C. Clunas, Fruitful Sites, pp. 91–7. 56 Regarding the writing of popular hagiographical accounts of these Buddhist and Daoist, and generally other-world gures by Chen see, for example, Chen Jiru, “Xianxian sang zhe zhuan” 閑閑桑者傳 “Biography of Xianxian sang”, and Chen Jiru, “Zhao yiren jiahua zhuan” 趙逸人跏化傳 “Biography of Zhao, a Man in Retirement Transformed by Buddhism”, in QJ, 42:6a–8a, and 9a–11a, respectively. This was a popular sub-genre in late-Ming biographical writing, particularly of the xiaopin type. For examples by other writers during the late-Ming see Yuan Hongdao’s “Zuisou zhuan” 醉叟傳 “Biography of the Intoxicated Old Man” and Chen Jian’s 陳鑑 (1594–1676) “Huang He zuiweng zhuan” 黃鶴醉翁傳 “Biography of the Drunken Venerable Man, Huang He”, both in Guan Meifen 管梅芬 et al. eds. Ming ren xiaopin 明人小品 [Ming Xiaopin] (Tainan: Wenguo shuju, 1993).

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asleep his snoring shook the walls. Chen described him as incorrigible and difcult to approach, and was less than pleased with his presence. This priest left quite an unfortunate impression on Chen, who later wrote that on account of this visit he (Chen) gave up reading Daoist texts, having had a suspicion prior to this incident that the secrets of Daoism were not to be found in books.57 It is a thankless task to attempt to dissociate the fondness Buddhist monks had for institutional power with the weight of Buddhism in the historical record. But even allowing for that it is clear that Daoists do not play as large a role in Chen’s life and writings as Buddhists do. Taken together though, these two philosophies and their respective practitioners form the background to a considerable number of Chen’s writings. Chen’s interaction with them is further conrmation that Chen was behaving as a cultural elite. In one further way Chen’s interactions with these worlds demonstrated his social position: when a local temple was falling into disrepair Chen organised the collection of funds to have the place rebuilt and to occasion sponsorship of the monks who lived there.58 It is activities such as this that allow us to see how Chen participated in his local community. Local Participation A scholar-ofcial will consider the woes of the country, even if he does not speak out on them.59

I have already suggested that Chen’s withdrawal merely involved not serving in ofce, not a rejection of action that may have political consequences. Despite his rejection of participation in empire-wide politics, and the quotation above notwithstanding, Chen was involved in many local activities that were political, and we may best describe his relationship to his society as a form of political quietism mixed with social

Chen Jiru, “Shou Yushi Ming Guzi liushi xu” 壽羽師明谷子六十序 “Foreword to Birthday Greetings for the Sixtieth Birthday of Yushi Ming Guzi” in QJ, 16:31a–32b. Chen could also keep secular gures from his door. One record, notes that a local Prefect came knocking three times but that Chen would not let him in. See Ji Liuqi 計六奇, Ming ji bei lüe 明季北略 [Northern Strategies of the Ming] (collected in Shen Yunlong 沈雲龍, Ming Qing shiliao huibian 明清史料彙編 [Collected Ming and Qing Historical Materials] (Taipei: Wenhai, 1967) vol. 27), 15:14a. 58 NP, 14a. 59 Chen Jiru, How Does One Hear the Words of the Elders, Ming ed., 3b. 57

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activism. Here I will look at Chen’s involvement in four different areas: his friendship with an ofcial from elsewhere who came to take up a post in Songjiang; his calligraphy and prose as dedications for, and his involvement in, the restoration of temples and public infrastructure; his memorials or petitions (with specic reference to his involvement in famine relief ); and nally the memorial he composed for Fang Xiaoru 方孝孺 (1357–1402). All of these endeavours involved the intersecting interests of local gentry and the ‘foreign’ ofcials. Lower-level postings throughout the empire were generally given to younger ofcials who were eager to engage in activities that would bring them to the attention of their seniors and, accordingly, afford them a better chance of moving up in their bureaucratic careers. For the local gentry, including the members of powerful local families, but also counting among their numbers students, xiucai [秀才] graduates, and so on, among whose ranks Chen must be included, interactions with state ofcials and participation in state projects at the local level brought prestige. Those ‘foreign’ ofcials acted as gateways between local communities and state projects, and they facilitated a ow of information and interest in both directions. While Chen had friends among those supposedly furthest from the mundane world, Buddhists and Daoists, he also made friends with representatives of the political world who were appointed to his area. One such gure was the long-serving Prefect of Songjiang, Fang Yuegong 方岳貢 ( js.1622), who came to take up his appointment as Prefect of Songjiang in 1628. Chen records Fang’s entry into Songjiang, saying that as his reputation had arrived before him many had turned out to welcome him. The crowds were a little nonplussed to see Fang arrive in coarse clothing, a theatrical arrival that no doubt appealed to Chen.60 Chen’s relationship with Fang began with that arrival and continued uninterrupted until Chen’s death in 1639. So close did the two become in later years that Fang, who has apparently never enjoyed a moment of literary fame, was asked by Chen’s family to write the foreword to Chen’s posthumous Collected Works. As for the young Chen Jiru writing Wang Shizhen’s tomb epitaph, this was no small honour. By the end of his life Chen’s celebrity was empire-wide and there was no lack of famous writers who would have been honoured to oblige. That Chen’s

60 Chen Jiru, “Shou junhou Yuxiu Fang gong xu” 壽郡侯禹修方公敘 “Foreword to Birthday Greetings for the Commandery Marquis, Fang Yuxiu” in QJ, 17:25a–26b.

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family asked someone not especially renowned for his literary talents to write the foreword stands as a testament to a noteworthy friendship.61 A most substantial initial component of this friendship was that on arrival in Songjiang Fang persuaded Chen to undertake the editing and compilation of the Songjiang Prefectural Gazetteer. A local gazetteer was of signicant importance to a community and the compiling of it was usually only given to those of substantive literary ability as it was an activity that involved considerable political, social, and literary judgement in the selection and editing of material. Local gazetteers were one way for the local elite to demarcate themselves, assuming responsibility for the recording and interpretation of the local environment, as well as the promotion of the locale. The material in these gazetteers was irrevocably tied to local politics. The gazetteers invariably included biographies of notable gures from the past—gures who often would have biographies elsewhere. These gazetteer biographies could stand in direct contrast to those in the imperial histories, as could local records of the circumstances surrounding local construction projects, or histories of protest. In undertaking this project Chen was positioned as an eminent local gure and was responsible for decisions that could have direct political implications.62

61 In one record Chen expresses his admiration for the establishment by Fang of four temples in the area. See Chen Jiru, “Qingfeng shuyuan ji” 清風書院記 “Record of the Qingfeng Academy” in QJ, 20:7a–9a. Another ‘ofcial’ friendship was with Tu Long. Tu Long, also part of the cultural elite of the Jiangnan area, collaborated with Chen on several literary projects. In 1578 Tu Long went to take up an ofcial position in Qingpu 青浦 and was immediately welcomed into the houses of Wang Shizhen and Wang Xijue, where Chen would have met him. Tu Long served as a magistrate in Qingpu for four years. Famous as a writer, when he came to Qingpu, Tu maintained his own troupe of players. (See Chaoyang Fang, “Tu Long” in DMB, pp. 1324–7.) Chen recorded that: “When Tu was the Magistrate of Qingpu, Liang Chenyu 梁辰漁 (1519–1591) came to visit. Tu arranged that Liang’s play, the Huansha ji 浣紗記 [Record of Huan Sha], be performed. Whenever there was a good phrase Tu would toast him his longevity, whenever it was less than good Liang had to drink as punishment.” (See Chen Jiru, Clear Words from a Peaceful World, 1:5b). Tu Long and Chen both wrote introductions to the Jiaxiu yuan ji 甲秀園集 [Garden of Primary Grace Collection] by the young literatus, Fei Yuanlu 費元祿 (. late Ming), published in 1610. (They may have also worked together on the Shuangxin xiaotan ji 爽心笑談集 [Witty Banter for a Nimble Mind Collection]. The National Library of China record says that this work was edited by Chen and proofread by Tu, but the only copy I have seen is on microlm in that library. Reasons for doubting its authenticity include Chen never mentioning it elsewhere, no record appearing in other catalogues, and Tu being listed under a pseudonym he usually did not use.) 62 Chen’s political engagement can also be seen in another of his works, Dushu jing 讀書鏡 [A Mirror for Reading]. In a foreword to this work Chen made it clear that his

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Chen’s literary abilities were also employed in local activities such as the writing of records for public structures like temples, shrines, steles, bridges, and embankments. Sometimes these records were little more than personal notes, such as his record of the temple on the Mao River, but that did not rule out political implications in his writing. In the Mao River record Chen wrote that the temple dated back to the sixth year of the Tianbao reign period (747). Destroyed and rebuilt on more than one occasion, it was by his day once again in ruins. Chen stated that its present dilapidation was brought about by a combination of the ravages of iconoclastic pirates and local armed conicts. Chen heard of the parlous state of the temple and went to investigate, he found the monks without enough food to eat. He became closely involved in raising money to rebuild the temple and to attract more monks to it.63 While this is a personal record, Chen’s reporting of the causes of the ruin of the temple raises questions of local and central governance. Although he does not state it openly, the implication could be drawn that a well-governed empire was neither a site of regular armed conicts, nor was it seemingly defenceless against pirates impressing their activities on seaboard populations. Had Chen wished to make the account more politically insipid he could have merely noted that the temple needed refurbishing without mentioning why. In addition to the writing of such records, Chen was active in other ways in the restoration of temples, shrines, and public infrastructure. It is doubtful that he was ever wealthy enough to single-handedly nance substantial infrastructure projects, but he participated in endeavours of the sort through his social contacts. The Chronological Biography for 1603 notes that he was consulted on the refurbishment of the Xiuzhou Embankment 秀州塘.64 The refurbishment of canals was an activity often overlooked by the government. Brook notes that: “Where a small project like cutting a short canal past a difcult point in a river was undertaken, as often as not it was carried out by a private individual, undertaken for philanthropic or commercial reasons, not on the initiative

purpose in compiling the work was to follow the tradition of the Zizhi tongjian 資治通鑑 [Comprehensive Mirror for Aid In Government]. The General Index to the Complete Library in Four Branches of Literature (p. 764) goes so far as to say that Chen’s work reects the unstable politics of the Wanli period, hardly an avoidance of political questions. 63 Chen Jiru, “Chongxiu Mao qiao Chengjian si ji” 重修泖橋澄鑒寺記 “Record of Repairing the Bridge over the Mao River at the Chengjian Temple” in QJ, 23:36a–37b. 64 NP, 14a.

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of the local magistrate.”65 In this vein the Chronological Biography mentions that it was originally a Buddhist monk who brought the state of the embankment to Chen’s attention. Chen was consulted, not for any specic knowledge of hydrological engineering, but because of his contacts with local elites and/or ofcials who could help sponsor such a project. Chen also used his writing ability and elite status to aid the general welfare of the area. This began as early as 1587 when a natural disaster occurred and he petitioned the local authorities to cancel the debts the people owed the government.66 In 1608, with a local insurrection threatening to get out of hand, Chen petitioned the local authorities to provide tax relief, and when that was not forthcoming, he personally helped in aid work and in providing support for local people to maintain the roads and bridges.67 The record of this incident states that Chen, after having accomplished all this, and later having been involved in providing many people with food, became indignant when some local authorities decided to fête him with a feast.68 The quid pro quo for his philanthropic largesse was not to be publicly tainted. Chen’s writing skills were sometimes paired with direct action. A ood caused so much havoc one year that even in the sixth month the seedlings were rotting underwater, Chen petitioned Wang Xijue, outlining the difculties that farmers were enduring.69 When a famine ensued Chen donated some of his own time, food, and resources.70 He also wrote to another ofcial suggesting that without assistance bandits

65 T. Brook, “Communications and Commerce”, p. 606. Brook notes the same for bridges, (p. 611). 66 NP, 7b. 67 Ibid., 17a. Did Chen’s timely intervention prevent a full-scale insurrection? There were no serious insurrections in his area until close to the fall of the dynasty, after Chen’s death. It appears unlikely that any momentous social or political uprising was in the ofng and that Chen’s deeds here have been written as favourably as possible. For a synopsis of late-Ming uprisings during Chen’s lifetime, see chapters one to three of James Bunyan Parsons, Peasant Rebellions of the Late Ming Dynasty (Tuscon: University of Arizona Press, 1970). The Chronological Biography records a number of other instances when Chen was involved in petitioning ofcials on behalf of those suffering in his local area and recommending strategies for dealing with disasters, such as the most expedient way to organise grain distribution and so on. See especially the entries for the years 1632 and 1638. 68 NP, 17a. 69 Chen Jiru, “Shang Wang Xianggong jiuhuang shu” 上王相公救荒書 “To the Honourable Wang, Regarding Famine Alleviation” in WXT, 23:3a–5a. 70 NP, 17a.

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would arise and throw the area into anarchy.71 A short work of his own, the Zhuzhou tiaoyi 煮粥條議 [Notes on Cooking Congee], recorded his observations on the circumstances and progress of the ‘soup kitchen’ that he was involved with.72 He writes with some perception of the issues surrounding the kitchens: If a kitchen is established at the outer city wall then many itinerants will come, if established in the district villages then all those who plough and work the land will come. If there is but a single kitchen, and all these people gather together, then the possibilities for epidemics will increase, but if these two groups are kept apart then the roads and villages will be appropriately used. The best arrangement then is that nine in every ten kitchens should be in the countryside, with the remaining one at the city walls.73

Elsewhere he writes of the way that the food should be prepared: In the past congee that was made from powdered rice was often half cooked and half raw, and was mixed with chalk. Those who were hungry did not pick the chalk out, and after eating some became seriously ill and died. If congee is made from grains of rice this problem will not occur.74

Passages such as these are indicative of rst-hand experience. They also show Chen acting in line with elite behaviour since at least the Song dynasty when a: “. . . tradition of famine relief, celebrated in literature,

71 Chen Jiru, “Shang Xu Zhongcheng jiuhuang shu” 上徐中丞救荒書 “To Censorin-Chief Xu, Regarding Famine Alleviation” in WXT, 23:5b–6b. 72 The earliest extant version seems to be that found in the Collected Works, 59:58a–62b. There is also an interesting re-write of it in the Qing dynasty collection Xuehai leibian 學海類編 [Classied Anthology from the Ocean of Learning], attributed to the late-Ming, early-Qing literatus ofcial Cao Rong 曹溶. This version includes a foreword by Chen, not reproduced in the edition in the Collected Works, outlining the circumstances under which this all took place. This foreword states that in 1609 there was a famine and that the Censor Zhou Kongjiao 周孔教 ( js.1580) examined the situation. A consequence of which was that the Provincial and District heads were all sent out to help in the distribution of food aid. At Mount She, where Chen was, more than 300 piculs of rice were made available in the Xuanmiao Temple 宣妙寺 and many people came to take advantage of this. This is not completely in accordance with the record of this incident as recorded in the Chronological Biography that states that Chen helped at a place called Mount Tianma 天馬山, which lies between Mount She and Little Mount Kun. In this possibly spurious foreword Chen signs himself the Daoist of Mount She [Sheshan daoren 佘山道人], not an alias he is known as using. 73 QJ, 59:58a. 74 Ibid., 59:59b.

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in popular lore, and in local shrines, had been powerful enough to move local elites facing crises to assume responsibility for the starving.”75 Chen also became involved in discussions on, and made some observations relating to, the defence of the area. There was a substantial amount of pirate activity along the east coast of China during the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries. Much of Jiangnan, with its ubiquitous waterways and concentrations of wealth, was an attractive target. This was especially so in Chen’s area which was criss-crossed with canals and close to large rivers and the ocean. Songjiang itself was attacked by pirates in the sixteenth century, and both the nearby centres of Shanghai and Wusong 吾松 fell to pirate raids.76 While it appears that Chen’s life was never directly threatened, the area was obviously prey to pirates and to local uprisings, and the safety and well-being of the population was of immediate concern to local authorities.77 In 1622 Chen wrote a commentary on plans for an expansion of the city wall, and examined the effect that it would have on the population at large.78 He also wrote about the advantages that the neighbouring town of Taicang had enjoyed when two of its Guards were afforded a rise in bureaucratic status and changed into Districts. Chen proposed that administrative and defence changes be made to the local Mount Jin Guard [ Jinshan wei 金山衛], which was attached to Songjiang, so that it would become a District. In his essay Chen argued that the Guard already had the capacity to house and feed the necessary forces, and that it would be better for the defence of the area to be arranged accordingly.79 75 Joanna F Handlin Smith, “Benevolent Societies: The Reshaping of Charity During the Late Ming and Early Ch’ing” The Journal of Asian Studies, 46:2, pp. 309–310. 76 So Kwan-wai, Japanese Piracy in Ming China during the Sixteenth Century (East Lansing: Michigan State University Press, 1975), p. 9. To get some feel for how prevalent pirates were during this period ve of the rst eighteen biographies (comprising the rst two chapters of biographies) in Chen’s Collected Works mention pirates. 77 In a wide-ranging study of violence in the Ming dynasty James Tong made the following observation: “[of the] . . . 630 cases of rebellion and banditry in the 1,097 counties in the eleven provinces studied and the 277 years of the Ming dynasty . . . More than four-fths of the 630 events occurred in the second half of the dynasty, and over three-quarters in the southern provinces of the empire.” James Tong, Disorder under Heaven: Collective Violence in the Ming Dynasty (Stanford: Stanford University Press, 1991), p. 6. It is worth noting in passing that there were two recorded violent tenant revolts close to Chen in the 1630s, one in Taicang and one in Wuxian 吳縣. See James Tong, Disorder under Heaven, pp. 185–6. 78 NP, 26b–27a. 79 Chen Jiru, “Ni Jinshanwei cheng gai she zhou xian yi” 擬金山衛城改設州縣議 “Draft of a Proposal to turn the Mount Jin Guard into a District” in QJ, 60:37a–39a.

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The nal two chapters of Chen’s Collected Works are devoted to his suggestions, comments, and polemics, many of which touch on local issues. This is a substantial body of writing, together they cover many topics and the examples above are but a modest sample. Another suggestion, for example, proposed opening up the course of a local waterway, and was thought highly enough of to be included in a local gazetteer.80 Yet another, dealing with the taxation arrangements of the cotton trade in Songjiang, was included in the edition of the Songjiang Prefectural Gazetteer that Chen edited.81 Other works also demonstrate Chen’s interest in economic matters and mark him as a type of economic theorist. He wrote, for instance, a commentary on the ‘singlewhip tax’ of the 1570s,82 and two small essays that deal with issues surrounding the purchasing of rice when a famine occurs.83 How should these activities be seen? They are in accordance with the observation that: “Gentry status was understood as entailing such liturgical responsibilities for all sorts of matters, from dykes to soup kitchens.”84 Fullling these duties as a member of the gentry shows that Chen’s abjuration of political power did not mean a rejection of the society he lived in, nor of activities with overt political implications. His writing was not divorced from political (or nancial) considerations, far from it; even some pieces that today appear as innocuous records present a different picture when they are placed in their historical context. One such record is that of the memorial to Fang Xiaoru. The Memorial to Fang Xiaoru Fang Xiaoru was an early-Ming ofcial and philosopher who died over a century and a half before Chen was born, but even in Chen’s day Fang’s actions were still a cause of concern for the dynasty. Fang

Although his proposal was not acted on at the time the Mount Jin Guard was nally changed into a district a little over a century later, in 1725. 80 Chen Jiru, “Wusong jiang yi” 吳淞江議 “Proposal on the Wusong River” collected in the Qingpu District Gazetteer, 28:65b. 81 Ch’en Kuo-tung discusses this in his article on the origin of and activities described by the term baobiao. See “Baobiao kao” 保標考 “Examination of the Term Baobiao” Shihuo yuekan 食貨月刊, 14:5, pp. 240–49. 82 Chen Jiru, “Cha yitiaobian zhi gu” 查一條鞭之故 “An Examination of the Reasons for the Single-Whip Tax” in BSQ , p. 219. 83 Chen Jiru, “Jin’e di” 禁遏糴 “Preventing Grain Imports” and “Di mi” 糴米 “Importing Grain” in BSQ , pp. 210–1. 84 T. Brook, Praying for Power, p. 13.

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is best known to history for his fatal clash with the Yongle Emperor (r. 1403–1424), when the latter seized power by deposing his nephew at the beginning of the fteenth century. One biography of Fang summed up the incident, the emperor: “. . . commanded Fang, rst in polite terms, to draft the rescript announcing his succession, . . . Fang berated him as a criminal and usurper, . . . the usurper then tortured him physically and psychologically, but to no avail . . .”85 In a number of dynasties, when the earlier, bureaucracy-dominating emperors are on the throne, the fate of such outspoken ofcials is usually dire, and Fang Xiaoru’s fate was hardly unexpected. The Yongle Emperor was so enraged that: Hsiao-ju’s [Xiaoru’s] younger brother, Hsiao-yu, was executed at the same time that Hsiao-ju met his death. The wife, two sons and two daughters all perished, leaving him no direct descendants. The members of his ancestral clan were also executed. Together with their relatives and friends they numbered one hundred persons. Meanwhile, distant relatives of Hsiao-ju were banished to the frontiers. Finally, his disciples, including eminent ofcials, were put to death, and everyone who had attended the school at Han-chung was executed.86

Fang’s works were banned following his execution in 1402, and the possession of any of his writings was an offence that also incurred the death penalty. All subsequent Ming emperors were descended from the Yongle Emperor, and perhaps the strength of the anxiety over his actions, which arose again during the writing of the dynastic history during the Qing, reected the uninching determination and ruthlessness with which he prosecuted them. For the later Ming rulers, it was equally uncomfortable to ignore Fang Xiaoru, a paragon of Confucian virtue, as it was to recognise that this gure cast a shadow over their moral right to rule. The issue was too sensitive to be discussed at court for a long time, but by the rst half of the sixteenth century the issue of how to deal with Fang Xiaoru, and the others who died in that episode, was clearly in the open at county level. There both Fang and his fellow martyrs and supporters were undergoing a public reassessment. Fang soon had a shrine in his hometown and other people who perished with

85

Frederick W. Mote, “Fang Xiao-ju” in DMB, p. 431. Robert B. Crawford, “Fang Xiao-ju in the Light of Early Ming Society” Monumenta Serica, vol. 15, 1956, p. 307. Fang Xiaoru had been sent to Hanzhong as a teacher, and once there attracted a group of disciples. 86

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him soon had their own memorials, one group comprising both ofcial and local members of a Jiangnan county, for example, set up a Shrine to Loyalty and Fidelity to an ofcial, Wang Shuying, who had perished in the Fang Xiaoru affair. They were: “. . . said to have felt disgraced that while Fang was enshrined in his home county of Ninghai, Wang was neglected in theirs.”87 The enthronement of the Wanli Emperor accelerated the process of public rehabilitation. In 1584 a censor by the name of Tu Shufang 屠叔方 (1564?–1598?) wrote a memorial urging upon the emperor the: “. . . release and rehabilitation of the surviving descendants of Fang and other condemned individuals.” Soon after this the Wanli Emperor, referring to those who had perished in this incident: “. . . ordered the erection of a shrine in Nanking in honor of the Chien-wen martyrs”.88 Chen’s involvement with the legacy of Fang Xiaoru began soon after, in 1596, when he edited a book called Jianwen shi 建文史 [A History of the Jianwen Reign Period].89 The editor of this work was the same Tu Shufang who had written the 1584 memorial, and was a cousin of Chen’s friend, Tu Long, who probably introduced them. Shortly after working on Tu’s book Chen brought out his own compilation related to the Jianwen period (1399–1402, though under what title is not entirely clear).90 What is clear is that the Jianwen period was now an increasingly popular subject, and that Chen was writing on it, displaying an accurate gauge of the direction that popular historical interest was taking.91

87 Katherine Carlitz, “Shrines, Governing-Class Identity, and the Cult of Widow Fidelity in Mid-Ming Jiangnan” The Journal of Asian Studies, vol. 56:3, p. 635. 88 Frederick W. Mote, “Fang Xiao-ju”, p. 432. 89 The title refers to the short, four-year reign that preceded that of the Yongle Emperor. 90 Wang Yunwu 王雲五 ed., Siku quanshu zongmu 四庫全書總目 [General Index to the Complete Library in Four Branches of Literature] (Taipei: Taiwan shangwu, 1971), 12:2, states that Chen edited a work, in twenty chapters called Jianwen chao ye huibian 建文 朝野彙編 [Collected Ofcial and Unofcial Documents Relating to the Jianwen Period ]. That source also lists another work under Chen’s name called the Jianwen shidai 建文史待 [A History of the Jianwen Reign Period ]. Chen himself wrote that: “I compiled the Jianwen hui 建文會 [ Jianwen Collection] in over thirty chapters.” (See Chen Jiru, “Jietan Zheng weng zhuan” 潔潭鄭翁傳 “Biography of Zheng Jietan” in QJ, 43:30a–33a.) The Jianwen Collection is not recorded elsewhere under that title, so it may refer to either of the titles listed above. 91 A survey of entries in the General Index to the Complete Library in Four Branches of Literature indicates that while works relating records and events of the Jianwen reign period had begun appearing around the turn of the sixteenth century it was the end of the sixteenth and beginning of the seventeenth centuries that their number increased

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The desire to honour Fang Xiaoru soon manifested itself in Songjiang, and in 1609 Chen was consulted by local authorities on the construction of a memorial temple to Fang.92 The reason for this temple being established in Songjiang was that while most of Fang’s family and relatives had been put to death at the same time as Fang, it was said that a small number who had survived had come to Songjiang under an assumed surname. Chen was asked to provide historical information for the local authorities and, once he had done so, the funding was provided for the temple. Two years later he was asked by the local Prefect to write a record of the episode. The process of investigating the people who had ed to Songjiang as well as writing the record of the temple construction, indicate that Chen was regarded not just as someone with knowledge, but also as a suitable choice for the recording of public affairs in the area, a role he undertook despite the political implications.93 Chen’s involvement in all the activities mentioned above is well described by the biographer who wrote that his life was that “. . . of the literary man who has ostensibly retreated from public life, [and that] he utilized that situation to advance his own fame and fortune . . .” (my italics)94 While Chen “ostensibly retreated from public life” he is far removed from the famed late-Ming traveller, Xu Xiake, whose writings contain no political observation.95 From his involvement in local relief projects, to engaging with issues that had empire-wide signicance, Chen openly demonstrated his status within the elite, he took the duties incumbent on a gure of his status and position seriously and did not shirk from political activities. However, there were occasions when Chen refused to participate.

markedly. Within forty years of Tu and Chen bringing out their works, another ve books devoted to the same subject appeared. In addition to that, works such as Jiang Yingke’s 江盈科 (1553–1605) Ming shiliu zhong xiao zhuan 明十六種小傳 [Biographical Notes for the Ming in Sixteen Categories] with its entry on Fang Xiaoru also appeared. 92 NP, 18a–19a. 93 Songjiang Prefectural Gazetteer, 81:9b, records the event and notes that Dong Qichang also wrote a record. 94 Fang Chao-ying, “Ch’en Chi-ju”, p. 84. 95 Li Chi, The Travel Diaries of Hsü Hsia-k’o, p. 22.

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Declined Invitations Invitations are not a coherent historical category. They encompass, for example, invitations to serve in ofce, invitations to travel together, and invitations to dinner. Despite that, this brief section is based on the refusal of invitations. I have placed these disparate invitations together because an understanding of Chen’s attitude to the society he lived in, and how he thought he should negotiate it, can be furthered by outlining these refusals. Chen habitually declined two types of invitations in the public sphere. These included invitations to attend academies, and offers of government position. From the previous section we know that Chen was active in his local area, however he repeatedly refused to participate in the proceedings of private academies. Different academies exhibited varying degrees of overt political engagement. One contemporary evaluation suggests that all academies, through their interpretation of the classics and attached commentaries, were involved to some degree in challenging the state’s orthodoxy.96 The Donglin Academy was overtly political and also the most famous academy that Chen was invited to participate in. Chen was invited to join the Donglin Academy by several members, including its director Gu Xiancheng, on several occasions. He repeatedly declined, and his refusal in this instance may well have been on account of the Academy’s overtly political stance.97 Chen’s refusal of the invitation cannot have been a comfortable decision, particularly with Gu having personally invited him to join, as they had known each other since 1589. In 1590 Gu had invited Chen on a boat trip to Xiuzhou, an invitation Chen accepted, and thereafter they had remained in touch. It was on that trip that Gu rst asked Chen to join the Academy.98 Chen did not provide his reasons for declining other than saying he was not well. But the Chronological Biography for this year lists no illness,99 and another record has Chen travelling on an extended excursion with Wang Heng at this time, so it was merely a politic refusal.100 On at

96 Chow Kai-wing, Publishing, Culture, and Power in Early Modern China, pp. 156–61 and passim. 97 NP, 12b. 98 Chen Jiru, “Shou Gu Jingyang xiansheng liushi xu” 壽顧涇陽先生六十序 “Foreword to Birthday Greetings for Gu Jingyang’s Sixtieth Birthday” in QJ, 15:5a–7a. 99 NP, 12a. 100 Xu Shuofang, Chronological Biographies of Late-Ming Dramatists, vol. 1 p. 384.

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least two occasions Chen made it clear that illness really had nothing to do with his not accepting the invitation, and elsewhere he noted that: “It is desirable that scholar-ofcials act in this (his own) manner. It is not necessary to have the attendant fame [one could garner from participation in an academy].”101 Elsewhere, he showed no reluctance in making his thoughts on participating in an academy quite clear: “I do not want to celebrate their victories (now), because I do not want to mourn their dead later.”102 Chen’s decision to refuse the invitations offered was very likely based on his desire to avoid direct involvement in empire-wide politics when he could. Chen’s refusal to participate in any academy was curious. This was because participation was precisely the sort of elite activity that Chen could have been involved in with minimal danger to himself had he chosen judiciously. However, in point of fact, Chen even refused an invitation from an academy not noted for its political engagement.103 There are yet two other aspects that make Chen’s decision signicant. First, Xu Jie, Chen’s most senior townsman (who came out to the gates of his residence to greet Chen after Chen passed the juvenile exam), was a fervent supporter of the academies.104 Chen would have known of Xu’s attitude, and for him to act contrary to it indicates that he made a conscious decision to refuse this type of activity. Second, as Chow Kai-wing has noted, for many unknown prospective examinees the joining of a literary society could bring a recognition that could aid them nancially in the world of publishing, as well as making their mark in the socio-cultural sphere before they went into the examination halls.105 That Chen did not engage in such activities suggests that those benets were not substantial enough. In his later years Chen, unsurprisingly, also made a habit of declining ofcial invitations to participate in the government. In 1631 a Censor, Wu Yongshun 吳永順 (. late Ming), recommended Chen to the court,

101

Ji Liuqi, Northern Strategies of the Ming, 15:13. Nelson Wu, “Tung Ch’i-ch’ang (1555–1636): Apathy in Government and Fervour in Art”, p. 278. 103 In 1605 a certain Geng 耿 of Qinqchuan, upon completing the Xian’ge Tower 絃歌樓, invited many famous worthies to join an academy there. Chen once again begged off with the well-worn excuse of illness. See NP, 15a–b. 104 John Meskill, Academies in Ming China: A Historical Essay (Tuscon, The University of Arizona Press, 1982), p. 131. 105 Chow Kai-wing, Publishing, Culture, and Power in Early Modern China, p. 244. 102

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Chen refused.106 Two years later, in 1633, Chen was again recommended to the court, this time by Shen Yan 沈演 (1566–1638), from the Ministry of Works, he refused again.107 He was recommended to court again the following year, by the Attendant Censor, Wei Shizhang 魏士章, with the same result.108 The biography in the Qingpu District Gazetteer dryly notes that Chen was repeatedly summoned by the court and repeatedly begged off through ill health.109 The refusal to serve was consistent with the decision Chen made when he burnt his robes, a desire to avoid socio-political activities at the national level. After his withdrawal Chen behaved in a manner tting his public persona as a recluse. He forged strong links with Buddhist monks and engaged with them as other elites did. His adoption of reclusion was never a barrier to engagement with his local community. Chen participated in a variety of activities, many of which had political overtones. However, the sphere of activity that occupied most of Chen’s life was the publishing industry, the subject of the following chapter.

106 NP, 33a and Qingpu District Gazetteer, 21:6b. Hucker translates jishizhong 給事中 as Supervising Secretary, I have used the more common designation of Censor. 107 NP, 34b. and Qingpu District Gazetteer, 21:6b. 108 NP, 38b. 109 Qingpu District Gazetteer, 21:7a. An earlier record conrms this and also adds that the heir apparent (it does not specify which one) had heard of Chen’s name. See Qian Qianyi 錢謙益, “Chen zhengshi Jiru” 陳徵士繼儒 “The Summoned Scholar, Chen Jiru” in Liechao shiji xiaozhuan 列朝詩集小傳 [Brief Biographies from Poetic Collections through the Dynasties] (1649) vol. 4b, collected in Zhou Junfu 周駿富 ed., Mingdai zhuanji congkan 明代傳記叢刊 [Ming Dynasty Biographies Series] (Taipei: Mingwen shuju yinxing, 1991), 011–677. Another entry in the Qingpu District Gazetteer (16:3b) also records Chen being recommended for government service.

CHAPTER THREE

CHEN JIRU AND PUBLISHING Chen was active in the printing and publishing industries throughout his life. He was both a consumer and a producer of texts. While cultivating a reputation as a discerning reader of a particular kind of material could function as the basis for a literary persona, Chen’s personae are directly related to his activities as a writer and cultural elite. Accordingly, the emphasis here is on his role in the production of texts. Late-Ming Printing The Ming dynasty in general, and the late-Ming period in particular, witnessed changes in the production of texts, structure of the industry, and the number and type of readers. Technological change drove some of the growth in the industry. Advances such as the use of metal (copper) typography and printing in several colours,1 particularly by printers in the lower Yangtse valley region, enabled faster printing and the production of more alluring books.2 One contemporary historian notes that the range of paper and the technical skills, and division of labour within the industry in Jiangnan were all considerable. At the lower end of the market, paper production was ubiquitous in some areas, with every district producing its own paper. At the higher end there was a range of processing techniques. Suzhou was the centre for this industry both during the Ming, and then into the Qing.3 The trade in commercial publications

1 Although two-colour printing was common before this period, it was during the late Ming that the ve-colour block method began to be widely used. 2 Joseph Needham, Science and Civilisation in China (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1985), vol. 5:1, p. 282. 3 Fan Jinmin 范金民, Ming Qing Jiangnan shangye de fazhan 明清江南商業的 發展 [The Development of Commerce in Jiangnan during the Ming and Qing Dynasties] (Nanjing: Nanjing daxue chubanshe, 1998), pp. 39–40. In outlining specialised and subsidiary occupations related to commercial products Fan lists eight categories, two of which are paper-making and commercial publishing.

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in the Jiangnan area was such that up to seventy percent of the empirewide total came from there, principally from Suzhou and Nanjing.4 Papermaking, principally utilising bamboo, increased, and one estimate has up to 60,000 people employed in paper mills in a single Jiangnan town at the end of the sixteenth century.5 Binding was advanced by the use of cotton and silk thread and the new format “. . . was very durable . . . and was quick and simple to do.”6 An important consequence of some of these changes was the substantial drop in printing costs. One late-Ming writer is quoted as saying that in his day a hand-written book would cost ten times its printed version.7 In concert with that remark is recent scholarship suggesting that xylographic editions possibly did not usurp the overall primacy of manuscripts, or hand copies, until some time in the sixteenth century.8 In addition to the technological advances, the state had early on made the business of printing more economically viable by removing the tax on the printing of books.9 Indeed, reecting that the printing industry had grown beyond a closed industry of printers and apprentices, the rst substantial record of the manufacturing process was itself written and published during the last decade of the dynasty.10 The signicance of these changes has been read in different ways, Brook, emphasising the greater availability of material and the wider distribution of texts, has written that: “Printing technology in the narrow sense of techni4 Ibid., p. 41. Fan is quoting Hu Yinglin 胡應麟 (1551–1602?). In describing the Jiangnan region as the centre of the publishing industry Brook suggests that: “The key factor in this region was its proximity, not to a market, but to a source of the abundant raw material, bamboo, from which inexpensive paper was made.” T. Brook, “Communications and Commerce”, p. 663. 5 Joseph Needham, Science and Civilisation in China, vol. 5:1, p. 49. This reects in part the rise of libraries and thus a greater demand. Timothy Brook, writing on the popularisation of libraries at the local level, noted that: “. . . it was only in the Ming that a school, even down at the county level, was expected to have a library.” T. Brook, “Edifying Knowledge: The Building of School Libraries in Ming China” Late Imperial China, vol. 17:1, p. 94. In his article Brook also provides a table of the building dates of over eighty school libraries, the majority of which were built during the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries. pp. 96–101. (Though he does make it clear that he regards the period from 1439 to 1539 as the period of the most intense activity.) 6 Joseph Needham, Science and Civilisation, vol. 5:1, p. 321. 7 Ibid., p. 373. 8 Joseph McDermott, “The Ascendance of the Imprint in China” in Cynthia Brokaw and Chow Kai-wing eds., Printing and Book Culture in Late Imperial China (Berkeley: University of California Press, 2005), pp. 56–60. 9 T. Brook, The Confusions of Pleasure, p. 62. 10 This was in Tiangong kaiwu 天工開物 [Heaven’s Craft in the Creation of Things] by Song Yingxing 宋應星, published in 1637.

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cal process did not change in the Ming except in small ways, but the technology in the larger sense—the overall social process that organized the production of printed materials—did.”11 This obviously includes the growing number of people working in the industry, as mentioned above, but also points to a burgeoning readership market and distribution network. At the apex of the printing industry were the imperial printeries, although under direct imperial patronage they did not enjoy a monopoly, and had certainly lost the pre-eminent status they enjoyed during the Song. Various decrees forbidding private printing had been promulgated at different times since the rst occasion in 835, but they had often been circumvented.12 During the late Ming, the powers for the regulation of publishing were transferred to local education ofcials, allowing powerful regional interests to pursue their own concerns more forcefully.13 Rather than trying to implement a monopoly on the technology, the Ming state concentrated its efforts on the promotion of its own editions of the classics.14 These were usually Confucian, but during the late Ming the government printeries also produced Daoist and Buddhist works. The industry became so sophisticated that government printers themselves exhibited signs of a commercialisation and began producing works on subjects outside their traditional printing genres; works came out on subjects like chess and music, and the Censorate even published versions of two popular novels.15 The size of the popular reading market was so extensive that even the official printeries were vying to establish their own foothold in it. The most active of the government printeries were attached to the Directorate of Education. The Directorate’s printeries in Beijing and Nanjing together brought out over 300 titles. One commentator, however, comparing that number of texts with the private publishing industry, rightfully described their output as “. . . a small number of books.”16 That number of books and the different 11

T. Brook, The Confusions of Pleasure, p. 62. Publishing regulations were disobeyed, notably when a prot was in the ofng. For a discussion of this point, particularly with reference to the Song, see Chan Hoklam, Control of Publishing in China, Past and Present (Canberra: Socpac Printery, 1983), pp. 3–22. 13 Chan Hok-lam, Control of Publishing, p. 23. 14 T. Brook, “Communications and Commerce”, pp. 649–50. 15 Joseph Needham, Science and Civilisation, vol. 5:1, p. 177. The two novels were the Sanguo zhi yanyi 三國志演義 [Romance of the Records of the Three Kingdoms] and the Shuihu zhuan 水滸傳 [The Water Margin]. 16 Chow Kai-wing, “Writing for Success”, p. 122. 12

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genres published nonetheless provides an indication of the prospering of the industry as a whole. A set of statistics relating to the Ming publishing industry divided publications into three periods: pre-Jiajing (before 1523), Jiajing and Longqing 隆慶 (1523–1572), and post-Longqing (after 1572). Of nearly 8,000 titles surveyed the respective percentages of the total for those periods were 10, 29, and 61.17 Other sections of the industry brought ofcial and private interests together. These were the local government printeries, and those of members of the imperial family. In regard to the local government printers, the historian K.T. Wu has noted that: “When a high ofcial was appointed to a certain post, he often liked to supervise a certain amount of printing there during his term, merely for the sake of prestige or record.”18 The projects that ofcials became involved in ranged from records of local events to patronage of local writers. A remarkable development within local government printing, and one that we have seen was relevant to Chen, was that some seventy times more local gazetteers were printed during the Ming than during the Yuan.19 The imperial family were in a good position to play a part in the world of printing. They were numerous, wealthy, literate, and had access to resources. The rst Ming emperor had twenty-six sons. While not all of his descendents managed to equal or better his total, the royal family grew throughout the dynasty. By the late-sixteenth century the imperial clan had an extraordinary number of members: Under Wan-li (1573–1619) there were 45 princes of the rst rank receiving annual incomes of 10,000 shih (the equivalent in money of about 600 tonnes of cereals), and also 23,000 nobles of lesser rank.20

Quite a number of princes were involved in publishing, the printing workshop of one prince alone published 137 titles. The subject matter of their works was also extensive. One prince brought out a renowned facsimile woodcut edition of reproductions of famous calligraphy. Others brought out works on subjects such as medicine, tea, and incense.

17 Wu Chengxue 吳承學 and Li Bin, “Ming Qing ren yanzhong de Chen Meigong” 明清人眼中的陳眉公 “Chen Meigong in Ming and Qing Eyes” Zhongshan daxue xuebao (shehui kexue ban) 中山大學學報 (社會科學版), 2003:1, p. 2. 18 K.T. Wu, “Ming Printing and Printers” Harvard Journal of Asiatic Studies, vol. 7:3, p. 232. 19 Joseph Needham, Science and Civilisation, vol. 5:1, p. 178. 20 Jacques Gernet, A History of Chinese Civilization, J.R. Foster trans. (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1987), p. 431.

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The most noteworthy of the publishing princes was Zhu Zaiyu 朱載堉 (1536–c. 1610), the eldest son of the Prince of Zheng. He brought out the Yuelü quanshu 樂律全書 [Complete Compendium of Music and Pitch], a ne collection of works on music, including his own Jialiang suanjing 嘉量算經 [The Classic of Fine Intervals and their Measurement] with its remarkable mathematical accuracy in determining an equal-tempered tonal system.21 While private printing had been in evidence for many centuries, and ourished during the Song dynasties, the number and type of people involved, and their motivations, during the late Ming is still astonishing. Even “. . . private groups such as families, lineages, and religious groups all contributed to the expansion of printing in the late Ming.”22 James Cahill, writing of one of the causes for the large number of people involved in cultural production, has noted that: “. . . from the mid-Ming . . . a much larger pool of men qualied for bureaucratic service . . . than the bureaucracy could absorb, and many of them were forced to turn to other ways, including painting, of putting their learning and talents to use in earning their livelihoods.”23 With strong competition in the examinations some “ . . . advanced examinees began to resort to printing of their own exercise essays to create a “public” reputation in order to draw the attention of the examiners.”24 Other motivations listed for publishing ranged from: . . . book-dealers who produced printed works strictly for prot” to “. . . authors, compilers, or commentators [who] . . . usually desired to see their own work published . . .” and “. . . private institutions like the Academies [that] . . . for lecture or instructional purposes, usually printed mainly for the use of their own students.” Their motivations ranged from the pecuniary, to an interest in publishing rare or curious books.25 The range of works brought out by private printers was also extensive as they pursued previously uncommon or non-existent topics. For example, the famous work on the construction

21 Joseph Needham, Science and Civilisation, vol. 5:1, p. 178. So remarkable was this advance that one modern critic has suggested that Zhu’s calculations of the twelfth and twenty-fourth roots of two was “. . . the earliest such effort in the world, east and west.” See Gene Jinsiong Cho, Lu-Lu, A Study of its Historical, Acoustical and Symbolic Signication (Taipei: Caves Books, 1989), p. 85. 22 Chow Kai-wing, Publishing, Culture, and Power in Early Modern China, p. 22. 23 J. Cahill, The Painter’s Practice (New York: Columbia University Press, 1994), p. 7. 24 Chow Kai-wing, “Writing for Success”, p. 127. 25 K.T. Wu, “Ming Printing and Printers”, pp. 231–2.

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of gardens, Yuan ye 園冶 [The Craft of Gardens], by Ji Cheng 計成 (1582–1644), was printed in 1635; while Heaven’s Craft in the Creation of Things, with information on such wide-ranging subjects as weaving, the fermenting of wine, and weaponry, was published two years later. As Ellen Widmer’s study on the Huanduzhai Printery of the seventeenth century has shown, printers had a diverse market, and a reading public diffuse and substantial enough to support specialised printing on singular topics. The proprietor of the Huanduzhai Printery was independently wealthy and did not need to focus on making a prot, so the printery concentrated on a single subject: the publishing and transmission of medical knowledge.26 Medical treatises were popular, as were plays, and a study of the Nanjing publishing industry shows that one in four commercial works produced there during the Ming were dramas.27 By the late Ming, the printing industry had access to raw materials and printing methods much cheaper than before. Printed texts were appearing in increasing numbers on an ever-growing range of topics, and they could be had cheaply: a modest text could be had for the price of ten winter melons, ve decent geese, or two and a half chairs.28 Who purchased these texts? The literate population, especially in the urban centres of Jiangnan were, by all accounts, eager consumers if the number of texts is a reliable guide. There are no substantive gures on the number of readers, but we do know that whatever their number they were certainly not a homogenous group.29 One article on lateMing printing notes that: “There were at least three reading publics: the general urban readers, the examinees, and women. These reading publics were not mutually exclusive but overlapped in the books they read, especially those pertaining to practical uses and entertainment. Travel guides, almanacs, novels, plays, short stories, medical books,

26 Ellen Widmer, “The Huanduzhai of Hangzhou and Suzhou: A Study of Seventeenth-Century Publishing” Harvard Journal of Asiatic Studies, 56:1, p. 80. 27 Lucille Chia, “Of Three Mountains Street: The Commercial Publishers of Ming Nanjing” in Cynthia Brokaw and Chow Kai-wing eds., Printing and Book Culture in Late Imperial China (Berkeley: University of California Press, 2005), p. 137. 28 See Chow Kai-wing, Publishing, Culture, and Power in Early Modern China, appendices 1–4. 29 See Anne McLaren, “Constructing New Reading Publics in Late Ming China” in Cynthia Brokaw and Chow Kai-wing eds., Printing and Book Culture in Late Imperial China (Berkeley: University of California Press, 2005), pp. 159–62 and 173–4. McLaren notes a number of contemporary constructions of the prospective reading audience and mentions literati, poets, men of renement, ofcials, learned men, common men, the four classes of people, the unlearned, ignorant men and women, and so on.

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ritual manuals, and guides for letter-writing made general readings for all.”30 The mention of examinees is important for two reasons, the rst is the obvious observation that they were all literate and their numbers increased substantially in the late Ming, the second is that they themselves, as literate ‘unemployed’ had often to fall back on their skills with the brush to make a living, and accordingly produced works both related and unrelated to the world of examinations. Chen and other writers like him brought out many books that were full of short entries unrelated to the imperial examinations, in doing so they acted as a conduit for the new market of readers, especially the new urban readers, who could not read the literary classical language (of most registers) very well, or who did not have the necessary time required to pursue it. Writing of similar literature during the Qing, Robert Hegel has noted that many works did not contain many arcane literary allusions, and surmised that the audience for works like this was probably mostly upper-class women, merchants, young people, shopkeepers, and low-level government employees.31 This comment can be applied to many works published during the late Ming. Two comments, dating from the mid-Ming, indicate that a considerable percentage of the population were at least functionally literate, even if they could not read the Chinese of the histories or Confucian classics. The rst comment, decrying the standard of printed material in the fteenth century, noted that the desire for reading some of these works was so strong that even: “. . . farmers, plain labourers and merchants” were interested in possessing them.32 The second comment refers to the end of the fteenth century: “During his visit to China in 1488, the Korean, Ch’oe Pu, was impressed with the degree of literacy he encountered. Ch’oe could not speak Chinese and had to rely exclusively on writing to communicate, so he was in a good position to gauge the literacy of common people. He observed that many 30

Chow Kai-wing, “Writing for Success”, p. 124. Robert E. Hegel, “Distinguishing Levels of Audiences For Ming-Ch’ing Vernacular Literature: A Case Study” in, D. Johnson et al. eds., Popular Culture in Late Imperial China (Taipei: SMC Publishing Inc., 1985), p. 113. 32 This quote, dating from the fteenth century, can be found in Craig Clunas, Pictures and Visuality in Early Modern China (Princeton, Princeton University Press, 1997), p. 33. Clunas is citing the Shuidong riji 水東日記 [Dairy of Water in the East] by Ye Sheng 葉盛, collected in the Yuan Ming Qing sandai jinhui xiaoshuo xiqi shiliao 元明淸三代禁 毀小說戲曲史料 [Historical Materials on Forbidden and Destroyed Novels and Dramas of the Yuan, Ming, and Qing Dynasties] by Wang Shaochuan 王曉傳 (Beijing: Gudian wenxue chubanshe, 1958), p. 170. 31

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could read, “. . . even village children, ferrymen, and sailors,” those of whom literacy was least expected.”33 It is hardly possible to say with any certainly what percentage of the population was literate enough to be able to read the more popular works that Chen produced. As Cynthia Brokaw has noted in her introduction to the recent large collection of essays on Chinese book culture, even an accurate gauge of reading levels in nineteenth-century China is still a point of contention among scholars.34 Nonetheless, it seems that a little over half a century before Chen was born there was already a population that was literate to some degree, and eager to read a variety of material. The choice of material on offer for this readership is clear from the works that publishers brought out quickly in cheap editions. The lower stratum of the gentry and those outside it, often from the merchant class, sought cheap entertainment and the handbooks that could instruct their behaviour and guide their interests. The increasingly large number of candidates for the examinations meant that publishers could make ready cash by bringing out study guides and copies of past exam papers. The scholarship and quality of these latter works was often so poor that more than one memorial was sent to the emperor requesting measures to tighten the restrictions surrounding their publication.35 Chow Kai-wing, in his article on the interaction between the printing industry and the examination system noted that: “Printing had transformed education and scholarship into yet another commodity in the market of the late Ming.”36 Gu Jiegang 顧頡剛 (1893–1980), who lived through the great renaissance of the publishing of Ming literature in the early-twentieth century, commented on the wealth of late-Ming reading material and said of the earlier readers that: “They certainly did not have a stern and solemn attitude to reading. They wanted to read any type of material and so the manacles and fetters of traditional thinking weighed less heavily upon them.”37 If there was a demand for ‘any type of material’, then who was providing it?

33

John Meskill quoted in T. Brook, “Communications and Commerce”, p. 636. Cynthia Brokaw, “On the History of the Book in China” in Cynthia Brokaw and Chow Kai-wing eds., Printing and Book Culture in Late Imperial China (Berkeley: University of California Press, 2005), pp. 30–1. 35 Chow Kai-wing, “Writing for Success”, p. 144. 36 Ibid., p. 126. 37 Gu Jiegang, “Xu” 序 “Introduction” to his critical edition of Hu Yinglin, Sibu zhengwei 四部正 [Correcting Errors in the Four Classications] (Hong Kong: Taiping, 1963), p. 3. 34

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We have little hard detail on late-Ming professional writers, a situation not dissimilar to our lack of knowledge of professional painters from the same period. James Cahill wrote of that situation: “The literati, then, for the most part “controlled the media,” and their pro-amateur bias is hard to escape in the texts.”38 In other words, we know that the professional painters were there because their works have come down to us, and we also have the comments that the ‘amateurs’ made about them. What we lack are comprehensive records left by the professional painters detailing their livelihood. Much the same applies to the professional writer from the elite stratum—he, as he usually was, was not a fully described public gure by the end of the sixteenth century. In theory of course these two conceptions were mutually exclusive: a professional writer could not be an elite, and an elite could not be a professional writer. However a change, usually referred to as a vulgarisation [suhua 俗化], within the scholar-ofcial class, meant that many people with literati backgrounds wrote for a reading market that comprised people from other social classes.39 For centuries the literate few had written for themselves, and the act of writing and its consequences had been well understood. Of course, writing had never been a hermetically sealed world; the development of song lyrics, ci 詞 poetry, from common songs being an often-cited example of the inuence of popular culture on literati writing. However, the signicant development during the lateMing period was not merely that popular culture provided material that could be employed by the scholar-ofcial class for their own enjoyment; here the demands were coming from a new audience, and they required a different style of writing. With this new readership writers had novel ways in which to present themselves; a situation that highlights the relationship between Chen and the publishing industry. Chen and Printing In the following discussion of Chen’s involvement in printing and publishing the range of his works that will be discussed will appear circumscribed. This is especially so if the few I mention are compared

38

James Cahill, The Painter’s Practice, p. 14. See, for instance, the section entitled “Wenren yashi de suhua” 文人雅士的俗化 “The Vulgarisation of the Literati” in Xia Xianchun, Late-Ming Literati and Literature, pp. 34–41. 39

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with the listings under his name in the catalogue of any library with a substantial collection of Ming material, or with the works that I will refer to in later chapters. This is primarily because I am more interested here in the types of publishing activity that Chen was involved in, rather than their quantity. Another reason is that Chen’s name has been attributed to many works that were not his and, while they are quite relevant to a discussion of his public persona, I have generally limited this section to works that can reasonably be attributed to him (see the notes on this in the preface). Chen as Printer K.T. Wu noted that there were more printing establishments in the south than the north, and placed the centre of printing in Jiangnan, where Chen lived.40 The overwhelming majority of Chen’s works were published locally and in other major centres in Jiangnan such as Nanjing and Hangzhou.41 Chen knew many of the more important printers, but was never a printer of note himself.42 His contact with printers began no later than the mid-1590s when, at the house of Bao Chengfang 包檉芳 (1534–1596), an ofcial from Jiaxing 嘉興 who had engaged him to teach his grandchildren, Chen met the Shen brothers, Shen Fuxian 沈孚先 and Shen Dexian 沈德先.43 The Shen brothers belonged to a clan of bibliophiles and publishers from Xiushui, in the nearby prefecture of Jiaxing, and Chen soon began cooperating with them on the large anthology the Secret Satchel.44 There are no records that indicate that Chen either did, or was capable of independently sponsoring the publishing of large, highquality collections by other writers. Never having held a government position he could not count on the support of junior ofcials or access 40

K.T. Wu, “Ming Printing and Printers”, pp. 232–3. Wu Chengxue and Li Bin, “Chen Meigong in Ming and Qing Eyes”, p. 2. 42 Chen counted Mao Jin 毛晉 (1599–1659), one of the more famous and inuential printers during the late Ming, as a friend. A letter from Chen to Mao, discussing Su Shi, survives. Mao also printed at least one of Chen’s works, the Chen Meigong xiansheng dingzheng danyuan ji 陳眉公先生訂正丹淵集 [Mr. Chen Meigong’s Revised Edition of the Collection from the Cinnabar Depths]. 43 See NP, 10a. More information on the Shen brothers appears in the section below on the Secret Satchel. For more detailed biographical information see also Shen Fuxian’s biography in the Jiaxingfu zhi 嘉興府志 [ Jiaxing Prefectural Gazetteer], (1879 ed.), 50:45b. 44 The Chronological Biography records Chen already preparing some material for the rst instalment of this collection in 1595. See NP, 10a. 41

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to government funds, as so many others did when they sponsored printing projects. He was not attached to any academy, nor, as far as is known, did he enjoy the patronage of any member of the ruling family. In short, although Chen was unquestionably a member of the cultural elite, he did not have access to the economic capital necessary for large printing projects. The one exception may have come in his later years when he had the wherewithal to publish one of his own works (see the comments below on the Hall of Evening Incense collection). Chen as Reader There are two forms of reading that are relevant here. The rst is the physical act, and one’s own collection of works, itself a form of social prestige. The second is the reading over of other writer’s works. Most biographies of Chen make a point of noting that he read widely.45 Yet he apparently did not grow up with access to a large library, and the anecdote about Chen, as a fourteen year-old, copying out a passage from someone else’s Stratagems of the Warring States could be suggestive of this. As a child we know that he had access to the standard classics as he: “. . . knew the classics, the works of the philosophers, the histories.”46 However, by the 1600s, Chen’s own library may have been substantial, especially as Shen Dexian wrote that all of the works collected in the Secret Satchel were drawn from Chen’s private holdings.47 We know that in the late 1590s Chen had built a Terrace for Reading Books, on the north side of the property at Little Mount Kun, so by that time he had sufcient reading material to devote a designated area to this activity.48 Whatever its nal size, Chen’s library eludes particular attention from his biographers and peers, yet we know that it was substantial enough for him to employ junior scholars to comb through many works looking 45 See, for example, biographies of Chen in the Qingpu District Gazetteer (21:6b–7a), and the Songjiang Prefectural Gazetteer (54:28a–29a). 46 NP, 3a–b. 47 Shen Dexian, “Yizhengtang guang miji xu” 亦政堂廣秘笈敘 “Introduction to the Guang Volume of the Secret Satchel, from the Hall of Also Participating in Governance Studio” in that volume. An entry in the Chronological Biography that lists the structures that Chen had at his property in the 1620s notes that he had ‘Tenthousand fascicles’ [wanjuan 萬卷], NP, 26a. ‘Ten-thousand’ in this case probably just means numerous. Dong Qichang also recorded Chen having ‘ten-thousand’ volumes. See Dong Qichang, “Foreword to Birthday Celebrations for the Sixtieth Birthday of the Child Nurturess Wei, the Wife of Chen, the Summoned Gentleman” in Literary Collection from the Ministry of Rites, 2:55a–57a. 48 NP, 11a.

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for material to collate. This is seen in works of Chen’s like The Tiger Compendium that include excerpts from the dynastic histories, as well as from the various occasional writings of individuals. The second form of reading, that of reading other writer’s manuscripts before publication; brings into play Chen’s cultural position. This activity could be undertaken either in a supporting role or in a bestowal of authority. Chen acted in the former sense when he read over a work his teacher, He Sanwei, was bringing out.49 In the latter sense Chen attached his name to the publication of collected manuscripts belonging to a gure better known from a former period. This publication featured a foreword by Chen’s friend, Wang Siren, and is an indication of the way this ‘reading’ could function as marker of cultural fraternity.50 This cooperative nature of the production of publications during the late Ming is immediately clear to anyone who spends time with those editions. One ne example comes from a work most likely a forgery, called Juye riyong midian 舉業日用秘典 [A Useful Secret Compendium of Works for the Imperial Examinations] lists Chen as the editor, and then two of his cultural circle, Feng Mengzhen 馮夢禎 (1546–1605) as a proof-reader and Tu Long as the reader. Chen’s most famous act of ‘readership’ must certainly be his contribution as rst reader of The Scouring Blade, in the 1620s. There is now no way of knowing for certain whether Chen really ‘read’ that work at all. What we do know is that the names of the many readers of that work were arranged according to their then cultural status—and Chen was placed rst. The intricacy of the issues of veracity surrounding The Scouring Blade will be further discussed in chapter eight, for the present it is sufce to note the socio-cultural implications of readership, and Chen’s participation in the activity as reective of his socio-cultural status. Chen as Writer and Editor There are two immediate difculties in trying to ascertain the genesis and development of Chen’s writing career. The rst is the haphazard use of some characters to describe Chen’s involvement in any given

49 See He Sanwei, Xinke Shuliu zhai quanji 新刻漱六齋全集 [The New Edition of the Complete Works from the Studio of Being Cleansed by the Six Arts] Ming ed. 50 See Yan Guo 嚴果, Tianyinzi yigao 天隱子遺稿 [Forgotten Manuscripts of the Heavenly Recluse] Ming ed.

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work. The second problem is related to the demarcation between public and private writing. The nomenclature employed in Chinese to describe participation in a book is not always clear. The characters bian 編, and ji 輯, either singly or together, generally point to an editing or compiling role. It becomes a little more problematical when zhuan 撰 is used, as this term can be used to indicate either writing or editing. The General Index to the Complete Library in Four Branches of Literature (hereafter General Index) uses zhuan to describe Chen’s role in both the Secret Matters of the Majestic Perch and the Fushou quanshu 福壽全書 [Complete Book of Good Fortune and Longevity], though it would have been clear to them that he would have written most of the former and would have edited the latter.51 The situation is the further compounded by the use of zhu 著 to describe works that Chen very clearly did not write but edited, technically an incorrect use of the character. The General Index avoids this solecism, but prefectural gazetteers commonly make this error. The Songjiang Prefectural Gazetteer uses this character for works such as the Wenqi baoban 文奇豹斑 [Writing of the Strange—Rosettes of the Leopard ] that Chen edited, and the Record of Fondness for Antiquity that Chen wrote.52 As such, some of my comments on Chen’s role in different works may be at variance with the traditional designation in catalogues and other bibliographic sources. It is difcult to state with any certainty when Chen’s public writing career began. Part of this difculty is a question of denition; does a letter to a friend, if the friend is a public gure, constitute an action that falls unquestionably under the rubric of public writing? Probably not at the time it was written, but once it is collected and published it most certainly is. Should intent be considered? Does knowing that private correspondence of a certain type will one day be public material make it already an act of public writing? Such arguments of denition make it difcult to nd incontrovertible evidence of a ‘rst work’, a piece that is Chen’s way of alerting the world to his being a writer. Chen grew up surrounded by letters and writing and because of this trying to dene a point in a process that began when he was a young

51 See Hong Ye 洪業 et al., Siku quanshu zongmu ji weishou shumu yinde 四庫全書總目 及 未收書目引得 [Index to General Index to the Complete Library in Four Branches of Literature and the List of Uncollected Works] (Beijing: Yanjing daxue tushuguan, 1932), 130:8b, and 132:27b, respectively. 52 See Songjiang Prefectural Gazetteer, 72:27a, and 72:25a, respectively. The same confusion also occurs in the Qingpu District Gazetteer.

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child is complicated indeed. What we can say with certainty is that he was unquestionably known as a writer among his peers by 1590, and it seems that his commissioned biographies and epitaphs also date from around this time so it can be regarded as marking the full emergence of Chen as a writer. In all likelihood Chen had been independently active in publishing a few years before 1590. When he and Xu Yisun moved to Little Mount Kun in the late-1580s, Chen was reputedly known for his pursuit of alchemy. Regardless of how much time he actually spent on alchemic activities, he may have had enough time left after teaching duties to compose books on themes related to alchemic practice.53 In 1590 Chen and Xu worked together on a collection of Su Shi’s comments on Zen Buddhism. Xu made the selection and Chen wrote a foreword to it.54 In writing the foreword and giving his imprimatur to the book, Chen was demonstrating that he had standing in the elite world; his name was beginning to enhance publications, and his public writing career was underway. In the following fteen years Chen devoted considerable energy to developing this writing career. 1606 is the last year in the Chronological Biography that indicates any evidence of teaching or tutoring. From that time on Chen supported himself and his family on an income derived mostly from writing, and we should regard him as a professional writer from then.55 It was only after Chen became 53 I say ‘may’ because works such as Moshi yu 模世語 [A Model for the World ], Yangsheng fuyu 養生膚語 [Supercial Notes on Nourishing Life], and Zhongju fa 種菊法 [The Cultivation of Chrysanthemums], all have an uncertain provenance. There is no Ming edition for any of them. The Siku quanshu zongmu tiyao 四庫全書總目提要 [Summary of the General Index to the Complete Library in Four Branches of Literature] only accepts the second work as Chen’s. 54 The work is the Dongpo chan xi ji 東坡禪喜集 [Collection of Su Shi’s Joys of Zen]. 55 Chen was also a good calligrapher and competent painter, but if he also had income from these activities it seems unlikely that it did more than supplement his income from writing. Information on how much money was paid for written pieces versus calligraphy is not easy to nd. I have found little of note in Chen’s writing on this subject and here offer instead the work that others have done. Chow Kai-wing records Chen being paid ten taels for writing a preface to a work of Wang Shizhen’s, see Publishing, Culture, and Power in Early Modern China, p. 51. Elsewhere Chow quotes several sources states that a juren degree holder was paid half a tael and a pair of handkerchiefs for doing some calligraphy (the half tael incidentally being the same price as a “. . . low quality commentary on the Four Books published in Nanking in 1615 . . .”), while the famous literatus, Xu Wei 徐渭 (1521–1593), was paid nearly 450 times that for a commemorative essay. Chow is citing, in the following order: C. Clunas, Superuous Things: Material Culture and Social Status in Early Modern China (Cambridge: Polity Press, 1991), p. 131; Wang Yu’s 王宇 (. 1610s) preface to the Sishu ye zu yuan chu gao 四書也 足園初告 [Preparatory Manuscript on the Four Books from the Garden of Sufciency]; and Xu

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a full-time, professional writer that he had his major collections published. The differences between these collections allow us to see Chen presenting himself to his reading public in different ways as his career developed. The Early Individual Collections Chen’s rst works for a reading market were single volume collections. They were often on subjects that would attract readers. I will deal with the content of those volumes in some detail in chapter six, the following paragraph is related to their position in the changing nature of Chen’s publishing activities. These smaller volumes often concentrated on a single aspect of interest to late-Ming readers. The late-Ming passion for the rare and the strange is reected in Chen’s 1603 compilation of curious historical anecdotes from the Qin dynasty (221 BC–207 BC) to the Yuan dynasty.56 The wide interest in tea and wine can be seen in the Jiudian bu 酒顛補 [Addendum to The Fundamentals of Wine] and the Chadong bu 茶董補 [Addendum to The Correct Way to Drink Tea]. In both of these latter works Chen provided a supplement to works already compiled by the writer Xia Shufang 夏樹芳 (. 1600s).57 Chen also brought out some collections of letters, a popular genre in publishing during the late Ming.58 Other works like the Record of Fondness for Antiquity straddle both the elite and common spheres of knowledge. That work, with its numerous descriptions of paintings, and excursions to residences of the elite to view art collections, serves a double purpose. It alerts the

Wei, Xu Wei ji 徐渭集 [Collected Works of Xu Wei ] (Beijing: Zhonghua shuju, 1983), pp. 611–2. See Chow Kai-wing, “Writing for Success”, p. 124. 56 Called the Collection of Unusual Classical Literature, this text was regarded by the writer(s) of the Chronological Biography as important, for it is one of the few works by Chen referred to by name in that text, see NP, 14b, where it indicates that it was cut at Loujiang 婁江. 57 Xia Shufang was a native of Jiangyin 江陰 and passed the metropolitan examination during the Wanli period. Among other works he wrote Cha dong 茶董 [The Correct way to Drink Tea] and Jiu dian 酒顛 [The Fundamentals of Wine]. 58 So advanced was the interest in collections of letters and letter writing generally that Zhong Xing even wrote a book specically about it called Ru mian tan 如面譚 [Conversing as if You Were Present]. Although this was not new in itself, the popular fteenth century work the Hanmo quanshu 翰墨全書 [Complete Book of Writing] by Wang Yu included sections on how to write correct letters of condolence and congratulation, invitations, and requests. Chen’s anthologies of letters were the Baishi qiao chidu 白石樵 尺牘 [Correspondence of the White-Stone Woodcutter], collected in the White Stone Woodcutter, and the Chidu shuangyu 尺牘雙魚 [Double Fish Correspondence], a four-chapter collection, mostly of letters written by his contemporaries such as Tu Long and Wang Shizhen.

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elite reader to Chen’s access to some of the greatest collections in the empire, and to the common reader it emphasises Chen’s prominent place among the elite. Some of Chen’s works seem to be composed for a readership that requires almost no knowledge of the subject at hand. This can be seen in the Fragrant Archives where biographies from the Dao zang 道藏 [Daoist Canon] are reduced to short summaries. This material is aimed at a more popular and general readership; those desiring a quick introduction to Daoist hagiography, and famous gures from the Daoist canon. The publication of these individual books occurs as Chen is making the transition to being able to live on the income his writing was generating. This change occurred in the 1610s, and while several books appeared in the following decade it was not until the 1630s that Chen began to publish large collections of his works again. The Later Large Collections In his nal decade Chen produced three large collections of his own work. The differences between these collections allow us to see Chen tailoring his work to different readerships and, to some extent, preparing his posthumous reputation. I will comment on the three editions in chronological order. The True Manuscript of the White-Stone Woodcutter59 The White-Stone Woodcutter of 1636 has twenty-four chapters and is the earliest of Chen’s major collections. It is a somewhat eclectic collection with its mixture of commentary, dedicatory texts, and letters. It is dominated by works that were explicitly written for remuneration, in particular essays written on commission for birthday celebrations, grave notices, and so on. These writings were the foundation of Chen’s income for many years and were usually commissioned by people Chen did not know. Chen also included the short forewords he wrote to sections of the Songjiang Prefectural Gazetteer (see below), a different but

59 Chen does not give an explanation of this title and why he sometimes referred to himself as the ‘white-stone woodcutter’ [baishi qiao 白石樵]. While there are several White Stone Mountains (Baishi Shan 白石山) in Jiangnan (in Zhejiang 浙江 and Jiangsu), there is not one of any note close to Songjiang. Two more likely explanations are that the name either came from an association with immortals (from Liu Xiang’s 劉向 Liexian zhuan 列仙傳 [Biographies of Exemplary Immortals]), or that it was related to his neighbour (and benefactor) at Mount She, Zhang Xianwen 章憲文 (?–1608?), who had a studio called ‘The White Stone Mountain Room’ [Baishi Shan fang 白石山房].

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still ‘commissioned’ form of writing.60 We only really get to see Chen engaged with the commercial book market in chapter thirteen where his Reading: Sixteen Views was re-printed. The ‘True Manuscript’ of the title may have been a way of combating the numerous forgeries of his work circulating at the time. It may have also been a reection of the cultural and social interest in what was truly ‘real’ in a fast-changing world. This collection was Chen’s rst attempt to bring out a large standard collection of his writing and was probably done with one eye on posterity. That it mostly collected his commissioned writings may indicate that he had largely nished with that enterprise. Xiaopin from the Hall of Evening Incense The contents of the Hall of Evening Incense, published soon after the White-Stone Woodcutter, are arranged in a way that would have been familiar to Chen’s peers. This is a collection that substantiated Chen’s place within the elite, and it was directed as much at his peers as at a market audience. It is a collection with serious literary pretensions and, unlike the White-Stone Woodcutter, it is dominated by the traditional literary forms of the world of high culture. The writing in this collection is that of a literatus rather than a literary hack. Poetry, the most dening of the literary activities of a scholar, and largely absent from the White-Stone Woodcutter collection, occupies the rst eight of the twenty-four chapters.61 Forewords, a literary form that gives a writer a chance to demonstrate his own authority and mention, in passing, the famous and powerful people he associated with, comprise the following eight chapters. Thus fully two-thirds of the collection is taken up with these two genres. (The last third is made up of biographies, records, letters, and so forth.) This composition shows that Chen produced this collection with an eye keenly focused on his present and posthumous reputation.62 A nal comment on this work is that it bears the name of 60

See BSQ, chapter two. While Chen published other works that contained his poetry, none of them rival this one in length. Meigong shichao 眉公詩鈔 [Meigong’s Poetry in Manuscript] is a work of six chapters. There is mention of a work called Baishi shan fang gao 白石山方稿 [Manuscripts from the Aspect of the White Stone Mountain] in the Ming hua lu 明畫錄 [Records of Ming Painting] that is purportedly a collection of Chen’s poetry, and, of course, there are the chapters in the posthumous Collected Works. 62 If it was done for this reason it did not exactly fail and yet hardly succeeded. Chen is best known for his non-poetic xiaopin writings. These days he does rate mention as a poet in recent anthologies. The Jin Xingyao, Three Hundred Ming Poems includes two poems by Chen. Chen does a little better with You Zhenzhong 尤振中 et al ed., Ming 61

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one of Chen’s studios and was edited and printed under the direction of his son-in-law, Tang Dajie.63 This could indicate that Chen now had enough resources to have the work cut and printed on his own property. If so this suggests that at the end of his life Chen had gained control over the entire process from composition to publication of a major work. It could also suggest that this collection was not seen by Chen (or publishers) as having the same commercial potential as the White-Stone Woodcutter collection. This was the last major publication that Chen brought out while alive. The Collected Works of Chen Meigong The largest collection of Chen’s writing is the posthumous Collected Works. Comprising sixty chapters, it provides a much fuller overview of sections of his work only partly represented in the two collections mentioned above. It is, in all understandings of the phrase, the nal word. It was edited by his sons and son-in-law, Tang Dajie, but was compiled so soon after his death that he must have had a considerable say in how it was being planned. Chen had earlier employed his eldest son, Menglian, and Tang Dajie as editors of his work, and they had been working with him long enough to be able to follow his wishes after his death. The version that we have today is one, though the largest, of four intended instalments. The second instalment was ready to go to the printers when the Ming dynasty fell and the project was abandoned.64 As such this volume is not a true complete collection.

ci jishi huiping 明詞紀事會評 [A Critical Understanding of Events Related to Ming Song Lyrics] (Hefei: Huangshan shushe, 1995), here Chen has four poems of a total of around 370. Another collection, which appeared in 1636, was Meigong shizhong cangshu 眉公十 種藏書 [Meigong’s Ten Hidden Books] (also known as Meigong shi ji 眉公十集 [Meigong’s Ten Collections]). Of the ten works in this collection seven of them were in the original 1606 collection. Interestingly two of the three remaining are the White-Stone Woodcutter and excerpts from the Hall of Evening Incense, the remaining work is an eight-chapter collection of his poetry. This collection, combining his popular works with his more literary works gives the impression that he was looking, if not to posterity then certainly to a summation of his life’s work. 63 At least two other gures from the Ming had work published with this studio name in the title. I am referring to the Wanxiangtang cao 晚香堂草 [Grasses from the Hall of Evening Incense] by Zhou Yudu 周裕度, and the Wanxiangtang caile bian 晚香堂采樂編 [Plucking Happiness in the Hall of Evening Incense Compilation] by Li Lingyun 李凌雲. It is not clear whether they had their works printed at Chen’s studio or, whether there is in fact any substantive connection between them at all. 64 The second instalment, in twenty-two chapters, was ready to be cut but never was. All traces of that instalment, and the third and fourth instalments, both projected to

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Nevertheless the arrangement of work within it gives some indication of how Chen wanted to be remembered. It concentrates on Chen’s forewords, biographical writing, and poetry—although a few chapters of his memorials and opinions are also represented. I think that this selection of material suggest that Chen wanted to be remembered as an important writer within the understanding of traditional literary genres, a placement that very few later commentators have allowed him. Cooperative Works In addition to bringing out his own collections, Chen cooperated with other writers and worked as an editor on projects that were not his own work. These activities show Chen assuming social and cultural roles commensurate with his status as an elite, and also show him involved in different stages of the composition of a work. The Songjiang Prefectural Gazetteer of 1628 Although there is no evidence that Chen had contact or a working relationship with the imperial printeries, he did however, have dealings with government printeries at the regional level. The most tangible example of this is his work as the editor of his local gazetteer, the Songjiang Provincial Gazetteer. The proliferation of the number of local gazetteers published during the Ming, particularly at the district and prefectural levels, has been mentioned above. The production of a gazetteer brought prestige to the area it recorded; Wolfgang Franke has commented on the 1622 compilation Benchao fensheng renwu kao 本朝分省人物考 [An Examination of Biographies of the Present Dynasty Arranged According to Province] that: “Ming scholars were aware of the importance of regionalism in political history.”65 Central government agencies used gazetteers as one source of information on a given locale, and the authors were then in a position to highlight or obscure particular issues, and accentuate or diminish the reputation of local gures, and there was competition locally to be included.66 Working on a gazetteer accordingly brought

be approximately twenty chapters, have been lost. The rst instalment was published in either 1642 or 1643. See Wang Zhongmin, A Précis of Chinese Rare Books, p. 655. 65 Wolfgang Franke, “Historical Writing During the Ming” in CHC7, p. 762. 66 Sarah Schneewind, Community Schools and the State in Ming China (Stanford: Stanford University Press, 2006), p. 139.

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cachet to the authors and sponsors of the work.67 By the late Ming, authors were usually local literati, and a glance through the rst pages of any gazetteer, with their lists of contributors, gives a good indication of the social size of the enterprise, regardless of how many of those listed actually contributed.68 Being a senior editor on a gazetteer placed the author at the centre of a large local network that touched both ofcial circles that led back to the central government, and local sources of power and prestige. It was a position of considerable importance, and because of this the editors were carefully chosen. Some of Chen’s acquaintances had worked on gazetteer projects; his erstwhile teacher, He Sanwei, compiled a ‘proto-gazetteer’ that came out in the 1620s.69 Chen’s friend, the famed writer, and Chen’s co-editor on some of the Secret Satchel, Li Rihua 李日華 (1565–1635), did the same, combining his literary talents with local concerns, to edit a local district gazetteer for Jiaxing, in eastern Zhejiang.70 Chen hints that he may have had some early experience in editing a gazetteer himself, claiming that despite his name not appearing in the list of contributors, he looked over some of the drafts of the Xiushuixian zhi 秀水縣志 [Xiushui District Gazetteer] that was published in 1596.71 As noted above, when Fang Yuegong came to take up his ofce as the Prefect of Huating in 1628, one of his rst actions was to invite and persuade Chen to edit an edition of the Songjiang Prefectural Gazetteer, an offer Chen accepted.72 This places Chen close to the apex of literati

67 For a more detailed description of this process with specic reference to the Qiongzhou Prefecture on Hainan Island see T. Brook, “Communications and Commerce”, pp. 656–7. 68 For a summary of the motivations for composing gazetteers and the changes to them through the Ming dynasty see Sarah Schneewind, Community Schools and the State in Ming China (Stanford: Stanford University Press, 2006), pp. 139–44. The Songjiang Prefectural Gazetteer lists over one hundred contributors. The Qingpu District Gazetteer lists more than eighty. Even the modern Baoshanxian zhi 寶山縣志 [Baoshan District Gazetteer], published in 1931, lists over a hundred. 69 This was the Outline Gazetteer of Yunjian in twenty-four chapters. This ‘proto-gazetteer’ consisted entirely of biographies. It was printed during the 1620s. 70 See the Jiaxing Provincial Gazetteer, 50:45a. 71 See Chen Jiru, “Xiushuixian zhi xu” 秀水縣志序 “Foreword to the Xiushui District Gazetteer” in QJ, 10:45a–46b. This is not entirely unreasonable. This district was next to Songjiang and Chen was familiar with two of the more important clans in the district, the Xiangs 項 and the Shens 沈, who had a hand in the work, perhaps he did make some suggestions. 72 NP, 30b–31b. See also the letter to Fang discussing this: Chen Jiru, “Da Fang Yuxiu taizun xiu jun zhi” 答方禹修太尊修郡志 “Replying to Fang Yuxiu on Editing the Prefectural Gazetteer” in QJ, 56:10a–12b.

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circles in Huating. His reputation was high enough to earn him the honour of overseeing, editing, and writing some of the gazetteer. Chen did this between 1628 and 1630. His contribution to the gazetteer was extensive and this can be seen in the subsequent bibliographical notes in other gazetteers. The Huating District Gazetteer of 1791 lists only Chen’s name under the entry for the work.73 The Qingpu District Gazetteer of 1879 also lists Chen as the sole editor.74 The subsequent edition of the Songjiang Prefectural Gazetteer, dated 1817, merely lists the work as being revised by the Prefect Fang Yuegong.75 Why Chen had been omitted from this latter record is not immediately apparent, but the general eighteenth century hostility to Chen (which I examine in chapter eight) is probably at its root. There appears to be no connection that could indicate a personal animus between the editors of that gazetteer and Chen.76 Involvement with other Works Chen often cooperated on smaller, commercially oriented, compilation projects. A good example of this is the collection of xiaopin put together by Zheng Yuanxun 鄭元勳 (1604–1645) called Meiyou ge wenyu 媚幽閣 文娛 [Literary Pleasures from the Pavilion of Fascinating Seclusion]. Published around 1630, it was an eight-chapter compilation of different types of poetry and prose, exclusively by late-Ming writers. Chen contributed to this project in three ways. He wrote a foreword to the work, a foreword that has become one of his most famous xiaopin pieces; contributed by way of poetry and prose; and also played a role in the editing. All of these activities come together in the single work yet they functioned in different ways. The foreword was Chen’s bestowal of authority and approval of the author. His authority as a key cultural gure is used to promote and approve the work, while the exercising of his authority is in this instance also part of its prolongation. His contribution to a collection of xiaopin in a contemporary collection places him alongside

73

Huating District Gazetteer, 15:4b. Qingpu District Gazetteer, 27:5a. 75 Songjiang Prefectural Gazetteer, 72:13b. 76 The most likely of the three editors to harbour an antipathy to Chen was Sun Xingyan (1753–1818) whose great-great-grandfather had apparently been an ofcial known for his probity during the last years of the Ming. See Tu Lien-che, “Sun Hsingyen” in ECCP, p. 675. That such a connection is so tenuous strengthens the suggestion that it was the common antipathy to Chen that led to his name being excised. 74

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other famous writers of the day such as Zhong Xing, Zhu Guozhen 朱國幀 (1557–1632), and Huang Daozhou 黃道周 (1585–1646) who are also included in the work. Finally, his contribution to the editing beneted him in several ways. First and foremost it gave him some control over the standard of the work. Secondly, it allowed him some control over the use of his name—who it was associated with, and in what sort of publication it appeared. Chen often worked on commissioned pieces in concert with other literati in the area. Brook cites the example of the monks from a monastery on Mount Tiantai, in Zhejiang, who wanted a commemoration made of their new ordination platform, and observed that the monks: “. . . got Yu Chunxi to compose the text, Dong Qichang to write it out in his famous calligraphy, and Chen Jiru to inscribe the title at the head of the stele.”77 Chen knew Yu Chunxi 虞淳熙 (?–1621), a one time Secretary in the Ministry of War and xiaopin writer, and went out socialising with him and Wang Heng on several occasions.78 In addition to his interaction with major literary gures Chen also cooperated with many lesser-known writers. A good example of this

77 T. Brook, Praying for Power, p. 178. Brook’s note to this excerpt makes clear that the three of them did not even have to go to the temple, once the work had been printed in Suzhou, a copy was then sent to the temple for inscription. This was a temple that Chen visited in 1593. See Chen Jiru, “Shou Dacan Yanggu Wang gong bashi xu” 壽大 參暘谷王公八十序 “Foreword to Birthday Greetings for the Grand Administrator, the Honourable Wang Yanggu’s Eightieth Birthday” in BSQ , 6:101–3. This collaborative endeavour of various members of the cultural elite in their local prefecture or district was a common one. For examples involving Chen see the following entries in the Songjiang Prefectural Gazetteer: “Jun boshi Huaizha Shen gong qusi bei” 郡博士淮楂沈公去思碑 “Stele of the Prefectural Erudite, the Honourable Shen Huaizha, Retired” (73:22a); “Jun hou Cai gong qusi bei” 郡侯蔡公去思碑 “Stele of the Prefectural Marquis, the Honourable Cai, Retired” (73:22b); “Chongxiu Mao qiao Chengjian Si bei” 重修泖 橋澄鑒寺碑 “Stele of Repairing the Bridge over the Mao River at the Chengjian Temple” (73:24b) and the “Chongxiu Qingpuxian xue ji” 重修青浦縣學記 “Record of Repairing the Qingpu District School” (73:25a). 78 Yu Chunxi is described in one source as the Buddhist polemicist against whom Matteo Ricci (1552–1610) published his Bianxue yidu 辨學遺牘 [Further Notes on Distinguishing Teachings] in 1609. Wolfgang Franke, “Matteo Ricci” in DMB, p. 1143. Yu never rose to a high post, but as a minor gure became embroiled in court factionalism and was impeached for his trouble. Perhaps it was during this time when he returned to his native Qiantang 錢塘 that he met Chen. Several poems, all by Wang Heng, record their outings. See under the entries “Fanyue yuanchi tong Changru Zhongchun zuo” 泛月園池同長孺仲醇作 “Drifting on the Moon Garden Pond with (Yu) Changru and (Chen) Zhongchun”, “Xi Changru Zhongchun zhi” 喜長孺仲醇至 “Pleased that (Yu) Changru and (Chen) Zhongchun Arrived”, and “Ji jiebie Changru Zhongchun” 計偕 別長孺仲醇 “Planning to Part from (Yu) Changru and (Chen) Zhongchun” in Wang Heng, Collected Works of Wang Heng, 3:11a, 12b, and 14a, respectively.

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latter group is Hu Wenhuan 胡文煥 (. 1590s). A native of Qiantang, Hu was responsible for compiling a late-Ming collectanea, the Gezhi congshu 格致叢書 [Series on the Extension of Investigation], in which he liberally promoted his own works. Chen edited one of Hu’s works, the Cunzha cuibian 寸札粹編 [Pure Collection of Brief Correspondence], which was included in the anthology. Chen’s involvement with lesser gures, as a literary patron, confers a certain status on them while conrming his place as a gure with substantial cultural capital. This was a position that Chen had reached sometime in the 1610s, it was a status that he would enjoy for the rest of his life, something that I take up in the next chapter.

CHAPTER FOUR

THE ESTABLISHED FIGURE Landholdings, buildings, and collections of objects, and the uses they were put to, naturally involved the relationship between forms of ownership and status in the late Ming. There is no room here to rehearse a detailed history of land ownership and its relation to the elite class; nonetheless some general comments on this relationship during the Ming dynasty can serve usefully as a background to a discussion of Chen’s situation. Property, Buildings, and Objects Land ownership and elite status were long tied together, but historians have frequently disagreed on the best theoretical approach to explain the limited data we have at our disposal. This is still very much the case with respect to the situation in late-Imperial Jiangnan. Nearly thirty years ago, Kang Chao summarised what he considered the four major: “. . . evaluations of land distribution and other related problems during the Ming and Ch’ing [Qing] dynasties”, and noted their mutually exclusive arguments.1 More recently, Daniel Little essayed the possible reasons why, given similar conditions to the England of the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries, China did not earlier undergo an agricultural and economic revolution. In doing so, Little noted competing and, once again, mutually exclusive paradigms offered to explain the drivers behind Chinese agricultural development.2 It is clear that land was integral to elite society, yet the precise mechanisms of land use and the consequences thereof remain contested. Kang offered one general summary of relevance here, he noted that these disagreements over the past decades notwithstanding: “All these experts agree that Kiangnan

1 Kang Chao, “New Data on Land Ownership Patterns in Ming-Ch’ing China—A Research Note” The Journal of Asian Studies, 40:4, p. 719. 2 Daniel Little, Understanding Peasant China, pp. 105–6.

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[ Jiangnan] was the region where land distribution was least satisfactory during the Ming-Ch’ing [Qing] period.”3 There had been conicts over land from the beginning of the dynasty. The founder, Zhu Yuanzhang, believed that the social turmoil of the Yuan dynasty had been brought about through allowing large, powerful families to develop substantial private landholdings. On coming to power he conscated all the large concentrations of landownership and reassigned them for ofcial use. He also moved some of the erstwhile estate-rich families to other regions, to remove them more fully from their sources of local power.4 Despite the efforts made to reassign land on a more equitable basis, class inequalities in land ownership arose once more. Martin Heijdra observed that there was: “. . . a trend towards an increase in socially differentiated landownership, beginning with a preponderance of owner-cultivators alongside some not-so-large landowners in the early Ming.”5 This process continued and, in addition to an increase in the number of landless labourers, Heijdra also noted that the: “. . . total percentage of land held by degree holders increased gradually yet noticeably during the second part of the Ming.”6 In his study of land ownership during the Ming and Qing dynasties, the historian Li Wenzhi stated that the percentage of land, in the hands of those he describes as a class of gentry-ofcials, began to increase dramatically during the Hongzhi (弘治 r. 1488–1505) and Zhengde (正德 r. 1506–1521) reign periods.7 This concentration of landholding is also attested through the increase, especially during the reign of the Wanli Emperor (1573–1620), but also earlier of the number of times the right to land acted as a catalyst in fomenting uprisings. The historian Bai Shouyi described it as follows: During the reign of Shi Zong [1522–1566], uprisings rose and fell, only to rise again. Among the participants were peasants, miners, ethnic minorities and soldier mutineers. In Guangdong there was a peasant uprising led by

3

Kang Chao, “New Data on Land Ownership Patterns in Ming-Ch’ing China”, p. 720. 4 Li Wenzhi 李文治, Ming Qing shihdai fengjian tudi guanxi de songxie 明清時代封建土 地關係的鬆懈 [The Loosening of Feudal Land Relationships during the Ming and Qing Periods] (Beijing: Zhongguo shehui kexue chubanshe, 1993), p. 60. 5 M. Heijdra, “The Socio-Economic Development of Rural China during the Ming”, p. 527. 6 Ibid., p. 528. 7 Li Wenzhi, The Loosening of Feudal Land Relationships, p. 60.

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Li Wenji; in Ganzhou there was another one led by Lai Qinggui. The insurgents either forcibly took land away from the landlords or went to the mountains to appropriate land for themselves, a tradition that went back to the Jiaxing uprising in the early fteenth century.8

By the time Chen was born the process of land acquisition by the gentry was quite advanced. However, it was not only how much land one owned that conferred status; the location and use of land also determined its value. The location of a property was carefully chosen, often for cultural reasons. A common motivation for the purchasing of a tract of land was historical reference. In chapter two I quoted Wang Shizhen’s record of the purchase of the property at Little Mount Kun, and included Wang’s observation that Chen and Xu Yisun’s enthusiasm for the property increased when they found out that the two Lu brothers had lived there, over a millennia earlier. In the same vein Dong Qichang also tried to purchase land that was directly attached to cultural referents. Craig Clunas noted that Dong: . . . owned several paintings on the subject of the ‘Peach Blossom Spring’ by the Yuan artist Wang Meng (1308–1385), and it was his ownership of these scrolls that led him to attempt to buy the actual landscape depicted on them.9

Here, possession of the land would have given him a direct connection with an important cultural artefact; he would own both land and the depiction of it. When the elite stratum of society ties culture to land in this way, there is more than an economic link between elite status and landownership. Another way that the relationship between land ownership and status was dened was through the usage of the land. The gentry-ofcial class, as Li Wenzhi refers to them, were not merely accumulating land during the Ming. From around the early sixteenth century they were actively changing their uses of it. It was with good reason that Xie Zhaozhi 謝肇淛 (1567–1624) noted, after mentioning a garden belonging to Wang Shizhen and the fondness for building ‘fake’ mountains in Jiangnan, at the turn of the seventeenth

8 Bai Shouyi ed., An Outline History of China (Beijing: Foreign Languages Press, 1982), p. 351. 9 Clunas, Fruitful Sites, p. 100.

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century that: “The gentry love building their properties.”10 As a way of charting the changes in land usage, Craig Clunas compared two descriptions of the same garden, one from a private record of 1475, and the second from a gazetteer published in 1598. He found that in the latter record the garden was: . . . reduced to a series of ‘views’. A garden is now something to be looked at, and something where individual features take precedence over the integrative mix of land management types (fruit, vegetables, rice, mulberries) that were described . . . in the 1470s.11

Clunas emphasises that these aesthetic gardens were directly related to social status. Indeed, so sought after were gardens, that one minor gentry gure in late-Ming Jiangnan saved assiduously for thirty years before he accumulated enough capital to nally build a garden.12 If we now focus on this growing concentration of land ownership in the hands of the elite in Chen’s area, we nd that it was an accurate assessment of the prefecture of Songjiang; and several commentators have identied Chen’s associates Xu Jie, and Dong Qichang as the largest landholders in the Huating area during the late Ming.13 Chen was initially a very modest landholder. No records pertaining to his childhood, or indeed until he was around thirty, give any indication that he or his family owned any properties other than their residence (and we cannot even be certain that they owned that). By 1590 Chen had at least four children to raise, his parents and some other relatives to provide for, and servants to look after. Nonetheless, it was around this time that Chen began to accumulate land, and a considerable amount of his land, and the funds for building costs, were given to him.14 The rst property, the Field for Suppliants with Flowers, was purchased by a friend. Then, in 1591, Chen was presented with a ‘gift’ of a little over 10 Xie Zhaozhi, Wuzazu 五雜組 [Five-Fold Miscellany] (Shenyang: Liaoning jiaoyu chubanshe, 2001), pp. 58–60. 11 Clunas, Fruitful Sites, p. 69. 12 Joanna F. Handlin Smith, “Gardens in Ch’i Piao-chia’s Social World: Wealth and Values in Late-Ming Kiangnan” The Journal of Asian Studies 51:1, p. 58. 13 See Ray Huang, 1587, A Year of No Signicance: The Ming Dynasty (New Haven: Yale University Press: c. 1981), p. 139, and Li Wenzhi, The Loosening of Feudal Land Relationships, pp. 60–1. Another source says that Xu’s local landholdings amounted to two hundred and forty thousand mu (around forty thousand acres). See Chieh Chao, “Ties that Bind”, pp. 145–6. 14 Ji Liuqi, Northern Strategies of the Ming, 15:13a–15a. This record suggested that some of Chen’s relatives relied on him for nancial aid, specically it says that his agnatic nephew(s) and sister’s orphan(s) relied on him.

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six mu (about one acre) of land. This was given in lieu of his tutoring salary.15 Six years later, in 1597, Chen was given the resources necessary to build the Terrace for Reading Books.16 The money for this building came in the form of a donation from some wealthy friends, including Lu Shusheng, Dong Qichang, and Bao Yuming 包羽明.17 Chen’s landholdings were further increased in 1604 and 1607. In 1604 he obtained land to the west of Mount Shen 神山 (to the north-east of Little Mount Kun and midway between Songjiang and Qingpu).18 In 1607 he obtained land at Dongshe 東佘, north of Songjiang.19 Two months later Zhang Xianwen, who hailed from Huating and held a position in the Ministry of Works, presented Chen with two thirds of an acre of land, also in the Dongshe area, on which to build a studio.20 The studio paid for by Zhang Xianwen was built, and Chen subsequently added a pavilion to the rear of it.21 This latter building activity coincided with Chen ceasing tutoring, and making his living almost solely from writing. Sources other than the Chronological Biography also show that construction of buildings became a frequent activity on Chen’s properties, as another record mentions a hall being completed at yet another residence in 1611. Although Chen now had several properties, he had stayed at Little Mount Kun until around 1610, at which time he changed his ‘permanent’ residence to the property at Dongshe. Chen had made the transition from being a modest landholder with his single ‘thatched hall’ to an important property owner. His growing physical dominance of the local landscape also increased, the bridge leading to a pavilion that he built in 1613 was referred to as the ‘Meigong Bridge’ [Meigong qiao 眉公橋], the only public structure that seems to have been named

15

NP, 8b. Ibid., 11a. 17 Chen Jiru, Secret Matters from the Majestic Perch, 28a. Bao Yuming remains an unknown gure. He could be related to, or even be, Bao Ruixi 包瑞溪 (?–1596) from nearby Jiahe 嘉禾. Chen had been engaged at his house as a tutor in 1595. Bao died in 1596, in which case perhaps the land was set aside for Chen before he died, or one of his relatives later provided it. 18 NP, 14b. 19 Ibid., 16a. 20 Chen Jiru, “Taobai Zhang gong zhuan” 陶白章公傳 “Biography of Zhang Taobai” in QJ, 42:21a–23a. 21 NP, 20a. 16

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after him.22 Chen kept building libraries, halls, and studios at his various properties almost faster than he had time to write records of them. This building activity was another tangible way of demonstrating his status as a member of the elite. An idea of just how much building was done on his properties can be seen in the Chronological Biography entry for 1621. This entry lists eight structures that, by this time, had already been erected at the Dongshe residence alone.23 There does not appear to be a full list of his properties and buildings extant, but information can be found in other miscellaneous records such as one by Huang Zongxi, who noted in passing that in 1629 Chen also had yet another two studios, but a few li apart, just outside Songjiang.24 Cultural mimicry and aesthetic considerations were present in Chen’s rst property. I mentioned above that one reason for purchasing the Field for Supplicants with Flowers was its connection with the Lu brothers. And we should not forget that one of the uses of the property was the cultivation of owers. If a work attributed to Chen, The Cultivation of Chrysanthemums, is a true guide, and the evidence of Chen instructing his gardener is added to it, then it seems that from the very beginning Chen’s properties were given over to an elite conception of possession and use of land. This was certainly the case with Chen’s properties at Mount She, and the fate of Chen’s son-in-law, Tang Dajie, allows us a glimpse of this. After marrying Chen’s daughter, Tang moved into Chen’s household. This was unusual as Chen had three sons, all of whom were living. There was no need to bring another male into the house as Chen’s father had done. Furthermore, despite Tang’s being orphaned young there is no evidence that he was destitute at the time.25

22 Ibid., 21a. This appears to have been the name in general use for the bridge. If it was ofcially known by this name then it was later changed as the 1817 Songjiang Prefectural Gazetteer, which lists an enormous number of bridges, makes no mention of it. 23 Ibid., 25a–26b. This entry also lists Chen’s collections of paintings and other artefacts and the friends who lived close by. Those buildings, of course, were not the end of the building projects at this property, for Chen was to base himself there for another 27 years. A list containing structures both from that list and those that post-dated it can be found in the Qingpu District Gazetteer, 12:7b. What happened to this property after Chen’s death has been difcult to ascertain. One record states that a Wang Meiying renovated some of these buildings sometime before 1879, but their subsequent fate has not been recorded. See Qingpu District Gazetteer, 12:9a. 24 Sun Jiasui ed., Complete Works of Huang Zongxi, p. 340. The two studios mentioned are the Cottage of Playful Soaring [Wanxian lu 頑仚廬] and the Hall of Inviting Righteousness [Laiyi tang 來義堂]. 25 Chen wrote a biography of Tang’s mother after she starved herself to death, through what appeared to be an encroaching disillusionment rather than in reaction

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It is more likely that Chen, having been friends with Tang’s father, was aware of the young man’s talent, promised his daughter to Tang, and had him move in. The considerable extent of Tang’s involvement in Chen’s literary activity points to an innate talent recognised by Chen which cannot be adequately explained away by familial obligations. Indeed, it was Tang who was responsible for the editing and printing of the Hall of Evening Incense, to which Chen had him write the opening guide for the reader, and so act as Chen’s literary defender. Tang was also extensively involved in the production of the Collected Works, working closely with his brothers-in-law on this project. Tang’s unnecessary move into Chen’s household, bringing his literary talents, substantiates the notion that Chen’s properties were sites for cultural production. Indeed, one of Chen’s properties was itself reproduced elsewhere, Qi Chenghan 祁承熯 ( js. 1604): “. . . arranged his garden to imitate the “Sixteen Views” of a garden owned by Ch’en Chi-ju [Chen Jiru].”26 Finally, a brief word about Chen’s collections outside books, for it was not only the accumulation of land, buildings, and their usage that marked Chen’s status. The objects of cultural signicance that he kept on the properties also afforded him a privileged position in the lateMing world. As Clunas has noted: . . . the late Ming was a period when the multiplicity of things had a central role in Chinese culture which they had not previously enjoyed and when the categorisation of things, the listing of them, ranking of them, feeling uneasy about them, praising them and blaming them became an issue of some intellectual concern.27

Chen possessed valuable paintings, and objects that had once belonged to renowned gures. Among them were paintings by two of the most inuential cultural gures of the previous millennium, Yan Zhenqing 顏真卿 (709–785) and Ni Zan 倪瓚 (1301 or 1306–1374); and there

to any single incident, in 1610. In this biography, Chen records that Tang’s father had died a little over ten years earlier, when Tang was not quite a month old, and that it wasn’t until 1616 that Tang married Chen’s daughter. Tang’s father, Li Guangchu 李光初, had been a government student in the neighbouring Qingpu District and had travelled around the hills surrounding the Mao River with Chen. As Chen’s biography indicates, Tang’s grandfather had died around 1603, leaving Tang’s widowed mother as the head of the family. See Chen Jiru, “Li mu Yang jiefu zhuan” 李母楊節婦傳 “Biography of the Faithful Wife Li née Yang” in QJ, 44:41a–42b. 26 Joanna F. Handlin Smith, “Gardens in Ch’i Piao-chia’s Social World”, p. 71. 27 Craig Clunas, Superuous Things, pp. 92–3.

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were other curios such as Lu You’s 陸游 (1125–1210) pine-skin pestle, and Yang Weizhen’s 楊維楨 (1296–1370) ‘cliff cap’.28 Over time Chen’s residences began to act as focal points for those coming to socialise, or to request his services as a writer. When nearly every biography written of Chen mentions that there were people lined up outside waiting to see him, to ‘implore the master for a few lines of text’, we know that they were lining up outside the door of a man who enjoyed elite status in all areas except that of government service. From Visitor to Visited Chen’s increasing ownership of property was matched by his growing status in social and cultural circles. Outings, often to view scenery, but also often to the residences of the cultural elite to view renowned paintings of calligraphy, taste a particular tea or so on, were common elite behaviours. As a young man Chen had visited the grand estates in the area, and had been welcomed into those circles, but over time he became more visited than visitor. This was partly made possible by his increasing property ownership, but it also reects his growing status as a gure of cultural authority. These trends are reected in Chen’s relationships with some younger literati, and his students. Chen as a Mentor As time passed and Chen’s reputation grew, his circle of friends and acquaintances widened. He began to be, if not directly a literary mentor to younger writers, then certainly a gure of importance to younger literati who began visiting him. On occasion he could also act as an intermediary for introductions for other cultural gures: when a young poet desired an audience with Zhong Xing, for example, it was effected through showing Zhong an introductory letter from Chen.29 Although Chen spent his life in the geographical area bounded by the Yangtse 長江 and Qiantang 錢塘江 Rivers, he met, and was known to and sought by, both local gures and those from places he never

28 Xia Xianchun, “Lun Wan-Ming yinshi Chen Jiru” 論晚明隱士陳繼儒 “On the Late-Ming Recluse Chen Jiru” Tianfu xinlun 天府新論, 2004:3, p. 132. 29 Chow, Kai-wing, Publishing, Culture, and Power in Early Modern China, p. 113.

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visited.30 Huang Zongxi and Zhang Dai 張岱 (1597–1684?) both left records of meeting Chen (see chapter seven), with Huang’s record important for the number of students and friends seen to be following Chen around.31 I noted above that Chen and his wife lived separately from around 1610, and that we lack records giving a fuller picture of Chen’s private life. The dramatist Li Yu 李漁 (1611–1680?) later depicted Chen in a play as falling in love with and desiring to marry a courtesan even before he saw her. This may have just been a dramatic device (see chapter seven), but we do know Chen’s residences were popular sites for social gatherings. One local gure who came to know Chen was the Ming writer, and later martyr, Chen Zilong, who also came from Songjiang. An annotation to a poem by Chen Zilong, suggests that he (Chen Zilong) met Liu Rushi 柳如是 (1617–1664), the famous courtesan who later became Qian Qianyi’s 錢謙益 (1582–1664) concubine, at Chen’s place.32 This gives a picture of Chen as a social host, sure enough of his status within the elite to host gatherings that the socially renowned would attend. Even in his later years, with Chen still playing the recluse, Chen Zilong recorded that people had come from all ends of the empire to see Chen for the celebrations.33 It was not only Chen’s immediate peers who attended these functions, but also aspiring literati. One young scholar-ofcial who took advantage of an invitation became a close friend. This was Wang Siren, and Chen’s relationship with him shows how Chen had developed into a gure of cultural importance. Wang was born in 1575, seventeen years after Chen. They rst met when Wang arrived to take up the position of Prefect of Qingpu in 1611, a posting that lasted less than a year. Nevertheless, that year in 1611 was enough time for Wang and Chen to establish regular contact. Although Wang came from a family whose ancestral home was in Shaoxing, he was born in Beijing where his father, a medical ofcial, was based, and did not spend any appreciable amount of time in Jiangnan until his mid-twenties. In and out of ofce over the years, he was never aligned with any political faction, and this antipathy to

30 This circumscribing of Chen’s geographic boundary is stated in Chen Wanyi, Late-Ming Xiaopin and the Livestyle of Ming Dynasty Literati, p. 108. 31 Huang Zongxi, A Record of Considering the Past. 32 See Jin Xingyao ed., Three Hundred Ming Poems, p. 467. 33 Chen Zilong, “Foreword to Birthday Greetings for Chen Meigong’s Eightieth Birthday” in Collection of the Peaceful and Elegant Hall, 6:11b–13b.

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late-Ming political factionalism may have brought him close to Chen. Although Wang left Qingpu after a year, we can trace their friendship in the letters they wrote to each other. The content of the letters from Chen to Wang mention both their private friendship and also contemporary affairs. One letter, for instance, has a commentary on the problems that arose during a drive for ‘worthies’ being recommended to the court.34 Chen also wrote grave notices for both Wang’s father and wife, and wrote forewords to two of Wang’s more famous works.35 This activity can be contrasted with the grave record that Chen wrote for Wang Shizhen where Chen was the young talented writer favoured by an important gure, a generation senior to himself. In the case of Wang Siren the situation was reversed; Chen was the senior gure bestowing his favour.36 In return, Wang wrote a complimentary foreword to the compilation of Chen’s Hall of Evening Incense. The two of them also collaborated in the publication of a work by a relatively unknown writer from the nearby Taihu area.37 Wang Siren, though younger than 34 See QJ, 58:22a–23b. There is further evidence of their relationship in poetry, see, for example, Chen Jiru “He Wang Jizhong panhua shi ershou” 和王季重盤花 詩二首 “Two Poems on Writing Poetry with Wang Jizhong about Flowers Placed in Vessels” in QJ, 27:7a–b. 35 For Wang’s father Chen wrote the “Feng Chengdelang Nanjing xingbu zhushi Donghai Wang gong muzhiming” 封承德郎南京刑部主事東海王公墓誌銘 “Tomb Epitaph for the Honourable Wang Donghai, a gentleman for Fostering Virtue, the Secretary of the Ministry of Justice in Nanjing” (QJ, 33:58a–60b). In this record Chen praises Wang’s father’s medical skills extensively (Wang senior eventually became the physician attending the household of one of the princes of the realm). For Wang’s wife, Chen wrote the “Shanyin Wang anren Yangshi muzhiming” 山陰王安人楊氏墓誌銘 “Tomb Epitaph for the Lady Wang, née Yang, from Shanyin” (QJ, 34:1a–3b.) Chen also wrote a biography of the woman who may have been Wang’s father’s rst wife, who therefore presided over the household and had a great inuence on the development of Wang. See Chen Jiru, “Wang mu Tang Taianren zhuan” 王母唐太安人傳 “Biography of the Great Lady Wang, née Tang” in QJ, 45:17a–20b. 36 The two works that Chen wrote forewords to were: Youhuan 遊喚 [A Summons to Roam] which was published at the end of the Wanli period, and the Biyuan nicun shiji 避園擬存詩集 [Collection of Drafts of Extant Poetry from the Hidden Garden] published during the Tianqi reign period (天啟 1621–1627). Although neither foreword is dated, late-Ming editions of both works are extant and in both of them Chen calls himself a ‘friendly younger brother’, an appellation indicating much respect, given that Chen was nearly twenty years Wang’s senior. See Chen Jiru, “Wang Jizhong nicun gao xu” 王季重擬存稿序 “Foreword to Drafts of Extant Manuscripts of Wang Jizhong” in QJ, 11:1a–3a. 37 The writer was a certain Yan Guo 嚴果. Morohashi Tetsuji 諸橋轍次, Daikanwa jiten 大漢和辭典 [Complete Chinese Japanese Dictionary] (Tokyo: Taishukan Shoten, 1984–1986), 2:1176, says that he was a member of the gentry without government position during the Jiajing (r. 1522–1566) period. The book in question was the aforementioned Forgotten Manuscripts of the Heavenly Recluse, it ran to seventeen chapters and

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Chen, came to be a friend. Others, such as Chen’s students and juniors in the literary world, were also younger, but to them Chen was always more a mentor or teacher than an equal. Chen as Teacher We know that Chen worked as a teacher from his youth, and that his rst independent undertaking was to open a school. But the nature of Chen’s relations with his students, exactly how he taught them, and whether that content changed over time, remains unclear. These issues are glossed over in biographical material on Chen and there are few other references to his teaching. One interesting thing about all the works truly and falsely attributed to Chen is the conspicuous lack of examination-guide related works at a time when such publications were widespread. Chen published almost no model examination essays of his own, and forgers may have generally stayed away knowing that Chen’s antipathy to such literature was too well known to effectively fool a prospective reader. Nonetheless, we know that he had a number of students and one letter to Chen begins by noting that his students are known throughout the empire.38 Although no more than polite opening rhetoric, it does tell us that Chen had a number of students. Teachers like Chen were in a curious position during the late Ming. They were instructing students in rote book-learning to prepare them for the examinations, while in life they were often involved in a philosophical quest for true knowledge about oneself and the world, a quest that employed a methodology which rejected book-learning. Chen’s life reected this tension. He was preparing students for the imperial examinations through studying texts (and teaching his reading audience through text), at the same time that he and his peers were following the advice of Wang Yangming, and the Taizhou school 泰州派 of Li Zhi, which suggested that one should examine one’s own heart and mind, and rely less on text.

was published during the Chongzhen 崇禎 (1628–1644) period. Chen is listed as having read over [ yue 閱] the work and Wang wrote a foreword to it. Heaven’s Hidden Master [Tianyinzi 天隱子] was Yan Guo’s style [hao 號]. 38 Wang Zhiyuan 王志遠, “Yu Chen Meigong” 與陳眉公 “To Chen Meigong” in Zhou Lianggong 周亮工 ed., Chidu xinchao 尺牘新鈔 [A New Transcription of Letters], collected in the Congshu jicheng xinbian 叢書集成新編 [New Edition of the Complete Collection of Collectanea], 89:495.

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Chen’s teaching encompassed activities such as his employment as a private tutor, and as a teacher in the school he operated with Xu Yisun. After he left Little Mount Kun and stopped tutoring the relationship between Chen and those who came to his property other than as friends, or to hire his literary abilities, becomes complicated. Poorer scholars, employed by Chen to hunt through the classics and other works in Chen’s library, looking for material that Chen could include in his compilations, may have considered themselves to be either his students or disciples. There are no denitive lists of his students, but publications like the posthumous Collected Works has students listed for the editing and proofreading of various chapters.39 Two of them went on to become noted gures in their own right: Wu Zhenyuan 吳震元 (1580–?) and Xu Jing 許經. Wu Zhenyuan was born in the Jiaxing prefecture in 1580. Under Chen’s guidance Wu passed through the examination system. He held a government post early in the 1620s but returned home within half a year.40 Once home, he bought the Abandoned Garden, [Fei yuan 廢園], and spent as much time there as possible. He later returned to government service, but was soon once again back at home to observe a period of mourning. Chen praised the simple attitude Wu had to life and also wrote a foreword to one of Wu’s works, the Qi nüzi zhuan 奇女子傳 [Biographies of Extraordinary Women].41 In a congratulatory essay composed for Wu’s father’s seventieth birthday, Chen recorded that Wang Xijue also thought highly of Wu.42 Exactly how much time Wu spent as a ‘student’ of Chen’s is not clear, nor is it known how

39

Acknowledgements are given in the Collected Works to the following students: chapter one, Wu Zhenyuan; chapter two, Dan Xun 單恂; chapter eight, Dong Zuhe 董祖和; chapter nine Lu Qingshao 陸慶紹; and chapter ten, Xu Jing. The chapters that do not have students listed often have friends in their place, mostly unknown gures I have left them out of this discussion. 40 There is a biography in the Jiaxing Provincial Gazetteer (1879 ed. 53:37a) of a Wu Yuanzhen, but it does not mention the works that other sources attribute to him, and as such may indicate a different person. 41 See Chen Jiru, “Baocai xuan ji” 飽菜軒記 “A Record of the Pavilion of Abundant Vegetables” in QJ, 23:17a–18a. 42 Chen Jiru, “Shou Wu Jing’an xiansheng qishi xu” 壽吳敬庵先生七十序 “Foreword to Birthday Greetings for the Seventieth Birthday of Mr. Wu Jing’an” in QJ, 16:37a–38b. After Wu’s father and mother died, Chen wrote a grave record for the two of them: Chen Jiru, “Taixue Jing’an Wu gong ji yuanpei Jin ruren hezang muzhiming” 太學敬庵吳公暨元配金孺人合葬墓誌銘 “Tomb Epitaph for the Double Burial of the Honourable Wu, styled Jing’an, from the Directorate of Education, and his wife Jin, the Child Nurturess” in QJ, 35:22a–27a.

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long they knew each other, although they must have met some time before Wang Xijue died in 1611. Chen was impressed by Wu’s skills, and in a letter to a third party, Chen effusively praised Wu as having developed his talents such that his work was of a high standard.43 Wu kept in touch with Chen, and one record even has him at Chen’s residence when Chen died.44 The other student of note was Xu Jing. A native of Huating, Xu was also a writer, but the short biography of him in a recent work notes that though talented he abandoned his studies before nishing the exams. There is no reason given for this decision and there is no further indication of what he went on to do, except that Chen’s son, Menglian, invited him to help edit the Collected Works.45 Xu stayed on and became part of Chen’s entourage and accompanied Chen on excursions.46 Perhaps, as some of Chen’s teachers could have acted as role models for a life outside ofcialdom for Chen, so Chen may have occupied this position for Xu. The position of a tutor was of considerable importance; he was entrusted with the future hopes of a family. Nevertheless, it was a paid position and a tutor could be obliged to move from residence to residence. After Chen nished tutoring around 1610, students and younger literati were still enthusiastic to gain his friendship and tutelage. The nature of Chen’s teaching had changed, no longer was he travelling from residence to residence, he was now at home, and a sought-after cultural gure. Chen’s Death and the Legend Nothing in his life Became him like the leaving it; he died As one that had been studied in his death47

See Chen Jiru, “Yu Feng Liuxian” 與馮留僊 “To Feng Liuxian” in QJ, 57:15a–b. Li Feng-p’ing, Research into the Late-Ming Hermit Chen Meigong, p. 64. According to this source Wu was also involved in editing the Collected Works. This record states that Wu wept when he came to the letter that Chen had been writing as he died. 45 Ibid., p. 66. 46 Songjiang Prefectural Gazetteer, 55:36b. 47 Macbeth. Act 1 Scene 4, Malcolm to Duncan, on the death of the traitor Cawdor. 43 44

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Chen died in 1639, before Jiangnan, the area where he spent his entire life, descended into chaos, and before it was obvious to many there that the Ming dynasty was going to fall. Chen was buried where he had lived the latter part of his life, at Mount She.48 There are several different accounts of Chen’s death. Some provide only the most basic information: the year of his death, or his age at the time. Others have a narrative component.49 In some of these narrative records the details of his death are either exaggerated or fabricated. As such, they provide a tting link from the real gure to the public personae, which occupy the rest of the study. Most of the records were written within a few years of Chen’s death and can be considered contemporary accounts. Here I will examine those records, and then nish with Chen’s own version of his death, his nal contribution to his personae, his autonecrology. None of the records suggest an unexpected death.50 There is a sense that Chen knew that his time was near (he died aged eighty-two) and exercised some control over the preparations being made for it. The scholar-ofcial Qian Qianyi’s biography of Chen, dating from the 1640s, does not elaborate on the circumstances of the death, merely noting that Chen ended his days at Mount She. Qian did, however, record that Chen had arranged matters in advance. As with quite a few other biographers Qian drew attention to the instructions Chen left, and said that they were interesting and uncommon.51 The most detailed description of this document is that of the Chronological Biography. It reads:

48 The grave remained intact for some time as it is mentioned in a chapter on famous landmarks of the area in the Songjiang Prefectural Gazetteer, 79:71b, and also in the Qingpu Provincial Gazetteer, 12:26b. 49 Short, matter-of-fact biographies are a clear majority. From the gazetteers to the entries in chronological biographies of friends such as Dong Qichang and Xu Xiake, most records really only note either the year of Chen’s death, or his age at death. A few record both. 50 Though some seem delightfully contrived, even if they were true. In one of the shortest records an acquaintance described Chen sitting in a correct posture and holding a brush in his hand when he passed away. Cao Jiaju 曹家駒, Shuo meng 說夢 [On Dreams], 2:3b included in Lei Jin 雷瑨 ed., A Compendium of Qing Remarks 淸人說 薈 [Qingren shuohui ] (Shanghai: Saoyan shanfang, 1928). 51 Qian Qianyi, “The Summoned Scholar, Chen Jiru”. This record erroneously gives Chen’s place of death as Mount Cha [Cha shan 茶山]. The similarity of the character cha 茶 to the less frequently used she 佘 is behind this typographical error. Qian came from Changshu 常熟, not far from Mount She and would have known the correct character. A later, and slightly more comprehensive, biography of Chen that appeared at the end of the Qing dynasty incorporated, word for word, the biography by Qian and

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In the twelfth year of the Chongzhen reign period [1639] Chen was eighty-two. By night he slept in the Cottage of Playful Soaring, by day he was in the Courtyard of Ancient Fragrance [guxiang tingyuan 古香庭院]. He no longer went far from his residence and at night used a sedan chair. He tired of social intercourse, but could not abandon his calligraphy. His nal pieces of writing were the “Chen Luping beiji” 陳鹿苹碑記 [“Tablet Inscription for Chen Luping”], and the “Xusheng zhai zhi lu” 許繩齋志 錄 [“Records of the Surplus Rope Studio”]. That year he had no great illness yet felt that his body was doubling over, his skin itched and he was constantly getting up and then lying down again. During the spring and summer he caught a chill he could not shake, and he almost found his name on death’s register. He took medicine daily, and said prayers, but his health continued to decline. During the ninth month, after the full moon, he ordered his son, Menglian, to invite famous Buddhist monks to come and chant sutras and perform a ritual of repentance in the Hut of Vegetable Fragrance [caixiang an 菜香庵]. On the twentieth day of that month he began a ritual to release the soul from torment at the Hall of Oral Harmony [kouyi tang 口一堂]. Relatives and friends were informed of this. On the rst day of this ritual Chen cleansed himself. On the third day he drank tea made from spring water, ordered a vegetarian diet, and did not mention household matters. He just mumbled: “All is emptiness, emptiness is all.” On the afternoon of the twenty-third day, while he was nishing work on a seal for a priest known as “Left Hand”, he had an auspicious death.52

The balance of the three teachings given here by the biographer may be fortuitous, more likely it is deliberate. At the end of his life Chen is presented as still mixing Confucianism and Daoism. But the diet is Buddhist, as is the inviting of the monks to chant, and in his own recitation of the Buddhist maxim on his death bed. Nevertheless, he dies as he is making a seal for a Daoist priest! There is little doubt that Chen exercised substantial inuence over the composition of his Collected Works. The style and content of this entry was possibly in accordance with his wishes. It differs substantially from the dry, moral orthodox Confucian narrative that Chen so often wrote for the subjects of his biographies (see the following chapter). In all of the biographies that Chen wrote of other people only one has an end similar to this. In the biography of a man called Zhao, Chen wrote that:

used the correct ideograph for Mount She (“Chen Jiru” in Chen Tian 陳田, Mingshi jishi 明詩紀事 [Affairs Related to Ming Poems] (Taipei: Zhonghua shuju, 1971), 7B. 52 NP, 43a–b.

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chapter four I heard that on the rst day of the twelfth month of the year 1629 Zhao was in high spirits. But three days later he abjured grains. After ve days he abjured wine and said farewell to his mother, rst wife, and children. Three days after that he arranged his clothes and sat correctly. He burnt his sedan chair, and clothes and shoes, to show that death was near. On the evening of the nineteenth day he called his sons to his side so that they could receive his nal instructions, then he died. Extraordinary! I think that he was Confucian not Buddhist.53

The title of the biography, “Biography of Zhao, a Man in Retirement Transformed by Buddhism”, makes it clear that Zhao is not a Confucian gure at all, yet Chen disingenuously claims this for him in the nal line, something he did not do for himself, that challenge was left to his biographers. Those depictions of Chen’s death, with the monks, priest, vegetarian diet, and death while engraving, or sitting upright with brush in hand, read as somewhat idealised versions, but they pale when placed beside the obituary that Chen wrote for himself. This piece was an auto-necrology, and in the late Ming such pieces were written in the spirit of bringing out the truth about oneself, and thus belong to the self-expository writing common at the time. Auto-necrologies were written by gures such as Zhang Dai and the philosopher Lü Kun 呂坤 (1536–1618), other pieces such as Xu Wei’s “Zi shu xiaoxiang” 自書 小像 [“Self-Portrait”] and Zhong Xing’s “Zi ti xiaoxiang” 自題小像 [“Self-Inscribed Portrait”] belong to the same category of writing.54 Auto-necrologies were written in a jesting and exaggerated manner, but however wild and fantastic they invariably reveal something of the author. Chen’s necrology appears after the Chronological Biography in the Collected Works. Here, as death approaches Chen wrote that he: . . . called all of his family and friends together and said: “Waiting until I have passed on before you make offerings to me is not as good as toasting me now.” Thereupon his family and guests all lined up and drank to him as if it were an offering. He looked up at the sky and bellowed at them: “Why no tears of mourning?” At which all present were greatly

53 Chen Jiru, “Biography of Zhao, a Man in Retirement Transformed by Buddhism” in QJ, 42:9a–11a. 54 See the collection of self-expository literature in Du Lian 杜聯, Mingren zizhuan wenchao 明人自傳文鈔 [Ming Autobiographical Documents] (Taipei: Yiwen yinshuguan chubanshe, 1977).

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moved. Someone started singing a funeral dirge, and the more mournful that the song became the more wine was offered up. The more the wine consumed, the more they all sang together. Chen was pleased and got up and started dancing uninhibitedly, like a child. He would not hear of people departing until the wine was nished. When death was near he called everyone together and said to them: “Some say that after death one becomes a ghost, some say that there will be the platform of the immortals beckoning, some say that there will be music and singing, and silk pendant streamers ying in the mist from the clouds, coming down as a welcome. I have never seen such things and were I to they would be illusionary.” After he nished speaking he clapped his hands, laughed loudly, and died. At that moment a white rainbow appeared in the hall and, indicating Chen, ew off into the blue sky.55

Before he ew off into the blue sky, Chen had transformed himself from being a member of a lower stratum of the gentry to holding a place with the highest socio-cultural standing. This was reected in his growing landholdings, buildings, and the uses he put them to. His change from visitor to visited is also indicative of this change. This rise in status facilitated his ability to promote himself as a cultural authority and enhance his ‘career’ as a writer. The exact circumstances of his death are difcult to ascertain. From the whimsical obituary that he wrote for himself, to the way his death was recorded and transcribed by others for posterity there is much room for conjecture. Chen enjoys differing accounts of his death; he also constructed different personae in life and the following chapters deal with them.

55 Chen Jiru, “Kongqing xiansheng muzhiming” 空青先生墓誌銘 “Tomb Epitaph for Mister Blue Sky” in QJ. Some of the more fantastic passages were soon transcribed into other biographical records of Chen. Both Zou Yi, “Chen zhengchun zhuan” 陳徵君傳 “Biography of Chen the Summoned Gentleman” in the Unofcial Annals of the Final Two Reign Periods of the Ming in Shen Yunlong selected and edited, Collected Ming and Qing Historical Materials, vol. 39, 514–5, and “Chen Jiru zu” 陳繼儒卒 “The Death of Chen Jiru” in Ji Liuqi, Northern Strategies of the Ming in Shen Yunlong selected and edited, Collected Ming and Qing Historical Materials, vol. 39, 645–9, include excerpts from this text. These works were published in 1644 and 1671 respectively. Chen may have not believed in such things himself, but that did not stop him recording a dream by somebody else who saw something similar. In the biography of Jiang Shengwu 姜繩武, Chen records that Jiang had a dream in which he saw spirits coming down from the heavens with banners streaming behind them to visit and welcome him. Upon waking Jiang told his brothers, and then suddenly died. See Chen Jiru, “Xiaopu Jiang gong zhuan” 肖蒲姜公傳 “Biography of the Honourable Jiang Xiaopu” in QJ, 42:35a–37a.

CHAPTER FIVE

THE COMMISSIONED WRITING There are two especial characteristics of Chen’s commissioned writings that are readily demonstrable. The rst is Chen’s considerable skill as a biographer, a skill that helped ensure his constant success as a writer in great demand in that genre. The second is the way Chen presented themes within the biographies he wrote, to show that he constructed a particular persona of himself as an author and commentator on other people’s lives. This persona, as it was presented through commissioned work, can be made clear through one specic type of biography.1 The Genre of Biography and Chen’s Biographies When reviewing three books on Samuel Beckett (1906–1989), John Banville, the literary editor of The Irish Times, wrote: “At a certain level, all biographies are also autobiographies.”2 Banville did not only learn a little more about Beckett from those books but, having already a good grasp of Beckett and his writing, he found that he learnt much more about the specic interests and beliefs of the biographers from the way they wrote about Beckett. Much the same can be found in the 1 The genre of biography, as we understand it in English, includes several distinctive types in Chinese. The New Shorter Oxford English Dictionary (L. Brown ed. (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1993), p. 230) denes it as “1 The history of the lives of individuals, as a branch of literature . . . 2 A written life of a person.” In Chinese these denitions can be ascribed to several different forms of writing. The two most obvious are the standard biography [zhuanji 傳記], and the chronological biography [nianpu 年譜]. ‘Biography’ can also apply to works that, in their English format, have a brevity that would hardly allow them to qualify as biography. Epitaphs and other writings come immediately to mind, and in Chinese forms such as the tomb epitaph [muzhiming], the grave notice [mubiao 墓表], and the sacricial ode [ jiwen 祭文], often provide biographical information, and on occasion surpass the standard biographical form in both length and detail. But even this does not exhaust the Chinese categorization, one major Chinese dictionary notes under the entry for zhuanji that, according to the classication in the Siku quanshu 四庫全書 [Complete Library in Four Branches of Literature], there are at least three distinct kinds of that form itself. See Morohashi Tetsuji, Complete Chinese Japanese Dictionary. 2 John Banville, “The Painful Comedy of Samuel Beckett” The New York Review of Books vol. 43:18, p. 24.

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biographies that Chen wrote. Although here I am inverting Banville’s insight: instead of having three writers show their hand on a subject already known, here we have one writer revealing his persona in the course of writing biographies for more than one hundred mostly unknown subjects. While there are often no other surviving documentary records of the biographical subjects with which we can compare Chen’s compositions, the number of biographies with similar themes makes it possible to see how Chen presented himself. I have chosen to examine Chen through his zhuan 傳, or ofcial-style biographies, because they were a highly stable literary form and had been in use for the better part of two millennia by the time Chen came to them.3 These biographies provided: . . . essential information about a man (essential from the point of view of the bureaucrat historian) in a highly formal way—his family background (but usually not his date of birth), his ofcial career (if he had one) in outline, quotations from his writings (if he wrote), and anecdotes, often stereotyped and quite false, intended to indicate his character.4

The advantage of such a regimented form for this study is that the writer’s signature is clear; small idiosyncrasies or comments in the biographies are signicant. Furthermore, analysing a large quantity of material by a single writer, within a literary genre governed by such austere stipulations, means that the writer cannot but display the way he constructs his own authorial persona. Chen did this through his attitudes to various topics and the manner in which he described them. The analysis I present here is based on the biographies that appear in eight chapters of Chen’s Collected Works, over one hundred biographies in all.5 The editors of Chen’s Collected Works placed together all biographies with zhuan in the title. But the word zhuan appears in the titles of different types of biography, and the motivation for writing 3 Unless stated otherwise, references to biographies refers to the zhuan biographies. 4 David S. Nivison, “Aspects of Traditional Chinese Biography” The Journal of Asian Studies, vol. 21:4, pp. 457–463. While Nivison is describing ofcial historiography, he does say that his description also characterises much non-ofcial historical biography. Chen was familiar with both the ofcial and non-ofcial forms of biography, having produced his own biographies and having worked on local gazetteers. 5 Despite their number, these biographies are relatively short in length, rarely surpassing 1,500 characters, even when including Chen’s appended comments. This constriction of length works to the advantage of the inquiry. Even allowing for the brevity of expression possible with classical Chinese, the details Chen chooses to include assume a substantial signicance.

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these distinct forms of biography can also vary. Because I am focussing on the particular circumstance of Chen being commissioned to write biographies in the ofcial style, there are some biographies with zhuan in the title that I have omitted for the reasons outlined below. Biographies of subjects Chen knew will often be biographies that were not written for money alone.6 They may have been written because they fullled a social obligation; the biography Chen wrote of the wife of his good friend, Wang Heng, is one example. Others were written for the honour of doing so; the epitaph for Wang Shizhen is obviously in this category, as was Chen’s biography of his mentor Lu Shusheng. This does not inexorably mean that Chen presents himself in a different manner in the pages of these biographies. However, I want to restrict the circumstances under which the biographies being compared were composed, and so I have not considered those biographies. There were also biographies, commissioned from Chen, that belong to a different category from the focus here, and this needs a few words. The literary historian, Chen Shaotang, identies four kinds of biography in his study of late-Ming xiaopin, all of them can be found in Chen’s writing, and they can all have zhuan in the title. The four types are: those similar to biographies found in ofcial histories, which are devoted to recording the subject’s accomplishments; those which are semi-autobiographical, lively, emotive, and given to some exaggeration; anecdotal biographies which were not necessarily based on a real subject but, even in the cases where they were so, were so far removed from them as to be almost a caricature—a style that reects the personal philosophy or attitude of the author; and those which share features in common with strange tales [chuanqi 傳奇] and often featured eccentrics, chaste women, aristocrats, and other particular gures.7 Here I will look at the biographies that are similar in form to those of the rst category, that of ofcial histories. I will also include biographies of chaste women, because they were also written to a formula for extolling the dead, and most of them were also commissioned. Biographies that

6 I am not suggesting that biographies written for friends or peers preclude the possibility of nancial transaction. Nevertheless, these biographies automatically separate themselves from the others in that they were quite possibly written for more than monetary remuneration. 7 Chen Shaotang 陳少棠, Wan-Ming Xiaopin lunxi 晚明小品論析 [Discussion and Analysis of Late-Ming Xiaopin] (Hong Kong: Bowen shuju, 1980), pp. 36–8.

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are ‘lively, emotive and given to some exaggeration’ will appear in the following chapter on xiaopin. As noted, the subjects of the biographies were mostly unknown to Chen. They usually hailed from the Lower Yangtse Valley area and lived at the end of the sixteenth and beginning of the seventeenth centuries. Dating all of the biographies to the exact year is impossible. Dates provided within the biographies sometimes give an indication of when they may have been written; as a whole these dates suggest that the biographies were mostly composed between the 1590s and the 1610s when Chen was rather reliant on commissioned work for his livelihood.8 Many of his subjects were either ofcials or, especially but not exclusively so in the case of women, from the families of ofcials. There are also biographies of merchants and they are treated in a particular way, as will be seen below. I have initially divided the biographies according to sex, as some themes are particular to men and some to women. Chen’s Social Involvement as a Professional Writer When one writes biographies [zhuan], tomb epitaphs [muzhi 墓志] or accounts of moral conduct [xingzhuang 行狀], it is as if one were painting a portrait. A scar here, a mole there, all must be put down—otherwise one will not catch the true person.9

The ‘true person’ Chen is referring to here is the biographical gure that comes to inhabit the historical record, not the esh and bone individual upon whom it was based. Chen, as a biographer writing on commission, however, did no such thing. Moles and scars are usually absent from his accounts, and he went to considerable lengths to disguise those that the subject brought to the biography. It is obvious from Chen’s comments in the biographies that he publicly promoted the writing of ofcial biographies in order to remain true to the genre and: “. . . to pay respect to the dead and to pass a nal judgement on

8 The earliest and latest biographies I have found are, respectively, the biography “Zhu Taigong jia zhuan” 朱太公家傳 “Family Biography of the Great and Honourable Zhu” (QJ, 43:12a–15a) which was almost certainly written in the early 1590s, and the “Liang ruren Duane zhuan” 梁孺人端娥傳 “Biography of the Child Nurturess, Liang Duane” (QJ, 44:24a–25b) which was written during the 1630s. 9 See Hu Shaotang, Chen Meigong’s Xiaopin, p. 164.

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their lives.”10 A biography written in order to praise the subject was hardly the place to record in full the details of the transaction that led to it being written. Despite that, Chen does provide hints regarding the circumstances under which some of the biographies were commissioned, and what we nd is that Chen wrote biographies for those whose status was senior to, equal to, and below his own, and that he adjusted his style accordingly. Figures senior in status to Chen were usually older and had held a high position in the government, or enjoyed high status in another domain. A good example is Chen’s literary mentor, Lu Shusheng. Lu had been the head of the Ministry of Rites and was also a well-known writer. The biography that Chen wrote of him, while largely conforming in structure and content to the pattern common to the dynastic histories, has signicant differences of emphasis in some areas. The difculties and factional trouble that Lu encountered during his years at court is covered in his biography in the History of the Ming, but passed over by Chen who, as both friend and biographer, prefers to emphasise Lu’s simplicity and incorruptibility. Where the History of the Ming mentions the dates of his birth and death as facts without need of interpretation, Chen instead writes approvingly of Lu’s funeral: he tells us that myriads of people came out into the streets for the occasion; and that this was the funeral of a great man. Chen’s motivation for the biography appears to have been a moral imperative to provide the best biographical record that he could for his erstwhile mentor. This was a biography written with an awareness of the social obligation that existed between the writer and the subject.11 It is notably with the biographies of subjects who held high position in the government, that Chen writes that he composed the biography in order to balance the historiographical record. This occurs in the biography of the scholar-general Ruan E 阮鶚 (1509–1567) who fought for many years against pirates during the Jiajing period (1522–1567). Ruan died in 1567 and Chen would not have known him. It is not even known whether Chen knew Ruan’s descendants before he came to write the biography. Although there is a suggestion that Chen may have been asked to write the biography after Ruan’s fourth son applied,

10 D. Nivison paraphrased by Wolfgang Franke in “Historical Writing During the Ming”, p. 761. 11 MS, pp. 5694–6, and Chen Jiru, “Lu Wending gong zhuan” in QJ 38:1a–6a.

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without success, to the court for a posthumous designation for his father. Chen states that he wrote the biography, which he calls an unofcial biography [waizhuan 外傳], because Ruan does not occupy the place that he deserved in the historical record. Chen goes to some lengths to show that Ruan’s conduct was always exemplary, that his fearlessness in facing down pirate attacks was legion, and that his being slandered at court was the fault of frequently-inebriated bureaucrats.12 On other occasions Chen was clearly writing in accord with stated family wishes in mind, this can be seen in the biography of the ofcial He Fengshan 賀鳳山. Chen explains that the subject had been the victim of slander while alive, and following his death such calumny had been perpetrated in accounts written by historians, that a ‘nal judgement’, sanctioned by the court, seemed to have come about. This was a judgement that his children challenged, and Chen was asked to write a biography that would amend the historical record.13 A slightly different motivation is claimed for the biography Chen wrote of Zhang Jiafu 張嘉孚 (1516–1594). Zhang was an ofcial whose honesty was apparently not always appreciated by his colleagues. Chen met one of Zhang’s descendants and through him heard of Zhang’s virtues. Chen wrote that after listening to Zhang’s story he felt that a biographical record that had been composed earlier did not give due recognition to Zhang’s virtues, and that he wrote this biography to supplement it.14 In biographies such as this Chen may well have considered the other description of Zhang to be incomplete, but at no point does he suggest that it is incorrect. This is not rewriting, it is being paid for attery, and Chen did it well. In a biography of an ofcial who spent much of his life managing the construction of palaces for the Wanli Emperor, Chen managed to advance praiseworthy comments while claiming to balance the historical record. Chen records that he met a son of this gure, He Shengrui 賀盛瑞, and that after hearing the son’s view of his father’s life, Chen wrote the biography to correct the version that was in the imperial records. Chen emphasised that He Shengrui could not be bribed, and that he repeatedly saved money on construction 12 Chen Jiru, “Shanfeng Ruan zhongcheng wai zhuan” 山峰阮中丞外傳 “Unofcial Biography of Ruan, Styled Shanfeng, the Vice Censor-in-Chief ” in QJ, 38:12a–19b. 13 Chen Jiru, “Canyi Fengshan He gong zhuan” 參議鳳山賀公傳 “Biography of the Honourable He Fengshan the Assistant Administration Commissioner” in QJ, 38:29a–33a. 14 Chen Jiru, “Anding Zhang gong zhuan” 安定張公傳 “Biography of the Honourable Zhang Anding” in QJ, 38:20a–25b.

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costs for the court—to make this point completely transparent Chen went so far as to detail how many donkeys were involved in one building project.15 There are certain clues provided within the biographies that indicate that the subject had a status at best no higher than Chen’s, and here we nd Chen the biographer on his best behaviour. Divisions between the biographies, such as between those with subjects who are referred to as ‘the Honourable’ [ gong 公] and those with subjects who are referred to as ‘a gentleman’ [ jun 君], can be a guide to the status of the subject.16 An example can be found in the biography of the precocious alcoholic, Feng Ruotao 馮若陶. Feng died from an alcohol-related illness at the age of twenty-one. Chen refers to him throughout the biography as a ‘gentleman’, despite it being clear that Feng’s status was neither equal to Chen’s, nor that the designation ‘gentleman’ was warranted.17 Another biography however gives an idea of how difcult a task Chen had. Chen describes Wang Tianqiu 王天球 as a ‘thief of virtue’; a man praised merely for having done no wrong, a comment that damns with faint praise.18 Chen tells us that he wrote the biography, insipid as it is, so that Wang’s life would nd its proper place in the family annals. This is the best that Chen can say about Wang, but he still manages to refer to him as ‘the Honourable’.19 Chen gives enough information about some of the circumstances under which the biography was composed for us to understand the ostensible motivations for writing. What is difcult to ascertain is an understanding of the payment given to Chen for his writing. While 15 Chen Jiru, “Biography of the Honourable He Fengshan the Assistant Administration Commissioner” in QJ, 38:29a–33a. There is no need to cast doubt on the veracity of claims such as this. While a son may, and is duty bound to, promote the best possible picture of his father for posterity, there is equally no need to accept the imperial records as the nal word. The palace construction projects were enormous undertakings and the opportunities for bribery commensurate. Upsetting vested interests of superiors or equals was a dangerous course, and Chen notes that He was forced from ofce on account of accusations made against him. 16 There are two other appellations used in the biographies. One is ‘Mister’ [xiansheng 先生]. It is used in the biography of Chen’s friend and neighbour, Zhang Xianwen. The other is ‘Master’ [shi 師]. It is only used in the biography of the strange Buddhist monk, “Biography of Master Yechan” in QJ, 41:35a–37b. 17 Chen Jiru, “Zhenfu Feng gong zhuan” 甄甫馮公傳 “Biography of the Honourable Feng, Courtesy Name Zhenfu” in QJ, 40:29a–30b. 18 The term ‘thief of virtue’ comes from the The Analects, 17:13 (see the explication for this in the Meng Zi 孟子 [Mencius] 7B:37). 19 Chen Jiru, “Jishui Tonggang Wang gong zhuan” 吉水桐岡王公傳 “Biography of the Honourable Wang, Known as Tonggang, from Jishui” in QJ, 40:4a–5b.

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we know that the biographies were commissioned, we do not always know the circumstances under which this occurred. Chen did not keep detailed records of the circumstances surrounding the commissioning of the biographies, he did not record who requested them, under what circumstances, and what types and amounts of payment were made. Therefore, we do not have a full picture of Chen’s livelihood, and where this livelihood placed him in the growing ranks of professional writers. Not a single biography records how much Chen was paid to write it. The closest we get to any information of this type is a lone comment in the biography Chen wrote of Sun Kehong 孫克弘 (. late Ming), an artist from Huating. According to this biography, Sun’s painting became so popular that, in order to obtain his work, countless numbers of people offered him clothing and food, but only one in ten were successful.20 Chen makes no comment on whether he was ever paid in this way, and if so how much. In many cases where it is obvious that a biography was written on commission, Chen merely records that he was either ‘entreated’ [qi 乞] to write the biography or that he had ‘promised’ [nuo 諾] to do so.21 The Language of the Biographies Chen was of the opinion that only the truly virtuous deserved a biography. He argued this in relation to the scholar Zhang Baowo 張葆我, by noting that those whose virtue was publicly acknowledged had their deeds recorded in the ofcial histories, while those who kept their virtue concealed from view had to be accounted for in unofcial histories, such

20 Chen Jiru, “Hanyang shou Xueju Sun gong zhuan” 漢陽守雪居孫公傳 “Biography of the Honourable Sun, Styled Xueju, Prefect of Hanyang” in QJ, 42:1a–3b. While Chen is at ease recording what type of goods could be used in a transaction for a painting, he is completely silent on what he received himself for his writing. It may be that the best information on his circumstances as a professional writer will be found, not in his own writing, but as asides or comments in the writings of others, some of whom may have commissioned works from him. 21 For having been entreated to write the biography see Chen Jiru, “Zhongjie Hepu Dang gong zhuan” 忠節合樸黨公傳 “Biography of the Honourable Dang Hepu, Known as Loyal and Prudent” in QJ, 42:4a–5b, where Chen writes: “The Honourable Dang asked Zaining to ask me [the Master Chen] to compose a biography for him.” For promising to write a biography, see Chen Jiru, “Biography of the Honourable Zhang, Styled Jianping, the Minister of War, Posthumously Honoured as a Loyal Martyr” in QJ, 39:27a–30b, where Chen writes: “I promised Dan [Zhang’s son] that I would accede to his request and write the biography.”

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as his own biography of Zhang.22 Chen clearly understood that one of the uses of a biography was to demonstrate to others the worth of the deceased, as well as indicating that the memory of the deceased, and by extension their worldly achievement, was embodied in some way by their progeny and relatives. The biographer can emphasise this through the use and repetition of stock phrases. Working from a limited number of desirable characteristics and behaviours, as developed by other practitioners of the art of biography, the biographer fashions his own material. In the following paragraphs I will discuss Chen’s rhetorical skills, specically his repeated use of phrases, consistent descriptions for a particular subject or theme, and Chen’s noteworthy way of referring to himself in the biographies. In Chen’s biographies there are several instances of identical or near identical lines appearing in different biographies. The most striking example of this is where one biography reads ‘the benevolent will certainly have descendants’ [renzhe bi you hou 仁者必有後] and another reads ‘the benevolent will have descendants’ [renzhe you hou 仁者有後].23 It is noteworthy that while the notion that those who are benevolent

22 Chen Jiru, “Biography of the Grand and Honourable Zhang Baowo” in QJ, 41:10a–13a. As a corollary to that position, Chen mentions at the end of the same biography that when one is writing an ofcial biography there is no need to make it grander than it is, the inclusion in an ofcial history already indicates the worth of the subject. 23 These two lines can found in Chen Jiru, “Biography of the Honourable Zhang Anding” in QJ, 38:20a–25b, and Chen Jiru, “Guanglu shaoqing Zhongwu Fan gong zhuan” 光祿少卿中吳范公傳 “Biography of the Honourable Fan, Styled Zhongwu, Vice-Minister of Imperial Entertainments” in QJ, 38:34a–37a. Chen may have taken those lines, consciously or not, from a passage in Su Shi’s Sanhuaitang ming 三槐堂銘 [Engraving for the Hall of Three Pagoda Trees] that reads ‘the benevolent will certainly have descendants’ [renzhe bi you hou]. There are at least two other instances of near identical lines in the biographies. The rst is a lament over the passing of a good person. The lines read: ‘Although the Honourable X has died he has not left us’ [gong sui wang bu wang 公雖亡不亡] and ‘although the Honourable X has died, how could we say that he has left us?’ [gong sui wang qi wang zai 公雖亡豈亡哉]. They are found in Chen Jiru, “Wuxi Erji Hou gong zhuan” 無錫爾濟候公傳 “Biography of the Honourable Hou Erji from Wuxi” in QJ, 40:23a–25a, and Chen Jiru, “Baishui Qin chushi zhuan” 白水秦處士傳 “Biography of the Disengaged Scholar Qin, Styled Baishui” in QJ, 40:6a–7b, respectively. In the other instance of identical lines they read: “. . . it is awed, but not without its uses” [ke mao er xia ye 可卯而瑕也]. These two lines are found in Chen Jiru, “Yunzhu Gu feng gong zhuan” 雲竹顧封公傳 “Biography of the Appointed Honourable Gu, styled Yunzhu” in QJ, 42:43a–47a, and Chen Jiru, “Guo Changzhe zhuan” 郭長者傳 “Biography of Guo, the Elder” in QJ, 43:40a–41b respectively. There is nothing especially of interest in either of these pairs, except to note that the language of Chen’s biographies could sometimes be as formulaic as the themes he was presenting.

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in this life will have (worthy) descendants; sounds an ‘ideal’ Confucian concept, this was not the regular way of describing someone in the standard histories or the gazetteers but was employed in a lower genre of biographical writing: Underlying the biographies in the standard histories and the local gazetteers—in other words, biographies written by scholars steeped in the classics—was the notion that the favourable judgement of history was a sufcient reward for moral behaviour. In an entirely different spirit, the biographies in the morality books often perceived good deeds and charitable giving as investments toward such future rewards as longevity, heirs, and not least of all, prosperity.24

This theme of good moral behaviour engendering worthy descendents is used with many variations through the biographies: Chen praises a subject by looking at his descendants and saying in effect, “Well, just look at them! If the subject had not been such a good person how could his descendants be such ne people!” The descendants were, it should be remembered, paying for the biography.25 The language used, even in these clichés, had to be appropriate; Chen once lamented that many of his peers, in writing biographies, employed language that was too ornate and evasive.26 This criticism cannot be directed at him, Chen’s biographies are written in a succinct and direct style. Yet the clear implication of Chen’s repeated use of these phrases shows that he was often composing biographies that merely seemed to imitate the gravitas of those in the histories and gazetteers, but yet which were closer to common forms of literature that were better understood by

24

Johanna F. Handlin Smith, “Benevolent Societies: The Reshaping of Charity During the Late Ming and Early Ch’ing”, p. 322. 25 See Chen’s comment in one biography that “I have heard the old adage which runs: ‘(A) good man will certainly have a descendant just like him within three or ve generations.’” in Chen Jiru, “Xiangxian Xinyu Yu gong zhuan” 鄉賢新宇俞公傳 “Biography of the Honourable Local Worthy Yu Xinyu” in QJ, 39:10a–15b. For further examples see the following biographies: Chen Jiru, “Kongjian Zheng gong zhuan” 孔肩鄭公傳 “Biography of the Honourable Zheng, Courtesy Name Kongjian” in QJ, 42:15a–17b, and Chen Jiru, “Biography of the Senior Zheng Jietan” in QJ, 43:30a–33a. 26 Chen Jiru, A Madman’s Words, 3:3a. This passage refers to all the various types of ofcial biography from the standard biography [zhuan], to inscriptions [ming 銘]. Chen then says that the correct manner in which to write is informed by the wisdom from a passage of a commentary to a line (nine in the third place in the rst hexagram) from the Book of Changes, which reads: “The superior man . . . By working on his words, so that they rest rmly on truth, he makes his work enduring.” R. Wilhelm translation, rendered into English by C.F. Baynes, (London: Routledge and Kegan Paul, 1983), pp. 380–1.

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the substantial majority of people who did not have decades of classical training. There are instances where Chen uses the same type of rhetoric for a certain effect. ‘Great generals’ in the biographies all stand out in the rain directing troops, not a single one appears in the sunshine and gentle breeze of a late-spring day. This is to demonstrate their commitment and dedication, and to show that they were deservedly holding rank though their abilities, not through someone else’s largesse or their social or hierarchical connections.27 In a similar fashion a large number of the biographies show the subject and their family and friends spending much of their lives laughing in a hail-fellow-well-met world, while outside over the walls in the background, though occasionally spilling in, pass barbarians, indigenous and Japanese pirates and, of course, the ever-pernicious eunuchs.28 These depictions may be clichés, but they See, for example, Chen Jiru, “Shaosima Yongqing Wu gong zhuan” 少司馬永 清吳公傳 “Biography of the Honourable Wu, Courtesy Name Yongqing, the Vice Minister of War” in QJ, 38:7a–11a, and Chen Jiru, “Yanling Chengfu Zheng Taigong zhuan” 鄢陵誠甫鄭太公傳 “Biography of the Grand and Honourable Zheng Chengfu of Yanling” in QJ, 42:48a–49a. 28 Laughter, or smiling, occurs in just under half of the biographies in the Collected Works. Pirates, bandits, and other dreadful gures occur in approximately the same number. The prevalence of pirates is unsurprising. One work on this subject shows that during the sixteenth century both Wusong and Shanghai fell to pirates, while Songjiang, and other local centres such as Suzhou, Mount Kun, Jiading 嘉定, Taicang, Changshu, and Wuxi 無錫 were all besieged at one time or another. There were also two pirate bases (Taozhai and Zhelin) close by on the coast, to the southeast of Songjiang. See So Kwan-wai, Japanese Piracy in Ming China during the Sixteenth Century, p. 9.) There is much material available on insurrections and rebellions. (The causes and extent of these movements, including various tables outlining the decline in the amount of arable land under cultivation and other measurements during the late Ming that are related to these phenomena can be found in Li Wenzhi, Wan-Ming liukou 晚明流寇 [Late-Ming Pirates] (Taipei: Shihuo chubanshe, 1983). See especially chapter two with its focus on the causes of these troubles. This book appears to be a reprinting with minor changes of his earlier work Wan-Ming minbian 晚明民變 [Late-Ming Insurrections] (Shanghai: Zhonghua shuju, 1948). That laughter/smiling was a prevalent literary device in late-Imperial China is beyond doubt. See, for example, the work by Paolo Santangelo on the subject, with respect to the novel Honglou meng 紅樓夢 [The Dream of Red Mansions], in his work Sentimental Education in Chinese History: An Interdisciplinary Textual Research on Ming and Qing Sources (Leiden: Brill, 2003), pp. 30–7. Xia Xianchun, has also examined questions relating to the different forms of humour that have been popular at different times. Xia charted the history of humour in Chinese literature. He noted that the early Ming preserved the late Yuan style of humour, but that beginning with the Jiajing period, the growth of capitalism, particularly in the Lower Yangtse Valley gave rise to a style of humour which became particularly widespread from the Wanli period on. Xia provides many examples of late-Ming literati who actively pursued humour, and pointedly notes that Zhang Baosheng 張葆生, Zhang Dai’s uncle, and some others formed a Society of Hooters [ jueshe 噱社]. The prevalence 27

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demonstrate that Chen was procient at describing his subjects within a shared cultural understanding. A nal linguistic comment is relevant to the way Chen presents himself as a professional writer: the language that he employs at the end of the biographies where he introduces his personal commentary. With several exceptions Chen invariably begins such concluding remarks with the words: ‘Master Chen Comments:’ [Chen Zi yue 陳子曰], in imitation of ‘The Master Said:’ [Zi yue 子曰] of The Analects and other early classical texts.29 This appears to be inconsistent with the way most of Chen’s contemporaries wrote, and must be regarded as something that Chen undertook largely of his own accord. There are some other notable late-Ming writers who employed this form, and a comparison of their usage with Chen’s is illuminating. Craig Clunas has drawn attention to Gao Lian 高濓, who used this formula in his Yashangzhai zunsheng bajian 雅尙齋遵生八牋 [Eight Discourses on the Art of Living from the Studio where Elegance is Valued ]. Clunas commented that: . . . the formula Gaozi Yue, ‘Master Gao states . . . ’ . . . is a not very subtle parody of the diction of the Confucian classics, something which would have been unacceptable in any more rigorously ‘high-cultural’ context. It has an edge of self-mockery, as of one not caring whether he was taken seriously or not.30

There may well be an element of mockery in Chen’s usage, he could have employed this rhetorical device to make the living recipients of the biographies, those who commissioned them, consider that the biography had been written by a master, thus reecting even more honour on both the subject of the biography and those who commissioned it; while Chen secretly laughed at their pretensions to a high cultural understanding.31

of humour during the late Ming was also tied to the life of enjoyment that many of the literati aspired to and also to the teachings of the Taizhou school that taught that man’s original state is a happy one. Xia also quotes from a foreword Chen wrote to a work called an Guang xie shi 廣諧史 [Extensive History of Humour] in which he traces the origins of recorded humour back beyond the famous entries in the Records of the Historian to the Zhuang Zi [Zhuang Zi 莊子] and the Stratagems of the Warring States. See Xia Xianchun, Late-Ming Literati and Literature, pp. 134–44. Chen, as a skilful biographer, attempted to highlight the more pleasing aspects of the world and dampen the presence of the less desirable features. 29 One exception is the occasional use of “I comment” [ yu yue 余曰], this occurs in a small number of biographies. 30 C. Clunas, Superuous Things, p. 19. 31 Common practice usually excludes using the character ‘master’ [zi] in this context. A small survey of Chen’s contemporaries has only turned up two other writers who used

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After all, many of those who commissioned biographies from Chen were trying to raise their status, and they may not have been attuned to how inappropriate this usage was, if it were to be taken seriously. However, there are several occasions where Chen simply could not have been mocking the subject. It is impossible to think that mockery

it, and they used it sparingly. In the fourteen chapters (69–82) devoted to biographies in one of his collections Wang Shizhen uses ‘Master Wang Comments’ [Wang Zi yue 王子曰] on seven occasions. Altogether he uses eight differing terms to refer to himself. (The most common is the modest ‘the Student of Yanzhou Comments’ [Yanzhou sheng yue 弇州生曰] which he uses twenty-six times, followed by the perfunctory ‘Laudatory Comments’ [zan yue 贊曰] which occurs twelve times. (Wang Shizhen, Further Manuscripts of the Hermit of Yanzhou)) The other writer to use it is Chen Zilong and he used it in one biography of the three collected in Chen Zilong, Chen Zilong wenji 陳子龍文集 [Collected Works of Chen Zilong] (Shanghai: Huadong shifan daxue chubanshe, 1988). Chen Zilong also used it in ten of the eighteen biographies that are spread out over chapters 12–14 of the Anyatang gao 安雅堂稿 [Manuscript of the Peaceful and Elegant Hall ]. Chen Zilong sometimes refers to himself by this name in other pieces. See, for instance, “Baiyun cao zixu” 白雲草自序 “Preface to the White-Cloud Grasses” (Collected Works of Chen Zilong, pp. 445–8), and “Kunshan diao erLu wen” 崑山弔二陸夊 “Mourning the Brothers Lu of Mount Kun” (Collected Works of Chen Zilong, pp. 517–20). As Chen knew and respected Wang, so Chen Zilong stood in a similar position to Chen. It is quite possible that the usage was a direct borrowing, Chen imitating Wang, and then Chen Zilong imitating Chen. The following is a selection of late-Ming writers who do not use this term in biographical writing. The biographies of Gu Qiyuan 顧起元 (1565–1628) occupy only three chapters in a collection of his work, yet he employs seven different terms to refer to himself, not one of which uses ‘Master’ [zi 子] (chapters 25–7 of the Gu Qiyuan, Lanzhen caotang ji 嬾真草堂集 [Collection of the Indolent and Authentic Thatched Hall] collected in Shen Yunlong ed., Mingren wenji congkan 明人文集叢刊 [Series of Ming Literary Collections] (Taipei: Wenhai chubanshe, 1970)). The single chapter of Xu Zhongxing’s 徐中行 (1517–1578) Xu Tianmu xiansheng ji 徐天目先生集 [Collected Works of Mr. Xu Tianmu] (in Mingdai lunzhu congkan 明代論著叢刊 [Series of Ming Dynasty Essayists] (Taipei: Weiwen tushu chubanshe, 1976)) has ve biographies, none of them use this term. Yuan Hongdao’s Pinghuazhai ji 瓶花齋集 [Collection from the Flowers in a Vase Studio] (Shanghai: Shanghai guji chubanshe, 1995) has one chapter that includes four biographies, none of those biographies use this form. Wang Daotong’s 王道通 Jianpingzi ji 簡平子集 [Collection of the Unrufed Common Master] (Beijing: Zhongguo quanguo tushuguan wenxian suowei fuzhi zhongxin, 1999) has sixteen biographies, while Zhang Mingbi’s 張明弼 Rongcheng er ji 榕城二集 [The Second Collection from the City of Banyans] (Ming ed) has four, neither of them use the term. The sixth chapter of Xu Wei, Xu Wenzhang yigao 徐文長逸稿 [Lost Manuscripts of Xu Wei ] (Taipei: Danjiang shuju, 1956) is given over to biographies. Although there are only six biographies, Xu, similarly, does not use ‘Master’ [zi ] at all. There is also one example of another writer referring to Chen as ‘Master Chen’ [Chen Zi]. It is Chen’s good friend, Wang Heng, who referred to Chen in this way in the foreword to a work that Chen compiled. See Wang Heng, “Guwenpin wailu xu” 古文品外錄序 “Foreword to the Collection of Unusual Classical Literature” in Collected Works of Wang Heng, 6:9a. In this foreword Wang also refers to himself as Master Wang [Wang Zi 王子]. Perhaps he was here following Chen’s lead in a joke they shared among themselves as he, Wang, does not appear to use this term for himself elsewhere.

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was intended when Chen chose to employ that usage in the rst and third biographies in chapter thirty-eight of the Collected Works. These two biographies were of gures indisputably senior to him, and one of them was his literary mentor, Lu Shusheng.32 In that instance it could have been an in-joke, though the gravitas of the form would make it quite inappropriate; it cannot, however, have been mockery. Chen’s Skill as a Biographer: The Biographies of Merchants Examples of Chen’s skill as a biographer in advancing the status of those who were not initially of the socio-cultural elite can be seen in biographies dealing with subjects who were, or started out as, merchants. Having a biography written was usually the preserve of the scholarofcials or their family. For a merchant to adopt this practice was a clear indication that he was trying to move into a social position that traditionally belonged exclusively to another group of people with a higher status than his. In this context we must remember that a biography not only imitated the elite cultural form of remembering, it also served as a record of behaviours that were regarded as elite. And those forms of behaviour were of considerable importance. Many merchants, having made their fortunes, were keen to invest in status and respectability. One’s standing as part of the elite depended on recognition of such pretensions by one’s peers; wealth in and of itself was never enough. Generosity was useful but, given the Mencian contrast between prot and virtue, it was far from sufcient. Hence the energy expended in showing that respectable merchants embodied benevolence and righteousness in their public and personal lives.33 In most cases Chen’s biographies of merchants reect the desire of those with money, but without high socio-cultural status, to buy their way in. Much recent research has shown that the oft-vaunted antagonism that was said to exist between the scholar-ofcials and the merchants was completely confused during the late Ming. This holds true whether we examine the interests of the two groups in general, or

32 The two biographies are Chen Jiru, “Biography of the Honourable Lu, Posthumously Honoured as Rened and Firm” in QJ, 38:1a–6a, and Chen Jiru, “Unofcial Biography of Ruan, Styled Shanfeng, the Vice Censor-in-Chief ” in QJ, 38:12a–19b. 33 Michael Marmé, Suzhou: Where the Goods of all the Provinces Converge (Stanford: Stanford University Press, 2005), p. 238.

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the relations between members of those groups in particular. In local politics the gentry and better-off merchants often found themselves on the same side. In von Glahn’s study of conict in late-Ming Jiangnan urban areas, for example, one of the leaders in the 1582 Hangzhou protests, Ding Shiqing: “. . . himself was reported to have told his partisans that the real foe was not government, but rather the clique of patricians and merchants who manipulated local ofcials to their own advantage.”34 Ding was making it clear that in the reform of local taxation and levies, it was the richer merchants and settled literati on one side, and the commoners and the government on the other. As for particular relationships, scholars have been at pains to point out, relations between the literati and merchants were numerous and friendly. Xia Xianchun saw the two groups moving closer together, he wrote that on the one hand there was a vulgarisation of the intellectual world, the world inhabited by the scholar-ofcials, while on the other hand there was much ‘commerce’ between those who represented that world and those who were of mercantile standing. The wealth of evidence provided is substantial. A passage from the writings of the writer Zhong Xing that praises commerce is quoted. It is followed by an example of a certain Li Daqi 李大祈 who began as a scholar-ofcial, yet ended up as a merchant. Then there is Chen’s well-known friend, Mao Jin 毛晉 (1599–1659), who was both a scholar and a commercial printer, thus blurring the distinctions between the two worlds. The close relationship between the merchant Wu Wenming 吳文明 and the three Yuan brothers is also mentioned.35 In a notable instruction to his children, one literatus of the period, Zhang Youqu 張又渠, advised them to settle their life among the four occupations: “Farmer, Artisan, Merchant, or Trader”.36 Timothy Brook summed up the situation: “. . . wealthy merchants in the late Ming were able to enter polite society to an extent not possible earlier and . . . [C]ommercial wealth was funding access to gentry status.”37 This entry of merchants into ‘polite society’ naturally had an inuence on that polite society:

34 Richard von Glahn “Municipal Reform and Urban Social Conict in Late Ming Jiangnan”, p. 300. A conuence of interests between the two groups when it came to benevolent societies is also outlined in Johanna F. Handlin Smith, “Benevolent Societies: The Reshaping of Charity During the Late Ming and Early Ch’ing”, p. 329. 35 Xia Xianchun, Late-Ming Literati and Literature. See chapter one in general and specically pp. 20–1. 36 Duan Jiangli, “On Chen Meigong’s ‘Reclusion’ ”, p. 21. 37 T. Brook, “Communications and Commerce”, p. 700.

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chapter five . . . the doctrine of the new four types of people [alluded to above] caused the scholar ofcials to not only abandon the burden of “aiding the common people and safeguarding the empire”, but also allowed to them to make a living from their artistic endeavours without troubling their conscience, even to the point where they regarded having the same function as merchants or traders as honourable.38

Chen’s biographies also demonstrate that the relationship between scholar-ofcials and merchants was not always an antagonistic one, and that the line between the two groups was often not clearly dened. This is also somewhat the case with Chen himself who, while he was not a merchant, spent much of his life engaged in activities that were designed for the commercial reading market, a point that Chen, unsurprisingly, does not make himself.39

38

Duan Jiangli, “On Chen Meigong’s ‘Reclusion’”, p. 21. A few other examples show that the relations between merchants and the gentry were complex. Cynthia Brokaw has written of the late-Ming period in Jiangnan, that: “Expanding economic opportunities had a profound impact on the social structure, both upsetting conventional denitions of the hierarchy and intensifying tensions between classes. Most notable was the elevation of the status of merchants.” Cynthia J. Brokaw, The Ledgers of Merit and Demerit, p. 5. The rise of the status of merchants is well attested by the fame of those from Anhui 安徽 and Yangzhou 揚州. Another writer has placed the merchants of those cities, along with the ‘old money’ families, at the apex of the cities in late-Ming China. See Han Dacheng, Research into Ming Dynasty Cities, pp. 294–5. A then contemporary observer wrote that: “. . . the status distinctions among scholars, peasants, and merchants have become blurred.” Gui Youguang, quoted in Wm. Theodore de Bary “Individualism and Humanitarianism in Late Ming Thought” in Wm. Theodore de Bary ed., Self and Society in Ming Thought (New York: Columbia University Press, 1970), p. 173. This blurring of status distinctions is also seen in the historian Ho Ping-ti’s research into social stratication. Ho noted that the pattern of social mobility of wealthy merchant families was toward the elite, and that as time went by fewer and fewer members of a merchant family would be involved in business. See Ho Ping-ti, The Ladder of Success in Imperial China (New York: John Wiley and Sons, 1964), pp. 77–8. The behavioural changes of these merchants to adopting the behaviour of scholar-ofcials, are well described by Angela Hsi who wrote that: “Like a good number of contemporary scholar-ofcials, some merchants gained prestige by cultivating sophisticated and expensive hobbies, such as the collecting of books or works of art. . . . During their business trips some merchants visited scenic resorts or historical places; they commissioned famous painters, scholars, or ofcials to commemorate the event. . . . They built houses in scenic areas, enhanced by gardens planted with many famous plants and owers.” in Social and Economic Status of the Merchant Class of the Ming (Ann Arbor: University Microlms, 1972), pp. 177–8. Examples of cooperation between merchant and scholar-ofcials can also be found in Chen’s writing. An example of the interests of the two groups coinciding can be seen in one biography where a eunuch came to a township wanting to exact money. The scholar-ofcials did not want eunuch power in the area, and the merchants did not want to be bled dry by the eunuchs, so they cooperated. See Chen Jiru, “Dalisi zheng juewo Cheng gong zhuan” 大理寺正覺我程公傳 “Biography of the Honourable 39

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In the biographies that Chen wrote of merchants he maintained a delicate balance between castigating the wealthy and working for them. For Chen the biographer it was more the attitude to money than to merchant activities per se that riled. There are many examples in Chen’s biographies where anything related to money is seen as being vulgar and common, and is roundly criticised.40 The care that Chen took in his biographies of merchants or traders can be found in the two biographies Chen wrote for a single family, the biographies of the father and the second son. The father, Zheng Jietan 鄭潔潭, was a salt-trader who was very successful in increasing the family’s fortune. This in itself could be praiseworthy, but unlike biographies that praise the ability of merchants to shape society for the better, as can be found in the Records of the Historian, for example, and to be respected for their nancial acumen, Chen’s praise lies elsewhere. All of the praise given to Zheng Jietan in the biography reects the values of the world of the scholar-ofcial. Chen wrote of Zheng asking questions about the respective qualities of The Analects and the Mencius; he may be a merchant but he is portrayed as attempting to understand cultural matters. Chen described Zheng’s behaviour as mirroring that of contemporary scholar-ofcials, or as noted in chapter two, employing behaviours through which gentry society distinguished itself from other sections of society: Zheng donated money for the building of a grave, and helped people who had fallen on hard times. In his old age Zheng enjoyed ne wine and travelled to famous mountains. Finally, in his dotage, he and his wife chanted Buddhist scriptures. The summation comes when Chen explicitly praises him saying that even though he made a living as a trader, his nature was actually that of a scholar-ofcial, as if Zheng had

Cheng, styled Juewo, the Head of the Court of Judicial Review” in QJ, 41:30a–32b. Cooperation showing coterminous interests can be seen in a biography where an ofcial, realising that the army in the area needed rations, approached local merchants and mining concerns who duly provided them. See Chen Jiru, “Xianfu Hongtai Zhao gong zhuan” 憲副鴻臺趙公傳 “Biography of the Honourable Zhao, Styled Xianfu, the Vice-Director of the Censorate” in QJ, 38:41a–43a. 40 See the following biographies: Chen Jiru, “Biography of the Grand and Honourable Zhang Baowo” in QJ, 41:10a–13a; Chen Jiru, “Minghe Li gong zhuan” 鳴鶴李公傳 “Biography of the Honourable Li, Known as the Calling Crane” in QJ, 41:16a–19a; Chen Jiru, “Biography of the Honourable Cheng, styled Juewo, the Head of the Court of Judicial Review” in QJ, 41:30a–32b; Chen Jiru, “Taixue Rangbo Feng gong zhuan” 太學讓伯馮公傳 “Biography of the Honourable Feng Rangbo from the Directorate of Education” in QJ, 43:18a–19b.

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accidentally been born into the wrong social class.41 Chen emphasises that Zheng’s children and grandchildren all became students, and that two of the latter enjoyed success at the examinations. In point of fact many children of merchants were given an education not dissimilar to that which the progeny of scholar-ofcials had. Indeed, quite a number of late-Ming intellectuals were themselves scions of wealthy merchants: Wang Daokun 汪道昆 (1526–1593), Gu Xiancheng, Gao Panlong 高攀龍 (1562–1626), and Xu Guangqi 徐光啟 (1562–1633), to name but a handful of the more prominent gures in this category. In the biography of the second son of the Zheng family we are told that while the son was still in his youth he demonstrated such acumen in business that his father and elder brother thought that he should become a student! As Chen recorded it, the highest ability in the business world merely indicated the possibility of becoming a scholar. Although this son had no success at the examinations and never entirely foreswore the family salt business (which by this time had branched out into wine), other scholar-ofcials said that he was a rened [ ya 雅] individual. No greater compliment could be paid.42 The Ming writer Li Mengyang’s 李夢陽 (1472–1529) observation is pertinent: As for merchants and literati, they have different ways and means but share a mentality, and for this reason good merchants make use of an honourable practice when prosecuting their business. Accordingly they can turn a prot without being corrupt.43

Another instance of the lines of distinction between the two groups being blurred occurs in the biography of a scholar-ofcial becoming involved in commerce. Here the process is reversed, but Chen still handles this much more profoundly difcult depiction with sensitivity. Gu Ru 顧儒 passed the palace examination in 1592 and behaved exactly as a scholar-ofcial should. He managed his family’s affairs, looked after poorer relatives, never spoke badly of others nor nursed grudges, he adjudicated in disputes, visited sick people (whereupon the evil spirits would ee), set up irrigation schemes, travelled widely, and loved poetry.

41

Chen Jiru, “Biography of the Senior Zheng Jietan” in QJ, 43:30a–33a. Chen Jiru, “Taixue Dongli Zheng gong zhuan” 太學東里鄭公傳 “Biography of the Honourable Zheng Dongli from the Directorate of Education” in QJ, 43:34a– 37a. 43 Xia Xianchun, “Wan Ming wenshi yu shimin jieceng” 晚明文士與市民階層 “Late-Ming Literati and the Urban Population” in Wenxue yichan 文學遺產, 1994:2, p. 89. 42

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According to Chen he also liked to do business and loved making a prot from his dealings. In fact, he donated money to many different causes and most of his time was spent with merchants, but for all of the money that changes hands or is mentioned in the biography, we are not told exactly what it was that Gu did to make money. This was not important for a biographer emphasising the activities that conformed to a Confucian ideal.44 These biographies show Chen responding, as a professional writer, to the changing social realities of his time. He employs a literary genre that has been foreign to merchants for a long time, but makes sure that he praises them for their adoption, however weakly, of the forms of behaviour associated with the elite scholar-ofcials. Biographies of Women There are two chapters in Chen’s Collected Works, forty-four and fortyve, that collect thirty biographies that Chen wrote with women as their main subject. The paradigm suggested by Dorothy Ko in her work on the position of women in late-imperial China, Teachers of the Inner Chambers, provides a useful framework in which to understand the way that Chen wrote about women. Ko proposes that there be: “. . . a dynamic tripartite model that construes the lives of Chinese women as the summation of three levels of shifting realities: theory or ideal norms, practice, and self-perceptions.”45 Here only the rst two categories will be employed, the third having no bearing on this inquiry as there is no evidence that the women had any direct inuence on what Chen wrote about them. According to this model, Chen’s biographies are records of where practice coincides with the theory or ideal norms, that is to say, Chen took the lives of these women and tried to describe them, as much as possible through reference to what he considered to be generally agreed norms for moral female behaviour at the time. Chen wrote his biographies of women rmly within the understood ideological prescription for behaviours appropriate to chaste and moral

44 Chen Jiru, “Biography of the Appointed Honourable Ku, styled Yunzhu” in QJ, 42:43a–47a. 45 D. Ko, Teachers of the Inner Chambers, p. 8.

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women.46 For example, it is clear that in the seventeenth century many were still receptive to the notion that widows could remarry: The argument in the tales by Feng Menglong [1574–1646] seems to be that given the sexual needs of widowed women, they should remarry . . . These tales represent an important contrast to the loyal, chaste and hardworking widows of the lie nü zhuan and the moral texts.47

If Chen’s subjects indulged in any behaviour that was not ‘loyal, chaste, and hardworking’, Chen does not record it, nor do any of his female subjects ever remarry—despite the many who could, should, or even may have. Furthermore, the individuality of the women is compromised from the outset, Chen’s women are invariably introduced through their relationship to a man; they are variously the wife, daughter, or relative of someone, and that someone is usually in an ofcial position. In the following paragraphs I will deal with Chen’s representation of two types of female behaviour: chastity and/or suicide after the death of a male family member, and esh-cutting. From its very inception the Ming had placed an emphasis on chaste widows, with the thirty-rst revenue regulation from the rst emperor’s Great Ming Commandment reading: If among the people there is a woman who was widowed before the age of thirty who held to her vows and preserved her purity until she was past fty, a commemorative gateway shall be erected for her family or neighbourhood. Her household shall be excused from labor service.48

This was a way of setting in stone the Song Neo-Confucian notion in which: “A woman not only had to guard her chastity and be faithful to her husband even after his death, but, more important, she had to con-

46 Occasionally one sees past the construct to the reality—in one biography Chen notes how good an archer a particular woman was. She was so good that when the family was attacked by bandits she and a grandson shot and killed one. Chen notes that they were not troubled again. There is nothing in this that is expressly counter to the way women should be portrayed, but it stands in sharp contrast to the usual rhetorical combination of women and bandits in which the women commit suicide to save their honour. See Chen Jiru, “Biography of the Child Nurturess, Liang Duane” in QJ, 44:24a–25b. 47 A. Waltner, “Widows and Remarriage in Ming and Early Qing China” in Richard W. Guisso and Stanley Johannesen eds., Women in China (Youngstown: Philo Press, 1981), p. 136. Waltner is drawing on a number of stories by Feng Menglong 馮夢龍 and Pu Songling 蒲松齡. 48 Edward L. Farmer, Zhu Yuanzhang and Early Ming Legislation (New York: Brill, 1995), p. 161.

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tinue to serve her husband’s clan no matter how many of its members survived.”49 During the Ming the emphasis on female virtue became publicly pronounced. It can be seen when the Yongle Emperor, considering how best to promote the Ming abroad in the voyages, not only sent Chinese calendars (three thousand to Vietnam), but also ordered: “. . . the Ministry of Rites to print ten thousand copies of Lie nü zhuan (Biographies of heroic women), which were then sent to all the tribute countries.”50 The historian Mark Elvin examined the standard actions of virtuous women during the Ming and Qing dynasties, and in comparing the reactions to the death of one’s ancé or husband, Elvin noted that while the standard practice was to remarry, a woman was considered especially virtuous if, under these circumstances, she took her own life.51 Of the thirty women of whom Chen wrote biographies, eleven attempted suicide, and in three cases they attempted suicide twice. In four cases the suicide attempts were successful; and two of those four were women who managed to starve themselves to death, in twelve and twenty-three days respectively.52 The suicides were usually the response to the death of a husband, but occasionally of a son. Chen writes as though a successful suicide was regrettable, but praiseworthy. Being the skilled biographer that he is, he makes sure to note that those who were unsuccessful in killing themselves usually went on to diligently serve their late husband’s family, or devoted their remaining energies to bringing up the child, or children, who survived. Suicide after one’s husband’s death was by no means a traditional custom. In her article on widow delity, Katherine Carlitz explains the background to this notion as springing from a rejection of Yuan dynasty practices: The imposition of the levirate was lifted by the 1290s, but a decisive change had been wrought in the ideological climate: the Mongol understanding

49 Bettine Birge, “Chu Hsi and Women’s Education” in Wm. Theodore de Bary and John W. Chaffee eds., Neo-Confucian Education: The Formative Stage (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1989), pp. 338–9. 50 Louise Levathes, When China Ruled the Seas: The Treasure Fleet of the Dragon Throne, 1405–1433 (Oxford, Oxford University Press, 1994), p. 187. 51 Mark Elvin, “Female Virtue and the State in China” Past and Present, 104, p. 143. By contrast Chen’s biographies of male subjects indicate that the death of a senior family member brought on behaviours such as beating one’s head on the ground, wailing toward the sky, or refusing to come out of mourning. 52 See Chen Jiru, “Jielie Wang Ruren zhuan” 節烈汪孺人傳 “Biography of the Child Nurturess Wang, Chaste and Pure” in QJ, 44:6a–7a, and Chen Jiru, “Jielie Liu Yuan zhuan” 節烈劉媛傳 “Biography of Liu Yuan, Chaste and Pure” in QJ, 44:13a–14b respectively.

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Chen responded to these new conceptions of appropriate behaviour for women after the death of their husband. He recorded that the women who were unsuccessful in their suicide attempt acted for the rest of their lives in a manner betting the ancients. He writes of one ‘wife’ whose husband-to-be died before marriage. She tried to stab herself and leap into the cofn. Unsuccessful in this (other women, not men, physically prevented her from doing so) she served her intended’s family and vowed never to marry anyone else. Chen comments that she embodied values that hearkened back to antiquity, and his nal rhetorical question: “Who says that women regard death lightly?”, is not to be taken as irony.54 Chen never passes up an opportunity to note that these widows did not re-marry, and if any of them did marry again then he does not mention it.55 Such behaviour also enjoys Chen’s unequivocal praise in the two biographies where the husband has died before the marriage has actually taken place.56 A more remarkable behaviour associated with describing women of the period is the cutting off of one’s esh to feed an ill family member. This practice was attested in the pre-Qin period, and gradually came

53 Katherine Carlitz, “Shrines, Governing-Class Identity, and the Cult of Widow Fidelity in Mid-Ming Jiangnan”, p. 615. 54 Chen Jiru, “Jiexiao Liu Ruren zhuan” 節孝劉孺人傳 “Biography of the Child Nurturess Liu, Faithful and Filial” in QJ, 44:4a–5b. 55 A refusal to remarry, and so remain faithful to one’s husband in death as in life, was not something that Chen only praised in those who commissioned works from him. Although strictly outside the bounds of the biographical writings under consideration, I note in passing that Chen also praised this sort of behaviour in his aunt. His father’s sister lost her husband when she was in her late twenties. She remained unmarried for the rest of her life, more than forty years. See Chen Jiru, “Shou Gu mu Ye ruren qishi xu” 壽姑母葉孺人七十序 “Foreword to Birthday Greetings for the Child Nurturess Gu née Ye” in QJ, 18:39a–40b. 56 See Chen Jiru, “Biography of the Child Nurturess Liu, Faithful and Filial” in QJ, 44:4a–5b, and Chen Jiru, “Xiaoyi chunü zhuan” 孝義處女傳 “Biography of the Filial and Moral Virgin” in QJ, 44:38a–40a. Though, of course, men in the biographies of women could happily re-marry, see Chen Jiru, “Gaozeng Li mu Shu yiren Tang yiren hezhuan” 誥贈李母舒宜人湯宜人合傳 “A Composite Biography of the Imperially Honoured Mothers of the Li Family, Lady Shu and Lady Tang” in QJ, 45:1a–3b.

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to be regarded as a form of lial behaviour.57 In Chen’s biographies this behaviour is usually conned to women.58 Typically added to a broth, the meat is supposed to have a thaumaturgic effect, and in many cases Chen recorded that it did. Flesh cutting, and the consumption of esh for medical reasons, has a long history. One medical historian has noted that: In a bibliographical work of the Qing period, the Tushu jicheng quanlu, we nd the remark that Chen Cangqi [681–757] had recommended eating human esh as a treatment for anorexia. This is said to explain the fact that, later, dutiful children frequently gave their own esh to save their parents.59

One example Chen gave of esh-cutting was of a woman whose husband had already died. She spent the remainder of her life looking after her late husband’s family. When her sister-in-law became ill the woman cut off a nger to add to the medicine the patient was being treated with.60 Another example records a number of occasions that this occurred within the one family. One woman cut some esh from her buttocks for her father-in-law when he fell ill; he subsequently recovered. Several years later this woman fell ill herself. This time her ten-year old daughter cut esh from her own buttocks, fed it to her 57 Mention of the practice appears in the ‘Robber Zhi’ [Dao Zhi 盜跖] chapter of the Zhuang Zi, where Jie Zitui 介子推 is described engaging in this behaviour as an expression of fealty. 58 Only one of Chen’s biographies records a man cutting his esh in such a manner. In this biography when the subject is on his death bed, one of his brothers cuts his esh off for him, but without the desired effect and he died. In the same biography, when the brother who had cut his esh to no avail fell ill a servant cut his own buttock twice, once for use directly as medicine and once for broth. The brother suddenly recovered. This instance harks back to the possibility mentioned in the Zhuang Zi (see footnote above) for it suggests that esh-cutting does not have to be done by one’s immediate biological family or even in-laws who could be regarded under certain circumstances as family members. A servant is an integral part of the economic family and undoubtedly bound by Confucian ties, but those ties are not lial. See Chen Jiru, “Honglu Qiqian Cheng gong zhuan” 鴻臚起潛程公傳 “Biography of the Honourable Cheng, Courtesy Name Qiqian, from the Court of State Ceremonial” in QJ, 40:21a–22b. 59 P. Unschuld, Medicine in China: A History of Pharmaceutics (Berkeley: University of Californaia Press, 1986), p. 51. Chen Cangqi 陳藏器 was a Tang dynasty literatus. 60 Chen Jiru, “Biography of the Filial and Moral Virgin” in QJ, 44:38a–40a. Closer to home Chen recorded his daughter’s mother-in-law chopping off her nger when her husband died, and throwing it in the cofn when he was buried, as a way of indicating that she would follow him. See Chen Jiru, “Biography of the Faithful Wife Li née Yang” in QJ, 44:41a–42b. Wang Siren also recorded this incident. See Wang Siren, “Duanzhi qijie” 斷指奇節 “The Wonderful Verse of the Severed Finger” in the Qingpu District Gazetteer, in the entry under the Yang Family [Yang shi 楊氏], 24:3a.

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mother and thus her mother was saved. Chen comments on this that: “All knew that the ways of Heaven were close at hand.” It is of some interest that in such a short biography (including Chen’s appended commentary it runs to just over six-hundred characters) so much space is taken up with these two incidents. Chen never dealt with this topic as one of medical interest. For him it is the lial behaviour that is to be emphasised. Chen’s skills here as a biographer show him distilling a handful of incidents in the life of his subject, and remoulding them in the shapes provided by conservative norms of ideal behaviour. Chen presents himself as a writer who will not show his own hand to the detriment of the subject, and will faithfully transform a life into its immortal form. It was not only with women that Chen wrote in this manner. Biographies of Men The biographies of men take up six chapters in the Collected Works. In general, the arrangement is such that those of higher status appear in the earlier chapters.61 As with the biographies of female subjects, Chen presents himself as a biographer whose values accord with those of an ideal Confucian world. If one wanted to commission a model biography drawn from a life that may have been less than ideal, then Chen was a ne choice of biographer. He was unstinting in his praise for subjects’ simplicity, frugality, honesty, and their service to the people. Here follow examples of these qualities with reference to two main themes: that of bribery, and that of failure in the ofcial examinations.

61 The rst three subjects in the rst chapter, chapter thirty-eight, also have biographies in the ofcial History of the Ming. They are Lu Shusheng, Wu Ning 吳寧 (1399– 1482), and Ruan E. Their biographies, in that order, form the rst three biographies in chapter thirty-eight of the Collected Works. They can also be found in chapters 104, 58 and 93 of the biography [liezhuan] section of the History of the Ming respectively. If importance were the guiding principle for the order of the biographies, then the editors did not always second-guess history successfully for the biography of Zhang Xianwen appears in chapter forty-two, in the company of those who have slipped beyond the purview of any other historical records, yet there is a biographical sketch of him in chapter fty-four of the Songjiang Prefectural Gazetteer. By chapter forty-three the subjects of the biographies do not even enjoy the attentions of the compilers of local gazetteers—they are individuals, whose families had sufcient money to commission a biography and the social desire for it to be written, but who played no major role in local affairs that would have warranted their inclusion in gazetteers, nor did they hold an important position.

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Bribery From reading all of the biographies it is impossible to avoid the conclusion that bribery was an endemic problem at all levels of ofcial life.62 Chen makes a point of expressing his respect for those who refused to accept bribes, especially if they were ‘poor’.63 In one biography the subject refused to accept bribes on several occasions, including one instance when a eunuch was sent from the capital to extradite a local criminal.64 Of course the bribes offered were not always monetary. One young ofcial was offered a bribe of 3,600 bolts of silk to expedite a matter. He refused the offer and promptly had a stele inscribed advising future worthies about the dangers of such temptations.65 When Chen praises another ofcial for refusing money which was not rightly his, he does so by indicating that the subject did not go along with what had become a common practice, in this case the extra silver demanded by taxation ofcials on the pretext of making up the loss that was

62 ‘Bribery’ is to a considerable extent culturally determined, for an overview of some denitional difculties see Nancy E. Park, “Corruption in Eighteenth-Century China” The Journal of Asian Studies 56:4, p. 968 and passim. 63 Exactly how ‘poor’ is not usually indicated. This was a standard comment of praise and the disparity in wealth that it could encompass was considerable. The family of Zhang Jiafu is described as poor [ jia pin 家貧]. How poor were they? So poor that his parents could hire a private tutor for him when he was young. Poor enough for him to be able to spend all of his youth studying and not working. He subsequently passed the exams and held ofcial positions for most of his life. He was then poor enough to be in a position to have his children wholly devote their energies to study, with the result that one of his sons, on reaching a higher position than his father, had him honoured with his own rank. (Chen Jiru, “Biography of the Honourable Zhang Anding” in QJ, 38:20a–25b.) The biography of Gu Kunyi’s 顧昆怡 wife has a ‘poorness’ that is not quantied in any meaningful way. Chen says that she was poor as a young wife and still poor as an old mother. She struggled so that her only son could study, but unhappily died before witnessing his success at the examinations. (Chen Jiru, “Gu mu Liu ruren zhuan” 顧母劉孺人傳 “Biography of the Child Nurturess Gu née Liu” in QJ, 44:26a–28a.) The biography of Zhang Wanquan 張萬全 says that Zhang and his wife were so poor that they could not afford hired help. (Chen Jiru, “Biography of the Grand and Honourable Zhang Baowo” in QJ, 41:10a–13a.) Neither of the two latter examples are as rich as the rst, but they are hardly destitute. When Chen does write of someone who it appears became truly poor, and died in dire straits, he is not described so much poor as he is described as being a good person. See, for example, Chen Jiru, “Biography of the Honourable Feng Rangbo from the Directorate of Education” in QJ, 43:18a–19b. 64 Chen Jiru, “Ziyi Yang gong sheng zhuan” 紫沂楊公生傳 “Biography of the Honourable Student Yang Ziyi” in QJ, 41:22a–25a. 65 Chen Jiru, “Biography of the Honourable Zhang Anding” in QJ, 38:20a–25b.

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incurred in smelting.66 Chen makes it clear that it was common practice to demand extra payments in these circumstances, yet he strongly praises the subject for an unnecessarily principled stand in refusing to engage in this practice. From these examples it would seem that Chen was adamant in his rejection of any form of bribery. But this was not so, and Chen’s subtlety as a biographer is clear from other instances where he contrives to laud the action. In one such example the subject initiated a bribe, but because it was for a good purpose it was praised rather than castigated. In this case an ofcial had become entangled in the Yaoshu 妖書 [Phantom Book] affair at the end of the sixteenth century and was cast into prison in fetters.67 An arrangement was made with the gaolers, and all sorts of goods were brought into the prison from the market. After his release the ex-prisoner continued to send ‘surreptitious’ medical supplies to aid those still in prison.68 For Chen this form of bribery is to be praised. His skill as a biographer is to uphold traditional principles and highlight their adoption by his subjects. Should one act contrary to a principle, biographer Chen will make it clear that in this instance the end justies the means. Failure at the Examinations Chen failed the provincial examinations twice. This experience presumably allowed him to sympathise with, and treat with compassion others 66 Chen Jiru, “Dazhongcheng Jin’an Zhao gong zhuan” 大中丞藎菴趙公傳 “Biography of the Honourable Zhao Jin’an the Censor-in-chief ” in QJ, 38:24a–29b. Much the same can be seen in another biography where the protagonist, seeking help in a legal matter, nds an honest ofcial and, as Chen notes, does not have to present him with any money or silk. See Chen Jiru, “Biography of the Honourable Zheng Dongli from the Directorate of Education” in QJ, 43:34a–37a. 67 An outline of the Phantom Book affair is as follows: in 1590 the scholar-ofcial Lü Kun published a book on exemplary women called Guifan 閨範 [Model Women]. The book was very widely disseminated and eventually made its way into the palace. Once inside the palace it came to the attention of the Honoured Consort Zheng. She subsequently had her brother republish the work with an added section of twelve exemplars, herself as the twelfth. This edition came out in 1595 under the title Guifan tushuo 閨範 圖說 [An Illustrated Model Women]. Three years later a colophon by an ‘unknown’ Zhu Dongji 朱東吉 appeared, the contents of which politicised the book and brought it into the ongoing controversy over the heir apparent, and also led to the name Phantom Book being given to it. A summary of the entire incident with selections from Zhu’s colophon can be found in Fan Shuzhi 樊樹志, Wanli zhuan 萬曆傳 [Biography of the Wanli Emperor] (Taipei: Taiwan shangwu yinshuguan, 1994), pp. 339–54. 68 Chen Jiru, “Zhuwu Wang buyi zhuan” 竹塢王布衣傳 “Biography of the Commoner Wang Zhuwu” in QJ, 40:8a–10a.

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who shared the frustrations of failure. As the examination system was the main path for an aspiring man to secure high position, and the trappings of power, and respect and wealth that accompanied it, failure to pass any level of the examinations could be devastating. Through his writing Chen found an alternative way of dealing with the ignominy of failure, even though it took him twenty years to free himself from the burdens of paid tutoring. As a popular and successful commercial writer he would accrue cultural rather than political power, and still gain respect and wealth. How he portrayed those who, like himself, stumbled at the examination barrier, provides us with fascinating insights into his abilities as a biographer. The most extreme example of failure at the examination that Chen would have to deal with in his professional writing career was that of the ill-fated An Shaofang 安紹芳. An came from an illustrious Lower Yangtse Valley family that had boasted many ofcials among their number during the Ming. He also happened to know Chen’s friend Xu Yisun, although Chen apparently never met him. An married at seventeen and his prospects were bright. But all his plans were temporarily suspended when he went into mourning for his grandfather. After the mourning period An travelled north to Beijing in order to settle some affairs, only to nd on his return that his father had died. His wife, mother, young son(s), and possibly all of his siblings, died one after the other before his own demise at the age of 58. An failed the examinations no less than seven times.69 In Chen’s biography of the dolorous life of An, all of these sorrows and defeats were the workings of an unlucky fate. Chen makes clear, in both the text of the biography and his appended commentary, that An was always gracious and polite, a true gentleman [ junzi 君子], yet despite all of this fate operated against him. Another egregiously failed life was that of Zhang Wanquan 張萬全. In his biography Chen immediately establishes the moral pedigree of Zhang family when he says that one of the ancestors had dared to oppose the powerful late-fteenth century eunuch Liu Jin 劉瑾 (1451– 1510), and as a consequence had nearly died in jail. Zhang’s father

69 Chen Jiru, “Yanting An gong zhuan” 研亭安公傳 “Biography of the Honourable An Yanting” in QJ, 40:37a–39b. Lest it be thought from the comments above that the biography begins unhappily and only gets more maudlin, Chen does note that An’s life was not devoid of happiness. He spent time travelling with good companions and joined a local drinking and poetry club. Nevertheless, this seems to be an effort by Chen to paint a brighter picture of a life composed of disappointment and sadness.

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died in ofce and the family had to struggle on in poverty. Zhang’s mother too, soon passed away. Zhang failed the examinations twice, in 1627 and 1630. His son fared much better and became a presented scholar [ jinshi] in 1631. Two years later Zhang was hopeful of sitting the exam again but was dissuaded by his son who said that he was already so knowledgeable that passing the examination would provide him with nothing more than empty fame. Chen clearly saw a parallel in this story with his own life, and in his commentary at the end of the biography he mentions his own withdrawal from the exam system.70 In this instance the obvious disappointment at the exams is subsumed by the personal qualities of the subject, in other words it does not matter whether one fails or not, but it does matter whether or not one is a good person. Chen wrote that Zhang was lial to a fault, that he lived frugally, and that he helped those who were poor and in need. He also kept rare birds and planted owers, indications that he was a man of rened taste.71 Not everyone dealt with disappointment by becoming an exemplar of ner human qualities, and some subjects of Chen’s biographies presented Chen with considerable difculties as he attempted to bring their lives into alignment with Confucian orthodoxy. Wu Changling 吳昌齡, for example, led a life of dissolution after failing the examinations. He became an alcoholic and nearly drank himself to death. Chen describes Wu’s decline with a measure of sensitivity and sympathy, and reveals his skills in bringing a gure that had apparently given up on life into line with traditional elite forms of behaviour. Chen describes Wu as having redeemed himself through his actions. For instance, we are told that Wu made arrangements to bury abandoned corpses, and gave alms to charity. In his private world he became a Buddhist and enjoyed a vegetarian diet. Here the reliance of the individual on Buddhism is presented as a philosophical retreat available to those who

70 Chen also mentions his own withdrawal in another biography. After noting that Zhang Dalun 張大綸 passed the rst exam but no others, and spent the rest of his life as a Government Student [zhusheng 諸生] studying the classics, Chen notes that there were some similarities between the two of them. He wrote that they both tried to make what they could of their lives but that Zhang’s ideals were never realised. The implication possibly being that Chen thought that his own ideals were. See Chen Jiru, “Menghe Zhang gong zhuan” 夢鶴張公傳 “Biography of the Honourable Zhang Menghe” in QJ, 41:43a–46a. 71 Chen Jiru, “Biography of the Grand and Honourable Zhang Baowo” in QJ, 41:10a–13a.

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could not full their ‘Confucian’ potential. In writing Wu’s biography, it is almost as if Chen were asking the reader to understand that Wu did not have the time to be a correct Confucian because he was too busy being a good Buddhist.72 Another gure who repeatedly failed the exams, eventually giving up in despair, was Feng Boli 馮伯禮. According to Chen’s record, Feng would have turned to alcohol, much as Wu did, were it not for his inability to drink. Feng decided that as his family, his great-greatgrandfather in particular, had come from the Yan area to the north, he would return there to die. He subsequently abandoned his family and went north. (His family, representing at least one branch of the clan, had been living in the Lower Yangtse Valley for some generations.) Soon after reaching Yan, Feng died in abject circumstances. His wife heard the news, became distraught, and died from unspecied causes within a year of Feng’s death. Chen described her death as if it were an act of great devotion on her part. Feng’s son, who travelled well over a thousand miles to attend the funeral, cut off one of his own ngers and nearly died on account of it. Chen does not tell us why the son did this but does record it as an act of lial piety. In this tale of desperation, frustration, and hopelessness, Chen nds strength of purpose, devotion, and lial piety. This is not to say that those qualities were not present in the family, merely that Chen emphasises them strongly at the expense of any other possible interpretation of the family’s history. Here again, in a biography where it would appear that a failure in the ofcial exams had led to the wrack and ruin of the protagonist and his family, Chen manages to nd cause for praise and approval. In this case the praise is predicated on Feng’s disdain for money, his generosity, his not harbouring grudges and, curiously, his not minding a horse coming into his house.73 The one biography where Chen could have truly shown his hand on this issue of failure at the examinations does not live up to its potential. The subject of the biography, Zheng Youliang 鄭友諒, like Chen, passed the juvenile examination, but never the provincial examination. Unlike Chen, Zheng then spent the next fty years in repeated attempts to pass. Chen starts the biography with the words ‘The unofcial biographer 72 Chen Jiru, “Taixue Qiaonian Wu jun zhuan” 太學喬年吳君傳 “Biography of the Respected Wu Qiaonian from the Directorate of Education” in QJ, 41:33a–34b. 73 Chen Jiru, “Biography of the Honourable Feng Rangbo from the Directorate of Education” in QJ, 43:18a–19b.

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comments’ [Yeshi shi yue 野史氏曰], an unconventional opening which promises an equally unorthodox biography, very much of the xiaopin type of biographical vignette. In such a biography the writer is free to reveal his hand on issues he feels strongly about, but in this instance Chen does not take the question of failure at the examinations any further. Despite the unusual beginning, the biography rapidly becomes a conventional biography: we are told that Zheng harvested his fair share of glory for his resolute leadership against some local bandits, and for his skill in developing relations between the Han and an ethnic minority. Chen does not deal with how Zheng felt or thought about his continued failure for, unless Chen were planning on turning that continued failure into a particularly praiseworthy attribute, it was irrelevant to the purpose of the biography.74 Other Concerns in the Biographies There are numerous other themes within the biographies that demonstrate the way in which Chen drew on the concerns and issues of the day and turned them to the advantage of the subjects of his biographies, prominent among them are the notable late-Ming concerns of charitable deeds and personal frugality. Charitable Deeds In chapter two I mentioned that Timothy Brook outlined the way in which the gentry demarcated and reinforced their status through activities such as the repairing of temples, contributing to local infrastructure projects such as the building of embankments and repairing of roads, and helping those in need. There are many examples of these sorts of activities in the biographies. Indeed, hardly a biography of an ofcial passes without mention of at least one of them. Another activity that belongs in the same category is that of donations. Donations were a way of placing wealth within a moral framework; an abiding concern in Chinese political and social philosophy, prominent in times of material inequality, from before the rst empire to our own day.75 In the late 74 Chen Jiru, “Biography of the Grand and Honourable Zheng Chengfu of Yanling” in QJ, 42:48a–49a. 75 For it being a traditional concern there is the famous passage in the Mencius about King Hui of Liang standing by his pond and asking Mencius whether it is moral

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Ming this practice was clearly a social statement as well as a response to material ruin. In her article on the development of benevolent societies in the late Ming, Handlin Smith shows that the two earliest benevolent societies were formed outside the auspices of lineage organisations, religious institutions, and government bureaus. She also demonstrates that those societies were not formed as a direct response to a particular disaster, but were a local phenomenon dealing with the moral uses of wealth and the social demonstration of those uses. As Handlin Smith puts it, the benevolent societies were: “. . . locally sponsored, voluntary, widespread, and enduring . . . [and] included merchants and farmers as well as scholars and members of the gentry.”76 It was money that got you in, and donations that kept you there. In this section I will focus principally on donations of money and land, but will also mention donations of goods. First a brief overview of the variety of the forms and objects donations could take. There are examples where donations of money are recorded without the recipient being mentioned.77 There is a record of a donation, in the form of surplus grain, from an estate to the local town.78 Another biography clearly states that a donation of money

for him to enjoy such wealth. Mencius suggests that it is, as long as the population is properly provided for. (See Mencius [Meng Zi] 1A:2.) For these arguments about a moral economy being used in the present day see Elizabeth Perry, “Crime, Corruption and Contention” in M. Goldman and R. Macfarquhar eds., The Paradox of China’s Post-Mao Reforms (Cambridge, Mass.: Harvard University Press, 1999), pp. 317–8. This anxiety over the moral purpose of money stands in contrast to a Buddhist attitude of the time: “Scholars have argued recently that the small wave of Neo-Confucian philanthropy in the seventeenth century was motivated by an urge to establish a moral meaning for the new wealth that had entered gentry society. Buddhist patrons, however, showed none of the old Confucian anxiety about money being a lubricant on the swift slide to an amoral world. The Buddhist attitude was that wealth was allotted through karmic redistribution and that the rich man was simply enjoying the fruits of previous good deeds.” T. Brook, Praying for Power, p. 318. 76 Johanna F. Handlin Smith, “Benevolent Societies: The Reshaping of Charity During the Late Ming and Early Ch’ing”, p. 310. 77 Chen Jiru, “Biography of the Honourable Feng Rangbo from the Directorate of Education” in QJ, 43:18a–19b. Also in Chen Jiru, “Biography of Guo the Elder” in QJ, 43:40a–41b. 78 Chen Jiru, “Biography of the Honourable Jiang Xiaopu” in QJ, 42:35a–37a. That there appears to be but a single reference to an activity such as this is curious when placed alongside the near universal mention of famine or other forms of hardship caused by natural disaster in areas close to Chen. The disasters mentioned in the Chronological Biography (see the entries under the years 1588, 1607, 1608, and 1623) would lead one to expect that this type of donation would have been more common in the records.

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bypassed the ofcials and was given directly to the poor and needy.79 Yet another recorded that money was sent to aid relief in distant calamities.80 Money was also donated for other urgent purposes. Donations to help with the funeral costs of those who could not afford to pay were common.81 Sometimes the donation involved the cancellation of debts that were owed to the subject.82 Sometimes the money stayed a little closer to home and yet Chen praised it no less for that. This is obvious in the biography where money was made available to poor scholars in the locale who were in need.83 For these donors, donations such as this were a very good way of getting one’s name on an inscription without having to do anything oneself. In some biographies Chen does not merely mention that a donation was made, he comments on it and makes clear how it is in line with traditional moral concerns. In one scene a tramp is set (albeit briey) on his feet again, through a donation. This allows Chen to show the protagonist returning to his wife and lamenting the sorrows of life, thus demonstrating that he is a man with a heart.84 On another occasion a man who was not holding any ofcial position used his own money to facilitate an action that should have been the responsibility of the

See Chen Jiru, “Chengchuan Li gong zhuan” 澄川李公傳 “Biography of the Honourable Li, styled Chengchuan” in QJ, 40:31a–33a, and Chen Jiru, “Biography of the Grand and Honourable Zhang Baowo” in QJ, 41:10a–13a. 80 Chen Jiru, “Biography of the Honourable Cheng, styled Juewo, the Head of the Court of Judicial Review” in QJ, 41:30a–32b. 81 See the following biographies: Chen Jiru, “Biography of the Honourable Feng Rangbo from the Directorate of Education” in QJ, 43:18a–19b, Chen Jiru, “Biography of the Senior Zheng Jietan” in QJ, 43:30a–33a, and Chen Jiru, “Biography of the Honourable Zheng Dongli from the Directorate of Education” in QJ, 43:34a–37a. 82 In one example it is made clear that the cancellation of locally owed debt was due to a drought in the area. See Chen Jiru, “Taishi Goushan Wang gong zhuan” 太 史緱山王公傳 “Biography of the Honourable Wang, styled Goushan, from the Hanlin Academy” in QJ, 39:20a–26a. Another example involves a single debt, nevertheless the subject of the biography is continually donating money for local buildings and, on one occasion, forgiving a servant who had lost a sum of the family’s money that had been entrusted to him. See Chen Jiru, “Neishi Chuyuan Huang gong zhuan” 內史楚源黃 公傳 “Biography of the Honourable Huang Chuyuan from the Hanlin Academy” in QJ, 41:26a–29a. A more melodramatic example occurs when a father tears up the debt notices in front of his son and said: “If I have you then they matter not at all”. Chen Jiru, “Fengcheng Xiong Taigong zhuan” 豐城態太公傳 “Biography of the Grand and Honourable Xiong from Fengcheng” in QJ, 42:37a–39b. 83 Chen Jiru, “Family Biography of the Great and Honourable Zhu” in QJ, 43:12a–15a. 84 Chen Jiru, “Jiangling Wu zenggong zhuan” 江陵吳贈公傳 “Biography of the Honourable (posthumous) Wu from Jiangling” in QJ, 41:20a–21b. 79

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government: to catch the bandits who had murdered his brother. As a result of his donation fteen bandits were caught and dealt with. A fact he was then able to announce this tearfully at his brother’s grave.85 Here we see Chen praising private philanthropy and noting that it both serves the public good, in the form of criminals being caught and punished, and that it also is in accordance with traditional moral concerns for the individual, in this case fraternal piety. All of these instances are, of course, presented as actions worthy of emulation and deserving of the respect of generations to come, and are framed in the language of traditional Confucian thought. Land was another form of donation. Sometimes land was donated for a specic purpose such as to support poor scholars.86 Another good cause to which land could be donated was for the building of schools.87 On other occasions land was given as a private gift from one individual to another. The example Chen provides of this is about a piece of land he received himself from his ‘poor’ friend Zhang Xianwen.88 Sometimes land was simply transferred to another branch of the same family, yet Chen still records such actions as being admirable.89 As with donations of money, Chen sought to nd a way to praise the action. In one biography, Chen recorded that the son of the subject donated one thousand mu (about 150 acres), he said that it was in accord with his late father’s wishes. The details of what the land was subsequently used for, and to whom it was given, are not recorded.90 It was the act

85 Chen Jiru, “Biography of the Appointed Honourable Gu, styled Yunzhu” in QJ, 42:43a–47a. Another example concerns an ofcial who had gone into ‘retirement’, in order to avoid having any trouble with Wei Zhongxian and his coterie. This ofcial provided horses and soldiers to help quell rebellions that broke out near Beijing in 1629. See Chen Jiru, “Biography of the Honourable Zhang Anding” in QJ, 38:20a–25b. 86 Chen Jiru, “Biography of the Honourable Zhao, Styled Xianfu, the Vice-Director of the Censorate” in QJ, 38:41a–43a. 87 Chen Jiru, “Huaiye Wu gong zhuan” 懷野吳公傳 “Biography of the Honourable Wu, called Huaiye” in QJ, 39:36a–41b. 88 Chen Jiru, “Biography of the Honourable Zhang, styled Taobai” in QJ, 42:21a– 23a. Another example of where land was given privately to another family can be found in Chen Jiru, “Biography of the Honourable Wang, styled Goushan, from the Hanlin Academy” in QJ, 39:20a–26a. 89 Chen Jiru, “Biography of the Honourable Wu, called Huaiye” in QJ, 39:36a– 41b. 90 Chen Jiru, “Biography of the Honourable Fan, styled Zhongwu, Vice-Minister of Imperial Entertainments” in QJ, 38:34a–37a. In another example, a woman gave a generous ‘donation’ after her husband’s death. She called her children together and announced that the ten thousand mu (about 1,500 acres) that their father had left was being requisitioned by the army and that she was going to comply. See Chen Jiru,

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of giving, a son following his father’s wishes, that was useful to Chen the biographer, paid to show his subjects in the best possible light. In another record, an ofcial received a posting to a district as Prefect. Upon arriving in his appointed area this ofcial found it riddled with bandits. He dealt with them and then, thinking that they would not turn back to criminal ways if given a chance to have a decent life, provided some of them with rice and land. Chen does not tell us the subsequent fate of the bandits, or provide any notes on rates of recidivism. Instead he notes that this same ofcial lled the public granaries in order to prevent disaster, and that within two years the area was well governed once more.91 This is all that the reader needs to know; the man was a good ofcial and deserves respect. Moderation Craig Clunas has suggested that there was a relative lack of conspicuous public consumption during the late Ming. However, he points out that this does not mean that there was not a ourishing consumption of luxury items, and goes on to invoke the well-known ofcial Hai Rui 海瑞 (1513–1587): . . . a man who ostentatiously lived (in poverty) on his ofcial salary, who [when he] took over as governor of Suzhou in 1569 . . . overstepped the mark with a personal sumptuary law banning luxury manufactures, limiting the amount to be spent on entertaining him, and insisting on ofcial stationery having smaller margins and so on. By taking the rhetoric of ‘frugality’ literally, he threatened the entire social stability of the region, and he was forced out of ofce after eight months.92

From this we can see that taken too far such frugality could well have been against the interests of the elites, the growing numbers of merchants and artisans, and the well-being of the community in general. Angela Hsi presents a complementary view of the situation when she writes that: Few people wore the styles and colors of clothing appropriate to their status as prescribed by law. The plain dress prescribed for the daily wear

“Jingzhong Han taijun zhuan” 旌忠韓太君傳 “Biography of the Great Gentleman Han Jingzhong” in QJ, 44:1a–3b. 91 Chen Jiru, “Biography of the Honourable Local Worthy Yu Xinyu” in QJ, 39:10a–15b. 92 C. Clunas, Superuous Things, p. 158.

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of students in government schools was considered to be the garb of the poverty stricken. . . . The common people even went so far as to wear jewelry and clothing in the same style and color as that of the empress.93

However it was, and Hai Rui may be an example of the perils of following concepts that belong to an ideal world too closely, moderation remained a strongly active socio-cultural concept, always praised in the historical record. In some cases the qualities of simplicity in clothing, food, or demeanour were what was praised even though the subject was wealthy.94 The biography of Zhao Sirui 趙思叡 mentioned in chapter four demonstrates this well. Zhao held ofcial position yet, in his later years he turned to study and spent much time living in a temple, chanting, and eating simple fare. He lived in the ‘Buddhist’ world and enjoyed a remarkable death.95 These qualities were also lauded as admirable when the subject was not so wealthy: those unable to live in any other fashion were praised for living in the manner in which they did. For instance, Chen praises the frugality and simple life of one woman after her husband had died, yet also mentions that she took in weaving work to get by. If she had to do that it is unlikely that she was living in high style.96 Moderation also appears as frugality, especially in the case of women. The wife of one ofcial is described as being frugal while he was alive and even more so after his death, saying that she had no wish to be greedy.97 Another wife lives simply and frugally and sacrices much for her son, who duly becomes a success. She is praised for those qualities and for performing her duties as a wife: her husband spent a great deal of time travelling, yet when he apologised to her for leaving her with so much hard work to do, she merely said that it was her duty.98

93

Angela Hsi, Social and Economic Status, p. 136. See, for example, Chen Jiru, “Biography of the Honourable Li, styled Chengchuan” in QJ, 40:31a–33a, and Chen Jiru, “Kaogong lang Lu gong zhuan” 考功郎 陸公傳 “Biography of the Honourable Lu, the Personnel Evaluation Gentleman” in QJ, 38:26a–28a. 95 Chen Jiru, “Biography of Zhao, a Man in Retirement Transformed by Buddhism” in QJ, 42:9a–11a. 96 Chen Jiru, “Zheng mu Li ruren zhuan” 鄧母李儒人傳 “Biography of the Child Nurturess Zheng née Li” in QJ, 44:16a–19a. 97 Chen Jiru, “Biography of the Great Gentleman Han Jingzhong” in QJ, 44:1a– 3b. 98 Chen Jiru, “Biography of the Child Nurturess Zheng née Li” in QJ, 44:16a– 19a. 94

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Chen’s praise for another wife is so effusive that the commendation given to her frugality is almost lost among the platitudes, yet it is there nonetheless, and comes just before Chen’s announcement that many of her descendants were of high virtue. The reader is invited to make the all-but-stated direct connection between her frugality and the virtue of her descendants for themselves.99 Through all the biographies Chen wrote, his skill is manifest in his ability to praise gures regardless of their relative position to his own, those who had suffered wrongs, and those who did not do well. The literary persona that Chen developed through these biographies was one closely linked to traditional and/or Ming Confucian norms of moral behaviour. Regardless of the life that had been lived, Chen was skilled in aligning it with those norms of moral behaviour in order to create the best posthumous record possible. It can also be seen in Chen’s commentaries to the biographies where he praises the subjects. There were of course some differences in Chen’s attitude to those subjects of higher status and this can be seen in his employment of language. But in all these biographies Chen was a hired writer and he did an excellent job. However, this rather dour and proper persona, developed to deal with death, and the record that a clan could accept of a life, was not the only one that he developed, and the next chapter examines the persona that Chen developed for a commercial reading market.

99 Chen Jiru, “Wulin Yang mu Lü gongren zhuan” 武林楊母呂恭人傳 “Biography of the Respectful Lady Yang née Lü of Wulin” in QJ, 45:14a–16b.

CHAPTER SIX

MARKETABLE WRITINGS In the biographies examined in the previous chapter Chen tended to describe his subjects through reference to Confucian rather than Daoist or Buddhist conceptions of how to live a life. We know that those biographies were written with posterity in mind, and that in that context it was more meaningful for the deceased individual (and by extension his or her family) to be placed within the familial Confucian orthodoxy. However, Chen is better known as a compiler of guides for how to live, rather than how to remember or record a life, and here Buddhist and Daoist sentiments often take precedence over Confucian. This is the persona of Chen Jiru as seen through his writings that were not commissioned.1 The Biography of the Fourth Son Golden Dragon Great King In the biographies presented in chapter ve Chen took a real life and described it as much as possible in accordance with the ideal cultural norms of the elite. In this biography, however, the world of Ming hydrology and river transport furnished Chen with an opportunity to combine an already mythologized life with both elite and popular concerns, and in doing so further his own literary ambitions. Chen composed a non-commissioned biography of an ancestral spirit, who initially turned into a folk deity, before being co-opted by the state and transformed into an ofcial river god. The spirit who became known as the Fourth Son Golden Dragon Great King 金龍四大王 began life as the late Southern-Song martyr Xie Zhu 謝緒. As Chen recorded the 1 In these analyses I have also not included Chen’s writings that are little more than re-publications of the writings of others. A good example of which is the four-chapter biography of the Song dynasty philosopher Shao Yong 邵雍 (1011–1077), Shao Kangjie xiansheng waiji 邵康節先生外紀 [An Unofcial Record of Mr. Shao Kangjie]. Chen merely took Shao Bowen’s 邵伯溫 (1057–1134) Wenjian lu 聞見錄 [A Record of what was Heard and Seen] which recorded matters surrounding Shao Kangjie’s life, abridged it and added some small notes of his own above the text in the ‘superior notes’ [dingpi 頂批] style.

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story, Xie successfully predicted the coming Mongol invasion, and then drowned himself, vowing that from beyond the grave he would ght on as a patriot. As an omen, the river carried his body upright among the waves. Toward the end of the Mongol reign, farmers in Xie’s old village dreamt that Xie had announced that the Mongols would soon fall and that the proof would be the Yellow River changing its course. The River shortly did change course, and in one of the ensuing battles against the Mongols soldiers reported a spirit in golden armour ghting alongside them. The spirit was taken to be Xie Zhu. Later the same spirit settled down into a life of aiding those on the river whose passage was impeded or interrupted.2 During the Ming dynasty Xie made the transformation to river deity and was widely venerated: As the cult gained a following among the travellers along the Grand Canal, it also developed a priesthood that promulgated its legends. Daoist shamans operated in some temples orally spreading the cult’s mythology and conducting religious ceremonies involving acts of spirit possession.3

In his biography of this increasingly popular deity, Chen actively wrote about matters in which government and popular activities coincided. He offered the reader background knowledge of a local phenomenon, while writing in a way that furthered the government’s desire to quash heterodox shrines and temples—Great King cults that could not be replaced were sanctioned by the state and became vehicles through which the state attempted to appropriate and direct ‘heterodox’ local cults and shrines.4 So here Chen was still writing with the state dogma in mind, but combining it with popular cultural trends. In his biography of Fan Muzhi 范牧之, however, Chen wrote wholly without regard for ideal norms and interests, and it is here that Chen’s other authorial persona is decidedly present.

Chen Jiru, “Chifeng huguo jiyun Jinlong sida wang zhuan” 敕封護國濟運金龍四 大王傳 “Biography of the Fourth Son Golden Dragon Great King, Known by Imperial Decree as He who Aids Transport and Protects the Empire” in QJ, 41:1a–5b. 3 Randall Dodgen, “Hydraulic Religion: ‘Great King’ Cults in the Ming and Qing” Modern Asian Studies 33:4 (1999), p. 826. 4 For the state supporting a Great King cult see Randall Dodgen, “Hydraulic Religion: ‘Great King’ Cults in the Ming and Qing”, pp. 830–1, and for state opposition to another Great King cult see Katherine Carlitz, “Shrines, Governing-Class Identity, and the Cult of Widow Fidelity in Mid-Ming Jiangnan”, pp. 629–30. 2

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The Biography of Fan Muzhi Chen once praised the Records of the Historian over the Han shu 漢書 [History of the Han] because it was less restrained [mi 密].5 In doing so he showed dissatisfaction with the restrictions associated with ofcial historical biographies, those similar to the hundred-odd biographies that were examined in the previous chapter. In saying that the Records of the Historian was less restrained Chen was referring to both the literary style and subject matter of the biographies in the Records of the Historian. It was with such a ‘less restrained’ style and subject matter that Chen composed a small number of biographies (and much of his other xiaopin). To give some indication of this style what follows are some excerpts from the biography of the ill-fated literatus, Fan Muzhi, with my comments interspersed.6 The biography opens: Fan Muzhi lived next door to my family. When I was young I learned that he had died from a broken heart, but dared not ask my elders about it. Ten years later, when I was a student and emotionally mature, I asked his son, Birong, for permission to write his biography.

At the outset Chen tells the reader that this is a personal work, it was not commissioned, in fact he had to ask permission to write it, therefore the story must be of some interest. The suggestion that we are going to learn how the heart was broken arouses the reader’s interest, more than arousing interest it alerts the reader to the vivacity of the protagonist and, more subtly to the emotive qualities of the text. Feelings, or qing 情, were an integral ingredient in late-Ming literature. Indeed, the historian Martin Huang, writing of this period, concludes in an article devoted to Ming and Qing attitudes to qing that: “. . . qing was now a central issue in many works of vernacular ction and drama, while previously the signicance of qing had been mainly conned to

5

Chen Jiru, A Madman’s Words, 3:14a–b. Chen wrote several other biographies in this xiaopin style. See Chen Jiru, “Yang Youyan biezhuan” 楊幽妍別傳 “An Alternative Biography of Yang Youyan” in BSQ , 9:182–4, and Chen Jiru, “Li gong zi zhuan” 李公子傳 “Biography of the Honourable Master Li” in QJ, 41:38a–42b. None of Chen’s biographies have the initial force of Yuan Hongdao’s famous biography of Xu Wei that begins with an epiphanous preliminary description of visiting Tao Wangling’s 陶望齡 (1562–1609?) place (Tao himself a well-known writer of xiaopin) and randomly selecting a book from the shelf. See Yuan Hongdao, “Xu Wenzhang zhuan” 徐文長傳 “Biography of Xu Wenzhang” in Chen Wanyi, Ming Qing xiaopin 明清小品 [Ming and Qing xiaopin] (Taipei: Shibao wenhua chuban qiye youxian gongsi, 1994), pp. 55–62. 6

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poetic discourse.”7 Ofcial biographies do not discuss broken hearts, or if they do allude to such misfortune they concentrate on the ensuing correct behaviour or moral to be learned.8 But not here: Muzhi’s family was descended from the famous Song dynasty literatus, Fan Zhongyan 范仲淹 (989–1052). Muzhi passed the palace examination in 1570. . . . By nature he was fond of books, and there was nothing that he had not read. He was at home in the literary world, and was himself talented in the arts. If unrened guests came knocking at his door they did not gain entrance. Those who were welcomed in were treated magnicently; there was ne incense and wine, and they would feast and talk all night, enjoying themselves so much that they went without sleep. Servants would continually bring fresh candles and viands as if guests had just arrived. When the cock crew you could hear them still playing music, playing chess, drinking, and whistling songs.

Chen sets the scene by describing the outstanding pedigree of the family, and the description of the privileged life that Fan Muzhi enjoys. Muzhi is both a bon-vivant and a gifted aesthete. He lives a ne life and apparently does not have to work. In a conventional biography Chen would have elided over most of that and turned to the career of or the good deeds done by the subject. In this biography, however, Chen takes the reader elsewhere: Before long Muzhi’s affair with Du Sheng 杜生 began. Du was a courtesan, renowned for her renements. When the two of them crossed paths at the Chang Gate 閶門 in Suzhou their eyes met and neither could look away. As Du was about to leave, she held Muzhi’s hand and sighed, saying: “We are fated to be together, you are so rened and I, too, am not without talent.” [And so they were together.] Several months passed. Muzhi paid no attention to the rites and became haggard, neglecting to manage his household responsibilities. His friends wrote a letter of remonstrance that they presented to the ancestors, the letter announced that they were cutting off relations with him. Muzhi was very upset but could not nd any way out of his predicament; he wanted to remain with Du Sheng until the very end. The local Prefect harassed Du Sheng, and humiliated her in court. Muzhi bore the shame and protected her. There were many grievous words spoken, the Prefect paced up and down but

7 Martin W. Huang, “Sentiments of Desire: Thoughts on the Cult of Qing in MingQing Literature” Chinese Literature: Essays, Articles, Reviews vol. 20, p. 183. 8 Such as the biography that Chen wrote of a woman whose young husband died. The woman wanted to end her life and Chen described her attempted suicide, which was interrupted by other women, as embodying ancient values. See Chen Jiru, “Biography of Liu Yuan, Chaste and Pure” in QJ, 44:13a–14b.

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decided against a ogging. Finally he decided that Muzhi should not lose himself on account of a courtesan. Du was to be sold to a merchant. Muzhi pretended to assent to this decision, but he secretly sent someone to pretend to be a merchant from Shanxi. By this ruse he got Du back and hid her in another house. Some time passed and they moved to the capital, but after three months Muzhi died from a lung ailment.

The Prefect intervenes in this most intense and inappropriate love. He nds that the relationship has implications for the wider society, and private inclinations must be made subservient to the greater good. Muzhi is to be given another chance, but Du is to be removed from him. Muzhi refuses to reform, and retribution, in the form of his early death, is swift.9 It is here that an ordinary biography would make clear the lesson to be learned. But this is xiaopin and the best is yet to come: After his death Du arranged for Muzhi’s family to take his body back for burial, she was to return later. When she boarded the boat to return she sighed and laughed a few times, it seemed that she had no intention of repaying Muzhi’s life (with her own). But, when they reached the middle of the river, she decided to bathe and change her clothes. In her left hand she held Muzhi’s inkstone (an antique from the Xuanhe 宣和 reign period, 1119–1125), and in her right hand a chessboard, then she leapt into the water. Everyone was startled and no one could save her. Initially they saw two or three feet of hair, oating and sinking, and turning around. The waves tossed up her clothing, but in an instant she had drowned. I heard the story of Muzhi’s life from his parents, then met his younger brother, an honest friend and rened man. What were the causes of the calamity that in the end destroyed a rened beauty? Liu Bang 劉邦 (256BC–195BC) and Xiang Yu 項羽 (232BC–202BC) were matchless heroes, without blinking they tempered men with their swords, but their love for Yu 虞 and Qi 戚 melted their hearts and withered their spirits.10

9 It is tempting to read this part of the biography as a thinly veiled criticism of the Wanli Emperor, attacking the emperor’s addiction to sensual pleasures and refusal to attend court and deal promptly with state matters. Although Fan’s behaviour mirrors that of the Wanli Emperor, any criticism here is so insipid compared to actual memorials that ofcials sent to the emperor that we dismiss it as coincidence. This should not be taken as an example of Chen commenting on state matters. For an example of how scathing some for the memorials sent to the emperor regarding his behaviour were, see the translation of the memorial presented by Luo Yuren 雒于仁 ( js.1583) in Chao Chieh, “A Decade of Considerable Signicance”, pp. 119–120. 10 Liu Bang was the founder of the Former Han dynasty (206BC–6AD), Xiang Yu was Liu’s chief rival. Yu was Xiang Yu’s consort, Qi was Liu Bang’s secondary consort. For more detail on these gures see the relevant entries in Michael Loewe, A Biographical Dictionary of the Qin, Former Han and Xin Periods (Leiden: Brill, 2000).

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chapter six Someone said: “Fan Li 范蠡 [fth century BC] was debauched, while [the poet] Du Muzhi 杜牧之 (803–852?) gave himself over to the pleasures of the brothel for his entire life.11 After two thousand years these two names were joined and became Fan Muzhi 范牧之.” Alas! Is it not so?12

This is certainly a biography, but unlike those of the previous chapter it is not a biography designed to cast glory back onto the family. Fan Muzhi is a good, talented young man whose future is laid waste by his relationship with a singing-girl. While biographies that mention relationships like this one do appear in the ofcial histories, they usually involve a political tragedy rather than just a private tragedy of two people.13 Unlike standard biographies this one ends in tragedy, and Chen presents nothing to the reader that would lessen such a conclusion.14 The courtesan Du Sheng, in committing suicide, is allowed to imitate behaviour appropriate only to a wife in such circumstances; and the praise for this event, itself presented as an aesthetic masterpiece, is given on account of her love for Fan Muzhi; it is certainly not her desire to accord with Confucian norms that has Chen writing her up. This was material to appeal to readers and is clearly the antithesis of the biographies examined in the previous chapter. Biographies such as the two I have presented were designed to appeal to readers, and they form one of the types of xiaopin writing that was common during the late Ming. Before looking at more of Chen’s writing we need a better understanding of the xiaopin genre.

11 Fan Li was an important political gure in pre-Qin China, Du Muzhi was a Tang dynasty poet, better known as Du Mu 杜牧 (Muzhi was his style). 12 Chen Jiru, “Muzhi Fan gong waizhuan” 牧之范公外傳 “Unofcial Biography of the Honourable Fan Muzhi” in QJ, 41:14a–17a. This biography has been recognised by several modern compilers as one of Chen’s most representative pieces, and has been included in several modern xiaopin collections. Most notably in Shi Zhecun 施蟄存, Wan-Ming ershi jia xiaopin 晚明二十家小品 [Twenty Late-Ming Xiaopin Writers] (Shanghai: Guangming shuju, 1935). The biography has also been included in the recent Hu Shaotang, Chen Meigong’s Xiaopin. 13 The most famous example of this is probably the love between Yang Guifei 楊貴妃 (719–756) and the Xuanzong Emperor 玄宗 (r. 713–756). The biographies of Yang Guifei in the Jiu Tang shu 舊唐書 [Old History of the Tang] and the Xin Tang shu 新唐書 [New History of the Tang] both make it clear that it was the Xuanzong Emperor’s infatuation for her that brought him disaster. See the translations of these two biographies in Howard S. Levy, “The Career of Yang Kuei-fei” T’oung Pao 45, 1957, pp. 474–89. 14 This is clearly deliberate as Chen did exactly the same with a similarly tragic biography “An Alternative Biography of Yang Youyan”.

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XIAOPIN Chen’s name appears in publications today almost without exception in compilations of late-Ming xiaopin, or as the author of the Clandestine Jottings, a work that is itself regarded as outstanding xiaopin. The one modern book devoted solely to Chen’s writings was published, under the title Chen Meigong’s Xiaopin, in 1996. The title is tting, for Chen was well known as a writer of xiaopin in his own day: some of Chen’s works were included, along with others with whom the genre is famously associated such as Xu Wei, Yuan Hongdao, Yuan Zhongdao, Tu Long, and Wang Siren, in the late-Ming collection Shiliu mingjia xiaopin 十六 名家小品 [Sixteen Great Xiaopin Writers], compiled by the scholar-ofcial Lu Yunlong 陸雲龍. Both the late Ming and contemporary books raise the question of what constitutes xiaopin. By the late Ming, the term xiaopin had been in use for many centuries and was already associated with a particular type of writing. A historical analysis of the term can be found in many standard works on the history of Chinese literature.15 There is widespread agreement that the origin of the term is related to the development of Buddhist proselytising during the Wei-Jin Nan-Bei Chao period (220–581).16 There is also a direct correlation between the resurgence of, and sympathy for, Buddhist thought among the scholar-ofcial class during the late Ming, and the level of Buddhist sentiment which permeates much xiaopin writing. However, although intertwined in many ways, Buddhist thought was not the sole driving force behind the ourishing of the xiaopin genre during the late Ming. The literary historian Chen Shaotang suggested that the late-Ming writers took the term from Buddhism, 15 I refer to grand works such as Yuan Yunxi 袁運熙 and Gu Yisheng 顧易生, Zhongguo wenxue piping tongshi—Mingdai zhuan 中國文學批評通史—明代卷 [A General History of Chinese Literary Criticism—Ming Dynasty Volume] (Shanghai: Shanghai guji chubanshe, 1996), pp. 534–51. More detailed histories can be found in works devoted to the subject such as: Chen Shaotang, Discussion and Analysis of Late-Ming Xiaopin and Chen Shuliang and Zheng Xianchun, History of Chinese Xiaopinwen. 16 That the origins of xiaopin lie in Buddhist writing in parable form during that early period is by no means agreed on by all literary historians and compilers. One modern collection begins with material that is pre-Qin (Tang Gaocai 湯高才 ed., Lidai xiaopin Daguan 歷代小品大觀 [Compendium of Xiaopin through the Dynasties] (Shanghai: Sanlian shuju, 1995)). The aforementioned History of Chinese Xiaopinwen also traces the genre to pre-Qin literature. In xiaopin we have an example of a genre dened for a certain period, and then retroactively applied to include works that were never thought of as such during their own time, but which have come to make up a genealogy for the genre now recognised.

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fused it with the meaning of ‘unimportant and joyful things’ [xiaoyue 小說], to make something altogether new.17 During the late-Ming period there was a sense that the term still carried some of the connotations of the character xiao 小 ‘unimportant’ with it, a charge to be rejected. Tang Dajie, writing in the “Fanli” 凡例 [“Instructions to the Reader”] section of Chen’s xiaopin collection, the Hall of Evening Fragrance, noted that although the name used for the genre was xiaopin, the meanings and the issues discussed were grand, not lowly.18 The genesis for late-Ming xiaopin cannot be separated from the debates over the philosophical underpinnings of literature that took place during the sixteenth century. A synopsis of these discussions will further an understanding of why xiaopin is so dreadfully difcult to dene, while equally easy to identify. In histories of literature, the development of xiaopin during the late Ming is generally described in opposition to the ‘grand secretary style’ [taige ti 臺閣體] and the ‘return to antiquity’ [ fugu 復古] movement. The grand secretary style, which favoured the imitation of the succinct and clear prose of Ouyang Xiu 歐陽修 (1007–1072), had held a pre-eminent position since the fteenth century. When the mid-Ming witnessed a loosening of the domination of the Neo-Confucian school that had been rigorously promoted at the beginning of the dynasty, and the concomitant rise of Wang Yangming’s philosophy of internal and innate knowledge, the grand secretary style lost its monopoly on conceptions of literature. The Neo-

17

Chen Shaotang, Discussion and Analysis of Late-Ming Xiaopin, p. 12. Tang Dajie, “Instructions to the Reader” in WXT. An interesting comment that Chen’s son-in-law felt that he had to make given that there had already been several collections by well-known writers, using the term xiaopin in the title, published before Chen’s collection. This is probably indicative of the connotations of the term ‘xiaopin’ brought from its previous usage into the late-Ming world. These earlier collections included the Xianqing xiaopin 閑情小品 [Xiaopin of Leisure and Sentiment] compiled by Hua Shu 華淑, the Yongchuang xiaopin 湧幢小品 [Billowing Streamers Xiaopin] by Zhu Guozhen, Su Changgong xiaopin 蘇長公小品 [Su Changgong’s Xiaopin] compiled by Wang Shengyu 王聖俞, and the Zhuquan xiaopin 煮泉小品 [Boiling Spring Water Xiaopin] by Tian Yiheng 田藝蘅 (. 1570). This supports the notion that although xiaopin must have been well known before the 1630s it was still not accepted as being the equal of ‘serious’ literature. Chen himself, in a foreword to another writer’s collection of xiaopin which came out under the title Bitan 筆談 [Parlato Scritto], supported the serious quality of the genre by applauding comments made by Wang Anshi 王安石 (1021–1086). Wang’s comments were to the effect that one must read ction to know the shape of the world. See Chen Jiru, “Meihua caotang bitan xu” 梅花草堂筆談序 “Foreword to Notes from the Plum Blossom Thatched Hall” in Zhang Dafu 張大復 (1554–1630), Meihua caotang bitan 梅花草堂筆談 [Notes from the Plum Blossom Thatched Hall] (Shanghai: Shanghai zazhi gongsi, 1935). 18

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Confucian project and the literary styles associated with it were viewed by an increasing number of ofcials as moribund; pre-Song literature consequently became the locus of the search for an invigorated form of writing. The return to antiquity movement began during the sixteenth century and was led by Li Mengyang, who wanted: “. . . to direct the course of literary development so that prose and poetry would become healthier and more substantial than was the case.”19 Li argued in favour of Qin and Han styles, as well as Tang poetry, as the templates for good literature. The arguments of Li and the others who made up the return to antiquity movement clashed with ideas pertinent to the grand secretary style: the return to antiquity movement stressed the direct relationship between aesthetic quality and the Way (rather than between the Way and aesthetic quality as the grand secretary style would have it). In doing so the return to antiquity movement really made aesthetic considerations the fundamental consideration of good literature. This rejection of morality in form as the primary driver of worthy literature allowed the possibility of a more informal style.20 It is important to note, however, that the return to antiquity movement still stressed earlier models of literature as the best forms to be emulated. In contrast, the casual style of xiaopin, which became very popular from the Wanli reign period (1573–1620) on, was simultaneously against the ‘return to antiquity’ movement, even while it supported the motives of that movement against the ‘grand secretary style’.21 This was because it sought inspiration from within the individual mind, a notion that found a ready resonance in much Buddhist and Daoist philosophy. This internal determination of literary production ostensibly denied the pre-eminence of any literary form over another. The relaxation of literary style evident in xiaopin was partly attributable to the literary and philosophical trends mentioned above, and partly attributable to what we could loosely describe as social causes. Xia Xianchun acknowledges that xiaopin was a reaction against the return to antiquity movement, but he also saw it as arising from social conditions:

19 Chou Chih-p’ing, Yüan Hung-tao and the Kung-an School (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1988), p. 9. 20 Xia Xianchun, “Mingdai wenxue shixue shuyao” 明代文學史學述要 “An Outline of the Historiography of Ming Literature” Tianfu xinlun 天府新論, 2001:5, pp. 61–2. 21 For xiaopin ourishing in the latter part of the sixteenth century, see Chen Wanyi, Late-Ming Xiaopin and the Livestyle of Ming Dynasty Literati, p. 41.

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chapter six The trend to the vulgar in lifestyles meant that thought was unconsciously affected with an urban consciousness. This led to a group of late-Ming literati changing their established habit of promoting elegant writing and eschewing common writing, and they developed a new-found respect for the latter.22

Xia then denes the way this movement to the vulgar found expression through literary characteristics. There was a conscious adoption of everyday, common language, a breaking of traditional ‘rules of literature’ on self-expression and following one’s brush wherever it may go, and most importantly a philosophy and spirit that freed writing from the strictures of traditional teachings and proprieties.23 In fact, an acceptance of an informal style of writing made such inroads that some literati continued to include vernacular phrases and expressions in memorials after they became ofcials.24 It is with good reason that nearly every commentator, when writing of late-Ming xiaopin, mentions Yuan Hongdao’s famous dictum that: “one need not be constrained by style if expressing one’s spirit.” I note in passing that Chen Zilong placed Chen within this vulgarisation saying he: “. . . thought it proper to not shun the vulgar.”25 Following a brush wherever it goes makes xiaopin, as a genre, notoriously difcult to dene. Indeed, there are almost as many denitions as there are attempts to dene it.26 The most perceptive denitions do

22 Xia Xianchun, Late-Ming Literati and Literature, p. 275. (Xia’s comments on xiaopin being a reaction against a stultied literary scene, and led by Yuan Hongdao, can be found in the section on the Gongan School, pp. 253–261.) 23 Xia Xianchun, “Late-Ming Literati and the Urban Population”, p. 90. 24 Memorials submitted by censors to the throne were no exception. The practice of using colloquial expressions had grown to such an alarming degree that in 1602 the imperial court approved the Board of Rites’ recommendation to ban the use of quotations from vernacular novels and dramas in memorials. See Chow Kai-wing, “Writing for Success”, p. 144. 25 Chen Zilong, “Foreword to Birthday Greetings for Chen Meigong’s Eightieth Birthday” in Collection of the Peaceful and Elegant Hall, 6:11b–13b. 26 There have been two periods in which xiaopin, as a recognised literary form, has been popular with writers: the late Ming and the 1930s. Comments in this chapter refer solely to the late-Ming period. (A good summary of the similarities of and differences between the xiaopin of these two periods can be found in Chen Shaotang, Discussion and Analysis of Late-Ming Xiaopin, pp. 3–8.) My categorization of Chen’s writing as xiaopin follows the late Ming rather than the 1930s denitions. In the 1930s, for example, Zhu Jianxin noted that his anthology was limited to xiaopin and so did not contain such material as memorials or funeral stela, material that was clearly acceptable as xiaopin during the late Ming. (Zhu Jianxin, “Xuli” 序例 “Introduction and Notes” in Zhu Jianxin, Wan-Ming xiaopin xuanzhu 晚明小品選注 [Selected and Annotated Late-Ming Xiaopin] (Taipei: Taiwan shangwu, 1964), p. 4.)

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not conne themselves to trying to encapsulate the genre only through reference to a literary metre or the physical form of a work. Chen Shaotang’s comments are apposite: It is rather difcult to ascertain just whether or not any given work from the late Ming comes under the rubric ‘xiaopin’. It is somewhat easier to determine whether or not a particular writer can be considered a writer of ‘xiaopin’.27

Hua Shu 華淑 (1589–1643), the compiler of one late-Ming collection, was also troubled by the difculty of dening the genre, and wrote that, as a literary form, xiaopin was beyond the reach of traditional literary genres, it: “. . . belonged to none of the four traditional branches of literature, it was just a type of leisurely writing.”28 Chen Shaotang has made perhaps the most detailed attempt to categorise the form of xiaopin. He divided the genre into seven categories, which themselves have sub-categories. The seven categories were: travel chronicles [ youji 遊記], forewords and colophons [xu ba 序跋], correspondence [chidu 尺牘], diaries [riji 日記], miscellaneous records [zaji 雜記], biographies [zhuanji ], and discussions [lunshuo 論說].29 Chen Shaotang cited several examples of xiaopin, including Chen Jiru’s Hall of Evening Fragrance and his literary friend Wang Siren’s Wenfan xiaopin 文飯小品 [Xiaopin of Literature and Food] as evidence for his scheme.30 However, even Chen Shaotang’s list is not detailed enough, I note that the contents of Chen Jiru’s Hall of Evening Fragrance, a work of twentyfour chapters, also includes the following: poetry [shi 詩], biographies [zhuan 傳], records [ ji 記] (as separated categories), sacricial odes [ jiwen], commentaries [shu 疏], inscriptions [ti 題], correspondence [shu 書], and miscellaneous notes [zhilin 志林]. All of the pieces in this collection are short entries written in an unrestricted prose style. This is perhaps the crux of the matter, if there is one physical characteristic pertinent to xiaopin it is the length. In an introduction to a collection of xiaopin, Chen wrote that in his day a piece of writing usually did

27

Chen Shaotang, Discussion and Analysis of Late-Ming Xiaopin, p. 19. Hua Shu, Xiaopin of Leisure and Sentiment, quoted in Jiang Deming ed., Ah Ying’s Notes on Literature, p. 117. 29 Chen Shaotang, Discussion and Analysis of Late-Ming Xiaopin, pp. 22–42. 30 Ibid., p. 23. Wang Siren’s work itself lists twenty-ve types of writing, including hitherto unmentioned types such as temple subscription requests [mushu] and explanations [qi ]. 28

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not exceed several hundreds of characters.31 Very rarely does any xiaopin work exceed this length. This is appropriate of course when we remember the lively timbre of the entries and emphasis on spontaneity, but is also of considerable importance when it comes to the potential readers of commercially produced xiaopin. Those readers would not be troubled by weighty tomes. A nal contribution in determining whether a piece was xiaopin or not was the timbre of the writing. One modern critic has suggested that emotion [qing], interest [qu 趣], and charm [ yun 韻], were integral to a piece of xiaopin writing.32 To put those ideas on a less abstract footing consider the biography of Fan Muzhi outlined above: when Chen told his readers at the very outset that Fan Muzhi died of a broken heart he was piquing their interest; when he wrote of the strength of their love he was highlighting emotion and feelings, and when he described Du Sheng’s death it was done with great charm (although all three could be subsumed under the wide conception of qing in the late Ming). As Chen himself once noted, xiaopin was: “. . . a method beyond all methods, a avour beyond all avours, with an unmatched rhythm and charm.”33 The late-Ming penchant for the strange and hidden was also a part of that notion of interest, and this can be seen in Chen’s praise for the author of a history of humour who sought out hidden and secret books.34 The spirit of the writer and the timbre

31 Chen Jiru, “Su Changgong xiaopin xu” 蘇長公小品序 “Foreword to Su Changgong’s Xiaopin” in QJ, 2:21a–22b. In the same foreword Chen emphasised this short length with the comment that xiaopin should be both short and strange. 32 Chen Shaotang, Discussion and Analysis of Late-Ming Xiaopin, pp. 15–19. Chen Shaotang regards emotion, or qing, as the most indispensable quality as it must include the other two, but he qualies this by saying that the relations between the three of them are intricate and the terms themselves are not easy to dene. It is enough for our purposes here that those terms were in common use in Ming literary criticism. To gauge the complexities of qing see Martin W. Huang, “Sentiments of Desire: Thoughts on the Cult of Qing in Ming-Qing Literature”. 33 Chen Jiru “Wenyu lu xu” 文娛錄序 “Foreword to Record of Literary Pleasures” in QJ, 2:35a–36b. There are many works that collect the praise of late-Ming writers for xiaopin. One such work is in the rst chapter of Chen Wanyi, Late-Ming Xiaopin and the Livestyles of Ming Dynasty Literati. Chen Wanyi quotes from, among others, Chen Jiru and Tan Yuanchun. Chen was conscious of his own writing style with respect to other writers and railed against what he viewed as unnecessarily ridiculous and ornate writing: “Nowadays when grave-notices and biographies and the like are written they are invariably done so in a owery language, it is just as empty as the speech of a clown in a play.” Chen Jiru, A Madman’s Words, 3:3a. 34 Chen Jiru, “Guang xie shi xu” 廣諧史序 “Foreword to the Extensive History of Humour” in QJ, 3:35a–36b.

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of the work being the determining criteria for xiaopin, the genre could include almost any literary form. Readers In dening the genre of xiaopin, then, the writer is seemingly as important as what is written. It is clear that a good practitioner of xiaopin needs an interesting or unusual persona and I will say more about Chen’s self-promotion below, but who were the readers of late-Ming xiaopinwen? Chow Kai-Wing’s notes on the practice of authors in the late-Ming period makes it clear that there was a public reading audience (and he includes, inter alia, two quotations from Chen’s publications).35 The argument in this chapter is that Chen was constructing a literary persona for himself, through a type of writing that was not exclusively aimed at a readership of his peers. Therefore a few words on the suitability of xiaopin for readers outside the scholar-ofcial class. This is where the length and style of xiaopin are important. Shorter entries are appropriate for people whose level of skill in reading literary Chinese is not so good, and who do not have the time to pore over long passages of abstruse text. One work of Chen’s that comes immediately to mind in this respect is the Fragrant Archives. This book was compiled in 1594 after Chen and a friend, Meng Zhifu 孟直夫, had been reading through the thirty-two chapter Lishi zhenxian tidao tongjian 歷世真仙體 道通鑑 [Comprehensive Mirror of Immortals who Embodied the Way through the Ages], a work of Daoist hagiography that is collected in the Daoist Canon. Chen selected 72 of the 447 biographies from that work and, as he considered them to have ‘been poorly written’, rewrote them. In his introduction Chen stated that in re-writing the biographies he kept only the sections that would titillate, but not tax the reader.36 Chen may have read the 447 biographies and come to certain conclusions regarding their literary merits, but his intended audience had not, and probably could not enunciate a literary criticism even if they had ploughed their way through them. In his re-writing of those biographies Chen made substantial abridgements, the most extreme example of which is the rst biography in the work. This biography is of the legendary Yellow Emperor [Xuanyuan Huangdi 軒轅黃帝]. In the original work the

35

Chow, Kai-wing, Publishing, Culture, and Power in Early Modern China, pp. 15–16. See Chen Jiru, “Xiang’an du xu” 香案牘序 “Foreword to the Fragrant Archives” in QJ, 5:32a–b. 36

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biography occupies the entire rst chapter and runs to twenty-seven pages, Chen reduces it to four lines. This is material that is suitable for readers who have not mastered literary Chinese, or who may not have the time at their disposal to learn it. In summary, Xiaopin involved short entries with a lively timbre, few allusions, and a language that was not usually especially literary. Chen’s Self-Representation: Tasteful, Moral, and Unique I’m not sure what is meant by goodness, but if someone touches someone else’s heart then that is good; I’m not sure what is meant by wickedness, but if someone causes someone to hate then that is wicked.37

In the biographies examined in the previous chapter Chen rarely appeared in person except in the commentary where he aligned himself and the subject with current Confucian ideals. This was not the case in his xiaopin writings; here Chen appeared in front of his readers with a vigorous and dynamic personality. A contemporary observed: Reading Chen’s works, one feels the warmth like sitting in a spring breeze; like drinking a pure brew, without knowing it one becomes intoxicated. One feels Chen has a myriad volumes in his bosom . . . all are welcome there, all matters can be discussed. He has the perverse boldness that comes from a mountain village, through him one is cleansed, he is a treasure among men!38

Chen presented himself as a man of discriminating aesthetic sensibility: Whenever I want to hide away a myriad of unusual volumes I rst wrap them in incomparable covers, then scent them with rare incense. In a thatched hut with curtains made of reeds, paper windows, and earthen walls, I could spend the rest of my life singing, without a government position. When I said this to a guest, the guest laughed and said: “You truly are an exceptional man!”39

In the spirit of the times Chen also claimed to be a ‘simple man’. In a reply to a letter asking for guidance Chen depicts himself as the ideal recluse who has shermen and farmers for friends, and goes on to say

37

Chen Jiru, How Does One Hear the Words of the Elders, 6b. Xiong Wenju 熊文舉, quoted in Xia Xianchun, “On the Late-Ming Recluse Chen Jiru”, p. 134. 39 Chen Jiru, Clear Words from a Peaceful World, 2:9b. 38

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that, “. . . I’m old and tread a common path, I weave rushes together and sweep my hut. I plant vegetables and bamboo, and gaze at the distant mountains.”40 Chen was successful in binding the simplicity associated with reclusion to an aesthetic sophistication and incorporating it into his persona. He also drew on associations with Buddhism, and once referred to himself as a ‘ower-sweeping dhâtu’ (Buddhist recluse) [saohua toutuo 掃花頭陀].41 Indeed, this aesthetic self-promotion has led one modern critic, Wu Chengxue, to suggest that Chen’s extraordinary inuence in his own day was such because he incorporated his rened aesthetic taste into the collages that he made of the classics.42 The inference to be drawn is that buyers of Chen’s books were not merely buying a book written by Chen, they were acquiring an aesthetic and cultural authority. It was not enough for Chen to indicate to prospective readers that he was an aesthete; they were also told that Chen’s works were informed by a moral code. In the foreword to Jianwen lu 見聞錄 [A Record of What was Seen and Heard] Chen states that he compiled the book from snippets that had been omitted from conventional historical sources, but that he did not include all of the excerpts in his compilation, only choosing those with good moral qualities.43 In doing this Chen tied his xiaopin to the traditional moral usefulness of pedagogy. The implication being that Chen had no wish to be perceived as a radical, his writings were to be informative, exciting, and morally correct, not iconoclastic. He also provided those outside the traditional elite with clever injunctions that they could employ to demonstrate that they had absorbed the values of the elite. Should, for example, any aspiring examination candidate think that success at the examinations was itself an entry pass to elite society, Chen warned them: The court uses the examination system to select ofcials, this is unsatisfactory to the gentleman but good for the petty man; should they use

40 See Chen Jiru “Da Zhang Shangma Yizhong” 答張上馬毅仲 “Replying to Zhang Yizhong, styled Shangma” in Hu Shaotang, Chen Meigong’s Xiaopin, pp. 97–8. 41 This was to the famous work on owers called the Pingshi 瓶史 [History of the Vase], by Yuan Hongdao. Chen is not listed as having edited or proofread the edition that appeared in the Secret Satchel, yet he added his name to the end of the work. 42 Wu Chengxue, Zhiyong shenyao Ming xiaopin 旨永神遙明小品 [Ming Xiaopin and the Drifting Eternal Spirit] (Shantou: Shantou daxue chubanshe, 1997), p. 49. 43 Chen Jiru, “Meigong Jianwen lu xu” 眉公見聞錄序 “Chen Meigong’s Foreword to A Record of what was Seen and Heard” in A Record of what was Seen and Heard.

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chapter six virtuous behaviour to do so then this would be unsatisfactory to the petty man but ne for the gentleman.44

Tasteful and moral are two attributes often claimed by writers for themselves or their works at the time. Chen claimed a third attribute, his writing was unique. As we have seen, being unique was an important quality for xiaopin. Chen said himself that his writings were unique: “My writings reect my self, they do not come from a pre-determined structure or formula, and for this reason no-one can imitate them.”45 In depicting his world he emphasised how unique it was in one passage saying that he wanted to have a collection of unusual [ yi 異] books that were wrapped in unusual brocade, and infused in unusual incense.46 And he had others suggest it for him: in a foreword to Chen’s book Clear Words from a Peaceful World, Zhang Bing 張昞 refers to Chen’s writings as treasures to be kept by one’s pillow.47 This striving for the unusual or the unique was also reected in the titles of Chen’s books. The Collection of Unusual Classical Literature was a twenty-four chapter selection of literature from the pre-Qin period to the Yuan dynasty. The General Index dryly notes of this work that: The book mostly tries to follow the lead set by the Gongan and Jingling schools in seeking to select texts that are particular and curious, hence the word ‘unusual’ [ pinwai 品外] in the title. In actual fact the texts selected are all well known.48

That is a later critical comment, but if the texts collected were well known in the eighteenth century, when this comment was made, there is no reason to suppose that they were ‘hidden gems’ in the late Ming. The comment encourages us to see Chen masquerading as a compiler of odd texts that were in fact quite orthodox. Chen availed himself

44

Chen Jiru, How Does One Hear the Words of the Elders, 4b. From Nan-Wu jiuhua lu 南吳舊話錄 [Record of Old Notes from Southern Wu], ch. 7, quoted in Chen Wanyi, Late-Ming Xiaopin and the Livestyle of Ming Dynasty Literati, p. 106. 46 Chen Jiru, Secret Matters of the Majestic Perch, 6b. 47 Zhang Bing, “Taiping qinghua xu” 太平清話敘 “Foreword to the Clear Words from a Peaceful World” in the Secret Satchel. 48 Hong Ye et. al., General Index to the Complete Library in Four Branches of Literature, 193:33a–b. (Those comments were based on a twelve-chapter edition. The edition held at the National Central Library in Taipei is a late-Ming edition in twenty-four chapters. The work is somewhat damaged. It is possible that the edition seen by the Siku editors (which they record as coming from an ofcial in Jiangsu) had every two chapters joined together as one. 45

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of the tone of the Gongan and Jingling schools to attach an exciting title to a pedestrian collection. If this collection were successful then it was not only on account of the content, but because it was presented by Chen. A nal comment, Chen’s books may have been unique, but Chen sometimes included the same passage in more than one work. An entry beginning ‘Incense makes one subtle’ [xiang ling ren you 香令人幽] found in Clear Words from a Peaceful World, is also found in Secret Matters of the Majestic Perch.49 An entry beginning with the name ‘Tao Hongjing’ 陶弘景 also appears in both of these works.50 Other works of Chen’s also included numerous repeated entries.51 Once again, this is suggestive of the power of Chen’s name to take precedence over the real ‘uniqueness’ of the work. Cultural Primers This study has frequently referred to the development of wealth, especially in the Jiangnan area, of the rise of a literate book-consuming public, and of the expansion of the publishing industry. In the previous chapter I discussed a number of biographies Chen wrote of merchants, and showed how they portrayed a lower cultural class appropriating the forms of a higher cultural class. I want to bring all of these aspects together and show the relevance of Chen’s xiaopin writings, as collected in book form, to these various facets of the late-Ming world. Craig Clunas examined the uses of books in the late Ming and observed that when elds of cultural knowledge come to be treated as commodities, they can be: “. . . published in a book and hence available

49 See Chen Jiru, Clear Words from a Peaceful World, 3:1b, and Chen Jiru, Secret Matters of the Majestic Perch, 2a, respectively. 50 See Chen Jiru, Clear Words from a Peaceful World, 2:3a, and Chen Jiru, Secret Matters of the Majestic Perch, 4a, respectively. 51 There are repeated entries in two of Chen’s other works, the Shuhua shi 書畫史 [History of Notes on Painting] and the Record of Fondness for Antiquity. A list of entries common to both works is given below (the versions used are the Record of Fondness for Antiquity as found in the 1922 edition of the Secret Satchel, while the A History of Notes on Painting is a Ming dynasty edition. The rst three or four characters of the entry have been supplied in romanization, followed by references to both texts, the A History of Notes on Painting locus is given rst): Renchen jiu 壬辰九, 2b, 3:2a; Zhaose Ni 著色倪, 4b, 3:4b; Ziang shu 子昂書, 7a, 2:1a; Xianyu Boji 鮮于伯機, 7a, 2:2a; Xianyu feng 鮮于 奉, 7b, 2:2a; Wen Hengshang 文衡山, 9b, 2:3a; Zhang Sanfeng 張三丰, 10a, 2:3a; Songren yi 宋人以, 10b, 2:3b; Kunshan wang 崑山王, 12b, 4:5a.

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in the market-place to any player wanting to enter the search for ways of transforming economic power into cultural power.”52 Chen’s books published in the Secret Satchel collection contained precisely this type of information and presumably acted in just that manner for some buyers. I will draw here on one specic work of Chen’s, the Shu jiao 書蕉 [Writing on Plantain], to show the range of material that could be covered in a single volume. The Writing on Plantain The Writing on Plantain is a two-chapter work that touches on many subjects. Here I will mention philology, geography, bamboo as a referent in poetry, and bamboo alone as sites of factual knowledge. The rst entry in the book is philological: Wuwu 勿勿 is not congcong 匆匆 The Yanshi jiaxun 顏氏家訓 [Yan Family Instructions] states: “Wuwu 勿勿 is not congcong 怱怱, neither is it congcong 匆匆”. The Shuowen 說文 [Analytical Dictionary of Characters] states: “The character wu designates a banner or ag in a local area that can be used to hastily gather people together. Both denitions point to the appearance of haste and indicate wuwu. The “Jiyi” 祭義 [“The Meaning of Sacrices”] states: “How earnest [wuwu] was their wish that the departed should enjoy the service!”53 Here the word has the meaning of ‘active’. There is a poem by Du Fanchuan 杜樊川 (Du Mu) which runs: “Life is long and rushed [wuwu]”, and the Wang Yi rubbing states: “I was then troubled by the Xiong 匈 and the Man 滿 tribes, I became weary and agitated [wuwu].” All of these examples have the same meaning.54

In a society where a high degree of literacy was conned to a small number of people, who also enjoyed high political status, knowledge such as this served as a status marker. Someone in possession of such

52

Clunas, Superuous Things, p. 13. “The Meaning of Sacrices” “Jiyi” is a section in the Li ji 禮記 [Records of Rites]. Chen has missed one character in his citation but I have used the full translation from James Legge trans., Li Chi: Book of Rites (New York: University Books, 1967), vol. 2, p. 212. This edition is a reprint of the 1885 translation. 54 Chen Jiru, Writing on Plantain, 1:1a. In another work Chen provided material for philological games, games that could be repeated in public to demonstrate a air for and competence in the written language: “Li Zhiyan 李之彥 said: “I have toyed with the right side of the character qian [錢]. A spear [戈] above and a spear [戈] below, this can kill people without their knowing.” So if the two spears were struggling over a shell 貝 [representing money], how could it not be a low thing [賤] to do?” Chen Jiru, Clear Words from a Peaceful World, 3:6a. 53

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information could not only read well, but also explain sometimes perplexing language. A scholar-ofcial trained in literary Chinese may not always be able to cite those quotations from memory, but would certainly not confuse the three different characters despite their similar appearance. Elsewhere Chen’s philological offerings point to a more specic understanding of language. Chen tells the reader of a term used by Buddhist monks: “In Buddhist temples sh are called ‘water-shuttle owers’ [shuisuo hua 水梭花].”55 I have already mentioned the relationship between Buddhists and the elites during the late Ming. Here is an entry that allows the reader to access the Buddhist lexicon. As we have seen, visiting Buddhist temples and conversing with the monks was a custom of the elites, to demonstrate a familiarity with Buddhist terms would go some way to establishing elite status. Interestingly, Chen has not given the reader the entire quotation, a quotation that many of his peers would know. Chen’s quotation was taken from Su Shi’s “Monks Deluding Themselves” and the full entry reads: Buddhist monks refer to wine as ‘soup of wisdom’ [boruo tang 般若湯], they refer to sh as ‘water-shuttle owers’ [shuisuo hua], and refer to poultry as ‘the vegetable that pierces the bamboo fence’ [zuanli cai 鑽籬菜]. But there is nothing to be gained from such [linguistic sleights of hand]; those monks are simply deluding themselves.56

Did he not want his readers to know all there was to know? Perhaps the closest that Chen comes to publishing material novel to his peers in this book comes in an entry devoted to bamboo in poetry. Here Chen explains the references that one poem made to two other poems: The Dark Mist Broom [Qinglan zhou 青嵐帚] Chen Tao 陳陶 (812?–885?) wrote a poem called “Yong zhu” 詠竹 [“On Bamboo”] that went: “The dark mist presses like a broom, I think of Junzu. Greenery shines strongly on one side, I remember Cai Yong 蔡邕 (133–192).” Note: these lines are a combination of Zhang Junzu’s 張君祖 “Zhu fu” 竹賦 [“Rhapsody on Bamboo”] which reads: “The dark mist moves like a broom, the blue sky sweeps away the mist”, and Cai Yong’s

55

Chen Jiru, Writing on Plantain, 1:18a. Su Shi, “Seng ziqi” 僧自欺 “Monks Deluding Themselves” in Zeng Zaozhuang 曾棗莊 et al. eds., Quan Song wen 全宋文 [Complete Sung Writings] (Chengdu: Ba Shu shushe, 1988), vol. 45, p. 129. 56

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chapter six “Zan zhu” 賛竹 [“In Praise of Bamboo”] which reads: “The greenery shines and the jade is bright, violet stripes and purple circles”.57

The note identies the allusions in Chen Tao’s poem, but Chen did not write this note. It was copied from a work called Sheng’an shihua 升庵詩 話 [Sheng’an’s Notes on Poetry] by the poet Yang Shen 楊慎 (1488–1559). I have not been able to trace this comment any further back than that; as far as I am aware Yang Shen was the rst to make this explication. Here Chen is acting as a conduit for snippets of information that have cultural value: bamboo was one of the ‘four gentlemen’ [si junzi 四君子] of painting, its sturdy and straight qualities representing the honest and upright ofcial. The ability to quote lines of poetry relating to bamboo—and even more so to quote a poem on bamboo that quotes other poems on bamboo, and to explain the attendant allusions, is the province of a cultured man. Chen sometimes provides a different sort of knowledge on bamboo. Another entry provides the reader with knowledge about an interesting type of bamboo: “Halfway along the thirty-rst range in the Luofu Mountains 羅浮山 there is giant bamboo which stands twelve feet [zhang 丈] high and measures seven or eight span [wei 圍] in circumference.”58 The late Ming penchant for the strange and curious is reected in this entry, which supports Clunas’ comment on the commodication of knowledge. The information about this extraordinary bamboo is almost completely useless, its true value lies in the speaker knowing it and the listener not. In an entry that appears to be just a list of alternate names for mountains Chen provides the reader with information relevant to a geographical map not available to ordinary travellers moving through the late-Ming landscape. This entry represents a type of travel writing that is referred to in Richard Strassberg’s work on travel writing in China. Strassberg makes it clear that unlike other cultures, in China: “The mainstream of travel writing, however, was concerned with travel in China itself.”59 Not only was travel writing in China concerned with the domestic landscape, but also with the geography of the past. As some modern writers have pointed out, compared to the European

57

Chen Jiru, Writing on Plantain, 1:3a–b. Ibid., 2:46b. 59 Richard E. Strassberg, Inscribed Landscapes: Travel Writing from Imperial China (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1994), p. 4. 58

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legacy, China’s past is physically insubstantial.60 Many of the famous buildings and sites no longer exist in a physical form, but for readers of literature they exist in the imaginary landscape of the past. With this in mind, here is Chen’s apparently mundane entry: Names of Mountains The Kunlun Mountains 崑崙山 are also called the Kunling Mountains 崑岺山. Mount Jun 君山 is also known as the Palace of Nü Wa [Wa gong 媧宮]. Mount Wudang 武當山 is also known as the Can Range 篸嶺. Mount Putuo 普沱山 is also known as Mount Meiling 梅岺山. Mount Qingcheng 青城山 is also known as Tiangu 天谷. Mount Dafu 大復山 is also known as Taican 胎簪. Mount Heng 衡山 is also called Zhigang 芝岡. Donghai 東海 is also known as Taiyuan 太原.61

In an age where few people had the opportunity to travel far from where they were born, geographical knowledge could demonstrate both a certain degree of literacy, but also a social status that allowed travel. The lists of alternate names would be familiar to Chen’s peers, immersed in classical allusions and earlier geographies, but not to those without that background. Merchants using route books presumably had access to some of this information, as those books listed famous sites along the way, but they did not provide scores of alternative names, nor offer much cultural depth in their information.62 Similarly an uneducated local may well know the past names for famous sites in his or her region, but not those of other regions. This is not information that could be gleaned from travelling, but from reading. There is no question that Chen is recording his own experiences or research in this modest volume, he is acting as a middleman and publishing conduit for cultural capital. None of these entries provide any information that would be either contentious or unknown to Chen’s peers. This conclusion is substantiated by a concentrated examination of Chen’s treatment of cultural themes not limited to a single work.

60 See especially Simon Leys, The Chinese Attitude Towards the Past (Canberra: Research School of Pacic Studies, Australian National University, 1986). This essay also mentions other works relevant to the subject. 61 Chen Jiru, Writing on Plantain, 2:42b–43a. 62 See the comments in T. Brook, The Confusions of Pleasure, p. 180.

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Chen made much of instructing his readers on which cultural pursuits were a suitable choice, once one had the leisure to pursue them. Chess, for example, he once wrote, is inferior to copying calligraphic models, while discussing other people’s faults is not as good as discussing the elevating words of the ancients.63 These sentiments and attitudes permeate Chen’s role in the popularisation of knowledge on tea during the late Ming, and also his comments on withdrawal from a vulgar world, or how to live in troubling times. Tea One must not be careless in the preparation of tea. The quality of the person and the tea must match well. For this reason, the methods of preparing tea have often been entrusted to recluses, those with the untrammelled daemon in their hearts.64

There are two effective ways that an individual or group can distinguish itself: by the possession of something rare, or through the consumption of something common in an uncommon manner. Both of these apply to the late Ming fondness for tea, and Chen’s publications on the subject demonstrate an awareness of this. While the origins of tea drinking are shrouded in mythology and need not concern us here, tea itself became popular in China during the eighth century with the publication of the Cha jing 茶經 [Classic of Tea] by Lu Yu 陸羽 (733–804). By the late Ming, tea had become a large enterprise servicing both domestic and foreign markets. Of the foreign markets, the History of the Ming states of barbarians that: “. . . if they cannot obtain tea they fall ill. Therefore since Tang and Song times we have traded tea for horses and so kept them under control.”65 Domestically, by the late Ming, tea was competing with alcohol as the drink of choice for the literati. Chen’s contemporary, Yuan Hongdao, regarded tea as superior: “The enjoyment of tea is of the highest order,

63

Chen Jiru, Secret Matters of the Majestic Perch, 16b. Lu Shusheng in the Chaliao ji 茶寮記 [Teahouse Record ], quoted in Wu Zhihe, “The Contribution of Monks and Literati”, p. 5. 65 MS, p. 1947. To conrm this, another source notes that while swapping tea with their northern neighbours had been going on since the Tang dynasty: “In the peak year 1389 more than 20,000 horses were exchanged for one million jin [ounces] of tea.” J.C. Evans, Tea in China (New York: Greenwood Press, 1992), p. 83. 64

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then comes that of chatting, and then that of drinking [alcohol].”66 Chen was part of this cultural change and wrote that: For stirring up the emotions, alcohol is better than tea; for harmonising with the subtle and secluded, tea is superior. This is because alcohol is bold, while tea is covert.67

There were technical advances in the tea industry during the late Ming. There were improvements in growing techniques and the quality of leaves, and also to methods of curing and preparing the leaves so that tea could be drunk in either a powdered or leaf form. This development was partly responsible for an increase in the varieties of tea available.68 One modern commentator lists over one hundred types of

66 The gradual colonisation, of the north by the south, by the habit of tea drinking is outlined in Chen Chuan 陳椽 ed., Chaye tongshi 茶業通史 [A General History of the Tea Industry] (Beijing: Nongye chubanshe, 1984), pp. 274–6. Chen Chuan notes that it was popular in the south by the early Tang, whereas the northerners at that time still regarded it as strange. (An earlier, sixth century, and more forceful account of the same attitude can be seen in the record that states that the northerners “. . . tried to humiliate southern refugees, generals, or diplomats who came to their capital, maintaining that the southern taste for tea and sh was effete and barbaric when compared with the eating of mutton and swilling of treated milk in the northern capital.” See W.J.F. Jenner, Memories of Loyang —Yang Hsüan-chih and the Lost Capital (493–534) (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1981), p. 129.) One writer on tea quotes a poem by the Tang dynasty poet Qian Qi 錢起 to suggest that tea drinking was common among the literati during that period. (Wang Pu 王璞, Zhongguo chahua huicui 中國茶話薈萃 [A Compilation of Chinese Comments on Tea] (Hong Kong: Nanyue, 1988), p. 5) While that may or may not have been the case, tea at that time was still a long way from the status that it enjoyed over alcohol, during the late Ming. There is comparatively little poetry on tea. The only poem of the famous collection of three hundred Tang poems to mention tea is the Pipa xing 琵琶行 [Song of the Lute] by Bai Juyi and that is in the context of selling it, not drinking it. In contrast there are nearly forty poems in the same collection that mention alcohol, and others that imply drinking. Nearly a millennium later the situation was unchanged. The Three Hundred Ming Poems has three hundred and forty-four poems. Once again, nearly forty poems mention either alcohol or drinking while only two mentioned tea (although this time it was in the context of drinking it). Even more surprising, keeping in mind the ourishing of texts on tea during the late Ming is that the two poems that mention tea were both written during the early Ming. Not a single late-Ming poet in this collection mentions tea (unless it is by an allusion that I am not familiar with as, in reading through the text I did not always exhaust the explanations given by the annotator). While tea may have made social inroads on the place of wine, it seems that alcohol remained the poets’ choice. 67 Chen Jiru, “Yanqi youshi xu” 巖棲幽事序 “Foreword to Secret Matters of the Majestic Perch” in Chen Jiru, Secret Matters of the Majestic Perch. 68 Chen Chuan ed., A General History of the Tea Industry, p. 276. The taste of the elite for tea changed from the powdered to the leaf variety early in the Ming, see T. Brook, “Communications and Commerce”, pp. 682–3.

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distinctive teas available to the late-Ming connoisseur (and that number does not include the permutations and combinations which would be made possible by mixing different varieties, or adding owers or dried fruits to teas.)69 Another commentator states that the dissemination of knowledge of the cultivation of plants and treatment of leaves that was presented in Ming texts such as Gu Yuanqing’s 顧元慶 (1487–1565) Cha pu 茶譜 [Treatise on Tea] resulted in black tea [hong cha 紅茶] and yellow green tea [chaoqing lücha 炒青綠茶] becoming common.70 To give an idea of how popular tea and the writing about it had become, one article lists nearly fty Ming works devoted to tea.71 While some of those books were written early in the dynasty most of them date from the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries.72 Of the fty works mentioned, ten are either attributed to Chen or those who formed his inner cultural group (Lu Shusheng, Li Rihua, Tu Long, Wu Congxian 吳從 先 (. 1610s), and Xia Shufang). Why was tea such a popular subject for late-Ming writers? Xia Xianchun links the popularity of tea drinking to a combination of the thriving economy, the gradual decline of the Song Neo-Confucian legacy, and the concomitant rise of leisure and enjoyment and, thus, an appreciation of the culinary arts. Xia cites the example of Zhang Dai’s

69 Wu Zhihe, “The Contribution of Monks and Literati”, pp. 29–34. One dictionary of tea (Zhang Zhiyong 張哲永 et al. eds., Zhongguo chajiu cidian 中國茶酒辭典 [Dictionary of Chinese Tea and Wine] (Changsha: Hunan chubanshe, 1991) covers all periods and lists over 900 different types. Although this total includes broths, the number is still considerable. In his historical survey of tea in China J.C. Evans wrote that: “Certainly the greatest Ming contribution to the history of tea was the development of owerscented teas. Few people in history have equalled the Ming’s obsessive, impressionist passion for owers.” J.C. Evans, Tea in China, p. 84. 70 Chen Chuan ed., A General History of the Tea Industry, p. 69. On the following page there are gures on taxes on tea. From these gures Chen Chuan estimated the amount of tea produced and suggested that during the early years of the dynasty nearly 70 million ounces [ jin] were produced throughout the empire, and that this rose to nearly 130 million ounces, in Sichuan alone, by 1526. ibid. p. 70. 71 Wu Zhihe, “The Contribution of Monks and Literati”, pp. 50–2. Not all of these works can be substantiated as they are sometimes taken from lists made during the Ming and Qing that may in themselves be wrong. One example is the work called Cha hua 茶話 [Talking about Tea] that appears under Chen Jiru’s name in Xu shi hongyulou shumu 徐氏紅雨樓書目 [Mr. Xu’s Tower of Fallen Petals Catalogue]. This work is not mentioned anywhere else, and while it cannot be discounted, the evidence would seem to suggest that this work, if it did exist, was not written by Chen. 72 Chen Chuan also attests the prevalence and importance of late-Ming tea texts. He provides synopses of the sixteen works, written during the Ming, that he considers the most important. Of these only one has date of publication earlier than the sixteenth century. See Chen Chuan ed., A General History of the Tea Industry, pp. 143–51.

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grandfather, Zhang Rulin 張汝霖 ( js. 1595), gathering together some of the local literati and forming an Epicurean club [yinshi she 飲食社], to show how this interest was expressed.73 Another factor in the rise of tea was the close relationship between the development of tea and the ourishing of Buddhism. An examination of this relationship led one commentator to suggest that the two were inseparable as the monks, living in temples in the hills and mountains, had the right location, not to mention the ‘leisure’ necessary, to be cultivating tea.74 Indeed, so close was the relationship between tea and Buddhism that many temples became economically dependent on tea for their continued existence.75 In the late Ming, when the literati began to search for the nest teas they often went to visit monks, to both drink and discuss the beverage.76 To give some idea of how sought after the best teas were, consider the following quote on the lengths to which producers were obliged to go in order to foil those who counterfeited seal marks of high quality teas on chests containing low quality tea: The situation nally degraded to a point where all the ne lacquered tea chests and hand-boxes containing expensive teas were tted with hidden hinges and locked with heavy, ornamental bronze bolt-locks. Priceless rare teas and imperial teas always had to be transported under armed guard.77

73

Xia Xianchun, Late-Ming Literati and Literature, p. 43. Chen Chuan ed., A General History of the Tea Industry, pp. 343–4. The author here also advances the notion that tea was ideal for the monks as it prevented them falling asleep during meditation, and did not breach their injunction against the taking of life. Sometime around the year 723, the head monk at a monastery approved the drinking of tea for the monks who were engaged in their study of Zen Buddhism as this would prevent them falling asleep while not contravening the regulation that prevented an evening meal. ibid., p. 275. 75 See Wu Zhihe, “The Contribution of Monks and Literati”, pp. 34–42. See also the example of the Tiantong monastery of which Brook has written that: “Although its landholdings were key to its survival, Tiantong did not rely exclusively on agricultural land for income. Its other main resource was the tea-growing slopes of the mountain on which the monastery sat. The specialty of the Greater White Mountains was a rare and highly prized tea scented with orchids, though its annual yield was never more than two catties. The production and sale of lesser teas contributed to Tiantong’s income.” T.Brook, Praying for Power, p. 259. 76 Wu Zhihe, “The Contribution of Monks and Literati”, p. 16. J.C. Evans notes that Ming tea drinkers habitually added yellow lump sugar (never milk). Dates were the most popular addition to green tea, at once scenting and sugaring it pleasantly. The presence of a few expensive dates in a guest’s china cup was a subtle mark of esteem. J.C. Evans, Tea in China, p. 85. 77 J.C. Evans, Tea in China, p. 82. 74

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The consequences of the literati and Buddhists being involved in the cultivation of tea meant that this activity was not merely the province of hired gardeners. Demand for such knowledge provided a ready market for those who wrote on the subject. The situation can be neatly summarised as follows: monks were supposed to grow the best tea. It was the monks and the literati who set the socio-cultural patterns for the enjoyment of the nest tea, and doing so in an appropriate manner. There was a demand for knowledge about these activities, but of these two groups only the literati wrote about tea in any substantial quantity. As I have noted, Chen wrote on this subject. In one work Chen provided general information on tea. He wrote on the etymology of the character for tea, giving his readers fundamental information. He stated that the most common term in general use, cha 茶, was the correct term for leaves that are picked when young. The less used, yet still well known term, ming 茗, indicated leaves that were picked when mature. A term less commonly employed, chuan 荈, indicated leaves that were already old when picked.78 Chen also advised his readers that when picking tea one should take only the best; when storing tea take only that which is dry; when infusing tea, take only that which is clean.79 This was not information for those who grew up surrounded by the cultural practice of drinking tea; it was information for those who were learning about it.

78 Chen Jiru, Zhen tan 枕譚 [Pillow Talk], 13b–14a. At the end of this short note Chen points out that according to what he has just written, the use of ming in his day as a general description for tea is incorrect. While Chen is not wrong here, he has neglected to mention other characters that stood, at various times, for tea. One modern writer, noting that there are over ten different names for tea, produces the following three that Chen has not mentioned: tu 荼, as used in the Erya 爾雅 [Examples of Rened Usage], jia 檟, also used in the Examples of Rened Usage, and stated by Lu Yu in the Classic of Tea as one of the characters for tea ( the other being cha), and also she 蔎, also given in the Classic of Tea as one of the characters for tea. Of the two other characters mentioned by Chen, ming is used in the Yanzi chunqiu 晏子春秋 [Annals of Master Yan], while chuan occurs in the Sanguo zhi 三國志 [Records of the Three Kingdoms]. See Wang Pu, A Compilation of Chinese Comments on Tea, pp. 3–4. Chen would subtly alter his information when, about six years later the Addendum to The Correct Way to Drink Tea was published. In one entry entitled “Zao cha wan ming” 早茶晚茗 “Cha in the Morning and Ming in the Evening” he wrote that: “Leaves picked young are cha, leaves picked late are ming. According to the Examples of Rened Usage, the term chuan is used by Sichuanese as a term for tea with a bitter taste.” Chen Jiru, Addendum to The Correct Way to Drink Tea, 1:6a, in Pan Shicheng, Hall of the Immortals amid the Mountains and Oceans Series. 79 Chen Jiru, Secret Matters of the Majestic Perch, 13a.

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Chen’s most substantial contribution to the growing body of literature on tea available in the late Ming was a two-chapter publication that appeared around the year 1612. The Addendum to The Correct Way to Drink Tea was a supplement to Xia Shufang’s earlier work The Correct Way to Drink Tea, also in two chapters, which had been published about two years earlier.80 Xia Shufang, as bets the image of a tea connoisseur, had lived as a recluse for several decades. His work was a compilation of poetry and anecdotes related to tea. Chen’s second chapter follows very much the pattern of Xia’s work, with poetry and anecdotes.81 But it is Chen’s rst chapter that is more interesting. Here Chen provides the reader with the following: eighteen entries on having an obsession for tea and/or enjoying it, ten entries on the planting and cultivation of tea, six on the curing and cleaning of leaves, and eight on the preparation of tea. Chen’s work not only provided another twenty references on tea for the poetically inclined, more importantly it provided some pragmatic advice and knowledge on how to grow and prepare tea. In the following paragraphs I take a closer look at what Chen was offering his readers. The section on planting and growing provides a list of which teas were grown in which districts, and gives the reader knowledge of the suitability of any given tea for a particular district. This is not just information for the gardener, but for those who will supervise the gardener.82 Another entry provides information on the mixing of tea and culture, it advises readers that seeds taken from a particular plant should be planted away from the parent plant, otherwise they will not grow, and

80

I have not viewed a Ming edition of this work. I have used an edition that was included in the Gujin shuobu congshu 古今說部叢書 [Collectanea of Ancient and Modern Explications of the Four Categories of Literature] (Shanghai: Zhongguo tushu gongsi, 1915), 9:6. Chen also followed Xia’s lead in bringing out a book on alcohol. Mirroring the works on tea, Xia’s work is called The Fundamentals of Wine, Chen’s work (in three chapters) is called Addendum to The Fundamentals of Wine. As with the tea volumes, Chen wrote a foreword to Xia’s volume, and this time also proofread the work. Once again Chen’s work is that of a compiler rather than an author. His selections have come from sources as disparate as Zuo shi chunqiu 左氏春秋 [Mr. Zuo’s Annals], Jiu jing 酒經 [The Classic of Wine] and the Qingbo zazhi 清波雜志 [Miscellaneous Notes from the Clear Wave] (the latter being a collection of notes on Song dynasty gures and events, by Zhou Hui 周煇). 81 Chen Chuan regards Chen’s compilation as the superior edition. See Chen Chuan ed., A General History of the Tea Industry, p. 360. 82 Chen Jiru, Addendum to The Correct Way to Drink Tea, see for example the section “Shanchuan yichan” 山川異產 “Unusual Produce of the Mountains and Rivers”, 1:6b–7b.

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that this was reason for tea being given as a gift when a woman was betrothed in marriage.83 Information was also provided on such things as the best time to make a certain type of tea, and which springs provide the best water for tea.84 The selection of the best water for a particular tea was an art in itself and one of Chen’s friends, Li Rihua, was renowned for his discriminating taste in this regard.85 Another entry advises readers on the correct way to cure tea (making sure that one does not burn the leaves, thus rendering them unusable), and a hint that if one wishes to infuse tea successfully then one must ensure that the water temperature is correct, and that the tea (leaves or powder) and the liquid are mixed in the most suitable ratio; too little tea and it will seem to disappear, too much tea and it will have an appearance like congee.86 Once again, all of these entries are directed at a reader learning about tea and how to consume it. Another entry is of interest in a different way. It provides a list of the eighteen teas drunk by the Imperial court. This was a list that could serve several purposes. It could act as information to be passed on to others to indicate that one was aware of the details of life at court, it could also give some denite direction to the collection of tea that a budding connoisseur might be making. Not only would the teas mentioned be domestically produced sought-after teas, but if some of them were tribute teas, and we recall the late-Ming interest in strange and rare commodities, then they could further one’s status if one could obtain them.87

83

Ibid., 1:8b. Ibid., 1:11b–12a. 85 Li Rihua’s diaries were published under the title Weishuixuan riji 味水軒日記 [The Pavilion for Tasting Water Diary]. One biographer wrote of him that: “Proud of his taste for tea, he was also particular about the water in which to steep it; hence the name Wei-shui-hsüan or Water-Tasting Pavilion. He ranked the highest the quality of the water drawn from the spring on Mount Hui, Wu-hsi, west of Su-chou, and had it regularly shipped to him, a distance of over sixty miles, in sealed jars. Once he issued a prospectus “The Pine Rain Studio Prospectus for Shipping Spring Water” “Sung-yü-chai yün-ch’üan yüeh” soliciting subscriptions to a monthly shipment of this water at tael 0.06 of silver per jar.” Chaoying Fang, “Li Jih-hua” in DMB, p. 828. This interest in the quality of water had already come to prominence in this area and time with the publication in 1554 of the two-chapter work by Chen’s elder townsman, Xu Xianzhong 徐獻忠, the appropriately titled Shui pin 水品 [Water Grades]. 86 Chen Jiru, Addendum to The Correct Way to Drink Tea, 1:12b, and 1:13b–14a, respectively. 87 Ibid., 1:9b. 84

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Finally Chen also provides titbits of information such as the alternative names by which Lu Yu, the author of the Classic of Tea, was known. There is also some titillation dressed up as an anecdote about Lu Yu. It describes how once, after picking tea, Lu had left a servant girl to watch over the curing but she forgot and went to sleep. On nding the tea charred Lu bound the servant girl and threw her into the re. A shocking anecdote guaranteed to enliven a social occasion.88 Chen’s work is hardly encyclopaedic, but it does provide information about the cultivation and enjoyment of tea to those who may not usually have access to it. It is also of some importance to note that not a single entry in those two chapters is Chen’s own work. He himself makes it clear that all of the information is taken from other sources such as the Classic of Tea, the Tang shi 唐史 [History of the Tang], and the Yixing jiuzhi 義興舊志 [Old Gazetteer of Yixing]. Once again, Chen is acting as a conduit rather than a source of information. One nal note of interest, in addition to the enjoyment of drinking tea there were aesthetic considerations surrounding all of the accoutrements such as the teapots and teacups. Here Chen had an unusual inuence, two frequent guests to his residence were the great potter Shi Dabin 時大彬 (1573–1648), and his protégé Jiang Bokua 蔣伯荂. The record has it that after drinking and discussing tea with Chen, Shi Dabin decided to change his style of teapot from large to small.89 Withdrawal and Nourishing Oneself Chen’s approach to retreating from a world that is viewed as threatening (political machinations, eunuchs, and so on), and polluting (dealing with coarse and rude people, being tainted by the desires of the vulgar world) is of considerable interest. His skill as a writer lies in presenting an alternative life that does not involve hiding oneself away from the world, an option not available to many. In his book, the Clear Words from a Peaceful World, there is a charming passage that beguiles the reader as it balances the natural and cultural worlds:

88 For these two entries see respectively Addendum to The Correct Way to Drink Tea, 1:5b–6b, and 2a. 89 Wu Qian 吳騫, Yangxian mingtao lu 陽羨名陶錄 [Records of Famous Ceramic Artists from Yangxian], 1:6a, in Baijinglou congshu 拜經樓叢書 [Collectanea from the Tower of Esteeming the Classics] (Shanghai: Bogu zhai, 1922). For the record of Jiang Bokua visiting Chen see Wu Renjing 吳仁敬, Zhongguo taoci shi 中國陶瓷史 [A History of Chinese Ceramics] (Shanghai: Shangwu, 1954), p. 81.

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chapter six Incense makes you subtle. Alcohol makes you remote. Stone makes you extraordinary. The music of a lute makes you silent. Tea makes you agreeable. Bamboo makes you quiet. The moon makes you lonely. Chess makes you leisurely. A staff makes you feel light. Water makes you relaxed. Snow makes you feel distant. A sword makes you feel grievous. Prayer mats make you feel withered. Beauty makes you envious. Monks make you mild. Flowers make you harmonious. Bronzes, tablets, and libation vessels lead you to antiquity.90

In another passage Chen also offers advice on how to travel through the world: To live in the mountains one needs a small boat with vermillion railings, an emerald canopy, bright windowsills, and a short sail. In the boat place at random maps, histories, tripods, cups for libations, wines, sauces, tea, and dried meats. If staying close to Huating then go to the mountains and the Mao River. If travelling far away, then go north to Jingkou 京口, or go south to the Qiantang River. . . . When you reach the beautiful mountains and rivers, you may come across such pleasing scenes as the huts of great monks and untrammelled men, wild bamboo groves, swathes of owers, and you might see [people wearing] headscarves and [using] walking staves [i.e. recluses]. This is where the scenes are clear and agreeable, the water and moon are empty and pure, the sound of a ute and the white terns seem to dance. This is indeed a method for avoiding clamour and guests.91 (italics mine)

This passage can be read as travel advice for those boating through the Jiangnan area, but it has something else to recommend it: the words in italics, ‘place at random’. Were this passage written for members of the scholar-ofcial class there would hardly be any need to tell them how to arrange their boat. They would never be mistaken for a salt trader or a cotton merchant, dressed in new nery, unsure of what to put in the newly purchased boat, or how to arrange it. Chen’s most famous work related to withdrawal from the world is the charming and pithy Secret Matters of the Majestic Perch.92 The Secret Matters was compiled toward the end of the 1590s.93 Chen explained its genesis by saying that his generation was addicted to the vulgar world.

90

Chen Jiru, Clear Words from a Peaceful World, 3:1b. Chen Jiru, Secret Matters of the Majestic Perch, 17b–18a. 92 In an article devoted to the work itself one critic writes effusively about it saying that the style and tenor are sublime, that all things (worth) discussing under heaven are represented and that it can awaken one. Geng Xiangyuan, “The Attitude of a Disengaged Scholar”, p. 5. 93 There are several dated entries. The latest is from the spring of 1598, see Chen Jiru, Secret Matters of the Majestic Perch, 29a. 91

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In 1597, when he was building on his property at Little Mount Kun, Chen’s neighbours were Buddhist monks and Daoist priests. Over the course of a year he read his way, when ‘leisure permitted’, through over six thousand chapters of works from these two philosophies. Chen often chatted with his neighbours about matters such as growing owers and fruits, and correct planting and digging methods. In his leisure he collected the wisdom and insight that came from some of their conversations, and they became the book.94 The Secret Matters includes reections on things such as why birds call in the morning, on Su Shi’s method of planting trees, and on growing vegetables. While the greater part of the work is taken up with how one should live as a hermit, there are also considerable sections on literary activities such as caring for one’s inkstone.95 This book has some of Chen’s more memorable passages, from his aphorism for politically troubled times: “Read more and speak less”,96 to his injunctions, in the following two quotations, on living in the mountains: Trees should not be arranged in lines, stones not placed deliberately, dwellings not excessive, and no evil in one’s heart.97 You can avoid evil and disease and surround yourself with paintings and poetry. You can enjoy old jade and curious books, and have shermen and monks as your companions.98

But Chen also wrote that to leave the world behind one does not have to live on a mountain: After all my affairs in the world of man are done with, and before sleep comes upon me, I burn incense and recline on some cushions. In these times I could be called the ‘reclining recluse’, and feel that escaping to live in the mountains is too much bother.99

94

Ibid., 1a. Chen cautions against washing an inkstone in hot water lest it damage the stone. (Chen Jiru, Secret Matters of the Majestic Perch, 13a) He notes that the appearance of bubbles on the inside of the ‘ink hollow’ in a slab means that the stone has not become ink-saturated, and that this is a good sign (in case the reader was not sure). (Ibid., 13b) There is also a passage on when to change the water in an inkstone. (Ibid.) Yet another entry provided advice on how to maintain the quality of an inkstone—lubricate it with wax when necessary (although northerners can use camel oil as a substitute if wax is not readily available) (24b). 96 Ibid., 1a. 97 Ibid., 25b. 98 Ibid., 2b. 99 Ibid., 23a. 95

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Chen himself did, however, sometimes bother to ‘ . . . escape to live in the mountains’, and in this the Secret Matters he praised it for the reader and wrote that retreat in the mountains is superior to living in the town for eight reasons: You do not have to put up with petty rules. You do not see strangers. You do not become obsessed with meat and alcohol. You do not squabble over land or dwellings. You do not have ckle friends. You are not troubled by ‘rights’ and ‘wrongs’. You do not worry about taxes. You do not prattle about rank and position.100

In some respects Chen was offering the best of both worlds. If you had the wherewithal to escape to the mountains then do so. If that was not possible then you could escape through an identication of that lifestyle as depicted in his writings. This is in accord with sentiments expressed elsewhere where Chen suggests that readers can vicariously enjoy lifestyles and experiences without having them. He notes that the richness of poetry is open to illiterates, and that an understanding of wine is open even to those who drink not a spoonful.101 Indeed, the Secret Matters also includes a passage where Chen says that hermits of old used to plough the elds but he cannot because he is too frail, all he can do is write!102 The inference is clear: one does not need to be brought up in a particular way, or to have a certain education, before one can enjoy the best that the literati life can offer. In this work Chen provided the reader with a range of strategies for coping with a hostile world, and balanced this defensive attitude with just the right mixture of delight in life so that the work would not appear overly anxious or defeatist. Chen offered advice on how one could be a recluse, or play at the literati style of ‘reclusion’, for those who did not have the leisure to spend their days as they pleased. Chen’s writings on these few themes show him composing books that may have been of some interest to his peers, but were certainly of interest to those who desired a greater understanding of the literati culture and lifestyle. In writing like this Chen portrayed himself as a recluse with a ne aesthetic, and an understanding of the value of activities outside the political world. Chen’s persona in these writings

100

Ibid., 4a. Ibid., 3b. 102 Quoted in Chen Wanyi, Late-Ming Xiaopin and the Livestyle of Ming Dynasty Literati, p. 110. 101

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stands in contradistinction with the socially committed Chen of chapter two, and the correct Confucian gure behind the biographies of chapter ve. But it is this persona that has carried on, not the others, and the nal three chapters are concerned with the subsequent fate of this Chen Jiru.

CHAPTER SEVEN

LATE-MING EARLY-QING First a small note on why this chapter places the late-Ming and earlyQing periods together. The proximate answer is that the material examined here dictated such a division. The longer answer lies in the different speeds of political and cultural change. There is no doubting that for most people who lived through the seventeenth century the dynastic change was the most troubling event of the time. The larger political rupture was settled quite quickly in much of the empire; but the cultural coordinates did not completely shift their position nearly as quickly. The Manchu occupation certainly served to concentrate many minds on the rule and legacy of the previous foreign incursion, that of the Mongols, yet much of the late-Ming literary style and attitudes persisted until late in the seventeenth century. In his ne essay on the reaction of Chinese scholars to the Manchu state, Lawrence Kessler noted that by 1684 the Kangxi Emperor 康熙 (r. 1661–1722) had largely: “. . . dissipated the anti-Manchu hostility of a large group of Chinese scholars”, and that he did this through sponsoring activities such as the special boxue 博學 examinations but more particularly through the ofcial Ming history project which: “. . . decisively ended the holdout of signicant elements of the Chinese scholar-gentry class and restored their condence in the court’s commitment to respect their traditional values and prerogatives . . .”1 This grudging acceptance of Manchu rule brought with it a re-assessment of the activities and attitudes of the late-Ming period. For Chen’s posthumous reputation this change would prove decisive. The Grand Councillor in the Mountains Introductions to Chen’s works by other writers, and comments on him, are full of attery. There is nothing unusual in that, yet the praiseful

1 Lawrence Kessler, “Chinese Scholars and the Early Manchu State” Harvard Journal of Asiatic Studies, vol. 31, pp. 180 and 200.

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formulations used by his peers to describe Chen has a wealth not found in any subsequent period, and indicates a complex and variegated understanding. The terms used need to be understood in their late-Ming context, especially as some of them would be pressed into service as pejorative descriptions of Chen later in the seventeenth century. The most complicated expression of the time was undoubtedly that of the shanren recluse, and this and related terms were applied to Chen. The blatant hostility of the rst Ming emperor to those who had the potential to serve but not the inclination added a further layer of deception to the concept of the recluse. The rst layer, of course, is the very pretence itself. By the late Ming this situation was further confused by economic and social developments, which among other things added the category of the urban recluse to the variant traditional forms. Hermits of the shanren type rst made their appearance during the Jiajing period (1522–1566).2 That hermits, or those who referred to themselves as shanren, were numerous in the late Ming is beyond doubt. A glance through a list of the styles that various literati chose provides ample proof of the widespread popularity of the term.3 ‘Shanren’ ostensibly operated as an umbrella term for different styles of reclusion, including the traditional designation yinshi 隱士 which was rarely used, on account of Zhu Yuanzhang’s original injunctions against hermits. In distinction to yinshi, however, the term shanren could be used by those holding ofce, just as it could be employed by those who wished to refuse service without openly exposing themselves to dynastic precedent. During the seventeenth century the term shanren further became tied up with conceptions of the morality of engagement with, or disentanglement from, the affairs of the empire. This 2 Shen, Defu Private Gleanings from the Wanli Reign, p. 585. Also in Qian Qianyi, “Wu shanren kuozhuan” 吳山人擴傳 “Extended Biography of the Hermit of Wu” in Brief Biographies from Poetic Collections through the Dynasties, 4A, quoted in Chen Wanyi, LateMing Xiaopin and the Livestyle of Ming Dynasty Literati, p. 105. For other late-Ming texts discussing the ‘hermit’ question see Chen Wanyi, Late-Ming Xiaopin and the Livestyle of Ming Dynasty Literati, p. 107, n. 51. 3 A quick glance through the index of courtesy names [zi] and styles [hao] in the Index to Materials on Ming Biographies indicates that the terms Buddhist layman [ jushi] and hermit [shanren] were the two most common combinations in courtesy names and styles with eighty-two and seventy-two uses respectively. Those totals are far ahead of other combinations such as mister [xiansheng], disengaged scholar [chushi 處士] and others. A modest list of the more famous Ming gures to use the term shanren includes: Xu Wei, Xiang Yuanbian 項元汴 (1525–1590), Hu Yinglin, Lu Shusheng, Tu Long, Wang Zhideng 王稚登 (1535–1612), Wang Shizhen, and Yang Shen. The famous intellectual prince, Zhu Zaiyu, also had shanren as his style.

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correlation was partly responsible for the term becoming popular among ofcials who, while serving, nonetheless wanted to identify with a different self-perception. Yuan Hongdao noted the apparent incongruity of using the term while still in ofce: “Since the Jiajing period, the practice of retiring to live in the mountains and woods in order to get a good name for oneself has become a type of game.”4 Indeed, one modern critic, frustrated at trying to pin the term down, makes the point that the term was so widely used, by poets, by travellers, by ofcials escaping the bonds of ofce, and so on, that the term almost loses any denite meaning.5 To add to the apparently unrestrained usage by individuals, publishers soon seized on the term and “. . . simply used shanren rather than the personal name of an author on the cover of a book.”6 The ubiquitous nature of the term also meant that it could function as praise or opprobrium. There was soon a rearguard action against the term. The situation was so bewildering that Wang Shizhen, who used the term himself, is also on record as claiming that those who used it were so enmeshed in the vulgar world that their use of the term was unreasonable.7 The late-Ming scholar-ofcial Qian Xiyan 錢希言 (. 1610s) wrote an essay on shanren and, because he disliked the term, he included it in his work on all things false, the Xixia 戲瑕 [ Playing with Flaws]. He noted that while many seemed to be appropriating the title, he thought a real shanren was one who ate simple fare and took wild animals as companions. According to Qian Xiyan, in an unsuccessful attempt to quarantine the term from the march of history, the following types of people were inappropriately claiming the term for themselves: poets, literati, Confucians, pleasure seekers, ofcials, all sorts of geomancers and fortune-tellers, and titled nobles.8 Qian moderated 4

Yuan Hongdao, quoted in Duan Jiangli, “On Chen Meigong’s ‘Reclusion’ ”, p. 19. Wu Chengxue and Li Bin, “Yinyi yu jishi: Chen Meigong yu wan Ming de shi feng” 隱逸與濟世—陳眉公與晚明的士風 “Reclusion and Social Municence: Chen Meigong and the Customs of Late Ming Literati” Zhongguo wenhua yanjiu 中國文化研究, Spring 2005, p. 78. 6 Chow, Kai-wing, Publishing, Culture, and Power in Early Modern China, p. 106. 7 Wang Shizhen, “Kunlun shanren zhuan” 崑崙山人傳 “Biography of the Hermit of Kunlun” in Further Manuscripts of the Hermit of Yanzhou, 74:13b–18a. Wang also complained that the people who used the term did not go into the mountains but hung around the cities. Nonetheless he used the term as praise in a number of biographies in the same chapter. See for example “Yu Taigong zhuan” 喻太公傳 “Biography of the Grand and Honourable Yu” in Further Manuscripts of the Hermit of Yanzhou, 74:15a–19a. 8 Qian Xiyan, “Shanren gaoshi” 山人高士 “Hermits and Urbane Erudites” in Qian Xiyan, Playing with Flaws [Xixia], 3:37a–39b. Qian wrote a foreword to the work in 5

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the force of his argument by noting that originally there were different categories of recluses, but that in his day they had become conated into the term shanren.9 Li Zhi, one of the most inuential gures of the late Ming, agreed with much of Qian Xiyan’s assessment of hermits and said this about the terminology employed in his own day: . . . nowadays those who go by the names sage [shangren 聖人] and hermit [shanren] are the really just the same. The application of either term depends upon whether the individual is fortunate or unfortunate. Those who are fortunate enough to be able to write poetry call themselves ‘hermits’, those who are not have to abandon that label and instead use ‘sage’. Those who are fortunate enough to be able to discuss philosophical issues coherently call themselves ‘sage’, while those who are not so fortunate abandon ‘sage’ and are called ‘hermits’. Then there are those who trick the world for their own prot. They are called ‘hermits’ but their hearts are as merchants; they speak of morality but their intentions are merely those of [a burglar] breaking in.10

Strong words, yet an even more sarcastic critic was the astronomer Xue Fengzuo 薛風祚 (?–1680) who once wrote that: “A scholar-ofcial with ambition would be ashamed to be called a ‘hermit’.” Xue went on to list ten ugly characteristics of hermits, and nished by saying that they should be called whores (‘mountain chickens’) [shanji 山雞], a term of unquestionable derision.11 Chen himself used the term with a negative connotation, remained generally ambivalent about it, and was sceptical of the posturing attitude of some of the itinerant shanren

1613 and it was published, at the latest, within a few years of that which means that hermits of these types were already present by the early seventeenth century and did not need the immanent collapse of the dynasty to act as a catalyst. 9 Ibid., 3:37a–39b. To support his argument Qian Xiyan noted that the historical record had separate categories for recluses [ yinyi 隱逸], writers [Wenyuan 文苑], and Confucians [rulin 儒林], and that the famous recluses Bo Yi 伯夷 and Shu Qi 叔齊 were not mentioned in Huangfu Mi’s 皇甫謐 Gaoshi zhuan 高士傳 [Biographies of Urbane Erudites] because they were not urbane erudites (the implication being that in Qian Xiyan’s day with the categories becoming so interchangeable Bo Yi and Shu Qi may well have been included in such a work). 10 Li Zhi, “You yu Jiao Ruohou” 又與焦弱侯 “To Jiao Ruohou” in Fen shu 焚書 [A Book to be Burnt], quoted in Chen Wanyi, Late-Ming Xiaopin and the Lifestyle of Ming Dynasty Literati, p. 88. The last line contains a reference to the Analects 17:12 where Confucius says that someone who is a coward, but who puts on a erce face can be compared to a petty man, for he is like a burglar breaking in. 11 Quoted in Ah Ying, Ah Ying wenji 阿英文集 [Collected Writings of Ah Ying], (Hong Kong: Sanlian shudian, 1979), p. 165. For a further compilation of remarks complaining about the term see Wu Chengxue and Li Bin, “Reclusion and Social Municence”, p. 79.

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that he met.12 However, not everyone thought the term derisive. Tan Yuanchun also discussed the term shanren, but unlike Qian Xiyan, Li Zhi, and Xue Fengzuo, Tan wrote that the term was one of acclamation.13 It is clear that the frequent use of the term shanren in biographies, forewords, and other works that are obviously written in praise of their subjects, supports Tan’s interpretation, at least for some writers during the late-Ming period.14 As mentioned above, the use of the term was tied to social developments and the modern mainland critic, Wu Chengxue, observed that late-Ming hermits could not get by just being farmers or artisans, they had to be literary and artistic talents. Turning a traditional understanding of the uses of reclusion on its head Wu notes that, unlike their Tang counterparts, the late-Ming hermits did not use their reputations as a way to gain ofce, according to Wu a clear sign of their moral rectitude.15 However, morality really had little to do with it. Lu Xun cut through the pretence and observed: “Once the sign ‘recluse’ is hung out in a ‘city forest’ then one becomes a ‘recluse’ and has one’s way of making a living.”16 Lu Xun may have found that form of reclusion jaded and worn, but it was new in Chen’s day and was a response to novel economic and social relations. When Chen was called a hermit by a friend it was obviously a term of praise. Wang Heng opined that Chen epitomised a shanren so well

12

See Geng Xiangyuan, “The Attitude of a Disengaged Scholar”, p. 15. Tan Yuanchun, “Nü shanren shuo” 女山人說 “On Female Hermits” in Tan Yuanchun, Tan Youxia heji 譚友夏合集 [Collected Works of Tan Youxia], 14:5a–6a. (in Series of Ming Dynasty Essayists [Mingdai lunzhu congkan] (Taipei: Weiwen tushu, 1976). 14 See, for instance, any of the following selection which use the term in the title of the work: Yuan Hongdao, “Ti Chen shanren shanshui juan” 題陳山人山水卷 “Inscription for the Landscape Volume of the Hermit Chen” in Yuan Zhonglang Quanji 袁中郎全集 [Collected Works of Yuan Zhonglang] (Taipei: Weiwen tushu chubanshe, 1976), 6:34a–35a; Xu Zhongxing, “Chen shanren dafu ji xu” 陳山人達甫集序 “Introduction to the Collected Works of the Hermit Chen Dafu” in Xu Zhongxing, Collected Works of Mr. Xu Tianmu, 13:1a–3a; Wang Heng, “Ji Wang Kunlun shanren wen” 祭王崑崙山人文 “Dedication for the Hermit Wang of the Kunlun Mountains”, Wang Heng, “Cheng shanren” 程山人 “The Hermit Cheng”, and Wang Heng, “Wu shanren” 吳山人 “The Hermit Wu” all in Wang Heng, Collected Works of Wang Heng, 19:6b–8a, 24:6b–7a and 27:2a–b respectively. Zhu Guozhen, “Huang shanren xiao zhuan” 黃山人小傳 “Short Biography of the Hermit Huang” in Hu Yicheng 胡義成 ed., Ming xiaopin sanbai pian 明小品三百篇 [Three Hundred Ming Xiaopin] (Xi’an: Xibei daxue chubanshe, 1992), pp. 193–4. 15 See Wu Chengxue, Ming Xiaopin, pp. 46–7. 16 Lu Xun, “Hermits”, p. 229. 13

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that he had a hermit’s bones [shanren gu 山人骨].17 Another friend, Li Rihua, also called Chen a shanren.18 Other laudatory descriptions of Chen often used terms similar to that of shanren, but avoided the term itself. An introduction to Chen’s book the Secret Matters from the Majestic Perch by Fei Yuanlu, describes Chen as a gentleman in seclusion [ yin junzi 隱君子]. Here the emphasis was on reclusion with a close identication with Confucian norms, making it a particularly Confucian way of saying hermit. In a foreword to Chen’s Dushu jing 讀書鏡 [A Mirror for Reading] Chen was described as one who had left behind the lth of the world, and rened himself amid the company of immortals, once again a description that implies a type of hermit, although in this case one with Taoist overtones.19 As reclusion was such a notable feature of the late-Ming cultural landscape, and because Chen’s rst presentation of himself to the world after his withdrawal from the examination system invoked the practice so strongly, only a minority of comments on Chen neglected to bring up this facet of his life. If reclusion was not mentioned, then recourse was made to other late-Ming terms or other traditional forms of praise. As was made clear in the previous chapter one of the key terms in the cultural lexicon of the late-Ming xiaopin world, was ‘unusual’, representing among other things an attempt to get around a perceived cultural ossication, as well as the rareness and value of whatever object it was applied to. In his foreword to Chen’s A Madman’s Words, the famous literatus Zhu Guozhen regularly refers to Chen as being unusual [ yi 異]. Dong Qichang also called Chen an unusual man [ yiren 異人].20 Both the records by Zhu Guozhen and Dong Qichang also observed that Chen read unusual books [ yishu 異書]. More traditional forms of

17 Wang Heng, “Songs Presented to Mr. Chen Lianshi” in Collected Works of Wang Heng, 4:28b. But Wang Heng was not one to stop at one description of praise. In his foreword to a compilation that Chen edited on a subject close to this one, the History of Ofcials in Retirement, he says of Chen that his ambition was that of an ofcial in retirement [ yimin 逸民], a wryly amusing turn of phrase as retirement presupposes that one has once held ofce, something that Chen never did. This is another instance of the world of ofcialdom being posited against the world of reclusion. “Foreword to the History of Ofcials in Retirement” in Collected Works of Wang Heng, 6:16b–18b. 18 Quoted in Chen Wanyi, Late-Ming Xiaopin and the Lifestyle of Ming Dynasty Literati, p. 42. See both that page and the following one for suggestions by other writers that Chen was a shanren. 19 Fan Mingtai 范明泰, “Dushu jing xiaoxu” 讀書鏡小序 “Short Foreword to A Mirror for Reading” in Chen Jiru, A Mirror for Reading (1922 ed). 20 Chen Wanyi, Late-Ming Xiaopin and the Lifestyle of Ming Dynasty Literati, p. 100.

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commendation involved scholarship: when a group of early-seventeenth century literati were discussing the famed gures of their day one noted: “Chen Meigong of Yunjian, he infuses the Way into his creations, I respect his method.”21 In that quote Chen’s reclusion is merely hinted at, he is commended instead for his learning and talent. The highranking ofcial, Huang Daozhou wrote of whom he considered the seven peerless gures of his days saying: “For an ambition noble and high, knowledge wide and profound, none can equal Chen Jiru, the commoner from Huating.”22 Learning and talent were suitable subjects for those who wished to avoid the sharp issue of reclusion, a strategy later adopted in some measure by ofcial records of Chen. Chen had a number of detractors in his own day. His fellow townsman, Lu Yingyang 陸應陽, for example, cursed Chen as: “. . . a mumbling child.”23 More substantial are two records left by signicant cultural gures who met Chen before the fall of the dynasty yet who wrote about it later. Still young when the dynasty fell they lived the rest of their lives in the perceived shadow of Manchu humiliation, and they recalled Chen in a less than favourable light. Huang Zongxi wrote that he saw Chen leading an entourage around the Western Lake in Hangzhou in 1628. There were three groups in boats, one group was composed of ofcials, one of honoured guests, and one of students and friends. Huang described them as quite a crowd.24 In 1629 Huang joined the crowd. He went to Songjiang to visit Chen. Huang and some others had been invited to lunch with Chen at his Hall of Inviting Righteousness. It was early morning when he arrived so Huang moored his boat some distance away and walked over. Once Chen nished his toilet they ate, and after lunch Chen brushed poems on some fans for his guests, one of which was given to Huang.25 Huang Zongxi’s description appears dryly factual, but it all depends on how one interprets the tone. If it is read alongside Huang’s commitment through action to the fallen dynasty and the seriousness of his philosophical and historical works, Chen’s luncheon with fans and poems appears rather shallow and frivolous.

21 Cao Chen 曹臣, She hua lu 舌華錄 [The Resplendent Tongue] (Hefei: Huangshan shushe, 1996), p. 23. 22 MS, p. 6595. 23 Shen Defu, Private Gleanings of the Wanli Reign, p. 587. 24 Huang Zongxi, A Record of Considering the Past, 1b. 25 As recorded in Sun Jiasui, Complete Works of Huang Zongxi, pp. 340–1.

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Zhang Dai was perhaps just the person who would have found much about Chen objectionable. Zhang came from a wealthy background, but the fall of the Ming hastened the dissolution of his family and: Early in 1646 he was forced to pay a large ransom to redeem his son who had been kidnapped . . . With the exception of some books, he now had no property. Refusing to acknowledge Manchu sovereignty by shaving his head, he led a hermit’s life in the mountains, suffering frequently from lack of shelter, clothing and food.26

Zhang Dai left a record describing how, at the age of six and accompanying his grandfather, he had met Chen in Hangzhou, early in the seventeenth century. Zhang recalled beating Chen in a rhyming game. This may or may not be a veritable record, but it is the tone of Zhang’s recollection that concerns us here, Chen comes across a pitiable gure, an old man on an elk, unable to match wits with a child. Here is Zhang in Hangzhou: There we met Chen [ Jiru] who was astride an elk and travelling through the area. Chen said to my grandfather: “I hear that the boy is skilled in poetic repartee, let me test him.” Thereupon Chen pointed to a picture on a screen of Li Bai riding on a whale and said “Li Bai astride a whale, at Caishi, by the river, dredging for the moon”, and so I answered: “Meigong [Chen Jiru] astride an ass, at Qiantang, in the district, panning for some dough.27

The nal line is especially cutting; Chen is almost reduced to being a beggar. Finally, one noteworthy way of referring to Chen directly encapsulated the seventeenth-century change of attitude to Chen and his reputed lifestyle.28 Wang Siren’s foreword to the Hall of Evening 26

Fang Chao-ying, “Chang Tai” in ECCP, pp. 53–4. Zhang Dai, “Zi wei muzhiming” 自為墓誌銘 “Self-Written Tomb Epitaph” in Huang Zhuoyue 黃卓越 ed., Xianya xiaopin jiguan 閑雅小品集觀 [A Collection of Leisurely and Elegant Xiaopin], vol. 1, pp. 510–12. The story sounds rather apocryphal, coming as it does from Zhang Dai’s self-written necrology, hardly a genre with a reputation for reliable fact. Zhang says that he was when he was six years old he was taken by his grandfather on a trip to Hangzhou, regardless of the veracity the perception of Chen is hardly laudatory. 28 I have left the term ‘summoned scholar’ [zhengjun 徵君], often used in connection with Chen, to one side in the late-Ming context. This term was directly tied to the ‘expected’ court life and government service of one who is worthy. The implication is that the person in question has been summoned to serve but had not taken up the offer. The phrase often occurs in writing that is more formal, such as accounts of behaviour, or in bibliographic material, where one is constrained somewhat by the formal demands of the genre. One article positions it against the term shanren and argues that in general the adoption of one term or the other to describe Chen indicates the 27

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Fragrance calls Chen ‘the Grand Councillor in the Mountains’ [shanzhong zaixiang 山中宰相].29 This term was not common currency in the way that shanren was, and its association with Chen is frequent enough for us to see it as being particular to him, marking him as a distinct gure in the taxonomy of the late-Ming cultural landscape. The term originally referred to Tao Hongjing, a political gure turned recluse and alchemist, a millennia before Chen, who maintained his political inuence despite living in the mountains. The notion that Chen was indeed a ‘minister in the mountains’ may have had considerable currency in his day as at least one contemporary, whom Chen did not know well, described him thus.30 Chen himself acknowledged the term and apparently set up a plaque outside one of his studios that did read: ‘The Grand Councillor in the Mountains’. Elsewhere Chen used the term to describe himself in a way that appears wryly ironic.31 This expression maps the name of a high position in the world of ofcialdom onto an alternate world in the mountains, where Chen has his ‘ofce’. This term, pointing to Chen’s unofcial inuence in the political world, would retain its currency into the Qing, though not always in Chen’s favour. One immediate effect on the descriptions of Chen that came with the establishment of the Qing was a change in emphasis. Positive comments on Chen now usually shied away from the term ‘recluse’. Post–1644 reclusion has the same automatic moral righteousness as Yuan-era reclusion. China had been invaded and was being governed by a foreign race. However, in the early and then especially in the mid-Qing periods, late-Ming reclusion has a scent of dereliction of duty about it. From the vantage-point of post-dynastic change, the Ming empire had been in crisis and spending time chatting to monks out in the hill temples about tea was tantamount to abandoning one’s duty. For this reason, when someone wanted to praise Chen they often referred to him as the

author’s approval or disapproval. I nd the argument unconvincing, as in some respects do the authors of the article themselves as they observe in a footnote an occurrence of the term shanren being used to praise Chen. See Wu Chengxue and Li Bin, “Chen Meigong in Ming and Qing Eyes”, pp. 3–4. 29 In point of fact the term crops up in a late-Ming text that came to be closely related to Chen. The text reads: “Although such people may not be addicted to the mountains and rivers, one should recognise that the grand councillor in the mountains is without question an authentic gure.” See Lu Shaoheng, The Scouring Blade (Taipei: Laogu chubanshe, 1979), p. 18. 30 Cao Jiaju, On Dreams, 2:3a. 31 Chen Jiru, “Wanxianlu” 頑仙廬 “Hut of the Mischievous Immortal” in WXT, 4:20a.

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‘summoned gentleman’, in reference to the invitations from the court to serve.32 Other laudatory opinions also turned away from reclusion and focussed more on traditional Confucian concerns or emphasised Chen’s learning and literary talent. Ji Liuqi 計六奇 (. 1662–1671), presumably relying on the record in the Chronological Biography, wrote that when Chen’s father died not only was Chen grief stricken but that he carried dirt on his back and built it up into a rampart at the graveside, a most lial son.33 Writing sometime after the fall of the Ming, Qian Qianyi recalled Chen as trustworthy, wise, composed, and a ne Daoist. Qian nishes by saying some people criticise Chen, but they should not do so because his work was of value.34 A comment that recalls Wang Heng’s earlier remark that though the masters may have passed on, Chen the writer is their successor.35 This conception of Chen as primarily a writer is one that assumes more importance once opinions of Chen were decoupled from political considerations. There was a division in the late-seventeenth century between praise and condemnation with the praise moving away from describing Chen as a hermit to lauding his knowledge and literary works. It would not be much longer before the tag ‘hermit’ overwhelmingly became one of derision. For the moment let us turn to other forms of representing Chen. Chen in Portraits and Paintings Despite his longevity the historical record paints Chen as quite feeble, beyond the normal allowances made for the narrow-shouldered scholar stereotype. Chen suggested as much when wrote of himself that: Recluses of old ploughed the elds, but my strength is weak and I cannot. They caught sh, but I cannot take life, my second failing. They had many acres of land with hundreds of mulberry bushes, but I am poor and my land is barren, my third failing. They feasted on water and tightened their belts, but I cannot bear hunger, my fourth failing.36

32 A modest list of such references can be found in Wu Chengxue and Li Bin, “Reclusion and Social Municence”, p. 77. 33 Ji Liuqi, Northern Strategies of the Ming, 15: pp. 13a–15a. 34 Qian Qianyi, “The Summoned Scholar, Chen Jiru”. 35 See both Wang Heng, “Huai Chen Zhongchun” 懷陳仲醇 “Thinking of Chen” in Collected Works of Wang Heng, 1:14b–15a, and Wang Heng, “Qihuachang shi wei Xu Mengru Chen Zhongchun zuo” 乞花場詩為徐孟孺陳仲醇作 “A Poem on the Field for Suppliants with Flowers, Written for Xu Mengru and Chen Zhongchun” in Collected Works of Wang Heng, 1:20a–b. 36 Chen Jiru, Secret Matters of the Majestic Perch, 8a.

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One of Chen’s contemporaries remembered Chen as being physically frail,37 and Zhang Dai’s aforementioned meeting with Chen was in 1605, when Chen should have been at the height of his powers—in his mid forties and on his way to being an independent, successful writer. Yet Zhang described him as follows: “Meigong was very thin, he was happy if he could walk a mile or two.”38 This is hardly the description we would expect of a hardy hermit sharing his life with doughty woodcutters in the mountains. The number of visual representations of Chen from the seventeenth century, in paintings and other visual media, pales in comparison with the written record, but these depictions are not without interest. While we know that Chen’s portrait was hung in many tea-houses and wine shops, we do not know which portrait it was. A commonly reproduced image of Chen is a woodblock print. In this print Chen returns the viewer’s gaze with an uncomprehending, wild, and baleful stare. The artist has depicted Chen as a physical wreck. The body is frail and, rather than emphasising a high status, his billowing sleeves and long robe serve instead to accentuate his physical weakness. The huge sleeves, occupying a third of the picture’s length, do not so much look grand as they appear a giant tumour wrapped around his waist. His cap is ever so slightly awry, and as neither side of it matches any of the lines outlining his head, it lends it a slightly comical and pathetic tone to the picture. A more interesting and likely candidate for the image hung in the teahouses is a less common woodblock print. Here Chen is seated, though in what manner and on what is impossible to tell as his billowing robes once again hide him. In contrast to the previous picture, the robes here, with their owing lines and pleasant curves, have a liveliness and joy about them. The enormous sleeves, larger even that those of the previous picture, rather than oppressing Chen only further this expansive impression. Chen once again looks directly back at the viewer, and his eyes take and hold your attention. The picture is of interest for another reason: if all but the upper third of the picture, which contains the Confucian cap, is hidden, the viewer would expect a solid and conventional picture of a scholar-ofcial. Conversely, if just 37

Cao Jiaju, On Dreams, 2:3b. Zhang Dai, “Mi Kong” 麋公 “The Honourable Elk” in Taoan mengyi 陶庵夢憶 [Dreamy Recollections from the Potter’s Hut] (Shanghai: Shanghai guji chubanshe, 2001), p. 86. 38

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the robes from the shoulders down are shown there is so much vitality in the picture that the same viewer would expect one of the nine immortals, or some strange Daoist priest come to frolic on earth. This would be a much more suitable representation to hang in a place where people went to relax and socialise, so perhaps this was the tea-house picture. More importantly, this representation captures Chen in two different guises: in this representation he is a Confucian in his head, but a Daoist in his heart. A third representation of Chen, painted in the rst few decades of the seventeenth century shows us a different side. Huang Cunwu’s 黃存吾 painting Qinglin gaohui tu [青林高會圖 A Gathering of Nobles in the Dark Forest], shows Chen and Dong Qichang together, standing to the right of the picture (see cover). This means that they are the rst gures seen when the scroll is unrolled. Also represented in this imaginary, but not impossible, gathering are other gures from the cultural elite of the late Ming. The great xiaopin writer Wang Zhideng 王稚登 (1535–1612) is there, the dramatist Zhang Fengyi 張鳳翼 (1527–1613) is present, as is the monk Zhuhong 祩宏 (1535–1615). Scattered throughout the picture are several retainers, about half the size of their masters. Music, Buddhism, and poetry are all prominently featured as part of the gathering. Dong and Chen stand together under a tree. They both have the narrow shoulders of the scholar-ofcial, and sport whispy beards. They are wearing full-length robes with long sleeves. Dong is in ofcial costume—with wider sleeves than Chen, and his robes are edged with a dark facing. In his hand Dong holds a y-whisk, while Chen holds a small hand-scroll. Chen is not as engaging as he is in the previous illustration, but neither is he as forbidding as in the rst. His appearance is such that he does not look young, he is older than in the second woodblock but younger than in the rst. He appears approachable, but distant, as a good and wise recluse might be. Huang’s representation of him would, I think, have pleased Chen, for this painting emphasises the friendship between him and Dong, and places him in an important cultural milieu. A fourth visual representation of Chen is dated to the Shunzhi reign (順治 1644–1661) of the Qing dynasty. The picture is an illustration to a scene from Li Yu’s drama, the Yizhong yuan 意中緣 [Providence of the Heart]. It depicts a scene from the hilarious fth act in which Chen and Dong Qichang end up examining, and buying, works spuriously attributed to their own hands. As this representation offers no more depth than a generic portrait of two gentlemen visiting an art dealer’s

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shop it is not worth a detailed analysis. There is nothing in the picture that offers any profound insight into Chen, nor into how the artist viewed Chen.39 A second painting depicting Chen has been dated to 1652. Here a group of six famous gures from the late Ming (including Chen, Dong Qichang, the monk Qiutan, and Li Rihua) are set together in a pine glade. Although the painting was completed after Chen’s death, one of the two painters, Xiang Shengmo 項聖謨 (1597–1658), noted that it was set in 1635, a few years before Chen died.40 In this painting, called “Venerable Friends”, Chen is the most striking gure. His blue cap, the only truly bright colour in the painting, immediately draws the viewer’s attention. Chen also has the most authoritative beard, white and full. His shoulders are noticeably weaker and rounder than any of the other gures, the traditional literatus body. Though old he does not look ill. Pride of place in the composition belongs to Dong Qichang, who holds one end of an open scroll. Chen holds the other end and, despite being partly hidden by his friend, the monk Qiutan, Chen is the dominant gure of the four on the right-hand side. A kind portrait by a friend who clearly missed him this painting, in which Chen is not drawn in an exaggerated manner, may be the most true representation we have. Few as they are, these representations of Chen strengthen and give shape to the pictures we might draw in our minds from the written records. They also serve to corroborate the wealth of opinions on Chen, now Confucian, now Daoist, now literatus, now frail, now expansive. The paintings especially, but perhaps also the woodblocks were presumably based on the physical appearance of the real Chen. As a character in a drama however, it was no longer the physical Chen that was being portrayed, but the Chen of the imagination. Chen in Dramatic Works The description of real gures in ction is another way of combining the world of personal fame with that of writing. Chen appears in several dramas of the seventeenth century. Sometimes the dramas mention

39 I rst came across this in C. Clunas, Pictures and Visuality, p. 115. I would like to thank Craig Clunas for providing two references to earlier printings of this work. 40 Chu-Tsing Li and James C.Y. Watt eds., The Chinese Scholar’s Studio: Artistic Life in the Late Ming Period (New York: Thames and Hudson, 1987), p. 144.

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Chen by inference, and sometimes directly by name. This latter style, of the direct naming of a contemporary gure, appears to be uncommon, with most late-Ming and early-Qing dramas dealing with popular stories or mythologies from the past. It is true that some plays dealt with contemporary politics, such as Wang Shizhen’s Mingfeng ji 鳴鳳記 [The Singing Pheonix], and that some early-Qing dramas were concerned with the fall of the Ming, with these latter plays usually written anonymously, but the use of Chen appears particular, and stands as testament to the position he occupied in the cultural imagination.41 The Yulunpao Tune [鬱輪袍 Yulunpao] In a short entry in one of his own works, Chen made some minor observations about theatre. He also noted that his good friend, Wang Heng, had written a dramatic version of the story of how the Tang dynasty gure Wang Wei 王維 (701–761), the renowned ofcial-recluse, came to compose the Yulunpao tune. In this play Chen appeared as the model for the gure of Wang Wei’s great friend, Pei Di 裴迪 (716–?).42 In history Pei Di is best known for a suite of nature poems that echoed those by Wang Wei; in Wang Heng’s drama he is there to convince Wang Wei of the heinous nature of the examination system, of an associated corruption of power, and of the benets of becoming a recluse. The play itself is of a type known as a northern drama [zaju 雜劇]. In an article discussing the forms of expression in Ming and Qing drama, the Taiwanese scholar Wang Ay-ling has pointed out that northern dramas tend to have a closer afnity to the author’s own life than those in the romantic drama [chuanqi 傳奇] form.43 This observation tallies well with what we know of Wang Heng’s life, particularly his humiliation in having his examination results challenged, when he was not at fault at all.44 It also suggests that the characterisation of Pei is related to the real gure of Chen. 41 See Josephine Huang Hung, Ming Drama (Taipei: Heritage Press, 1966), p. 125 for a synopsis of Wang Shizhen’s play, and pp. 228–242 for a discussion of early-Qing anonymous political dramas. 42 Chen Jiru, Clear Words from a Peaceful World, 1:5b. 43 Wang Ay-ling 王璦玲, “Ming-Qing shuhuai xiefen zaju zhi yishu tezhi chengfen” 明清抒懷寫憤雜劇之藝術特質成分 “The Artistic Characteristics and Elements of Ming and Qing Expressive Northern Drama” Zhongguo wenzhe yanjiu jikan 中國文哲研 究集刊 [Collected Papers on Research into Chinese Literature and Philosophy], 13, pp. 37–120. The term chuanqi has been attached to different forms of literature at different times, see Josephine Huang Hung, Ming Drama, pp. 8–10. 44 Zhou Yuhua 周榆華, “Wang Heng de kechang jiyu yu zaju Yulunpao” 王衡的

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The play is stacked with late-Ming concerns such as forgeries and the vanity of ofcial rank, and it may well have been a vehicle through which Wang Heng could express some of his frustration and indignation. Wang Heng was also able to draw some aspects of Chen’s character into the debate on the relative merits of serving in ofce or withdrawal. There are obvious hints of Chen’s own character: a clear disinclination to bother about the examinations is evident when Pei eats the poem that Wang Wei had submitted to the examiner, for example.45 There is also Pei’s comment that it is better to be a leader in a small group, than to assume an unimportant role in a larger group, another sentiment welcome to Chen.46 Despite the possibility of the character being close to the real Chen, Chen, as Pei, appears mostly as a dramatic device, a type of sounding board for Wang Wei. This can be seen early on when he encourages Wang to accept an invitation to a princess’ banquet that will prove central to the plot, a type of hobnobbing that Chen was not interested in publicly promoting. At the end of the play a Buddhist monk, arriving on stage as a deus ex machina, tells Pei and Wang that because they do not value success at the examinations above all else, they will be transformed immediately into recluses a few hundred years in the future, presumably with a better life.47 Interestingly, here Pei/Chen refuses this instant reincarnation to another world, indicating that he wants to stay where he is. An interpretation of this invoking Chen’s possible satisfaction would be too speculative. Until a rmer record of Wang Heng’s motivations in writing the character of Pei Di appear, outlining the comparisons he may have wanted to draw between the dramatis personae and its real-life inspiration, the details will remain tenuous. The drama occupies a grey zone in which there is a

科場際遇與雜劇《鬱輪袍》“Wang Heng’s Experiences in the Examination System and the Drama Yulunpao” in Jiangxi guangbo dianshi daxue xuebao 江西廣播電視大學學報, 2006:3, pp. 23–4. Wang Heng had excelled in the examinations, coming second in one of them. He was appointed to the Hanlin Academy, as a Junior Compiler, but his career never reected his full potential, nor did it reach the heights that his father’s had. Ironically, this was partly caused by his success in the abovementioned examination, an accomplishment that aroused suspicion in some and envy in others. He was accused of being the recipient of nepotism and, although he was completely exonerated by re-examination, he did not sit the Palace Examination until his father had retired. See also Chou Tao-chi and Lienche Tu Fang, “Wang Hsi-chüeh” in DMB, p. 1378. 45 Wang Heng, The Yulunpao Tune, 4b, in Shen Tai 沈泰 ed., Sheng Ming zaju 盛明雜劇 [High Ming Northern Drama] (Beijing: Zhongguo xiju chubanshe, 1958), 18a. 46 Ibid., 18b. 47 Ibid., 30a.

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clear link between Chen and one of the characters, but it is impossible to draw direct conclusions. The Peony Pavilion [牡丹亭 Mudan ting] With the Peony Pavilion we nd a drama where there are stronger suggestions that a role was truly based on Chen Jiru. The difference between this drama and the previous one is that the ‘role’ in this drama is not associated with any other historical gure. This allows us to either view the role as a manifestation of Chen, or as one dictated by the needs of the plot. The character of the tutor in Tang Xianzu’s 湯顯祖 (1550–1616) famous drama, the Peony Pavilion, has been claimed by a number of critics as being based on Chen Jiru.48 Although they do not appear to have corresponded, Chen and Tang would almost certainly have known each other, as Tang was a regular visitor to Wang Heng’s residence.49 Tang and Dong Qichang were also in contact, making it even more likely that Chen and Tang met on more than one occasion.50 Chen once wrote a colophon to a critical edition of the Peony Pavilion in which he demonstrated his support for Tang’s focus on the emotional [qing] aspect of the drama, but in this piece he made no comment about the tutor.51 Nevertheless, if Tang based the role of the tutor on Chen Jiru he was more likely than not drawing on rst-hand knowledge. On a supercial level it is easy to see the possible similarities between Chen Jiru and Chen Zuiliang, the tutor of the play. The tutor, a position that Chen held for a couple for decades, is presented as a feckless, bumbling fool, a useless scholar trying to eke out an existence however he can. But there are other aspects to the Chen of the play that are opposed by the historical record. The Chen of the play sits the exams fteen times within forty-ve years, his father is a herbalist, and at one point he adapts a line from Han Yu 韓愈 (768–824) to offer the opinion

48 See, for example, Qian Zhongshu 錢鍾書, “Xiaoshuo suozheng” 小說瑣徵 “Some Substantiations of Matters in Fiction” quoted in Guo Zhongyi 郭中一, “Yusi fengpian guayan zhi” 雨絲風片孤煙直 “Spring Winds and Rain; A Solitary Wisp of Smoke” Guowen tiandi 國文天地, 2001, vol. 194, p. 101. 49 Zeng Yongyi 曾永義, Ming zaju yanjiu 明雜劇研究 [Research into Ming Drama] (Taipei: Tianyichu, 1977), p. 377. 50 See the letters from Tang to Dong in Xu Shuofang ed., Tang Xianzu ji 湯顯祖集 [Collected Works of Tang Xianzu] (Shanghai: Shanghai renmin chubanshe, 1973), pp. 1343–4; and p. 1403. 51 Chen Jiru, “Pidian Mudan ting tici” 批點牡丹亭題詞 “Inscription for a Critical Edition of the Peony Pavilion” in Xu Shuofang ed., Collected Works of Tang Xianzu, pp. 1544–5.

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that: “Study is perfected through application, neglected through pleasure seeking.”52 The tutor is fond of quoting from the Confucian classics though, unlike the real Chen, he does not always get them right.53 It is impossible to imagine Chen Jiru making such elementary mistakes. We do not know what Chen Jiru’s father did, but we know that Chen did not sit the exams that many times and furthermore, unlike the Chen of the play, he never accepted any ofcial position. In the Peony Pavilion Chen is sometimes more a dramatic device than a true character. This seems especially so in the three scenes which deal with the negotiations between the rebel Li Quan 李全 and the ofcial Du Bao 杜寶. Here the Chen of the play is sent shufing from camp to camp in just the sort of dangerous political intrigue that the real Chen spent his life avoiding.54 The Chen of the drama is also a foil—to the humorous banter of the effervescent and irrepressible maid, Chunxiang 春香.55 This is either mocking Chen Jiru by having a maid get the better of him, or is intended as simple entertainment for the audience and is not related in any way to Chen. At the end of the play the tutor acts as a master of ceremonies, reconciling conicting gures and bringing the plot to a close, so we know that the tutor’s role in the play was sometimes written in as a dramatic device. In these rst two dramas it was writers who knew Chen who drew his character, yet this character was sometimes portrayed as acting in a way that was not in accord with what we know of the real Chen Jiru. In Chen’s most notable role in a drama, written by someone who did not know him, he is drawn much closer to the way he was regarded as a public gure. The Providence of the Heart The most extensive use of Chen as a character in a drama is in Li Yu’s early Qing play Providence of the Heart. Li Yu has written Chen and his good friend Dong Qichang, undisguised, as the protagonists, in a thirty-scene comedy that manages to mention nearly every late-Ming

52 Cyril Birch, The Peony Pavilion (Bloomington: Indiana University Press, 1980), p. 90. For the notes to this scene I have used Shao Haiqing 邵海清, Mudan ting 牡丹亭 [Peony Pavilion] (Taipei: Sanmin shuju, 1999), p. 135. 53 See Cyril Birch, The Peony Pavilion, p. 269, n. 3. 54 See scenes forty-ve to forty-seven. 55 See, in particular, scene ve. Though Chen does occasionally get back at her, most notably in scene eighteen.

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theme possible. In the pages of this drama reputations are at risk, and the uses and abuses of fame are manifest. There is a nefarious monk who is not really a monk at all, the forging of artworks, brigands to be defeated, and uncertainties about social rank and etiquette. The main plot is simple enough: Chen Jiru and Dong Qichang go on a boating excursion to the West Lake in Hangzhou. Stopping at a lakeside gallery they nd works that are forgeries of their respective styles. The forgers turn out to be two talented, young, beautiful women, and the rest of the play involves Chen and Dong nding and marrying their respective forgers. Dong has the larger part in the play, he begins the action by mentioning the excursion, and ends the play with his marriage. But Chen’s role is considerable, and I will outline the course his part in the plot takes. Dong initially introduces Chen to the audience as a noble scholar [ gaoshi 高士]. This is Chen’s cue to say something about himself. He begins by portraying himself as a wild crane, ying around at his whim. He then goes on to say: “I am ashamed that the roots of my celebrity cannot be washed clean . . . I have made an agreement with Dong to go on an excursion and ee from our fame.”56 It is not clear what has sullied the roots of Chen’s celebrity. It seems to have been his interaction with the vulgar world, for when Dong is requested, on the point of departure for the excursion, for a painting on a fan, he complains that this is the tiresome nature of fame. This is a complaint that will be stood on its head later in the play when it is Chen’s name, and the popular demand for his writing, that will save his wife-to-be from mortal peril. Nonetheless, Chen and Dong go on their excursion, see the forgeries and desire to nd the forgers. The woman who painted in Chen’s style turns out to be a famous courtesan from Fujian 福建 called Lin Tiansu 林天素. As it happens, Lin Tiansu’s maid had come into the gallery while Chen and Dong were still there, looking at the forgeries. Once Chen realises who forged his work he makes it clear to everyone, there and then, that he wants to marry Lin. A meeting is arranged, and the scene where Chen and Lin Tiansu state their devotion to each other is when we rst get an idea of the power and extent of Chen’s celebrity. Lin confesses that using Chen’s name on her works, and then meeting him, is comparable to a thief

56 Helmut Martin ed., Li Yu quanji 李漁全集 [Complete Works of Li Yu] (Taipei: Chengwen chubanshe, 1970), p. 3238.

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meeting up with the owner of the goods that they have just stolen and sold.57 She says that Chen’s talent and celebrity are so overwhelming that they ring like thunder in her ears.58 Chen and Lin Tiansu part, she intends to return to Fujian, to bury her parents, before returning to be forever with Chen. This sets up a situation that allows Li Yu to further describe the extent and power of Chen’s reputation. For her journey back to Fujian, Lin had dressed as a man for her own protection, but a rebel band captured her high up in the mountains. On being captured it seemed that her most likely fate would be death, but when she demonstrates that she is literate the bandit leader, taking her for an educated young man, demands that she serve as his secretary. The situation then seems hopeless, but eventually Lin’s maid escapes the mountain redoubt. The maid takes a letter to Chen imploring him to do what he can to get Lin released. When the maid delivers the letter to Chen he is in the company of a literati friend, Jiang Huaiyi 江懷一. When Jiang hears of Lin Tiansu’s plight, he mentions that he knows a general who could help rescue Lin. The general, Jiang says, is an appreciative admirer of Chen’s writing. Jiang tells Chen that if he were to compose a poem, especially for the general, then the general will destroy the bandits and rescue Lin. Chen accordingly writes a poem on a fan, the reverse side of which carries a letter from Jiang to the general. On receiving the fan the general exclaims: “The poem presented [to me] today will be in Chen’s collection tomorrow, and then my name will be immortal.”59 The general sees his opportunity for immortality not coming through the traditional route for a gure of his position, through success in a military endeavour that will later come to be written down in a dynastic history, or through having a temple established in his honour, but through association with one of the most popular writers of the day. His posthumous fame is assured if he can get his name into a collection of Chen’s writing. Chen’s celebrity is so powerful that a single poem is sufcient to buy the services of an army. The general and his army subsequently rescue Lin, and the bandit leader is killed. Chen and Lin are re-united and thank Jiang, but Jiang insists that the happy outcome was only brought about though the power of Chen’s poetry!60 57 58 59 60

Ibid., Ibid., Ibid., Ibid.,

p. p. p. p.

3286. 3287. 3391. 3414.

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Li Yu’s depiction of Chen is, I think, rarely affected by the demands of the plot. One instance of Chen being used as a dramatic device does occur when a fake wedding is arranged between Lin Tiansu and Yang Yunyou 楊雲友, the woman Dong desires. When the sedan-chair carrying the newly wedded couple arrives Chen and Jiang rush on and effusively offer their congratulations.61 This scene gives no insight into Chen’s character, but his actions are necessary in aiding the deception played on Yang Yunyou. But this is really the only instance of Chen’s character functioning as a dramatic device. Li Yu was writing when many people who had known Chen were still alive. He would not have been able to invent a character too far removed from Chen or it would not have been believable, and there would have been no reason to openly name the character Chen Jiru. Li has stayed close to a portrayal of Chen that Chen himself would readily recognise: a cultural colossus and urban recluse. There is also the possibility that Li Yu paid close attention to the development of his characterisation of Chen as he makes Chen say: “All is emptiness, emptiness is all.”62 The well-known Buddhist maxim that Chen used in his self-written ‘will’ preserved in the Chronological Biography. This is a common enough Buddhist phrase so it cannot be argued that Chen’s will was the direct source for Li Yu, but it does give a sense of how accurate Li Yu’s depiction was. In summary, Chen is quite a positive gure in Providence of the Heart. There is no indication that society is about to fall apart because of his actions. Indeed, contrary to that, order is restored through the elimination of the bandit, on account of Chen’s actions. It is noteworthy that this is the nal positive dramatic representation of Chen. Chen’s Works in Other Collections Chen’s work began to appear in other collections before the seventeenth century and has continued to the present. The earliest example is probably an edition of the Fragrant Archives included in the collectanea Yimen guangdu 夷門廣牘 [Numerous Books from the Peaceful Gate], published in 1596. As Chen’s fame grew, more and more of his works were collected in large anthologies. The compiler, Feng Kebin 馮可賓 61 62

Ibid., p. 3423. Ibid., p. 3375.

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(. 1630), for example, saw t to include six of Chen’s works in the Guang baichuan xuehai 廣百川學海 [Ocean of Learning from the Broad Hundred Rivers], printed during the 1620s.63 In addition to the larger anthologies, Chen’s works also came to be included in smaller discerning volumes. As a writer Chen would have been pleased to have been collected, along with others with whom the xiaopin genre is associated such as Xu Wei, Yuan Hongdao, Yuan Zhongdao, Tu Long, and Wang Siren, in the late-Ming collection Huang Ming shiliujia xiaopin 皇明十六名家小品 [Sixteen Great Xiaopin Writers]. This work was compiled by the literatus He Weiran 何偉然, a townsman of Chen’s from Huating, and published in 1633. This inclusion is important as it suggests that Chen’s writing was valued, not only by the popular audience that much of his work was aimed at, but also by his peers. Chen’s death and the fall of the Ming saw his works reprinted less often. An edition of Shuo fu 說郛 [Talk from the City Walls], containing ten works by Chen, was brought out in 1647, and in 1688 a large collection of Tang dynasty poetry, the Tang shi sanji hebian 唐詩三集合編 [Three Collections of Tang Poems], including a foreword by Chen on the subject, appeared. Although publications of Chen’s works were becoming rare, he was still a well-known gure and throughout the remainder of the seventeenth century his works were drawn on to supplement the collections of other writers.64 His inuence as a writer also appears to have continued into the early Qing, but unless the writer overtly attributes his

63 The six works were: A History of Notes on Painting, Secret Matters of the Majestic Perch, Pillow Talk, Zhangzhe yan 長者言 [Words of the Elders], Qun suilu 群碎錄 [Multitude of Fragmentary Records], and the Fragrant Archives. According to the Yong Rong 永瑢 ed., Siku quanshu zongmu tiyao 四庫全書總目提要 [Summary of the General Index to the Complete Library in Four Branches of Literature] (Taipei: Taiwan shangwu, 1971), 25:85, this work is nothing less than a direct copy from remnants of the collectanea Shuo fu 說郛 [Talk from the City Walls]. The Talk from the City Walls has chartered a long and uncertain course since its rst edition in the fourteenth century. By the turn of the sixteenth century no original copies remained and a new edition with works added from other sources was published sometime before 1620. A supplement, Shuofu xu 說郛續 [More Talk from the City Walls], which included some of Chen’s works, came out at this time. As Chen’s work appears in the Ocean of Learning from the Broad Hundred Rivers they presumably also appeared in the pre-1620 publication of the More Talk from the City Walls. In addition to the works listed above, the following works were also collected in More Talk from the City Walls: the Reading: Sixteen Views, Shuhua jintang 書畫金湯 [Golden Soup Notes on Painting], “Biography of the Honourable Master Li” and the “Yang Youyan zhuan” 楊幽妍傳 “Biography of Yang Youyan”. 64 For a short list see Wu Chengxue and Li Bin, “Reclusion and Social Municence”, p. 71.

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style or content to Chen it is difcult to ascertain just how considerable this inuence was. Consider the following passage: Plums make you lofty, orchids make you private, chrysanthemums make you untrammelled, lotus’ make you chatty, the cherry-apples of spring make you attractive, peonies make you noble, plantains and bamboo make you harmonious, the cherry-apples of autumn make you beautiful, pines make you withdrawn, paulownias make you pure, willows make you emotional.65

This passage echoes the one from Chen quoted in chapter six: “Incense makes you subtle. Alcohol makes you remote. Stone makes you extraordinary . . .” But the passage I have just quoted is from Zhang Chao’s 張潮 (1650–?) Youmeng ying 幽夢影 [Traces of a Secluded Dream], published late in the seventeenth century. This is obviously not plagiarism, but the similarity is unmistakable, and we know that Zhang liked Chen’s style, so there was probably a direct inuence in this case. But attempts at attribution in other instances are fraught with uncertainty and it is possible to state little more than the obvious: a style of writing in the early-Qing period was a continuation of its direct predecessor in the late Ming, and Chen Jiru was one of the better exponents of that style. We turn now to a work that bridges the gap between the reprinting of Chen’s works and those that were spuriously attributed to him. The Secret Satchel from the Hall of Treasuring Yan The Secret Satchel was published in six instalments over a period of nearly two decades, beginning with two instalments in 1606.66 The title initially referred only to the 1606 instalment that comprised Chen’s own works.67 The other instalment of 1606, one that Chen helped the Shen

65

Zhang Chao, (Taipei: Sanmin shuju, 2005), p. 146. The later instalments came out under the name Yizheng tang 亦政堂 [The Hall of Also Participating in Governance], the name of Shen Dexian’s studio. The reason for this change was that Shen Fuxian had died sometime before 1615, when the third instalment was published. As Chen’s fame grew, his name became attached to the entire anthology that is now known as the Secret Satchel. This has had the ironic consequence of displacing the title from the collection that was the rst instalment of his own works—that collection is now known as the Meigong zazhu 眉公雜著 [Miscellaneous Works of Meigong]. The entire collection was certainly known by the title The Secret Satchel from the Hall of Treasuring Yan, and attributed to Chen, by the 1780s as it appears as such in the General Index. 67 The full title of that instalment was Shangbaizhai juan Chen Meigong Baoyantang miji 尚白齋鐫陳眉公寶顏堂祕笈 [The Venerating White Studio’s Edition of Chen Meigong’s Secret Satchel from the Hall of Treasuring Yan]. 66

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brothers edit, was titled Shangbaizhai miji 尚白齋祕笈 [The Secret Satchel from the Studio of Venerating White]. The Studio of Venerating White was the name of Shen Fuxian’s studio. The full collection of the Secret Satchel brings together two hundred and ninety-two different works, some of which date back to the Han dynasty, though a clear majority were from the Ming and included many contemporary writings. Most of the works are full of anecdotes or notes, and are often on art and literature. The collection included contemporary works of interest such as Yuan Hongdao’s History of Vases and Matteo Ricci’s (1552–1610) Jiaoyou lun 交友論 [Treatise on Friendship]. There is no evidence of how well the anthology sold, or in what quantity it was published, but it would have attracted a variety of readers. For those harbouring social aspirations to the world of high culture, this was an excellent collection of material that could serve as a valuable introduction to art and literature. Those readers were not even troubled by having to read the unexpurgated versions, Chen and other editors abridged, and prepared for publication, many of the works in the collection. The collection itself has been criticised in modern times on just these grounds, for unsatisfactory collation and editing.68 Sometimes Chen edited the works alone, but more often he worked with other people, some of whom were already major gures in the literary world. One such gure was Li Rihua, and he features prominently in the collection. A townsman of the Shen brothers from Jiaxing, Li worked, mostly as a prefectural judge, for about a decade, until 1604 when his mother died and he returned home for a period of mourning. He then stayed home for two decades before once again working for a few years. His famous dairy, the Weishui xuan riji 味水軒日記 [Diary from the Tasting Water Pavilion], is partly preserved and in the years from 1609–1616 Chen is mentioned on several occasions.69 Chen and Li’s cooperation in literary matters was signicant: in addition to the works in the Secret Satchel that Li edited and proofread himself, he and Chen did this together with ve other works which were collected in the third,

68

K.T. Wu, “Ming Printing and Printers”, p. 256. See Chaoying Fang, “Li Jih-hua” in DMB, p. 828. Chen is mentioned as early as 1610 (Ming ed, 2:4a) and more importantly in two entries for the rst month of 1615 (7:3a–4a.) where Li says that he copied out some sections of Chen’s work, the Reading: Sixteen Views, for a guest and added some comments of his own. The version of the diary I have used is from the Xiaoyuan congshu 嘯園叢書 [Whistling Garden Series] of 1879. 69

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fourth and fth instalments.70 In their cooperation we can see Chen putting his name alongside that of another celebrated writer. Chen’s contribution to the project ostensibly seems to have been mostly as an editor, and he was obviously closely involved in the initial selection of texts for inclusion, as they came from his own library. However, it seems that in the end his most important contribution was his name. Shen Fuxian noted how important Chen’s contribution was to the third volume by saying that it was very much a three-way project involving his brother, Chen, and himself.71 There is little doubt that Chen was closely involved, but his participation wavered over the various instalments; his greatest involvement was in the second instalment, published sometime around 1610.72 In an article given to trying to untangle some of the real and spurious attributions of various works to Chen, the literary historian Li Bin, focuses his attention on this collection. Li observes the later Qing criticisms of the uneven quality of the collection and supports them with quotations from Chen’s own letters to a friend; Chen noted that: “The Secret Satchel is not my work, those in the book trade have falsely afxed my name to it, none of it is real.”73 As Li Bin noted: Chen Meigong’s name appeared above that of the Shen brothers, in this instance the brothers were using Chen’s name as a signboard [to make the collection more attractive to prospective buyers].74

70 Another gure whose works are prominent in the collection, and who worked with Chen, is Tu Long. Tu’s work was very popular for a time, and Chen was certainly aware of this. In the rst instalment of the Secret Satchel ve, or one quarter of the works, are from Tu’s hand. Tu is only represented by those ve works, nothing from his hand appears in any of the later instalments of the Secret Satchel. This can be partly ascribed to his death in 1605 (Lu Shusheng, who died in the same year, still has a work included in the 1620 instalment though). More likely it represents the shooting-star type popularity that Tu’s works enjoyed, particularly in the nal two decades of the sixteenth century, and which fell back to a more modest position after his death. 71 See Shen Fuxian, “Xu miji tici” 續秘笈題辭 “An Introduction to the Xu Volume of the Secret Satchel” Ming ed. 72 A brief statistical overview is a useful guide. Chen’s stated involvement, here dened as either having written, edited or proofread the work, over the ve instalments is as follows: 10, 90, 50, 45, and 25 percent respectively. (The size of the instalments does not vary enough to have a measurable effect. I have not taken into account the length of the works, the difculty of the content of the works and the access to good copy, and so on.) 73 Li Bin, “An Examination of Works Spuriously Attributed to Chen Meigong”, p. 148. 74 Ibid., p. 147.

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This is certainly a publication that Chen initially had contributed to, even if that contribution were merely limited to his supplying the resources of a library from which works for inclusion, in at least the initial volume, could be chosen. It seems that the Shen brothers continued the work, but realising the commercial benets of retaining Chen’s name even after his involvement had dwindled or nished, changed the studio title under which the works appeared but did not remove Chen’s name. Spurious Editions and False Attributions Spurious works, by whatever denition, have a long history in the Chinese world. While the texts of the oracle bones of the second millennium BC are apparently bereft of a self-conscious interaction with a written tradition, many of the works traditionally attributed to the Western Zhou period (1045BC–771BC) already display an awareness of the possible advantages of massaging the past to suit the purposes of the present.75 This is the manipulation of content to serve a certain agenda. From that manipulation of ‘fact’ it is but a short step to books being composed with spurious content, and then to them being deliberately misattributed. This is not the place to chart the course of spurious works through the better part of the following two millennia—merely to point out that those involved in such activities during the late Ming were indulging in practices with a long and sophisticated history. Authenticity was a subject of considerable discussion during the late-Ming period and several critical texts on spurious works were published. Two of the better-known works were the Sibu zhengwei 四部 正 [Correcting Errors in the Four Classications], by Hu Yinglin 胡應麟 (1551–1602), published in 1586, and the aforementioned Playing with Flaws, by Qian Xiyan, written a couple of decades later. The rst work focuses on books from before the Han, though some later works are also mentioned. The second work is more contemporary and contains essays on real and fake books, in particular on editions of the popular

75 See, for instance, from the Shu Jing 書經 [Book of Documents], the passage “Kang gao” 康誥 [“Directives to Kang”] in which King Wu is enfeofng his younger brother Prince Kang. Wu makes clear the achievements of their deceased father, King Wen, and instructs Kang to follow the example that has been set and further, that a certain type of behaviour is concordant with keeping the goodwill of Heaven, and thus the right to rule.

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novel Shuihu zhuan 水滸傳 [Outlaws of the Marsh] and several spurious copies of works purportedly by Li Zhi. That these books came out at the time gives some idea of the late-Ming resurgence of concern surrounding authenticity. Many Ming sources point to this phenomenon and Chen himself noted on more than one occasion that there were many forgeries available in his area.76 Chen also commented on the prevalence of his name to be added to works that were not his: “My works have none of the profundity of Wang Heng’s, but my name nonetheless is frequently pirated; it appears on works of all kinds, and these spurious copies are very publicly available.”77 He wrote of the same treatment given to Dong Qichang: in an essay celebrating Dong’s sixtieth birthday Chen wrote that of the works circulating with Dong’s name on them only one in ten was truly from Dong’s hand.78 Unlike a number of other gures whose writings came out in unauthorised versions, there is evidence that Chen would pursue his falsiers through legal channels. In one instance this led to the publisher being punished and the woodblocks being destroyed.79 Records indicate that Chen’s writings were commonly brought out in unauthorised editions during his lifetime. The Qin Han wenkuai 秦漢 文膾 [Choice Selections of Qin and Han Literature] was compiled by Chen. It is composed of selections from works traditionally dated between the Warring States’ period and the end of the Han dynasty such as the Records of the Historian and the History of the Han. In compiling the work Chen neglected to mention his sources, changed the traditional headings of the excerpts and, in an amusing foreword, railed against someone in the local area who had brought out a work under this name and falsely attributed it to him (Chen), presumably in order to improve sales.80

76 Chen Jiru, “Foreword to the Collected Works of Wang Heng” in Collected Works of Wang Heng, 27:8b, and Chen Jiru, A History of Notes on Painting, 11b–12a. The former entry is in relation to forged books being available in Songjiang, the latter entry concerns the many forgeries that were available of a particular piece of calligraphy by Su Shi. In the latter entry Chen also notes that forgeries were often highly valued. 77 Chen Jiru, “Foreword to the Collected Works of Wang Heng”, p. 74. 78 See Chen Jiru, “Shou Siweng Dong gong liushi xu” 壽思翁董公六十序 “Foreword to Birthday Greetings for Dong Siweng’s Sixtieth Birthday” in QJ, 15:26a–28a. 79 Chow, Kai-wing, Publishing, Culture, and Power in Early Modern China, pp. 139–40. 80 Chen Jiru, “Qin-Han wenkuai xu” 秦漢文膾序 “Foreword to Choice Selections of Qin and Han Literature” Chen Jiru, Choice Selections of Qin and Han Literature (Ming ed).

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It was not merely single works by Chen that were brought out in unauthorised versions. Yuan Zhongdao mentions having come across a pirated edition of the shorter version of the Meigong ji 眉公集 [Collected Works of Meigong] in the Lower Yangste Valley.81 This was a clear indication that Chen’s name carried enough public recognition to warrant other publishers bringing out substantial editions of his works. Chen’s son, Menglian, wrote in the colophon to Chen’s Collected Works that there were unauthorised copies of the Hall of Evening Fragrance and Meigong shizhong cangshu 眉公十種藏書 [Meigong’s Ten Hidden Books] available.82 While these editions were direct copies, some works attributed to Chen did not come out under the original title. Chen’s Collection of Unusual Classical Literature was presumably popular enough as a work with the title Guwenpin neilu 古文品內錄 [Collection of Orthodox Classical Literature] was later published spuriously under his name. Most of the above-mentioned works were still largely the same as Chen’s editions, but Chen’s name was also attached to works that were not his at all. In the 1620s a certain Zheng Xuan 鄭瑄 brought out a work entitled Zuofeian rizuan 昨非庵日纂 [The Daily Edition from the Hut of Bygone Errors]. It rapidly appeared, quite possibly in the same year, under Chen’s name with the title changed to the Fushou quanshu 福壽全書 [Complete Book of Good Fortune and Longevity]. The deception was so clumsy that it cannot have come from Chen’s hand. The literary historian Li Bin examined this work and commented that all the forgers did was alter the author’s name, title, and the order of the six forewords. The forgers seem to have make a half-hearted attempt to ‘correct’ the forewords: in Gu Xichou’s 顧錫疇 (. 1620s) foreword, for instance, they changed ‘Master Zheng’ to ‘Master Chen’. However, they left the job undone and Xu Zhi’s 許豸 foreword, which repeatedly mentions Zheng Xuan but not Chen, was left unchanged. Finally, one of the original forwards was by Chen, it is still extant and clearly shows that the work was not his.83 Just how tangled these questions of authenticity were, and how Chen was invariably caught up in them, can be seen in two works that were published with Chen’s name attached. One was an ‘unauthorised 81 Quoted in Jiang Deming et al eds., Ah Ying’s Notes on Literature, p. 113. It was presumably the seventeen-chapter edition, rst published in 1616, as Yuan Zhongdao died in the 1620s. 82 Chen Menglian, “Chen Meigong quanji bayu” 陳眉公先生全集 (跋語) “Colophon to The Collected Works of Chen Meigong” in QJ. 83 Li Bin, “An Examination of Works Spuriously Attributed to Chen Meigong”, p. 150.

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history’, the other an edition of the famous drama the Pipa ji 琵琶記 [Story of the Lute] which was attributed to Chen. The Xianqing yeshi 閑情 野史 [The Unauthorised History of Being Unrufed] probably came out in the 1630s. A selection of tales, it was compiled by a townsman of Chen’s by the name of Jin Jing 金鏡 (. 1630s). Jin apparently showed the prospective book to Chen and had him write a foreword and some comments to it. Jin left almost no mark on history but, in a prescient moment, added a colophon to the book that recorded his own name and address. The work soon appeared in public, however, with Chen’s name at the beginning of every chapter (by whose contrivance this is unknown, but all three parties, Jin, Chen, and the publisher, have a possible motive), leading readers to suspect that the book was indeed by Chen. However, Jin Jing’s colophon, indicating the true nature of the work was also included, and that ensured that the historical truth in this instance would not be completely swamped by Chen’s popularity.84 With respect to the Story of the Lute, the Cantonese scholar Huang Shizhong has undertaken substantial research into the many recensions of this play, including one attributed to Chen called Chen Meigong piping pipa ji 陳眉公批評琵琶記 [Chen Meigong’s Literary Commentary on the Story of the Lute]. The following paragraph is a summary of Huang Shizhong’s research. I note at the outset that the contemporary literary critic Qi Biaojia 祁彪佳 (1602–45) had observed that literary commentary editions were notoriously suspect.85 Huang began by observing that late-Ming printings of Chen’s edition of the drama are still extant, and that this work can also be found printed under the alternative title Ding juan pipa ji 鼎鐫琵琶記 [The Authorised Edition of the Story of the Lute]. Huang began by observing that if doubts about the veracity of the work were expressed during the Ming they do not appear to have been recorded, and that it would be late into the Qing before the veracity of the work was challenged in a learned manner. The scholar Yao Hua 姚華 (1876–1930) examined the work and found that there were discrepancies between it and the most common version available at the time. Yao thought that Chen’s

84 Xue Hong 薛洪, “Chen Jiru, Jin Jing he Xianqing yeshi” 陳繼儒、金鏡和閑情 野史 “Chen Jiru, Jin Jing, and The Unauthorised History of Being Unrufed” Shehui kexue zhanxian 社會科學戰線, 1995:1, p. 199. 85 Katherine Carlitz, “Printing as Performance: Literati Playwright-Publishers of the Late Ming” in Cynthia Brokaw and Chow Kai-wing eds., Printing and Book Culture in Late Imperial China (Berkeley: University of California Press, 2005), p. 267.

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comments appeared particularly bland, but because that was not such an uncommon feature during the late Ming he did not pursue his research any further. Huang Shizhong then noted that another literary commentary edition of the play, also published during the Ming, had Li Zhi listed as the author. Huang shows that there are similarities between some of the comments in Li’s edition and those in Chen’s. The similarities are strong enough to suggest plagiarism, but it has proven impossible to establish which version was printed rst.86 Huang then demonstrated that the comments in Chen’s edition were copied, not just from Li’s edition, if that were indeed the direction of the copying, but also from two other editions, attributed to Xu Wei and Tang Xianzu respectively. After having established that at least half of the comments in Chen’s edition (there are forty-two all told) are copied from other sources, Huang also mentioned that the edition attributed to Chen has been repeatedly copied down to the present day. In fact, this edition has been reprinted so often that no one has discussed its veracity, and it seems to have managed to occupy an almost unchallengeable position. Having come to this summation of Chen’s edition, Huang nished by questioning the veracity of other late-Ming editions by Li Zhi, Xu Wei, Tang Xianzu, and Li Zhi and Wang Shizhen.87 Whether the other editions are spurious is of incidental concern here. With Chen this is less so, and not only because he is the subject of this study. There are a number of other literary commentary editions of late-Ming dramas, such as Xixiang ji 西廂記 [The Romance of the Western Bower], attributed to Chen.88 If this edition is spurious then there is every chance that the

86 To confuse matters further there is yet another edition attributed to Li Zhi ( jointly with Wang Shizhen). This edition has comments that appear to have been a copied from those in an edition by a certain Wang Guanghua 汪光華. From within this confusion a recent article has suggested that Chen’s edition incorporated material from Li Zhi’s recension and another edition. The argument is suggestive, but the evidence is far from conclusive. See Guo Lixuan 郭立暄, “Lun Liu Yingxi kanben Li Zhuowu xiansheng piping Xixiang Ji” 論劉應襲刊本《李卓吾先生批評西廂記》“On Liu Yingxi’s Edition of Mr. Li Zhuowu’s Literary Commentary of the Romance of the Western Chamber” Tushuguan zazhi 圖書館雜誌, vol. 25:5, p. 76. 87 This is a summary of the twenty-rst chapter of Huang Shizhong, Research into The Story of the Lute. 88 There is a late-Ming copy of this work held at the National Central Library in Taipei where it appears under the title Dingjuan Chen Meigong xiansheng piping Xixiang ji 鼎鐫陳眉公先生批評西廂記 [The Authorised Edition of Mr. Chen Meigong’s Literary Commentary Edition of the Romance of the Western Bower].

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others are as well. With Chen’s edition of the dramas often regarded as authoritative these are not idle considerations.89 Although Chen’s activities were in the main part literary, calligraphy and painting were also signicant pursuits, and they did not escape the attention of those who could use Chen’s name to further their own commercial concerns. With more and more people interested in participating in elite cultural activities, publications of painting manuals were popular during the late Ming. Authenticity in painting is equally as fraught with difcult denitions as is the world of literature. Many ‘masters’ were unable to meet the demand for their works and employed students or hired brushes to do them in their stead. Shen Shichong 沈士充 (. 1620), for example, worked as Dong Qichang’s ghost brush, and was a friend to both Dong and Chen. That notwithstanding, it comes as no surprise to nd Chen’s name on dubious editions of such works. One example is the Jiyazhai huapu 集雃齋畫譜 [Painting Manual from the Studio of Collecting Elegance]. The work is a collection of sketches for paintings and has a preface attributed to Chen, dated the spring of 1620. The work is a general manual for painting and includes sections on subjects such as owers, plums, bamboo, orchids, and chrysanthemums. These sections are further subdivided into headings such as ‘Bamboo in a Light Breeze’, and ‘Bamboo after Rain’ and so on. It is a beginner’s painting manual and as with all the works under discussion here there is no record of how many copies it sold, nor of how many were printed. All we know is that someone thought that this manual would be more attractive to prospective buyers if Chen’s name were attached to it. Suspicions about the authenticity of the manual are immediately aroused by the foreword attributed to Chen. This foreword nishes: “. . . written in the Studio of Collecting Elegance” [ Jiya zhai 集雃齋]. Chen never referred to such a studio in any other forewords I have seen, nor is there any record of this studio in the lists of structures on Chen’s properties. In addition to this, some of the sketches presented in the

Another edition of a drama attributed to Chen is the Xiu ru ji 繡襦記 [The Tale of the Embroidered Jacket]. The National Central Library in Taiwan holds a Dingjuan Chen Meigong xiansheng piping Xiuru ji 鼎鐫陳眉公先生批評繡襦記 [The Authorised Edition of Mr. Chen Meigong’s Literary Commentary Edition of the Embroidered Jacket], but the authorship is uncertain. One recent article has compared the many versions of the drama available, and concluded that Chen’s edition is the more rened and complete version, see Zhou Lingyun 周凌雲, “Xiu ru ji banben kaoshu” 繡襦記版本考述 “An Investigation of the Editions of The Tale of the Embroidered Jacket” Yishu baijia 藝術百家, no. 79, p. 82, but more research is needed to deal with the question of veracity. 89

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volume are appallingly clumsy (not the delicate ‘deliberate clumsiness’ of the ‘scholar-ofcial amateur-painter’, but genuine incompetence), and the foreword and quality of the work are irregular enough to question its authenticity.90 This does not inexorably mean that the work is not Chen’s, but it is just the sort of work that a publisher would be interested in promoting as connected with Chen. Chen’s calligraphy was also carefully copied, yet as Wen Fong noted: . . . art forgery in China has never carried such dark connotations as it does in the West. Since the aim of studying art has always been either aesthetic cultivation or pure enjoyment, rather than scientic knowledge, the acquisition of a genuine masterpiece—and by the same token, the ability to create a perfect forgery—was a matter of virtuosity and pride.91

As with Chen’s xiaopin works, this is perhaps not merely a matter of one’s style gaining public acceptance; there is the possibility of Chen deliberately crafting a product. In this light the better question is to not ask who copied Chen, but rather why copy Chen. Here we must recognise that Chen did not wield the brush equally across all forms of calligraphy. One scholar has suggested that Chen’s choice of calligraphic style may have been inuenced by commercial concerns. He noted that of the probably two-hundred plus extant examples of Chen’s calligraphy there are very few in the regular, seal, or clerical scripts, a substantial majority are in cursive. This was the style that best reected Chen’s untrammelled nature and philosophy. Yet it also points to the relationship between Chen’s owing, open, relaxed style, and the clear suitability of the works to be mounted on long scrolls, in line with the late-Ming fondness for such pieces being hung in central halls. The implication here is that the commercial prism may have inuenced Chen’s form of calligraphy, and that his prospective imitators recognised this as well.92

90

The collection that I have seen is a reprint in four chapters of a Japanese edition that was published in the 1920s. The copy that I viewed in 1996 was held in the Oriental and Indian Ofce Collections section of the British Library, then on Blackfriars Road. 91 Wen Fong, “The Problem of Forgeries in Chinese Painting, Part One” in Artibus Asiae, 25:2/3 (1962), p. 99. 92 Chu Mo 楚默, “Bi sui tian you, wei zai zi wai” 筆隨天游, 味在字外 “A Brush that Followed the Natural Course, A Signicance Beyond Form and Appearance” in Shuhua yishu 書畫藝術 2004:2, pp. 33–5.

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Howard Goodman, a historian of calligraphy, wrote of imitations of Chen’s calligraphy that they were an example of “. . . commercial printers’ use of stylistic calligraphy and celebrity-autographed calligraphy to lend appeal to their products.”93 After presenting two spurious forewords attributed to Chen, Goodman reprinted two of Chen’s authentic works to demonstrate the meticulous attention that went into a close imitation, and commented that: “It seems that a deliberate effort has been made to imitate Ch’en’s personal style to make the prefaces of these books appear authentic and the books themselves thereby more appealing.”94 It is worth mentioning that one of the spurious forewords was to a collection of Su Shi’s work. Chen thought very highly of Su Shi and often drew from his material for his own work, so whoever chose to attribute the foreword to Chen, and then imitated his calligraphic style, was doing so in an informed manner. This suggests that when Chen’s name was ‘borrowed’ it was frequently done by those who knew where it would best be appropriate, these were forgers with some education. The value of Chen’s name in commercial promotions can also be seen in the way that his name was attached to subjects that he was not otherwise associated with. Never known for his medical expertise, Chen’s name nonetheless appeared on the foreword to a medical text called Shiwu bencao 食物本草 [Materia Medica based on Food ]. We know that the compiler of this work, Yao Kecheng 姚可成, was trying to garner the most attention possible for his publication for he also included a spurious foreword by the great late-Ming pharmacologist, and compiler of the Bencao gangmu 本草綱目 [Outline of Materia Medica], Li Shizhen 李時珍 (1518–1593).95 This brings us to other areas where Chen’s style, or name, were employed as a way of advertising and selling non-literary products. Chen’s Celebrity There are two accounts within a decade of Chen’s death that record his name being used on everyday items, as a form of advertising in order to make them more attractive to prospective buyers. The rst

93 Howard L. Goodman ed., Calligraphy and the East Asian Book (Boston: Shambhala, 1989), p. 189. 94 Ibid., Calligraphy and the East Asian Book, p. 192. 95 Paul U. Unschuld, Medicine in China, p. 225.

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(dating from 1644) notes that Chen’s fame was widespread, everyone in the empire, women and children included, knew Chen’s name for it was even on eating and drinking utensils! His fame was comparable to that of Su Shi.96 The second record of Chen’s name being used as a promotional aid comes from someone who had met him. Sometime before 1649 Qian Qianyi wrote that Chen’s portrait was hanging in numerous wine-shops and tea-houses, even in far-ung, remote villages. Even in the marketplace one could not escape Chen’s name; bean cakes and sweet-cakes were sold with Chen’s name on them.97 These records show Chen at the height of his celebrity. Another record was written a little later. The author, Zhu Yizun (1629–1709), was from Xiushui, close to Songjiang, so even if he never met Chen in person he most certainly would have known those who had. His record, included in the Survey of Ming Poetry 明詩綜 [Ming shi zong] of 1705, uses wording very similar to Qian Qianyi’s record and notes that market-sellers used to call out Chen’s name as a way of adding lustre to their products. Where Qian Qianyi described the sellers as bean cake and sweet-cake sellers, Zhu describes them as cooking girls and bakers. Zhu also adds some information that no previous record documented. According to Zhu not only was Chen’s name called out in the market to promote comestibles, it was also attached to bolts of silk and cotton.98 In the introduction I mentioned the record in the Private Gleanings of the Wanli Reign that noted items that carried Chen’s name. That same record suggests that when it comes to a name being attached to goods, the only two comparable gures to Chen were Su Shi and the infamous Qin Kui (1090–1155).99 This puts Chen in a remarkable position; that his posthumous fame has never equalled that of those two gures suggests that although his celebrity was extraordinary in his own day, it did not translate into a lasting fame after his death. He was, however, a unique gure in late-Ming society. Celebrated in his life, Chen’s name was attached to various goods to bolster sales. His reputation suffered little during his own life and his works were frequently republished or imitated. The fall of the 96

Zou Yi, Unofcial Annals of the Final Two Reign Periods of the Ming, p. 515. Qian Qianyi, Brief Biographies from Poetic Collections through the Dynasties, 4B, pp. 637–8. 98 I take this to mean that it was on a piece of paper attached to the material, not printed on the article itself. See Zhu Yizun, Survey of Ming Poetry (Taipei: Shijie shuju yinhang, 1962), 71:1a. 99 Shen Defu, Private Gleanings of the Wanli Reign, p. 663. 97

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Ming initiates a slow re-appraisal of Chen, and his reputation began to suffer. After the late-seventeenth century, records of Chen offer little in the way of new information. Comments such as those by Huang Zongxi, writing sometime before the eighteenth century, are typical of future entries on Chen. Huang testied to Chen’s appeal across many sections of society and noted that he was famous among gentry, artisans, and merchants. Huang also observed that many items were forged with Chen’s name to help them sell better.100 Around the turn of the eighteenth century nearly everyone who had known Chen had died, and that is naturally the terminus ante quem for rst-hand accounts. From this point on all descriptions of Chen are consigned to reiterating what has gone before and putting the pieces of the puzzle together in a different format.

100 Huang Zongxi, “Chen Jiru” in Sun Jiasui, Complete Works of Huang Zongxi, p. 340.

CHAPTER EIGHT

MID- AND LATE-QING In the previous chapter I noted that after the Ming dynasty fell some scholar-ofcials were critical of Chen Jiru. These scholar-ofcials attacked Chen for what they perceived as his reluctance to engage politically, by serving in ofce or taking an active role, above the local level, in a time of political crisis. They saw Chen’s political disengagement as symptomatic of the weakening of the dynasty, a weakening that culminated in what they regarded as the shameful overthrow of the Ming by the Manchus. I also noted that in addition to these criticisms there were descriptions of Chen that portrayed him in a positive light, often emphasising his learning and literary talent. However, at the end of the seventeenth and beginning of the eighteenth centuries, individual comments about Chen tended to be overtly and overwhelmingly hostile. The unrelentingly negative tenor of these comments had much to do with an ongoing discussion among the elite about the causes that brought about the collapse of the Ming.1 The most reactionary comment of this type came with Gu Yanwu’s 顧炎武 (1613–1682) philosophical attack on Wang Yangming, in which he blamed the latter almost exclusively for the dynastic downfall.2 It is important to note that most of these comments appeared at a time when anyone who had, as an adult, personally witnessed the changing of the dynasties, or had known Chen, was already deceased. Having not directly had to negotiate the complex and difcult moral questions of the 1630s and 1640s, or met Chen, these critics were able to draw a direct line from

1 This discussion about the collapse of the Ming and how to deal with the consequences took place at many levels, from Huang Zongxi’s profoundly conservative examination of the structure of the empire in Mingyi daifang lu 明夷待訪錄 [Waiting for the Dawn: A Plan for the Prince], through Gu Yanwu’s polemics against Wang Yangming’s philosophy, to the development of the genre of correspondence [chidu] that David Pattinson has argued provided a space for Han Chinese to write outside the demands attached to serving a foreign occupier (See David Pattinson, “Zhou Lianggong and Chidu Xinchao: Genre and Political Marginalisation in the Ming-Qing Transition” East Asian History, 20, 2000, pp. 61–82). 2 See the comments in Joseph R. Levenson, “The Abortiveness of Empiricism in Early Ch’ing Thought” The Far Eastern Quarterly, vol. 13:2, pp. 156–7.

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Chen’s literary persona to some of the causes or malaise that they saw as contributing to the fall of the Ming dynasty.3 In contrast to this, the representations of Chen in ofcial publications during this period, such as the biography in the History of the Ming, are much less negative in summing up his life. Ofcial historiography, guided by the Manchus, was not directly aimed at excoriating Chen merely on account of his literary persona. But the Manchus had to win over the Han elite, and unreservedly praising a gure then viewed by some of the scholar-ofcial elite as little better than a parasite was a complicated matter. Furthermore, the Manchus had no desire to inspire contemporary elites to emulate Chen’s lifestyle. From their point of view, scholar-ofcials were better occupied when they were serving the government in one way or another.4 Large historiographical projects that absorbed the energies of scholars were preferable to having those same scholars sit around with monks, discussing matters that could lead to social or political actions hostile to Manchu rule. A middle ground had to be found for the ofcial attitude to Chen, and it was found in the separation of Chen’s life from his publications. Chen’s cultural life and its authenticity were acknowledged, but at the same time many of his books were banned. This chapter discusses these issues, and then examines the Clandestine Jottings, the work that brings Chen into our times. Private Criticism of Chen A work that clearly signals the hardening attitude of many scholarofcials to Chen that occurred during the eighteenth century is the Survey of Ming Poetry, an anthology compiled by Zhu Yizun in 1705.5 In this work Zhu gives his assessment of Ming dynasty poets. The assessment is not just literary but draws attention to the moral quali-

3 The importance of biology, of coming to adulthood under the Qing, is also given as a major reason for why the project of writing the history of the Ming became quite feasible in the 1680s. See Lynn A. Struve, “The Hsu Brothers and Semiofcial Patronage of Scholars in the K’ang-hsi Period” Harvard Journal of Asiatic Studies, vol. 42:1, p. 244. 4 For a summary of the reintegration of scholars to government service during the early and mid Qing periods see Benjamin A. Elman, From Philosophy to Philology: Intellectual and Social Aspects of Change in Late Imperial China (Cambridge, Mass: Council on East Asian Studies, Harvard University, 1984), pp. 100–112. 5 See Fang Chao-ying’s biography, “Chu I-tsun”, in ECCP, pp. 182–185.

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ties of the poet as well. Zhu’s most serious criticism of Chen is that he achieved a worthless celebrity by playing the recluse.6 Zhu’s principal grounds for making this criticism are that Chen paid attention to his own (unwarranted) celebrity, while all around him the dynasty was in decay. This criticism is not entirely a farrago of unrelated matters, Chen was paying attention to his reputation at the same time that the dynasty was in dire straits. However, the assertion is unfair, as I have already noted Chen died before it was clear that the dynasty was going to fall, or even that the Jiangnan area was heading toward an inexorable and violent upheaval. Conating Chen’s celebrity and the collapse of dynastic fortunes tells us more about Zhu’s attitude to the late Ming than it does about Chen Jiru. Chen can be accused of not participating directly in government, but he can hardly be accused of inaction in the face of the falling dynasty. As was demonstrated in the earlier chapters of this work, Chen spent a considerable amount of time and energy in trying to safeguard the well being of the area that he lived in. The question here really is whether Zhu is unfairly singling out Chen for personal reasons, or whether this criticism reects a change in attitude to all late-Ming gures like Chen. As will be seen below the latter explanation is the more likely. In a book that traces the rise of philological studies during the Qing, the historian Benjamin Elman identied a strong antipathy among early-Qing literati to the lifestyle of many late-Ming gures. Elman wrote of the early-Qing literati that: Many blamed what they called the “pure discussion” style of learning popular during the Ming for the collapse of the dynasty . . . [they] interpreted the debacle as the result of the moral decline and intellectual disorder brought on by what they considered airy and supercial Tao-hsueh [Daoxue] speculation.7

Several decades into the Qing it was already clear that some scholarofcials, Lü Liuliang 呂留良 (1629–1683) for example, were decrying the philosophy of Wang Yangming, and by implication the behaviour of the late-Ming literary dilettantes. Zhu Yizun was another of these critics, and he focussed his attention on Chen’s lifestyle and occupation, and coupled them directly to the political fortunes of the Ming dynasty.

6 7

Zhu Yizun, Survey of Ming Poetry (Taipei: Shijie shuju, 1962), 71:1a. Benjamin A. Elman, From Philosophy to Philology, p. 50.

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Half a century after Zhu’s assault there was an even more intense attack on Chen. This criticism appeared in a play, and is Chen’s nal appearance as a character in a drama. In Jiang Shiquan’s 蔣士銓 (1725–1785) Linchuan meng 臨川夢 [Dream of the Lin River], written in 1774, there is a scene exclusively devoted to lampooning Chen. The scene is called ‘The Recluse-Traitor’ [Yinjian 隱奸], a title that leaves no room for doubt about Jiang’s attitude to Chen. In this scene Chen is bitterly attacked for having been a shanren, now clearly a term of abuse, and a fraud. The scene opens with an extraordinarily sarcastic and vituperative attack on Chen. Jiang put this criticism into Chen’s own mouth, making it even more forceful; it took the form of an eight-line poem: Dressing up as a man of the mountains and forests, Hanging on to the coattails of elegance, I’m a little nobody. Not having the mind to take advantage of seclusion to get preferment, But with a fake reputation of being a recluse, I puff for all I’m worth. I make obeisance at literary altars, and with their offerings supplement my own works, Works that are always full of intrigue and praise, decorated with mountain and river scenery. I am like a crane soaring among the clouds, Coming and going from the Grand Councillor’s residence. I am Chen Jiru, courtesy name Chongchun, styled Meigong, from Huating in Jiangnan.8

Such a blatant attack hardly needs any explication, but a few comments will make it even more explicit. The fourth line is especially cutting; Chen is describing himself not merely as a recluse enjoying an undeserved fame, but as one who directs all of his energies to being a braggadocio. There is also the pun in the second last line, the words ‘among the clouds’ [Yunjian 雲間] being another name for Chen’s hometown (Huating), so that the line can also be read: “Fluttering around, I am a crane from Huating.” The crane is associated with longevity, Daoism, and reclusion, and this strengthens an image of Chen that, as Elman has pointed out, was disliked by many early-Qing literati. In the fth line Chen notes that his own works are sprinkled with the classics. There is nothing new in this, but the strength of the sneer put

8 Jiang Shiquan, Dream of the Lin River (Shanghai: Shanghai guji chubanshe, 1989), p. 19.

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into his own mouth is remarkable, it amounts to him admitting that he is little more than a cheat. In short: his reclusion is false, his work is false, and he is a grasping sycophant. But Jiang has not done with him yet, and has Chen continue: I call myself a noble recluse [ gaoyin 高隱], but what does this mean? Does it mean that I want to make myself scarce among the high and mighty, and to be in thick with shermen and woodcutters. No! Not at all! I want to avail myself of the latter, and beguile the former.9 I trick other scholarofcials with my conduct and appearance, they do not know that I will have both fame and fortune. I have Dong Qichang vigorously promoting me, and Wang Shizhen extending my fame in all directions. By spending a little money and providing a little food, I can keep a few old and famous scholars from Zhejiang at my residence. I make them cull phrases from the classics and arrange them thematically, and thus I have new books to sell. I intimidate common scholar-ofcials so that they come and pay obeisance at my door. They praise me without reserve, and broadcast my fame wherever they go. The gold and silver that comes from this will not have been my own doing. What type of noble recluse am I? Are these actions beyond the pale or not? As for the respect of scholar-ofcials, you can only get so much of it through making money. So I take clothing, foods, and crockery, in fact anything I can, and style them anew. I trick ordinary folk and great wealth comes my way. In former times they had Su Shi’s Braised Pork Slices [Dongpo rou 東坡肉], but nowadays we have Chen Jiru’s Cakes [Meigong gao 眉公糕]. In former times they had Li Si’s 李斯 [280?BC–208BC] dog cangue, now we have Meigong’s chamber pot.10 He laughs Now my celebrity reaches beyond the oceans, and even the greatest at court praise me.11 Ofcials from other areas, and those sent here by the government, all vie with each other to recommend me at court. Because I am repeatedly called to court but never go, I am compared to both Wu Yubi 吳與弼 (1391–1469) and Chen Xianzhang 陳獻章 (1428–1500).12 I take note of private grudges and often use them to make

9 There are many references in Chen’s works to shermen and woodcutters, these symbolic stalwarts of rustic purity, and it is tempting to read them as no more than symbolic referents. But there are persistent suggestions that Chen truly was able to mix with all classes of people. One work, for example, noted of him that: “Above Chen could mix with emperors and princes, below with street urchins.” Cao Jiaju, On Dreams, 2:3b. 10 While there is corroborative evidence for Chen’s name appearing on cakes, I have not found any suggestion that it appeared on chamber pots. Li Si’s dog cangue refers to the cangue that the Qin Chancellor, Li Si, was held in as he was taken from prison to be cut in half at the waist. See the notes to this in Jiang Shiquan, Dream of the Lin River, p. 25, n. 17. 11 The footnote to the text says that this refers to Zhang Juzheng. But this cannot be correct for Chen was barely known in his own area before Zhang died. 12 For information on these two early-Ming gures see their biographies in the

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chapter eight trouble for the righteous, and I make hints in my writings to gain unfair inuence in ofcial places. He guffaws I could play even the most skilled and clever trader who has ever lived for a fool.13

Another character soon comes onstage and brings Chen’s monologue to an end. The remainder of the scene revolves around two themes: the refusal of a general to pay a high price, ten thousand pieces of silver, for Chen to write an essay of birthday congratulations; and a scheme perpetrated by Chen to prevent the future dramaturge, Tang Xianzu, performing well in the examinations. The scene is not concerned with historical veracity; events half a century apart are placed together: Chen and another gure are seen to witness the parade of the successful candidates of the 1577 palace examinations at the end of the scene, but the aforementioned general who wanted the birthday-celebration essay was only born in 1576.14 This lack of attention to detail makes it clear that above all else Jiang wanted to attack Chen for being a particular type of gure. The incident surrounding Tang Xianzu gives Jiang Shiquan another opportunity to attack Chen. Jiang had tremendous respect for Tang Xianzu and wrote this play with Tang’s Peony Pavilion in mind. In the part of the scene that involves Tang, Chen explains that he wanted to act against Tang Xianzu because Tang had insulted him. Chen relates that he and Tang met at Wang Heng’s residence.15 Chen had just had a new building put up on his property and asked Tang to write an inscription for it. Tang wrote a line from the Book of Songs which, in a clever play on words, attacked Chen for living off the largesse of others.16 Further in the drama, Chen also noted that at

Dictionary of Ming Biography. Chen Xianzhang was Wu Yubi’s student. Both of them placed emphasis on learning through introspection. This tendency was repugnant to many Qing gures and to have Chen note that he is compared to them may be another slight directed at him by Jiang (though the History of the Ming explicitly compares Chen to Wu Yubi without any apparent criticism). 13 Jiang Shiquan, Dream of the Lin River, p. 19. 14 The dates of the exam are conrmed by the names of the successful candidates. The general is Mao Wenlong 毛文龍 (1576–1629), famous for his rearguard action against the Manchus in the 1620s from his base on an island in the Yalu River 鴨 綠江. 15 Jiang Shiquan is not the only person to paint a relation between the two. Chen and Tang appear as imaginary good friends in Zhang Chao’s Traces of a Secluded Dream, where the two of them, along with Tu Long and the painter Tang Yin 唐寅 (1470–1524) are all said to have laughed and chatted with the ‘writer’. (Zhang Chao himself was not born until 1649.) See Zhang Chao, Traces of a Secluded Dream, p. 124. 16 Tang wrote the words “One can rest here” [keyi qichi 可以棲遲]. This is a quotation from the Book of Songs. In the Book of Songs that line follows another line that

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another meeting when he had referred to himself as a hermit, Tang had asked him: “If you’re a hermit why aren’t you living in the mountains? What are you doing here at the Grand Councillor’s residence?”17 In this depiction of Chen we can see the need of the scholar-ofcials, as a class, to nd scapegoats within their own ranks for their predecessor’s failings, and possibly their own feelings of ineptitude in the face of Manchu rule. Jiang Shiquan’s rancorous portrayal of Chen is both the most acrimonious attack on Chen, and also the nal attack by a well-known gure. A hiatus ensued. By the nineteenth century comments on Chen were no longer so vituperative. Comments from this time on often avoid a one-sided portrayal of extreme praise, or extreme condemnation. An example of this can be seen in the writings of the nineteenth-century ofcial, Mao Xianglin 毛祥麟 (1815?–?), who wrote of Chen that he was a good, compassionate man, who did not use his reclusion to advance to an ofcial position.18 This was a sentiment notably contrary to that expressed in Jiang’s drama. Chen Tian’s 陳田 (1849–1921) Ming shi jishi 明詩紀事 [Affairs Related to Ming Poems] was published in instalments between 1897 and 1911 and gives a similar opinion of Chen. Chen Tian bases his description of Chen on the records of Qian Qianyi and Zhu Yizun mentioned above. He notes that Chen’s fame was undeserved, and that he employed poor scholars to help him compile his books. But he also stresses Chen’s talents and his wide appeal.19 In this respect the Affairs Related to Ming Poems is the precursor of some modern records that also make a collage of passages from previous records. These nineteenth century comments show that the strength of the search by the Han elites to apportion blame within their own ranks for the success of the Manchu invasion had lessened, and that Chen had become, temporarily, the province of historians.

reads: “In a humble dwelling” [Hengmen zhi xia 衡門之下]. The character ‘heng’ 衡 in this line is the same as the ‘Heng’ in Wang Heng’s name. So the two lines, having been written at Wang Heng’s residence, could be understood to mean: “Under the patronage of Wang Heng, one can rest here”, suggesting that Chen is a free-loader and does not bother to support himself. The poem from the Book of Songs is the one called “Hengmen” 衡門 [“In a Humble Dwelling”]. For details see Jiang Shiquan, Dream of the Lin River, p. 27, n. 34. 17 Jiang Shiquan, Dream of the Lin River, p. 21. 18 Quoted in Chen Shaotang, Discussion and Analysis of Late-Ming Xiaopin, p. 123. 19 See Chen Tian, Affairs Related to Ming Poems, pp. 1934–5.

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I noted above that the ofcial historiographical treatment of Chen since the eighteenth century has been quite positive. This is largely explained by the dominance of the biography of Chen in the History of the Ming that set the tone for all later ofcial records. Dated 1736, there are two aspects of this biography that are important in showing how an image of Chen was being constructed within the narrative of ofcial history. One is taxonomy—the placement of the biography in a certain chapter within the History of the Ming. The second is the selection, and omission, of material relating to Chen’s life that was available to the editors. Beginning with the Records of the Historian all ofcial Chinese histories arranged biographies under different headings. Some of the headings were only used once: the chapter of biographies on Jesters [Guji 滑稽] was never to be repeated. Other headings, such as the Confucians [Rulin 儒林], have been used in many of the histories. The headings under which the biographies were arranged, and the choice of which biographies were placed under which headings, are obvious pointers to the way that the editors, and their political masters, wanted to order the past. In the History of the Ming there were really only two categories that were possible choices for the placement of Chen’s biography: the chapters on writers [wenyuan 文苑], and the one that he was placed in, that of recluses [ yinyi 隱逸]. Chen is the last of the twelve gures mentioned in the chapter devoted to recluses. In this chapter Chen is in select company as the great painters Ni Zan and Shen Zhou 沈周 (1427–1509) are also placed here. That Chen’s inclusion in this chapter is deliberate is conrmed by two observations. The rst is that outside of his own biography whenever Chen is mentioned in the History of the Ming he is always referred to as a recluse. On the few occasions when Chen is not specically called a recluse, then he is described by a term closely associated with the concept of reclusion. In one entry he is referred to as a commoner [buyi 布 衣], a member of the elite who is not engaged in any ofcial capacity. In another entry he is referred to as a disengaged scholar [chushi 處士].20 There are also several entries where Chen’s role as a writer or editor is mentioned, yet the possibility of depicting him solely as a literary gure

20

See MS, pp. 6595 and 1714 respectively.

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is not possible as he is also described in those passages as a recluse.21 The second observation is that this chapter is not merely a receptacle for gures that deserve a biography, yet are unsuitable for inclusion in other categories. This is clear from the presence of the two painters Ni Zan and Shen Zhou who could both have also been included in the section for writers [wenyuan], much as the famous artists Tang Yin 唐寅 (1470–1524) and Dong Qichang were. What Ni and Shen shared with Chen was that they had been invited to serve in government, but had refused the offer.22 The placement of Chen’s biography in this chapter was deliberate; whatever his talents as a writer, the History of the Ming editors wanted to portray Chen as a recluse. Interestingly, this classication was not always replicated in local gazetteers, and this highlights the focus of the History of the Ming placement. The Huating District Gazetteer of 1791 places Chen’s biography in the section devoted to literary and artistic gures [wenyi 文藝]. This section is itself a subsection of one of the three chapters given over to biographies [liezhuan]. There was also a small section given to recluses [yinyi], as well as one for artists [ yishu 藝術], either of which could have included Chen. The Songjiang Prefectural Gazetteer of 1817 places Chen’s biography in the section devoted to gures past and present [ gujin ren zhuan 古今人傳], though in this instance there is no subset for recluses, and the only other possibility there would seem to be the section devoted to those who made their name through the arts [ yishu]. It is only with the Qingpu District Gazetteer of 1879 that Chen’s biography appears once again in a section for recluses rather than in any of the other possible categories to which he could belong; in this case writers [wenyuan] and the arts [ yishu] being the two most obvious other choices. That the identication of Chen as a recluse, promoted by the Manchus, was not always the rst choice of provincial level historical writing is clear from these different gazetteers. The content of the biographies is the other feature that provides information on how Chen was being portrayed. The History of the Ming is quite positive in its summation of his life, especially when compared to the private comments that were being made against Chen at the time. The contrast between the two forms of biographical material on 21

Ibid., pp. 2404, 2407, 2435, and 2489. Zhao Yifeng 趙軼蜂, “Shanren yu wan Ming shehui” 山人與晚明社會 “Hermits and Late-Ming Society” Dongbei shida xuebao (zhixue shehui kexue ban) 東北師大學報 (哲學 社會科學版), no. 189, p. 10. 22

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Chen, the private and the ofcial, can be witnessed even more clearly when we consider that Zhu Yizun, who criticised Chen quite bitterly in his personal writing, was one of the historians who worked on an earlier edition of the History of the Ming. With some small exceptions, the biography of Chen Jiru in the Ming shi gao 明史稿 [Draft Outline of Ming History], the edition that Zhu worked on, is identical to the one in the History of the Ming.23 It seems that Zhu, and any other historian similarly repelled by Chen’s lifestyle, was not able to exert the pressure he may have wanted to on the ofcial summation of Chen’s life. That having been said, the History of the Ming biography of Chen has reservations in its praise. Consider the following passage: Some have criticised the fact that he [Chen] selected and annotated triing words and records of common affairs.24

The biography clearly states that Chen has been criticised, but the comment is immediately rendered harmless by the context. The preceding comment had stated that Chen had extensive knowledge in every area, and the following comment observed that people vied for his works and that he was a popular author. The implication here is that if Chen had profound knowledge, and shared it with the kinds of people who sought his works, it hardly matters that some critics thought that his writing was supercial. To demonstrate just how positive a biography this is, it ends with examples of praise for Chen from gures that represent the cultural and ofcial worlds; in this case from the philosopher and painter Huang Daozhou, and the Vice-Minister Shen Yan.25 While the biography noted that Chen was a famous writer whose services were in great demand, it paid little attention to two other characteristics of Chen’s life that were often commented upon by earlier biographers. The omission of these well-known characteristics must therefore be deliberate. I am referring to Chen’s fame outside the literary world, and the services he provided for his local community, such as soup kitchens,

23 The differences are three instances of alternate phrasing that have no bearing on the meaning, and the cutting from the earlier edition of two names of ofcials who had recommended Chen to the court (though their ofcial positions are still mentioned). See the biography in Wang Hongxu 王鴻緒 ed., Draft Outline of Ming History (Taipei: Wenhai chubanshe, 1962), vol. 6, p. 299. 24 MS, p. 7631. 25 Ibid., pp. 7631–2.

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and so on. For the purposes of the History of the Ming, Chen was best presented as a popular author who was called to serve but did not. At the level of district gazetteers we nd different portrayals of Chen. I have noted above that the placement of Chen’s biography in different categories in these gazetteers went some way to highlighting the differences between the central authorities and local editors, these observations are substantiated by the content of the biographies. This phenomenon is most evident in the Huating District Gazetteer of 1791.26 The biography of Chen in this gazetteer is obviously modelled on the History of the Ming biography as it repeats some phrases word for word. However, in this record, interspersed among the phrases lifted directly from the History of the Ming biography, we are told that ofcials appointed to the area all paid their respects to Chen when they arrived, and that, for a time, all the literati heeded Chen’s opinions. As with the biography in the History of the Ming, this biography mentions Chen’s celebrity, but it goes on to describe some of the forms that it took: it mentions that “. . . the thin silks of Wu and the cottons of Yue all bear his name, and kitchen girls and pastry cooks all call out his name.”27 Here we have a picture of Chen that shows him as a both a popular and paternal gure in his local district in a way that the History of the Ming biography did not. There is one nal record that offers an ofcial critical evaluation of Chen during the mid-Qing. That record is found in the Summary of the General Index. While Chen’s writings are the focus, this work also provides commentary on the authors and, having been compiled under ofcial auspices, is itself an ofcial record. It rst mentions Chen in relation to a work he compiled, and refers the reader to the biography in the History of the Ming.28 Despite this, the Summary of the General Index actually offers a more sophisticated analysis of Chen’s reclusion than the biography in the History of the Ming. Here Chen is not merely referred

26 The dominance of the History of the Ming biography can be better seen in the Songjiang Prefectural Gazetteer of 1817 that reproduces it verbatim. The Qingpu District Gazetteer of 1879 is a slightly abridged and emended version of the History of the Ming biography, but it is fundamentally indistinguishable from it. These two records perpetuate the portrayal of Chen in the History of the Ming biography, and ensure that its inuence continued to be felt. 27 Huating District Gazetteer, 14:4a–b. 28 See the entry “Jianwen shi dai” 建文史待 “A History of the Jianwen Reign Period” in Yong Rong et al. eds., Summary of the General Index, 12:9a.

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to as a shanren, but as the exemplar for a certain type of hermit, Chen is compared to and contrasted with Li Zhi (here given as the exemplar for those hermits closer to Daoism).29 This delineation has proven inuential, and is still used by commentators today.30 The ofcial and private summaries of Chen’s life were antithetical during the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries. Private antipathy from those who never knew him, contrasted with ofcial praise from a state that wanted him portrayed as a valuable cultural gure. The state had, however, a different attitude to his books. Re-printings of Chen’s Works Not may of Chen’s works were re-printed between the early eighteenth century and the end of the nineteenth century. The main cause was that most of them were placed on the various lists of banned books.31 That almost all of Chen’s works were outlawed highlights the Qing treatment of Chen’s books compared to his ‘memory’ as a person, as represented by the biography in the History of the Ming. The banning of books in the Qing was an extensive enterprise as it: “. . . saw more literary purges, more people imprisoned, and more books proscribed and burned than any other dynasty in Chinese history”.32 Which of Chen’s works were proscribed? The three major later collections, the White-Stone Woodcutter, the Hall of Evening Incense and the Collected Works, were all banned, as was a hitherto unmentioned collection of Chen’s poetry.33 The Secret Satchel collectanea was also 29

Yong Rong et al. eds. Summary of the General Index, 24:82. The most obvious example of this being the entire chapter that Chen Wanyi gives over to a comparison of Chen and Li in his 1988 book Late-Ming Xiaopin and the Livestyle of Ming Dynasty Literati. 31 In discussing these lists of banned books L. Carrington Goodrich noted that: “A good many references have already been made to this or that Index Expurgatorius. By rights there should be only one.” Goodrich supposes that there must have been one central list that has either been destroyed or simply not yet come to light. See L. Carrington Goodrich, The Literary Inquisition of Ch’ien-Lung (New York: Paragon Book Reprint Co., 1966), pp. 68–71. I have, after Goodrich, followed the lists compiled in the nineteenth century by Yao Jinyuan 姚覲元. 32 Endymion Wilkinson, Chinese History, p. 274. 33 The collection of Chen’s poetry that appeared on the list was An Edition of Meigong’s Poetry. Another work listed, possibly no longer extant, which also contained poetry, was Chen Meigong zalu 陳眉公雜錄 [A Collection of Chen Meigong’s Writings]. See Yao Jinyuan, Qingdai jinhui shumu 清代禁燬書目 [The Qing Index Expurgatorius] (Shanghai: Shangwu, 1957). The notion that there were poems of Chen’s that were regarded as unaccept30

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censored. According to one source the entire collectanea may have been banned because one volume reproduced “. . . an early 15th century work on the geography of the territories of the southern seas and Indian Ocean and on the relations of China with her southern and southwestern neighbors”,34 information that the Qing did not want in the public domain. In addition to those large collections several other works, of which Chen was listed as either the compiler or main editor, were also banned.35 One modern biography of Chen notes that the reason for some of his works being proscribed was that they contained anti-Manchu sentiments, and mentions a history that Chen had written of the Manchus called Jianzhou kao 建州考 [A Critical Look at Jianzhou].36 The entry in one list of banned books for this work nishes with the standard rhetoric of disapproval: “. . . the language is wild and perverse, burn it!”37 This book however survives in the White Stone Woodcutter collection (though that collection was itself banned of course). From the Han Chinese perspective this history was hardly incendiary. From a Manchu perspective, however, it was outrageous. Chen describes the ancestors of the Manchus as cave-dwelling barbarians who wore pig, dog, bear, and sh skins. Chen wrote that the Han Chinese taught them how to construct proper dwellings, to weave clothes, and to heat food.38 It is not difcult to understand why that work, and any collection that included it, would be banned. Sometimes the reasons for banning a particular work of Chen’s appear almost unfathomable. One such banned work appears under

able is further supported by the banning of some anthologies in which his poetry was also collected, Huang Ming shixuan 皇明詩選 [A Selection of Great Ming Poems] compiled by Chen Zilong was banned. See Sun Dianqi 孫殿起 ed., Qingdai jinshu zhijianlu 清代 禁書知見錄 [A Record of what was Known and Observed of the Banned Books of the Qing] (Shanghai: Shangwu, 1957), p. 126. 34 L. Carrington Goodrich, The Literary Inquisition of Ch’ien-Lung, p. 49. 35 They were the Collection of Unusual Classical Literature, the Correspondence (probably referring to a four chapter collection of letters often with White-Stone Woodcutter in the title), the History of Men in Retirement, the Complete Book of Good Fortune and Longevity, and the Gulun Daguan 古論大觀 [Compendium of Ancient Discussions]. See the following entries in Sun Tianqi ed., A Record of what was Known and Observed of the Banned Books of the Qing, p. 46, p. 61, p. 175, p. 196, addendum p. 15. 36 Fang Chao-ying “Ch’en Chi-ju” in ECCP, p. 84. 37 “Buyi yi” 補遺一 “First Addendum”, in Yao Jinyuan, The Qing Index Expurgatorius, p. 185. 38 Chen Jiru, “Jianzhou”建州 “Jianzhou” in BSQ , pp. 226–233. It is also reproduced in QJ, 26:4a–14a.

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varying titles in different catalogues, but invariably includes the words ‘outline records’ [ jielu 捷錄] somewhere in the title.39 It is a collection of biographies and commentaries on historical gures with an emphasis on the earlier periods of Chinese history. Chen wrote a foreword to the work in 1626 and he is variously described in catalogue records as annotating, editing, or proofreading the resulting book. Chen’s foreword can hardly be taken as inammatory as it is a homily decrying the then (1626) state of affairs when the classics, here meaning the works of the Masters and the Histories, were not understood. As with the earlier description, this work is described as having wild and perverse language. In his work on these literary proscriptions the historian L. Carrington Goodrich detailed the reasons that a book could be banned, they ranged from ‘anti-dynastic or rebellious’ to an ‘unliterary’ style. Buddhism can be seen as offering heterodox opinions on the Confucian canon, and so perhaps it was Chen’s praise for some Buddhist works in the foreword that was the grounds for removing the work from circulation, but the reason remains uncertain.40 Only one book purporting to include Chen’s work was published during the eighteenth century. A collection called Liuhe tongchun 六合同春 [Six Dramas for Spring], which had Chen’s literary commentary editions of all six dramas, was published in 1747.41 These editions may well be spurious, but they did come out under Chen’s name. It was not until the nineteenth century that some of Chen’s works that had appeared on the list of banned books began to be re-printed. An abridged and re-written version of the Notes on Cooking Congee was published in the Xuehai leipian 學海類編 [Classied Anthology from the Ocean of Learning] that

39 In “First Addendum” in Yao Jinyuan, The Qing Index Expurgatorius, p. 294. This work is referred to both as Jielu yuanben 捷錄原本 [Outline Record of Original Documents] and the Lichao jielu quanbian 歷朝捷錄全編 [Complete Edition of the Outline Records through the Dynasties]. At the National Central Library in Taipei it goes under the name Lidai jielu quanbian 歷代捷錄全編 [Complete Edition of the Outline Records through the Dynasties]. 40 Chen Jiru, “Lidai jielu quanbian xu” 歷代捷錄全編序 “Foreword to Complete Edition of the Outline Records through the Dynasties ” in Complete Edition of the Outline Records through the Dynasties [Lichao jielu quanbian] (Ming ed). 41 The six works were: Chen Meigong’s Literary Commentary Edition of the Story of the Lute, Chen Meigong piping xixiang ji 陳眉公批評西廂記 [Chen Meigong’s Literary Commentary Edition of the Romance of the Western Bower], Chen Meigong piping yougui ji 陳眉公批評幽 閨記 [Chen Meigong’s Literary Commentary Edition of the Women’s Quarters], Chen Meigong piping hongfu ji 陳眉公批評紅拂記 [Chen Meigong’s Literary Commentary Edition of the Story of Hongfu], Chen Meigong’s Literary Commentary Edition of the Embroidered Jacket and Chen Meigong piping yuzan ji 陳眉公批評玉簪記 [Chen Meigong’s Literary Commentary Edition of the Jade Hairpin].

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was printed in 1830.42 Other works under Chen’s name also appeared in this collection, they were the Yangsheng fuyu 養生膚語 [Supercial Notes on Nourishing Life], Pillow Talk, Multitude of Fragmentary Records, and the Sheshan shihua 佘山詩話 [Notes on Poetry from Mount She]. As two of those works had specically been banned this can be regarded as the beginning of the re-entry of Chen’s works into the marketplace, and a sign that the prohibitions of the Qianlong era were weakening. Around this time two more publications included Chen’s works. In the middle of the nineteenth century, the collectanea entitled Haishan xianguan congshu 海山仙館叢書 [Hall of the Immortals amid the Mountains and Oceans Series] republished the Addendum to The Correct Way to Drink Tea and the Addendum to The Fundamentals of Wine.43 And in the latter half of the nineteenth century the bibliophile Ding Bing 丁丙 (1832–1899) published a series of anthologies with a focus on his native place, Hangzhou. In one of these works, the Wulin wangzhe yizhu 武林往哲遺箸 [Neglected Manuscripts of Bygone Philosophies from Hangzhou], he reprinted a Song dynasty prose-poem [ fu 賦] to which Chen had purportedly added a chapter. The work was called the Biandu fu 汴都賦 [Prose-poem on the Capital Bian]. One other work, attributed to Chen, was published in the eighteenth century. It was the Clandestine Jottings, and it would end up as the most prominent legacy of Chen’s celebrity. The CLANDESTINE JOTTINGS Chen’s best-known work today is the Clandestine Jottings. How it has come to be his most renowned work is a remarkable story, and in no other instance are the problems of authenticity, and the posthumous use of Chen’s fame, more obviously and delightfully entangled than in this book. All scholars who write on the Clandestine Jottings agree that the earliest dating that we have of it comes from a foreword that is dated 1770. The book comprises twelve thematic chapters, and the themes

42 Attributed to the late-Ming early-Qing ofcial Cao Rong (1613–1685), this collection was censured by the Summary of the General Index, pp. 2776–7, for including many spurious editions, and other editions that were reprinted under false names, estimating that ninety percent of the works in the collection were adulterated in one form or another. Although it was enlarged by one of his students, the entire collection was taken from Cao Rong’s library. 43 It was published between 1845 and 1849, with some supplements coming out as late as 1885. See Hiromu Momose, “P’an Chen-ch’eng” in ECCP, p. 606.

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are precisely what one would expect to nd in a work that now almost stands as a metonym for Chen. A handful of the more charming and bucolic passages have been translated into English by Lin Yutang 林語堂 (1895–1976) in his slim volume Gems from Chinese Literature. Here are two short excerpts: For enjoying owers, one must secure nonchalant friends. For going to sing-song houses to have a look at the girls, one must secure quiet or mild-tempered friends. For going up a high mountain, one must secure romantic friends. For boating, one must secure friends with an expansive nature. For looking at the moon, one must secure friends with a cool philosophy. For anticipating snow, one must secure beautiful friends. For a wine party, one must secure friends with avour and charm.44

And again: For a quiet studio, one should have some green wu-t’ung trees in front and some emerald bamboos behind. On the south of the house the eaves will stretch boldly forward, while on the north side there will be a paneless window, which can be closed in spring and winter to shelter one from wind and rain, and opened in summer and autumn for ventilation. The beauty of the wu-t’ung tree is that all its leaves fall off in spring and winter, thus admitting us to the full enjoyment of the sun’s warmth, while in summer and autumn its shade protects us from the scorching heat.45

These passages, with their attention to an aesthete’s life, read very much as late-Ming literature. Naturally those passages have no difculty in passing as Chen’s, sentiments like those being common in his writings: Mountains surround on all sides a cluster of thatched cottages, As of old a surfeit of bamboo and woods entangle my porch. Do not say that those of us in retirement do not labour gainfully, We plant, and in the autumn the earth is covered in the scent of our owers.46

The book does not only comprise enchanting entries such as those translated by Lin Yutang, other passages that appear joyful sometimes harbour an unambiguous response of evasion to times of disorder and the maddening and sometimes terrifying world of eunuchs and ofcial-

44 Lin Yutang ed., Gems from Chinese Literature (Hong Kong: Shanghai Printing and Publishing House, year unknown), p. 105. 45 Ibid., p. 109. 46 Chen Jiru, “Shan ju” 山居 “Living in the mountains” in QJ, 1920s ed., chap. 4.

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dom. This is another attitude closely associated with both the late Ming, and with Chen; some of Chen’s best-known works, such as the Clear Words from a Peaceful World, are deeply imbued with this sentiment. Take rst, for instance, the following passages from the Clandestine Jottings: Those fond of arguing will nd that it brings grudges; arguing is inferior to keeping silent and maintaining one’s composure. Constructing relationships to extend one’s fame is inferior to living apart and protecting oneself. Spending lavishly and building on a grand scale is inferior to having few affairs and preserving one’s frugality. Showing off, which will make other people jealous, is inferior to concealing one’s brilliance and evincing a certain clumsiness. Spending vast sums of money to buy the best friends, how could this compare with giving half a gourd of grain to those who are starving? Building a thousand-pillar hall and inviting blue-blooded guests, how could this compare with repairing a modest rush dwelling for those in need?47

Again: Holding ofce is mighty indeed, yet if you often think of the wind in the trees you’ll become more humble. The ways of the world are bustling indeed, yet if you often think of the prospects awaiting you after death your greed and lust will abate.48

Those two passages, with their love of quietude, the virtue of humility, and a sense that personal survival may lie in disengaging oneself from the vulgar world, are frequently found in the Clandestine Jottings, and they are common in Chen’s writings. Recall the passage from the Clear Words from a Peaceful World quoted earlier: Whenever I want to hide away a myriad of unusual volumes I rst wrap them in incomparable covers, then scent them with rare incense. In a thatched hut with curtains made of reeds, paper windows, and earthen walls, I could spend the rest of my life singing, without a government position. When I said this to a guest, the guest laughed and said: “You truly are an exceptional man!”49

The text of the Clandestine Jottings was compiled during the 1620s, the worst years of the eunuch Wei Zhongxian’s dominance. This has been advanced as an explanation of why passages rejecting a life of

47 Chen Meigong, Clandestine Jottings from My Little Window (Taipei: Wenjin Chubanshe, 1993), p. 5. 48 Ibid., p. 5. 49 Chen Jiru, Clear Words from a Peaceful World, 2:9b.

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political commitment are so prevalent in the text.50 So, the Clandestine Jottings certainly reads as though it were compiled by Chen during the late Ming. The trouble is that it seems impossible to prove that Chen was the compiler. While the Clandestine Jottings is usually attributed to Chen there is no substantive evidence to support this assertion. There is no Ming copy of the text. Indeed, Chen himself does not mention the work in his own writing, and the references we would expect to nd in bibliographic sources such as library catalogues, rare book indexes, or seventeenth century writers’ records, do not exist. The late-eighteenth century compilation the Summary of the General Index and the lists of banned books from that period are similarly silent.51 Such a major work by a famous writer could hardly escape all that bibliographic attention. In addition to the lack of any record of the work during the Ming, none of the modern editions of the book reproduce any foreword, written during the Ming, by Chen or anyone else. It is unlikely, but not untenable, that a work like this from Chen would appear without a foreword, so perhaps this point is not such a foremost concern in itself. However, alongside the lack of any other evidence for the existence of the book, the apparent lack of a Ming foreword adds to the weight of the argument against the work being Chen’s. The earliest record to ascribe this book to Chen is the foreword by Chen Benjing 陳本敬 (. 1760) which dates itself to 1770. Chen Benjing is not a major Qing gure. He is recorded as being from the Shuntian 順天 Prefecture, and as having passed the palace examination in 1760.52 In his foreword, Chen Benjing writes that Chen Jiru: . . . was renowned among his generation. He set his ambitions high, and his works aspired to that standard. He compiled the Clandestine Jottings from My Little Window for his own pleasure. In order to express the secrets of the world, he took the best from the classics, and used the language of the hermits and the city to both awaken and restrain the world. It is

50

Chen Wanyi ed., Ming Qing xiaopin, pp. 280–4. The major lists including the Quanhui shumu 全毀書目 [List of Works to be Utterly Destroyed], Chouhui shumu 抽毀書目 [List of Works to be Taken Out and Destroyed], Jinshu zongmu 禁書總目 [General Index to Banned Books], and the Weiai shumu 違礙書目 [List of Works that Disregard and Hinder Morality]. 52 Zhu Baojiong 朱保炯 and Xie Peilin 謝沛霖 eds., Ming Qing jinshi timingbeilu suoyin 明清進士題名碑錄索引 [An Index to Records of Ming and Qing Presented Scholars] (Shanghai: Shanghai guji chubanshe, 1980), pp. 2151 & 2731. 51

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a very urbane book . . . its beauty is whole, and all curious [qi 奇] matters can be found in its pages. How could this be just any common book? Cui Weidong 崔維東 was fond of the classics and wanted it reprinted, he asked me to write a foreword . . . and so I did.53

There is nothing in the foreword that would lead the reader to suspect that the work is not Chen’s. Chen is presented as both a ‘modern city’ gure and a recluse—and the particular late-Ming combination of the two, exemplied in the designation ‘urban recluse’ shiyin, is a fair depiction of Chen. The foreword notes that in compiling the work Chen drew upon the classics, and included many curious matters. As we have seen, curious matters and the classics were paired in other publications by Chen, so that is unsurprising. However, Chen Benjing’s foreword has one dubious characteristic: it is extremely similar to a foreword written by Lu Shaoheng to his compilation The Scouring Blade in the 1620s. The similarities are present in both the language of the forewords, and the comments they make on the text. It appears likely that Chen Benjing’s foreword is little more than a re-writing of Lu Shaoheng’s original foreword. Nonetheless, if little is known of Chen Benjing, who is supposed to have written that foreword, even less is known of Cui Weidong, the man who apparently commissioned the printing: we do not know his dates, where he was from, nor what he did. That is to say, we have no access to any further motivations of the person who apparently wanted this work reprinted, and reprinted at a time when Chen’s works were not being reprinted. While there are no Ming copies, there are a small number of Qing editions of the book extant. These editions stand out as they occupy a peculiar position within the bibliographic inventory of Chen’s writings. We still have many Ming editions of Chen’s works, but Qing editions are not so numerous (except for his works appearing in larger compendia they are very few indeed). Yet these Qing editions of the book reverse the situation: this work exists in a small number of Qing copies but not in a single Ming edition. This point in itself need not be anything more than a reminder that the physical remains of the past are not always what one would expect. However, taken in concert with the paragraphs above, outlining the distance we are from any certainty that the work is Chen’s, this anomaly cannot be easily put to one side. So it seems that

53

Chen Meigong, Clandestine Jottings.

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the earliest evidence for the book being Chen’s rests on a sole foreword, written by a minor gure over a century after Chen’s death. In addition to the lack of any pre-1770 evidence that Chen compiled this book, there is evidence in its pages which suggests that Chen could not have been the compiler. One passage reads: When [Chen] Meigong was living in the mountains, a guest came by and asked Chen what he thought was the most particular sight to be seen in the mountains. Chen answered: “After rain or before dew, owers in the morning or snow in the evening.” The guest asked again, this time of the most singular matter in the mountains, Chen replied: “Cranes guarding what is left of a sh catch, and monkeys making off with fruit that is lying around”54

The replies certainly sound like Chen, however the passage refers to him by his style, ‘Meigong’ 眉公. Here there is a problem: Chen never refers to himself in his own books in this way, he usually uses a rst-person pronoun.55 When referring to himself without using a personal pronoun Chen usually uses ‘Master Chen’ [Chen zi 陳子], ‘Mei the Daoist’ [Mei daoren 眉道人] or ‘the Woodcutter Historian’ [Qiaoshi shi 樵史氏]. While this does not rule out the possibility that Chen, as the compiler of the work, included this anecdote about himself from another source, he does not appear to do so elsewhere. In contrast, other writers usually refer to Chen, in their writings, as ‘Meigong’, making the passage more understandable if it were written by someone else. The nal difculty in ascribing the work to Chen is that there is substantial evidence for the prior existence of this text under another title, and by a different compiler. The Scouring Blade As noted in the introduction, The Scouring Blade has the same twelve thematic headings as those in the Clandestine Jottings. This is not necessarily exceptional—late-Ming literature, like that of any other period, has a particular style, and sections with headings such as ‘simplicity’, ‘allure’, and ‘beauty’ and so on, are typical enough in a work from that period. However, The Scouring Blade seems to have a rmer pedigree, and the

54

Ibid., Clandestine Jottings, p. 80. Chen does, of course, use this style on some of his paintings and in the titles of his works. 55

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late-Ming forewords that various editions have preserved make it clear that the work was originally published in China in the 1620s. The Scouring Blade was printed during the 1620s, but Lu Shaoheng, its compiler, remains unknown. The details of his life are not recorded in any formal biographical record and he is referred to, when at all, as a poor scholar. Interestingly, the surviving Ming editions give Chen’s name as the rst of nearly ninety gures listed as readers. It is noteworthy that these names are not arranged according to any traditional order, be it by number of strokes, shape, or radical. An examination of biographical data suggests that the names are listed in order of fame at the time of publication, possibly in an attempt to enhance the attraction of the book to prospective buyers. This interpretation is strengthened by there not being a foreword by Chen or any of the other well-known readers in any remaining copy. It is likely that if the compiler had known Chen well enough to make him the rst reader, then he would have also asked him to write a foreword. Chen’s fame had already spread far and wide by the 1620s and the work could only have beneted from an association with his name. That there is no foreword by Chen to this work in any edition (or in any of the major collections of Chen’s writings) makes it likely that this is yet another instance of Chen’s name being used by others without his knowledge. To further tie the book to Chen, the list of works cited in the compilation of The Scouring Blade includes two of Chen’s works: Meigong biji 眉公秘笈 [Meigong’s Secret Satchel] and the Secret Matters of the Majestic Perch. It seems that whoever compiled The Scouring Blade was familiar with Chen’s writing and publishing activities, little wonder that the book can pass as his. To give a fuller picture of the work I discuss below, in order of publication, three editions of The Scouring Blade: one from the Ming, one from the Qing, and one from the 1920s. The notes on the microlm of the Ming edition state that the work was printed during the Tianqi reign period (1621–8).56 There are eight forewords besides the author’s own, including one by his equally unknown elder brother, Lu Shaolian 陸紹璉. None of the forewords are by any gure whose details are recorded above the level of local gazetteers. Of the large number of gures who had been consulted in some fashion about the publication, only a handful of them are still

56 This is in line with the dating in the forewords. Only two of the nine are dated, including the one by the author, and both indicate the year 1624.

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known. Aside from Chen, the gure on that list most relevant to issues surrounding the text is Wu Congxian (. 1610). Wu is an integral part of this puzzle and he will be discussed below.57 Lu Shaoheng’s foreword says little more than that the work was compiled for his own pleasure, and that it only went to publication after an unnamed friend praised it as a welcome balm to the ills of the world. This looks and sounds like a late-Ming edition, albeit one that Chen may not knowingly have had anything to do with. It is in fact a pleasant compilation by a minor cultural gure of the 1620s. The Qing edition is the Japanese publication of 1852 [kaei mizunoene 嘉永壬子]. This edition changes the order of the original forewords and adds three Japanese forewords. Other than this, the work is identical to the Ming edition of the book; the text has not been altered in any way. An edition of the Japanese version was reprinted in Taiwan in 1979, with the addition of a modern foreword in Chinese.58 The third edition is also a Japanese publication. It came out in 1920 and is held in the van Gulik Collection.59 This edition only reproduces the foreword by Lu Shaoheng. Unlike the other two versions, this edition notes that Lu Shaoheng selected passages for inclusion, while his elder brother proofread the work. The text is also unaltered. These editions allow us to describe one possible transmission of this book through time. While forewords and other notes have been added or deleted according to publishing circumstances, there is nothing to suggest that the text has been tampered with in any way. The 1620s version is faithfully replicated in the 1852, 1920, and 1979 editions. It is a modest publication, reprinted a number of times over three centuries, with no outlandish claims made for the book or compiler by the respective publishers. The very ordinariness of those editions, in addition to the prima facie evidence outlined above, is a persuasive argument for this form of the text being the original.60

57 Others who are well-known include Zhu Lu 朱露 (1553–1632), a scholar renowned for his erudition, particularly of The Book of Changes; Zhao Huanguang 趙宧光 (?–1625), a recluse with expertise in seal script; and Fan Yunlin, a famous late-Ming artist related to Chen by marriage. 58 Lu Shaoheng, The Scouring Blade from the Hall of an Infatuation with Antiquity (Taipei: Laogu chubanshe, 1979). 59 Microlm at the Menzies Library, ANU. Republished by the BuneidÔ Publishing House in Tokyo in 1920. An identical microlm is held at the National Central Library in Taiwan. 60 It is also important to note that while neither title was included in the Complete Library of the Four Branches of Literature, the work was included under Lu Shaoheng’s name in the Xuxiu siku quanshu zongmu 續修四庫全書總目 [General Index to the Expanded Edition of the Complete Library of the Four Branches of Literature] which was published in

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That so, we are left with two unanswered questions: how was it that this text came to be published under the title Clandestine Jottings? And why was it that the book which is now Chen’s most famous work, apparently did not appear under his name until at least a century after his death? If we are to demonstrate that Chen’s most famous work is not his own but a deliberate spurious attribution, then we need to address the questions of why and when the changes to the title and author were made. Other Late-Ming ‘Little Windows’ Whoever chose the title for the text under Chen’s name did not do so accidentally; there are at least four other works from the late Ming that use ‘little windows’ in the title, and their association with Chen is beyond doubt. The works are the Xiaochuang yanji 小窗豔紀 [Captivating Jottings from My Little Window], the Xiaochuang qingji 小窗清紀 [Clear Jottings from My Little Window], the Xiaochuang bieji 小窗別紀 [Further Jottings from My Little Window], and the Xiaochuang ziji 小窗自紀 [Personal Jottings from My Little Window]. To associate the Clandestine Jottings with four late-Ming works on the basis of a few words common to the titles would be tenuous without any other evidence. However, there are demonstrably close ties between the content of those works, and their compiler Wu Congxian, with Chen Jiru. Wu moved in the same circles as Chen (see below) and, as we have seen, was also supposedly, along with Chen, a reader of The Scouring Blade before it was published in the 1620s. Dating the four ‘little windows’ is not difcult. The forewords to the four works, nine of the thirteen of which give a year, were written between 1613 and 1615, meaning the entire series was published in the decade prior to The Scouring Blade. In fact, the list of books referenced in compiling The Scouring Blade mentions “Five Little Window Jottings”.61 Chen was connected in varying ways with four of the little window series books, and a sketch of his involvement will show just how felicitous the change in the title for Chen’s publication was.

1994. This index collected works to the end of the Qing that its predecessors missed. There is no mention of the Clandestine Jottings under Chen’s name. 61 One critical work claims the fth little window was called the Xiaochuang guang qingji 小窗廣清紀 [Extensive Clear Jottings from My Little Window]. Zhao Botao 趙伯陶, Ming Qing xiaopin 明清小品 [Ming and Qing Xiaopin] (Guilin: Guangxi shifan daxue chubanshe, 1999), p. 21. I cannot nd any record of this work, and with the exception of the source list, have not seen it referred to elsewhere.

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The Clear Jottings was arranged in a similar style to Shishuo xinyu 世說新語 [A New Account of Tales of the World], a famous fth century anthology of anecdotes, pithy comments, and interesting biographical sketches. This little window cites the following works of Chen’s as source material: Chen Meigong ji 陳眉公集 [A Chen Meigong Collection], Words of the Elders, A Madman’s Words, Zhenzhu chuan 珍珠船 [The Pearl Boat], and Secret Matters of the Majestic Perch. There is an un-attributed Biji 筆記 [Notes], which may also be Chen’s. Finally, two quotations from Chen open the rst chapter. The second work, the Captivating Jottings, is a four-chapter collection of miscellaneous works, covering the millennium and a half from the Han dynasty to the Ming, and it includes two pieces of Chen’s writing, one in the discussions [lun 論] section, and one in the memorial [biao 表] section.62 Wu Congxian’s foreword to the third work, the Further Jottings, a compilation of historical affairs, makes overt and extensive comparisons with one of Chen’s compilations, the Collection of Unusual Classical Literature. Although there is no mention of direct contact between Wu and Chen here, Wu was obviously familiar with Chen’s publication.63 So similar are these two works that one modern critic has opined that the miscellaneous collection of historical affairs in the Further Jottings is a deliberate imitation of Chen’s Collection of Unusual Classical Literature.64 The fourth work, the Personal Jottings, was published around 1615. The rst page of the rst chapter lists Chen as having edited the work. In the section called “Shangxin leshi” 賞心樂事 [“Delights and Pleasures”] Wu explicitly mentions two of Chen’s other volumes, the Xiao xia bu 銷夏部 [The Ministry of Summer Vacations] and the Pi han bu 辟寒部 [The Ministry of Avoiding Winter] (themselves both compilations of other writings). Two anecdotes in the text mention Chen by name.65 And nally, in chapter four, there is a letter from Wu to Feng Mengzhen 馮夢禎 (1546–1605), who became Chancellor of Nanking National University, and who had

62 These two works are reliably Chen’s, they can be found in chapters twenty-four and twenty-six of the Collected Works. 63 Wu in fact brought out another work in imitation of one by Chen, and directly acknowledged Chen’s inuence. See Wu Chengxue and Li Bin, “Reclusion and Social Municence”, pp. 70–1. 64 Wang Zhongmin ed., A Précis of Chinese Rare Books, p. 398. Wang also notes that Matteo Ricci’s On Friendship was included in this work and taken from the large compendium that carries Chen’s name, The Secret Satchel. 65 Wu Congxian, Personal Jottings from My Little Window (Beijing: Jinghua chubanshe, 2004), pp. 116 and 492.

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been a classmate of Chen’s friend and literary cohort, Tu Long.66 From this it is certain that Wu and Chen would have known of each other, and quite likely that they met.67 In summary: at least two of the four ‘little window’ books include Chen’s material, a third is compiled in imitation of one of Chen’s compilations, and Chen may have edited the fourth collection. With the exception of Wu himself, Chen appears to have had more to do with the ‘little window’ series than anyone else, and his name was clearly associated with these ‘little windows’. Therefore, the transferring of Chen’s name, from being the rst reader of The Scouring Blade (regardless of whether or not he was), to being the compiler of the Clandestine Jottings, was an easy one to make. The selection of the new title, if indeed it was chosen for the similarity it had with the other ‘little window’ books, was particularly clever. The title is not unlike one Chen himself could have chosen, with its suggestion of city-bound reclusion and a private window onto the world. The nal stroke of brilliance is that the content of the four little windows is similar enough to Chen’s own work to strengthen the association of the books with him. Consider the following passage from the Personal Jottings: Lying by my window, the shadow of the moonlight comes to the bed, sometimes it hovers among the wutong 梧桐 trees, sometimes among the poplars and willows. An emerald light comes over my bedspread, my body and spirit are lifted to an ethereal realm. The light owing out from the bamboo, seems to come from among the dark clouds, its brightness is like the jade belt pendant of Chang E 嫦娥, and like the feathered cloaks of the reclusive immortals. On this ne night being able to think of distant friends is consolation enough, a clearly whistled song will see me through to the dawn.68

It would have been possible to attribute these passages to Chen and not arouse suspicion. The ‘little windows’ title can similarly be associated with Chen without causing disbelief.

66 Chen Jiru, “Qing Feng Kaizhi taishi qi” 請馮開之太史啟 “An Invitation to Feng Kaizhi of the Hanlin Academy” in Wu Congxian, Personal Jottings from My Little Window, chap. 4. 67 It has been suggested that Wu was once Chen’s travelling companion. See GÔyama Kiwamu 合山究 ed., Ming Qing wenren qingyan ji 明清文人清言集 [A Collection of Pure Words from Ming and Qing Literati] (Beijing: Zhongguo guangbo dianshi chubanshe, 1991), p. 9. 68 Wu Congxian, Personal Jottings from My Little Window, p. 556.

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The last and certainly not least plank in the argument is philological. A comparison between the Ming edition of The Scouring Blade and the Qing edition of the Clandestine Jottings shows that a number of entries appear in the former but not in the latter. It is notable that in The Scouring Blade they almost always occur at the rst or nal column of a page, most likely indicating a transcribing error from The Scouring Blade to the Clandestine Jottings, rather than interpolation from the Clandestine Jottings to The Scouring Blade.69 Furthermore, corrected characters occur more frequently in the Clandestine Jottings than in The Scouring Blade, making it appear that some attention has been made to rectify previous printing errors.70 The Clandestine Jottings was rst published in the 1620s as the The Scouring Blade. It was compiled by Lu Shaoheng, a relatively unknown gure; and ironically his lack of celebrity seems reason enough to truly suppose him the compiler. Although, if the list of readers given at the beginning is correct then Lu was well connected as he managed to get both Chen and Wu Congxian to look over the book. One and a half centuries later, with the edition carrying the 1770 foreword by Chen Benjing, the text begins its incarnation as the Clandestine Jottings, now attributed to the major late-Ming writer, Chen Jiru. This work is the thread that runs from the late Ming to the present day.

69 See, for example, for chapter one, the entries beginning: 5b column 1, 12b column 9, 13b column 9, and 21b column 9. They are four of the seven passages missing, the other three passages are all very short and could easily have been missed in the transcribing (5b column 7, 9a column 2, and 16b column 6). 70 In chapter one, for example, see the entries beginning: 3b column 4 reads 椽 for 掾; 10a column 3 reads 持 for 待; 20a column 1 reads 如 for 知.

CHAPTER NINE

THE MODERN PERIODS The disappearance of Manchu rule and the coming of the Republic initially allowed for an interesting reappraisal of Chen and his work. However, in recent years opinions on Chen on the mainland have once again been subject to political considerations. Like the previous chapter, this one nishes with the Clandestine Jottings as this work now enjoys an unprecedented publishing record, and more than anything else is responsible for holding Chen’s name in the public domain. Chen in Republican China: the 1920s and 1930s Critical appraisal of Chen by individuals during the Qing identied him, and his writing, within a particular socio-political history. Chen’s lifestyle and his writings were tied to the political vicissitudes and social changes of the late Ming and, as we have seen, often coupled to the waning fortunes of the dynasty. After the fall of the Qing, during the 1920s and 1930s, Chen’s writing became popular once more. Critical appraisal again placed his writing and his lifestyle within a socio-political history. But this time, instead of being seen as decadent and harmful, his writing, and the spirit that informed it, divested of its political content, was generally seen as rejuvenating and positive. In the early-twentieth century, the literature of the past was once again seen as a source from which new developments could ow; but where late-Ming writers had thought of xiaopin as a vehicle for truthful self-expression and self-discovery, the early-twentieth century thinkers were interested in using literature for the betterment of the entire society. For many early-twentieth century intellectuals, the grand project of national revival that had been growing since the defeat in the rst Opium War (1839–42) required an educated, and politically aware population. Many early-twentieth century intellectuals were driven by a vision of a modern China, taking her place as a strong, independent, and prosperous world leader, and the role literature, as a determining component of national culture, could play in this process was famously encapsulated in Lu Xun’s sketch of how he abandoned

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the study of medicine in Sendai 仙台, Japan, in order to start a literary movement.1 The range of views on how the modernisation of the populace and nation could be achieved was vast, for the subject occupied almost the entire energy of the intellectuals of the time.2 Some of the earlier literary reformers, toward the end of the nineteenth century, like Liang Qichao 梁啟超 (1873–1929) and Yan Fu 嚴復 (1854–1921), wanted young readers to completely abandon Chinese ction and concentrate on Western ction. For them Chinese literature had little to offer a modern reader. In fact it was argued that it could be quite harmful. Lu Xun, for instance, “. . . had a bizarre conception that the Chinese syntax was too confused and primitive to express modern thoughts”, and should thus be avoided.3 But for others thinkers, like Lin Yutang and Zhou Zuoren 周作人 (1885–1967), reading Chinese literature was a worthwhile pursuit, and one genre that they thought especially worthwhile reading was xiaopin.4 Zhou Zuoren gave a reason for this in his introduction to a compilation of xiaopin when he linked the genre of xiaopin to modernity. Zhou pointed out that it was partly the introduction of western literature (representing modernity) to China that made the ourishing of an interest in xiaopin possible. He also thought that the two-hundred year period when xiaopin was neglected was a consequence of the notion that writing must bring with it the Way, that it must act as a vehicle for certain uplifting and improving teachings, and that it

1 For Lu Xun’s reiteration of the experience that led him from medicine to literature see his “Zixu” 自序 “Preface” to the Nahan 吶喊 [A Call to Arms] collection in Collected Works of Lu Xun, vol. 1, pp. 269–76. 2 A good introduction to the history of literature from the 1890s to the 1920s can be found in Leo Ou-fan Lee “Literary Trends 1: The Quest for Modernity, 1895–1927” in CHC12, pp. 451–504. 3 Simon Leys, The Burning Forest (London: Paladin, 1988), p. 102. 4 Neither Lin nor Zhou believed that all Chinese literature was good quality. In one passage Lin suggests dire political consequences from the use of a ‘false literary standard’, or a dead language. Lin Yutang, My Country and My People (London: William Heinemann, 1938), pp. 223–5. Not all commentators of this period liked xiaopin. The introduction to the Wan Ming xiaopinwen zongji xuan 晚明小品文總集選 [General Selection of Late-Ming Xiaopin] (Shanghai: Nanjiang shuju, 1935) was written by the compiler, Wang Ying 王英, in 1934. From the rst line Wang Ying makes it clear that just because a book on this literature is being published we must not mistake it for a promotion of this body of literature. Then comes a grudging admission that Ming literature does have some historical value after all, and that literature such as this should not be done away with merely on the grounds of acting in accordance with what has been done before.

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must be morally heuristic and transforming.5 It was that particular Way, those teachings, and moralisms, that Zhou thought was moribund. In this argument Zhou, and others like him, were not so far removed from the sixteenth century literary polemicists who argued against the grand secretary style. In those arguments xiaopin came to represent a literary genre in which linguistic and literary aesthetic considerations took pride of place over moral pedagogical pragmatism. In xiaopin, then, Zhou had found a natural ally. For Zhou, and Lin Yutang, literature was to be enjoyed. Lin asked himself, rhetorically, where the leaders for a modern China could be found, and answered: I am reminded that the good men in China have always hidden themselves, have in fact always wanted to hide themselves in wine and women and song, or for the less emotional souls, in going back to the farm and living a simple life of nature.6

Many of the styles of living of those ‘good men of China’, that Lin mentions, are associated with Chen, and all of the styles of living that Lin mentions are common themes in late-Ming xiaopin. For Lin the modern world was too fast-paced, and he offered in its place the balm of an idle life, a life spent in idle pursuits and cultivated enjoyment. One of the ways Lin indulged himself was through reading, and in this context he observed that: The mood for reading is perfectly described by Ch’en Chiju [Chen Jiru]: “The ancient people called books and paintings ‘limp volumes’ and ‘soft volumes’; therefore the best style of reading a book or opening an album is the leisurely style.”7

For Lin it was important to read, but how you read was even more important, and it was here that Chen’s value as an enthusiast for an aesthetic life was manifest. Chen’s works could act as a guide for good living. This is slightly different from the late Ming where Chen was offering knowledge of styles of living to those who did not enjoy them through their birthright. In the 1920 and 1930s Chen’s value lay in offering strategies for coping with a hostile world.

5 Zhou Zuoren, “Xu” 序 “Foreword” in Mingren xiaopin ji 明人小品集 [A Collection of Ming Xiaopin] (Taipei: Dahong tushu chubanshe, 1987). 6 Lin Yutang, My Country and My People (London: William Heinemann, 1938), p. 337. 7 Lin Yutang, The Importance of Living (Taipei: Meiya, 1975), pp. 383–4.

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Modern critical opinion on Chen’s writing, by which I mean from the May Fourth period on, habitually categorises his writing as xiaopin, in this they continued the Qing attitude. The other Chen, the Chen of the formal biographies and tomb epitaphs we encountered in chapter ve is no longer present. This is clear when we examine which of Chen’s works were reproduced during this period, and how commentators of the time viewed Chen. Re-printings of Chen’s Work Chapter three examined the changes that occurred in the printing industry during the Ming dynasty and their relevance to Chen. The next substantial change in the technology of printing, also relevant to the re-printing of Chen’s works, came in the latter part of the nineteenth century and the beginning of the twentieth century when modern industrial machinery began to be employed. Though moveable type was not new to China it had not been extensively used.8 One historian of the printing industry saw the wide-scale introduction of moveable type as a necessary precondition to the ourishing of printing houses in the early part of the twentieth century.9 While moveable lead type expedited the speed with which publishers could prepare new works, other scholars point to the change in the technology surrounding printing presses. The historian Christopher Reed examined the role played by manufacturing rms in Shanghai, with reference to the print industry, and concluded that: From Mingjing’s modern plant down to the smallest and rudest of workshops, these grimy, noisy, violent shops, much more fundamentally than any of the large Chinese publishers at the other end of this cultural industry, were responsible for the extensive mechanization and spread of letterpress technology throughout Shanghai’s and China’s printing industry in the early twentieth century.10

For Reed it was the technology, along with what he calls the political and cultural needs that made possible the enormous number of

8 Needham records the earliest usage of moveable type to the eleventh century. See Joseph Needham, Science and Civilisation, 5:1, p. 201. 9 Shi Meicen 史梅岑, Zhongguo yinshua fazhan shi 中國印刷發展史 [A History of the Development of Chinese Printing] (Taipei: Taiwan shangwu yinshuguan, 1966), pp. 148–164. 10 Christopher A. Reed, “Sooty Sons of Vulcan: Shanghai’s Printing Machine Manufacturers, 1895–1932” Republican China, 20:2, pp. 41–2.

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new publications during this period.11 The number of publications was extraordinary. In an article dealing with the rise of, among other things, a large literate reading public, Leo Ou-fan Lee and Andrew Nathan note that: . . . one can estimate that there were about a hundred substantial periodicals being published at any given time in the Ch’ing’s last decade, and that on the average each published about three thousand copies per issue, for a national circulation of three hundred thousand.12

Added to these journals of course were books, with the most popular already selling in large numbers by the 1910s. Perry Link has noted that: “One of the early best sellers . . . was Xu Zhenya’s Yu li hun ( Jade Pear Spirit), which was rst published in 1912 and achieved a circulation of several hundred thousand.”13 The literacy rate during the late-Qing was also substantial, in her work on literacy during the Qing dynasty, Evelyn Rawski estimates that: “30 to 45 percent of the men and from 2 to 10 percent of the women in China knew how to read and write.”14 Once again, economic, cultural, and social trends produced an environment in which some of Chen’s works would ourish. Chen’s writings were re-printed in two formats during the 1920s and 1930s: individual works were included in large collectanea, and individual pieces, such as forewords or records, were included in small anthologies of xiaopin. It is the anthologies that demonstrate a reinterpretation of Chen and his writings, and which were printed with a large reading public in mind. Collectanea, on the other hand, were often printed for specialist readers or collectors, and really only of interest to libraries or bibliophiles. They tended to reproduce entire works and not offer annotations or other forms of help to readers lacking an education in literary Chinese.15 11

Ibid., p. 9. Leo Ou-fan Lee and Andrew J. Nathan, “The Beginnings of Mass Culture: Journalism and Fiction in the Late Ch’ing and Beyond” in David Johnson et al. eds., Popular Culture in Late Imperial China (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1985), pp. 370–1. 13 Perry Link, “Traditional-Style Popular Urban Fiction in the Teens and Twenties” in Merle Goldman ed., Modern Chinese Literature in the May Fourth Era (Cambridge, Mass: Harvard University Press, 1977), p. 327. 14 Evelyn Rawski, Education and Popular Literacy in Ch’ing China (Ann Arbor: University of Michigan Press, 1979), p. 140. Rawski adds the caveat that these gures included everyone from the classically trained scholar-ofcial to those who knew only a few hundred characters. 15 This is a generalisation, but see this entry on collectanea [congshu 叢書]: Robert 12

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Many large collectanea were produced during the republican period. Indeed, the entire six-volume set of the Secret Satchel was re-printed in 1922, including the volume containing only Chen’s works. Even in these collections Chen’s standing was growing. He was now listed as the compiler of the entire Secret Satchel collection, having completely taken over from the Shen brothers, a position that he retains to this day.16 Another large work was the Congshu jicheng 叢書集成 [Collected Collectanea] of the 1930s. As the name implies, this work was an anthology of other collectanea and so it is to be expected that many of Chen’s works found their way into it.17 Indeed, all of Chen’s works that had appeared in the Secret Satchel were included in it (with one exception), as were three other books.18 Smaller collections include works like the Sibu congkan 四部叢刊 [Collectanea Arranged According to the Four Branches]. Published in instalments between 1919 and 1936, it included a reprint of a fairly unimportant work of Chen’s called Chen Meigong xiansheng dingzheng danyuan ji 陳眉公先生訂正丹淵集 [Mr. Chen Meigong’s Revised Edition of the Collection from the Cinnabar Depths].19 Finally, a smaller work that is halfway between the large collectanea and the anthologies of xiaopin. The Wuchao xiaoshuo Daguan 五朝小說大觀 [Compendium of Fiction from Five Dynasties] was printed in the 1920s, it included one of Chen’s more lively xiaopin biographies, the “Li Gong zi zhuan” 李公 子傳 [“Biography of the Honourable Master Li”]. Chen’s works were still nding their way into large collections, but none of these editions offered much in the way of criticism or comment, that was left to the smaller anthologies.

Joe Cutter, “Ts’ung-shu” in William H. Nienhauser, Jr. ed., The Indiana Companion to Traditional Chinese Literature (Bloomington: Indiana University Press, 1986), pp. 810–3. 16 In the catalogues of the national libraries of Taiwan and China, and the Chinese University of Hong Kong, Chen is listed as the main compiler of the Secret Satchel. If the Shen brothers are mentioned at all it is in a secondary position, they are never listed as the primary editors unless together with Chen. 17 Chen’s works are also naturally represented in the other large collections such as the Sibu beiyao 四部備要 [Essentials of the Four Sections]. 18 The exception was the A Record of what was Seen and Heard. The three other works were the Addendum to The Correct Way to Drink Tea, the Notes on Poetry from Mount She, and the Reading: Sixteen Views. 19 The original Danyuan ji 丹淵集 [Collection from the Cinnabar Depths] was a collection of the writings of the Song dynasty literary gure Wen Tong 文同 (1018–1079).

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The Xiaopin Anthologies The numerous anthologies of xiaopin that came out during this period invariably contained works by Chen. As the production of this literature was often ostensibly aimed at improving the spirit of the nation, the anthologies all make a point of telling the reader what the selection criteria for inclusion in a given anthology were. The anthologies can be divided into those that claim to present the nest examples of xiaopin as a literary genre, and those that, in the spirit of xiaopin, were compiled according to the whim of the compiler. There are also anthologies that suggest that these two methodologies of selection are not mutually exclusive. I will give an example of each type to show that, regardless of how late-Ming xiaopin was understood in the rst half of the twentieth century, Chen was invariably included. One of the most famous anthologies compiled according to the subjective view of the compiler was the Twenty Late-Ming Xiaopin Writers, which was collated by Shi Zhecun 施蟄存 (1905–2003) during the 1930s. Chen is the twentieth of the writers listed, but as they are arranged largely according to their date of birth, little needs to be made of this. Shi notes in his foreword that he made selections according to his own caprice rather than anything else, with the two exceptions of the non-inclusion of Zhang Dai (because his works were readily available in other publications), and the inclusion of Liu Tongren 劉同人 ( js.1634, because his works were not readily available elsewhere). In his foreword, Shi explained that he compiled the book from works which were popular, and that all he was doing was satisfying market demand and making a living for himself, a kind of Chen-esque homage in itself.20 In contrast to Shi Zhecun’s anthology, Zhu Jianxin claimed that his anthology, Selected and Annotated Late-Ming Xiaopin, was compiled solely on grounds of ‘objective excellence’. To impress this point on the reader, Zhu quoted a passage from The Analects that recorded Confucius bemoaning the then current motivations for learning: “The Master said, ‘Men of antiquity studied to improve themselves; men today study to impress others.’ ”21 Zhu noted that he did not compile the anthology with himself in mind, but that it was done for the benet of others. In

20 21

Shi Zhecun, “Xu” 序 “Foreword” in Twenty Late-Ming Xiaopin Writers. D.C. Lau trans., Confucius—The Analects, p. 128.

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his foreword Zhu mentioned that the collection was arranged in ve sections.22 Chen is represented in two of those sections. Zhu does not directly claim that Chen has been included because he believes his writing to be of the highest quality, but he does quote Zhang Dai on how a collection that preserves good poetry will be thin on poets, whereas a collection that preserves poets will not contain the best quality prose. Zhu then says that his collection included many unknown writers, but is full of excellent material.23 In this instance, therefore, Chen is included because of the quality of his writing. Zhou Zuoren compiled an important anthology of late-Ming xiaopin, and this collection appears to embrace both of the criteria mentioned above. Zhou suggested, in his introduction, that literary merit and the editor’s personal likes and dislikes are not mutually exclusive, and that his anthology married the two.24 The edition was arranged according to literary genre. There are slightly under a hundred works selected, and Chen is represented by two of his better-known forewords.25 These three collections together demonstrate that Chen was viewed primarily as a writer of literary merit, and also that he could be viewed as embodying a particularly enlightened lifestyle. Not since his own day had these two aspects, his writing and his authorial persona, been simultaneously lauded. Most of the comments on Chen at this time were positive, but they took a slightly different form from the favourable comments in the seventeenth century. Comments on Chen Disengagement from issues surrounding the state of the Chinese nation was not seen as an honourable choice by most intellectuals during the 1920s and 1930s. Like the early-Qing period, those who made positive comments on Chen during this period therefore did not describe him as a recluse, or if they did, they made it clear that he had not forsaken the world. Instead of appearing as a recluse, Chen was described as 22

The ve sections are discussions [lunshuo], forewords and colophons [xu ba], records and biographies [ ji zhuan], correspondence [shujian 書簡], and diaries [riji]. 23 Zhu Jianxin, “Introduction and Notes” in Selected and Annotated Late-Ming Xiaopin. 24 Zhou Zuoren, “Foreword” in A Collection of Ming Xiaopin. 25 There is yet a fourth collection from this period. Compiled in 1935 by Wang Ying the work General Selection of Late-Ming Xiaopin is in four sections, and is an abridged selection of four anthologies of xiaopin that were originally compiled during the late Ming. Chen appears in all four works, although in the fourth it is only his foreword to the original work that has been reproduced.

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an artist or writer; if Chen’s writing was to be promoted then it was better that the gure behind the writing was socially useful. This view of Chen was evident in Lu Xun’s essay on reclusion. In it Lu Xun glossed over the differences between recluses of different dynasties, and claimed that reclusion itself was merely another way to ll one’s rice bowl. In so doing Lu Xun was reiterating the theme that became common during the Tang and Song dynasties: that reclusion was the complementary opposite of being an ofcial. Lu Xun takes issue with the Qing condemnation of Chen. He quotes disapprovingly the closing stanza of the Jiang Shiquan poem that describes Chen as a crane ying around the Grand Councillor’s residence, with its intimations of an unctuous mendacity. For Lu Xun, this characterisation of Chen was quite wrongheaded and was misunderstanding of the cultural construction of reclusion.26 Lu’s point was that if a recluse is ‘known’ then they cannot be a ‘real’ one, that they should not be expected to be a ‘real’ one, and that they should not be judged by the expectations that pertain to the concept of a true recluse. Lu Xun’s understanding of reclusion appears to have been echoed by other thinkers of the period. The literary historian, Jiang Xingyu, wrote a modest but informative work on the tradition of reclusion in China. In his work Jiang lists thirteen recluses from the Ming dynasty, one more than the History of the Ming.27 Here a protable comparison can be made. The two lists only share one gure, that of the poettraveller, Sun Yiyuan 孫一元 (1484–1520). If the two lists were based on a similar interpretation of reclusion then we would expect them to agree on more than one gure. We know that the History of the Ming only placed in this chapter gures that had refused government position after an offer had been made. In contrast, Jiang noted that recluses were largely inspired by two motivations: either their sense of individualism was too strong to be accommodated in government service, or they had a defeatist attitude in regard to the world and were not interested in participating in it.28 Although Chen could be accommodated in the rst denition he was perhaps not ‘real’ enough, for Jiang chose to not include him.

26

Collected Works of Lu Xun, vol. 6, p. 223. Jiang Xingyu 蔣星煜, Zhongguo yinshi yu Zhongguo wenhua 中國隱士與中國文化 [Chinese Recluses and Chinese Culture] (Shanghai: Zhonghua shuju, 1943), pp. 48–68. 28 Ibid., p. 6. 27

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The literary critic Ah Ying’s comments on Chen also demonstrate an understanding that Chen’s way of living did not involve a rejection of society. Ah Ying compared two late-Ming collections, one of which included Chen’s Reading: Sixteen Views. Ah Ying thought that this work demonstrated a praiseworthy attitude of engagement with the world. The other collection included Tu Benjun’s 屠本畯 (?–1622) Shanlin jingji ji 山林經濟籍 [A Register of Those Who Rule in the Mountains], which Ah Ying says reected an attitude of disengagement from the world.29 But not everyone took this view of Chen’s reclusion. According to Lu Xun’s formulation of reclusion, one historian who misunderstood Chen’s reclusion was Qian Jibo 錢基博 (1887–1957). In his early 1930s book on Ming literature, Qian Jibo referred to Chen as enjoying an undeserved fame as a recluse, and said that his writings were insubstantial.30 This negative appraisal of Chen also highlights the return, in the early-twentieth century, of the view that there was a direct correlation between the morality of the writer and the quality of the writing, and this brings us to other interpretations of the life and work of Chen Jiru. The tendency to view Chen as an artist or writer gained ground during the Nanjing decade of the Republic (1927–1937) and can be seen in the way that the History of the Ming biography was selectively quoted by later writers. This biography was cited in reference works such as the Index to Materials on Ming Biographies (a reference tool that provides short biographies and lists biographical sources), and in critical editions of literature such as Zhu Jianxin’s Selected and Annotated Late-Ming Xiaopin. In its entry on Chen, the Index to Materials on Ming Biographies drew on the History of the Ming biography, but it cited selectively and focused on Chen’s writing skills. It observed that Chen was famous for a time, and that many people vied to acquire his works. It added the comment that in calligraphy Chen followed the aesthetic of the Song scholar-ofcials Su Shi and Mi Fu 米芾 (1051–1107).31 Every other line can be directly attributed to the biography in the History of the Ming, but when the editors found that something needed to be added, it was the description of Chen as an artist that was brought into the record. Zhu Jianxin’s biographical information on Chen is also taken

29

Jiang Deming ed., Ah Ying’s Notes on Literature, p. 99. Qian Jibo, Mingdai wenxue 明代文學 [Ming Dynasty Literature] (Shanghai: Shangwu, 1933), p. 102. 31 Guoli zhongyang tushuguan, Index to Materials on Ming Biographies (Taipei: Zhongyang tushuguan, 1965), p. 608. 30

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from the History of the Ming biography. In mentioning Chen’s writing Zhu abridges the History of the Ming text so that it reads as if Chen went into reclusion and then, on the death of his father, locked himself away and devoted himself to writing.32 The direct connection between Chen living in seclusion, and his behaviour after the death of his father is not present in the History of the Ming biography, and neither is the emphasis on writing so marked. It is as if there was no other Chen for Zhu, than Chen the moral gure who turned to writing. In general, Chen’s re-entry into popular publishing was accompanied by a renewal of acclamation for the life that he lived. To an intellectual environment mired in crisis, gures such as Chen seemed to offer a fresh approach to engaging with the world. Publications of Chen’s works or comments on him between the 1940s and the 1980s were few. But in recent years, especially in China, Chen has once again been widely published, and his status today as a guide through life, is one that few gures from the Chinese literary past can match. Interestingly, there is a divergence between the opinions of Chen’s writings and of the lifestyle that informed them; although it is not as signicant as that of the Qing period, it is evident. Chen Jiru Today The 1990s saw a renewed interest in late-Ming xiaopin, with Chen one of the most popular authors. The reasons for this renewal of interest were twofold and related. The rst was the loosening of control of leisure time by the government, this went simultaneously hand in hand with a resurgence of the kind of material that could be, and was, published. The second was reected in the needs of a society undergoing enormous structural reform. Both reasons affected the quantity and type of late-Ming material being re-printed, as well as the way that material was marketed. After the Chinese Communist Party (CCP) came to power in 1949 they began to limit the amount of material that could be read, the circumstances under which it could be read, and the amount of time that could be devoted to private reading. The political scientist, Wang Shaoguang, has of written the CCP’s view of leisure in the 1950s and

32

Zhu Jianxin, Selected and Annotated Late-Ming Xiaopin, p. 373.

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1960s that: “. . . according to the Maoist interpretation of Marx, leisure is merely the time given to workers for their recuperation.”33 In this Althusserian dystopia, a private world of reading, separated from the state’s interests, was simply unimaginable. Wang goes on to detail the ways that the government inserted itself into leisure time and noted that: Even reading was often dictated. Party and Youth league branches issued lists of “recommended books,” and discussion sessions were often scheduled afterward so that everyone felt compelled to read the assigned books. Those who failed to participate in ofcially organized leisure activities risked being criticized for “cutting themselves off from the masses” and “lacking collective spirit.”34

In the early 1980s, with the worse excesses of Maoism behind them, the CCP began to pull back from the close monitoring of private time and activities. The consequences in publishing were remarkable. Wang notes that: “The number of books published rose from fewer than 5,000 in 1970 to 17,000 in 1979 and 88,000 in 1991.”35 This process continues today, and some of the multi-storey bookshops in Beijing now more than rival their counterparts in Hong Kong and Taipei for titles held. Chen Jiru has re-appeared on the shelves, but in a slightly different guise to his previous incarnation. If the interest in Chen and his writing in the 1920s and 1930s was led by the intellectuals, the popular revival of interest in Chen’s writings in the 1990s shares a stronger similarity to the situation in the late-Ming when an avaricious reading public enjoyed the kind of material that Chen wrote. Of course, the differences between the late Ming and the present are also important for they reect much-changed social needs. In 1990s China, the security of the iron rice bowl [tie fanwan 鐵飯碗] of lifetime employment, state-funded medical care and housing, was undermined. This, along with a growing number of frustrated, unemployed, or under-employed workers, has increasingly caused social dislocation. Indeed: “Contentious politics, in the form of tax riots, industrial strikes, street demonstrations, and the like, have

33 Wang Shaoguang, “The Politics of Private Time: Changing Leisure Patterns in Urban China” in Deborah Davis et al. eds., Urban Spaces in Contemporary China: The Potential for Autonomy and Community in Post-Mao China (Cambridge, New York, and Melbourne: Woodrow Wilson Press and Cambridge University Press, 1995), p. 152. 34 Ibid., p. 153. 35 Ibid., p. 161.

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become a prominent feature of the post-Mao social landscape.”36 The sociologist, Børge Bakken, has recently commented that: China is experiencing a ‘boundary crisis’. A primary objective of the authorities has become a strengthening of the primary social boundaries that are rapidly eroding as a result of modernization. Ofcial exemplary norms and standards of ‘normality’ and ‘abnormality’ are promoted, and warnings issued about social deviance.37

In short, the lives of many people are not settled, employment and economic security are no longer certain, and the bulwark of security in basic needs, as provided by the state, has disappeared. In this situation many people seek some form of stability against or solace from the vagaries of the external world. With respect to the reception of Chen and his writing, it is in these social needs that the contemporary situation differs from that of the late Ming. In the late Ming, Chen’s writings enabled people to understand and adopt cultural behaviours that were in many ways foreign to their upbringing. In the 1990s however, Chen’s work is presented as a guide to living in troubled times. Rather than helping you rise in the world, reading Chen will help you survive. Comments on Chen Contemporary portraits of Chen can be divided into three categories. In the rst group are the many literary historians or compilers of literary anthologies, for them Chen is a substantial literary gure. The second and third groups are demarcated through their specic attitudes to Chen’s reclusion in particular, and his lifestyle in general. The second group mostly consists of mainland critics, and for them what they regard as Chen’s anti-social reclusion should not be emulated. Indeed, the culture of blame that was attached to Chen during the mid-Qing enjoyed something of a resurgence in mainland China during the nal two decades of the twentieth century. The third group consists of critics who nd no particular fault with Chen’s reclusion, and those critics tend to be located in Taiwan and Hong Kong.

36 Elizabeth J. Perry, “Crime, Corruption, and Contention” in Merle Goldman and Roderick Macfarquhar eds., The Paradox of China’s Post-Mao Reforms (Cambridge, Mass. and London: Harvard University Press, 1999), p. 308. 37 Børge Bakken, The Exemplary Society: Human Improvement, Social Control, and the Dangers of Modernity in China (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2000), p. 354.

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To take one example of perceptions of Chen’s importance in literary history I would suggest we turn to Nelson Wu who, in attempting to show “. . . the parallel but non-concurrent patterns in the development of philosophy, literary style and landscape painting”, has constructed a chart of important representative gures from the early sixteenth to the late seventeenth century. Chen is one of four writers represented in this chart.38 This, of course, does not necessarily mean that Chen was a great writer, but it does suggest that he is particularly emblematic of a type. Chen’s historical literary importance is further borne out in the writing of the Taiwanese literary historian Chen Wanyi. Following an assessment initially made in the Complete Library in Four Branches of Literature, Chen Wanyi regards Chen and Li Zhi as being representative of the two main types of late-Ming xiaopin writers.39 Xia Xianchun also noted the literary value of Chen’s work, describing him as a famous xiaopin writer, and says that his writing is gentle [wenya 溫雅].40 The authors of Zhongguo xiaopinwen shi 中國小品文史 [A History of Chinese Xiaopinwen] describe Chen as an excellent writer and painter, and a gure who had a substantial inuence in literary matters in his day.41 Chen’s writing is seen as being at the end of a line of literary transmission. This line begins with the renowned late-Ming gure, Li Zhi, and passes through the two famous literary groups of the xiaopin genre, the Gongan and Jingling Schools, before coming to Chen.42 For many commentators however, it is Chen’s reclusion that needs to be dealt with. The reasons that the second group, that is the mainland critics, nd Chen’s reclusion objectionable may of course have something to do with abiding CCP attitudes toward leisure and disengagement from social responsibility. For many years in PRC ideology an apolitical act was a theoretical impossibility. In practical terms the state has retreated from this position, yet it still makes the marketing of Chen’s works in the PRC a delicate operation. Chen can be promoted as 38 The other three are Li Panlong 李攀龍 (1514–1570), Wang Shizhen, and the other Wang Shizhen 王士禛 (1634–1711). See Nelson I. Wu, “Intellectual Movements since the Teachings of Wang Yang-ming: Parallel but nonconcurrent developments” Philosophy East and West, 23, 1973, p. 229. 39 See chapter three of Chen Wanyi, Late-Ming Xiaopin and the Livestyle of Ming Dynasty Literati. 40 Xia Xianchun, Ming liushi jia xiaopinwen jingpin 明六十家小品文精品 [The Finest Xiaopin from Sixty Ming Writers] (Shanghai: Shanghai shehui kexue yuan chubanshe, 1995), pp. 7 and 9. 41 Chen Shuliang and Zheng Xianchun, A History of Chinese Xiaopinwen, p. 227. 42 Ibid., pp. 230–1.

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an author who has the requisite command of ancient wisdom to guide the reader through a frustrating world. But it is a circumscribed Chen Jiru. The Chen Jiru who advocated lazing about in the hills chatting to monks is hardly welcome. The CCP may have relinquished a certain amount of control over the printing industry, but they are still not warming to the public promotion of a life of moneyed leisure, neither it seems do some of Chen’s compilers. For this reason mainland writers often label Chen as a charlatan, even as they laud his writing. In his slim book, Zhi yongshen yao Ming xiaopin 旨永神遙明小品 [Ming Xiaopin and the Drifting Eternal Spirit], the mainland writer Wu Chengxue provides a clear indication of his attitude toward Chen by titling his chapter on Chen: “Yunjian xianhe Chen Meigong” 雲間 閑鶴陳眉公 [“Chen Meigong, the Idle Crane from Yunjian”]. This is a direct reference to the acerbic poem in Jiang Shiquan’s drama. Wu makes it very clear that Chen was a famous shanren, but does not directly dismiss Chen until the end of the chapter where he quotes the eight-line poem from Jiang Shiquan’s play in full, and notes that this revealed the fundamentally false nature of Chen’s so-called “lofty purity” [qing gao 清高].43 This ‘falsehood’ is the crux of contemporary mainland critiques. In his collection of late-Ming xiaopin, the Sichuanese scholar Hu Yicheng, wrote of Chen that: “Although he called himself a recluse, he often mixed with ofcials and the elite. Because of this people ridiculed him at the time, and literary circles mocked him.”44 But this is really the eighteenth century view of Chen, not the dominant view of Chen’s day at all. And it is precisely this kind of misunderstanding of Chen’s reclusion that Lu Xun attacked in the 1930s. The anxiety over the gure of Chen Jiru is more fully enunciated in the introduction to the only work in recent times wholly devoted to Chen’s writing. The compiler, Hu Shaotang, wrote in his introduction to Chen Meigong’s Xiaopin that the reader does not have to agree with Chen’s analysis of historical events and persons, nor integrate his world-view and philosophy. The limits of Chen’s social class and his period in history should also not be ignored. Chen’s individual works show his prejudices; in his life as

43

Wu Chengxue, Ming Xiaopin and the Drifting Eternal Spirit, p. 52. Hu Yicheng 胡義成 ed., Ming xiaopin sanbai pian 明小品三百篇 [Three Hundred Ming Xiaopin] (Xi’an: Xibei daxue chubanshe, 1992), p. 221. 44

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a recluse his interests and world view were obviously far removed from the toiling masses.45 A different approach is taken to the question of Chen’s reclusion in Taiwan and Hong Kong. Chen Wanyi takes two passages from the Chronological Biography to suggest that if Chen was seen as “natural and relaxed”, then at the bottom of his heart he was scared and timid, suggesting that Chen had a natural predisposition to reclusive behaviour in his personality.46 Despite Chen Wanyi’s antipathy to reclusion, he still viewed Chen as an admirable gure, the most rened of recluses, and suggests that Chen did not become a famous recluse under false pretensions.47 The notion of Chen as someone who dealt with problems, not so much by judicious leaving alone, as by judicious and scrupulous avoidance, is advanced by another Taiwanese academic, Geng Xiangyuan, who has written that Chen was more than happy to avoid political trouble by pretending to not notice anything.48 Geng’s evidence for this assertion is taken directly from Chen’s writings and the assertion should stand, but Geng’s comments need not appear especially forceful. We know that Chen was involved in local political activities, such as the compilation of the district gazetteer and management of the soup kitchens, in his local area. We also know that on at least one occasion, when Chen wrote to the eunuch Wei Zhongxian, he could involve himself in politics at the highest level. Yet another Taiwanese source suggests that in addition to being a hermit, Chen shunned ofcial life because of his pockmarked face, possibly the markings that smallpox had left on him.49 This information does not appear in any 45

See Hu’s foreword in Hu Shaotang, Chen Meigong’s Xiaopin, pp. 1–8. Chen Wanyi, Late-Ming Xiaopin and the Livestyle of Ming Dynasty Literati, p. 103. I am not convinced that Chen was scared and timid, even within his family. An anecdote from the Chronological Biography argues against this. Chen’s father’s rst wife died in 1579, at which time Chen’s mother assumed the status of ‘principal wife’. Chen’s mother passed away in 1596 and was initially buried in a grave at the foot of the ancestral graves at Five Mile Embankment [Wuli tang 五里塘], just to the north of Huating. She and the rst wife had not gotten along well in life and to be lying in such proximity in death caused Chen some disquiet. He repeatedly visited geomancers and two years later had her interred at Mount Tianma. He did this while his father was still living, it demonstrates quite some initiative on his part, and argues against Chen being prepared to go to any lengths to avoid conict. See NP, 10a–12a. 47 Chen Wanyi, Late-Ming Xiaopin and the Livestyle of Ming Dynasty Literati, pp. 108 and 112. Though in another biographical entry on Chen, Chen Wanyi included the eightline poem savaging Chen’s reclusion. Though this was just done to draw attention to the criticism that followed Chen’s fame. See Chen Wanyi, Ming and Qing Xiaopin, p. 35. 48 Geng Xiangyuan, “The Attitude of a Disengaged Scholar”, p. 10. 49 Du Lian ed., Ming Autobiographical Documents, p. 252. 46

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other record and can be set aside, what I want to draw attention to here is the commonality of these three scholars in their acceptance of Chen as a recluse. Finally, in his Discussion and Analysis of Late-Ming Xiaopin, the Hong Kong academic Chen Shaotang accepts Chen as a genuine recluse, he notes his talents and fame, but also points out that Chen satised all the people who came asking for writing from him. Chen Shaotang notes that people criticised Chen for using reclusion as a shortcut to advancement, but then quotes Mao Xianglin’s comments on Chen not doing this to refute this suggestion.50 The re-emergence of coeval praise for Chen’s works and his lifestyle that occurred in the early-twentieth century is still largely intact. Although in some mainland critics’ minds Chen was a false recluse, for other mainland literary critics, such as Xia Xianchun and Huang Zhuoyue, this was not an issue as they focussed on his literary endeavours.51 Re-printings of Chen’s Works There can be no doubt that Chen is presently regarded as one of the major late-Ming xiaopin writers. As in the 1920s and 1930s, his works today are invariably collected in every modern anthology.52 One cause of this is the continuing inuence wielded by early-twentieth century critics. Over half a century after his aforementioned anthology, Shi Zhecun participated in the expansive collection Lidai xiaopin Daguan 歷代小品大觀 [Compendium of Xiaopin through the Dynasties]. This anthology appeared in 1991 and includes works from the pre-Qin period to the Qing. The collection includes nine pieces by Chen. Anthologies like

50

Chen Shaotang, Discussion and Analysis of Late-Ming Xiaopin, p. 123. Neither Xia nor Huang give any suggestion that Chen’s reclusion was false in their biographical notes on him. See Xia Xianchun, The Finest Xiaopin from Sixty Ming Writers, p. 259; and Huang Zhuoyue, A Collection of Leisurely and Elegant Xiaopin, pp. 254–5. 52 What follows is a short list of works to hand which include works by Chen. GÔyama Kiwamu, A Collection of Pure Words from Ming and Qing Literati has Chen as the third most cited writer out of about seventy writers. Hu Yicheng, Three Hundred Ming Xiaopin includes fteen selections from Chen making him the fourth most selected writer. Chen Wanyi ed., Ming and Qing Xiaopin includes over twenty writers, of whom Chen is one. Like most of the writers he is only represented by a single selection. Xia Xianchun, The Finest Xiaopin from Sixty Ming Writers, includes ve of Chen’s pieces in a collection of just over two hundred. Huang Zhuoyue ed., A Collection of Leisurely and Elegant Xiaopin has two volumes, one devoted to Ming writing, and the other to Qing writing. The Ming volume collects twenty-seven writers of whom only four have more space than Chen. Wu Chengxue, Ming Xiaopin and the Drifting Eternal Spirit, devotes a chapter to each of about fteen writers, one of whom is Chen. 51

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this are the format that Chen’s works are mostly published in today. None of Chen’s works from the Secret Satchel has been republished as a single volume, and the Secret Satchel itself has not been reprinted in full on the mainland since the 1920s.53 There are two exceptions to this state of affairs: the Clandestine Jottings, which is being republished more than it has ever been before, and a book solely devoted to Chen’s writings. The publishing phenomenon of the Clandestine Jottings deserves its own section so I will make a few comments on the single volume rst. Hu Shaotang compiled the single modern work devoted to Chen’s writings. It was published in 1996, and was titled Chen Meigong’s Xiaopin. The work is one in a series of ten that anthologise late-Ming xiaopin. Hu provided a modest introduction and some very useful annotations to some of the classical allusions in Chen’s work. However, Hu provides no critical evaluation of the works or commentary on Chen. Despite Hu Shaotang’s admonitions in his introduction (see above), he collects much of Chen’s best writing, and the book primarily presents Chen as a writer. The Contemporary Place of the Clandestine Jottings The number of versions of the Clandestine Jottings now available is staggering. Chen’s place as the compiler of this work has thoroughly eclipsed that of Lu Shaoheng, both on the shelves of bookstores, and in the catalogues of libraries and books. I will initially make some brief comments on the dominance that the Clandestine Jottings has assumed in the bibliographic record, before discussing the way the book and Chen are presented in recent editions. I note in passing that academics in mainland China generally write as though the Clandestine Jottings was compiled by Chen.54 Academics in Taiwan know that it was not Chen, but Lu Shaoheng, who compiled the work.

53

Though the full collection of the Secret Satchel was reprinted in Taiwan in 1965. There are a number of exceptions. Xia Xianchun, the Shanghai literary historian knows that Chen did not compile the work, and recently Li Bin, in his article “An Examination of Works Spuriously Attributed to Chen Meigong”, p. 5, showed that he knew that the work was not really Chen’s, but he did not appear to know of the existence of The Scouring Blade. Li thought that Chen had copied Wu Congxian’s Clear Jottings. But Li Bin’s confusion runs deeper than that as another recent article by him, ignorant of chronology and at variance with his earlier view, claims that once Chen had brought out the Clandestine Jottings Wu Congxian then imitated it with his Little Window series. See Wu Chengxue and Li Bin, “Ming and Qing Views on Chen Meigong”, p. 5. This version of events is even less likely as the modern commentator, 54

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The Zhongguo congshu zonglu 中國叢書綜錄 [Combined Index for Chinese Collectanea], printed in 1959, is now the rst point of reference for nding works printed in anthologies. It lists Chen as the author of the Clandestine Jottings, and it does not mention The Scouring Blade or Lu Shaoheng at all. This is such a weighty publication that inclusion in it goes some way to establishing a strong tie between an author and a text. Although the editors make no critical judgement on any given work, for this truly is an index, it does have the unintentional consequence of dening by default. That neither Lu Shaoheng nor the original title are mentioned in its pages shows just how remote the text under his name has become. The catalogues of the national libraries of China and Taiwan suggest that the overwhelming dominance of the text’s association with Chen originated during the mid-twentieth century, and has become even more pronounced in recent years.55 The difference in the number of records under Chen’s name with the number of records under Lu’s name is not so great in Taiwan. This is because there have been fewer reprint editions of the Clandestine Jottings in Taiwan than in China. I suggest that this phenomenon is both related to the mainland’s rather feverish revaluation of the past, as well as the Taiwanese habit of regarding the work primarily as literature rather than ‘self-help’. I note in passing that The Scouring Blade has been reprinted recently in both Taiwan and China, including one ambitious version published in Xinjiang that includes both The Scouring Blade and the Clandestine Jottings in a single volume.56 I have only seen the single Taiwanese edition of the Clandestine Jottings and will begin with that. Because these comments are based on the one edition they must remain provisional. The book was classied as Ming literature. With no commentary from the publisher, this edition

Wang Zhongmin, suggests that the name ‘little window ‘xiaochuang’ comes from a door [dou 竇] to a residence called The Yan Garden [Yan yuan 燕園] that Wu Congxian had built in Nanking. See Wang Zhongmin, A Précis of Chinese Rare Books, p. 398. Another modern work suggests that ‘little window’ was Wu Congxian’s style [hao]. See Xia Xianchun, The Finest Xiaopin from Sixty Ming Writers, p. 361. 55 For the record, the tally at the beginning of 2006 was sixty-six for Chen’s Clandestine Jottings and nineteen for Lu’s The Scouring Blade. 56 Published by the Yili People’s Publishing House in Guitun in 1999, this book also includes the Weilu yehua 圍爐夜話 [Nights Spent Chatting around the Brazier] by Wang Yongbin 王永彬. I have not had the pleasure of seeing this book, and thus do not know how the publishers contrived to get two identical texts under different names into the single volume.

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carries only the Chen Benjing foreword and the text. Illustrations, one per chapter, have been added to the text, all of them are un-attributed and no indication has been given to the selection process. Most of the illustrations are of beautiful natural settings, immortals, or drunken Daoists, as bets the timbre of the work. The text is reprinted in full and, although punctuated, it has no annotations. Readers must have basic competence in literary Chinese and a command of historical allusions; it is a book for people who can read literature. This is not the case with most of the mainland editions. Mainland editions that have been ooding onto the market for the past two decades invariably combine two or more of the following characteristics: additional forewords from the editors/publishers, translations into modern Chinese, textual rearrangement, cartoons or other childish illustrations, and complete or partial extracts from similar works included in the same volume. As noted above, and in contrast with Taiwan, the mainland versions are usually presented as belonging to the ‘self-help’ genre, if not always in their placement in the bookshop then certainly this is made clear in the newly-written forewords. Most versions present the book as a ‘balm for the ills of the world’. One introduction claims that this book embodies the consciousness of ordinary people who dislike money and power, and that it is a book for those who esteem nature and cultivate a relaxed natural attitude.57 Very often the forewords point to traditional Daoist and Buddhist concerns such as the nourishing of one’s life [ yangsheng 養生], the occlusion of our original purity, and our fall into the clutches of addictions [chimi 痴迷] and temptations [mozhang 魔障].58 In all these editions Chen is presented as a traditional scholar, or recluse, who has access to the wisdom of the classics. Chen acts as a conduit for insights that can aid the reader in dealing with their frustrations with life in the modern world.59 A foreword in a 1995 edition cleverly claims that the Clandestine Jottings will be useful regardless of whether one is a success

Huang Hao 黃浩, “Qianyan” 前言 “Introduction” in Chen Jiru, Clandestine Jottings from My Little Window (Changchun: Jilin wenshi chubanshe, 1999). 58 For these comments see respectively: Cong Qiong 琮瓊, “Xuyan” 序言 “Foreword” in Chen Jiru, Clandestine Jottings from My Little Window (Taiyuan: Shuhai chubanshe, 2001), and Wu Yansheng 吳言生, “Huigui shengming de yuantou” 回歸生命的源頭 “Returning to the Source of Life” in Chen Jiru, Clandestine Jottings from My Little Window (Xi’an: Shaanxi lüyou chubanshe, 1999), p. 2. 59 Ding Jie 丁潔, “Qianyan” 前言 “Foreword” in Ding Jie et al., Mingxin baoxun 明心 寶訓 [Precious Lessons for the Clear Mind] (Chengdu: Sichuan renmin chubanshe, 1995). 57

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or a failure in one’s career; whether one inhabits the entrepreneurial world, the business world, government circles, or academia.60 In some respects it is the fact that the work now invariably comes with a new foreword that is the point. Publishers are not certain that a reader will be able to appreciate the value of the book unless they are guided through it. This observation also holds true for the translation of the text into contemporary Chinese. Unlike the Taiwanese edition, which expected the reader to be able to deal with the relatively easy form of classical Chinese of the original text, the mainland editions usually have a translation into modern Chinese. Sometimes the translation is a discrete section, but on other occasions it takes the form of an extended commentary on the few lines of original text.61 The work is often abridged, and the initial divisions abandoned. That this is a book that contains the wisdom necessary to navigate successfully through a hostile world is sometimes also emphasised through the re-arrangement of the text. The original edition had twelve headings such as ‘simplicity’, ‘allure’, and ‘beauty’, and so on, yet one rearrangement has the text divided into seven new sections, with material from all of the twelve original sections spread throughout them. The sections have new headings, and the text comes with a modern translation and commentary, but without annotations. The new divisions have headings such as ‘a natural life’, ‘a vibrant life’ and ‘a romantic life’. Not only did the Ming work lose its original compiler and title during the Qing, now in present-day China it has been divested of its format. In doing so it has lost some of the charm it carried, and is presented as even more utilitarian and relevant to the present world.62 Another feature common to some publications is the use of illustrative cartoons. They are the same sort of fey cartoons that appeared in the simplied pictorial versions of the classics in Hong Kong in the 1980s. One publication has cartoons on the front and back covers. The front cover shows a smiling, bald scholar, presumably Chen, in green robes seated by a window reading. Behind the building the stars and

60

Ibid. Chen Meigong, Clandestine Jottings (Beijing: Zhongguo shehui chubanshe, 1997) Li Angang 李安綱 commentary. 62 Xiao Lan 曉蘭, Rensheng zhinan—jinjie xiaochuang youji 人生指南—今解小窗幽記 [Life Guides—A Modern Understanding of Clandestine Jottings from My Little Window] (Beijing: Zongjiao wenhua chubanshe, 1996). 61

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moon can be seen in a clear sky. The scholar is gazing down, toward the unseen ground. There is a sense that he is happily above, and out of reach of, the cares of the everyday world. This edition also has the words ‘modern Chinese’ [baihua 白話] prominently displayed on the cover, and there are many small cartoons inside, inserted between the text.63 Other editions also have a similar style of cartoon illustrations. These cartoons of course do not take the form of political comment, neither are they savage satire, they are immature and designed to comfort the reader. In my opinion they turn the reader into a child, so that the book acts as a wise parent, a guide and comfort against a hostile world. A characteristic of note is that the Clandestine Jottings now has company. In the preface to a 1991 edition the modern compiler, Xiao Lan, sounding very much like a latter-day Lin Yutang, notes that people are fatigued by life, and in the rush of the modern world they forget to enjoy the smaller things that life has to offer. A life with the leisure to play chess, drink tea, and chat has disappeared. Xiao suggests that this book is one of the three essential texts that people should read for cultivating themselves, and thereby reclaiming much of what the modern world has whittled away. The other two essential texts are the Weilu yehua 圍爐夜話 [Nights Spent Chatting around the Brazier] by Wang Yongbin, and the Caigen tan 菜根譚 [Vegetable Root Discourses] by Hong Yingming 洪應明 (. 1590s).64 The Clandestine Jottings is often mentioned in the same context as these two books. Together they form a triumvirate and occupy a matchless position as repositories of classical wisdom yet benecial in the modern world. A brief summary of these two works will also show they way that the Clandestine Jottings is perceived and marketed. The Vegetable Root Discourses by Hong Yingming has had a curious trajectory, not unlike that of the Clandestine Jottings. The specic dates for the author, Hong Yingming, are not known, but he was active at the end of the sixteenth century. The historian Frits Vos, in his biography of Hong, suggests that the original work (mirroring The Scouring Blade), 63 Wu Jie 武傑, Chen Meigong (baihua) Xiaochuang youji 陳眉公 (白話) 小窗幽記 [A Modern Chinese Edition of Chen Meigong’s Clandestine Jottings from My Little Window] (Taiyuan: Xiwang chubanshe, 1991). 64 It is in a collection of the three works: Ding Jie et al., Precious Lessons for the Clear Mind. The brief synopsis that begins this edition records that the three works, prior to being brought together in China were evidently collated in a very successful edition in Korea under the same title Precious Lessons for the Clear Mind.

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does not survive in China in any edition earlier than the eighteenth century, and that the only surviving copies of Ming editions are in Japan. Vos also records a Japanese scholar’s considered opinion of 1591 for the date of publication, preceding The Scouring Blade by over thirty years.65 Furthermore, the work seems to have had a charmed history in Japan, remaining popular since the rst Japanese edition, in 1822, until the present day, with over eighty editions being published during the twentieth century. Like the Clandestine Jottings the Vegetable Root Discourses is a collection of aphorisms and concerns itself with self-cultivation. It draws on the classics, and as is typical with late-Ming works, freely intertwines the three traditions of Confucian, Daoist, and Buddhist thinking. In contrast, the Nights Spent Chatting around the Brazier by Wang Yongbin is a late-Qing work. It was compiled in the 1850s and, unlike the two other works that have longer passages, is composed entirely of short aphorisms. Like the other two works, this book has been reprinted at the rate of more than once a year during the last decade. Both of these works are accessible to modern readers (especially when they carry new introductions and translations into modern Chinese). They are also general enough in their content to be applicable to many situations in one’s life. This undoubtedly enhances their desirability. Chen may now be much more widely known than at any other period since his death. The reason for this fame is undoubtedly due to the widespread republishing of the Clandestine Jottings, which as we have seen is not his book at all. That his fame is not due to his biography in the Ming History, or another biographical source, is itself noteworthy, it suggests that the development of celebrity changed the social nature of fame in the Chinese world, and that Chen may be one of the best examples, if not the rst, of this change. For centuries before Chen, fame had been codied through written records; from dynastic histories through local gazetteers, to singular records on steles or in epitaphs, they were the halls of elite fame. Chen was aware of his fame and commented: Terrible indeed, a name can carry such perils! When celebrity comes then blame and malice follow, when one does not measure up to one’s reputation then slander and enmity deepen, so much so that one may be free of illness yet early decline, one may have not committed a crime yet still be vilied; one’s forehead collapses and teeth rot, one’s bones dry

65

See Frits Vos, “Hung Ying-ming” in DMB, pp. 678–9.

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chapter nine and beauty fades . . . Therefore, fame is not as good as eeing from fame, and eeing from fame is not as good as not having any.66

Finally, the Clandestine Jottings has been claimed as benecial in ways that Chen (or Lu Shaoheng for that matter) would not have anticipated. The back cover of a 1991 edition boldly announces that, among other gems of usefulness, the book records ingenious techniques for accumulating material wealth—strategies utterly absent from Chen’s writing (though not from his life). Here, the publisher portrays Chen, not just as a ‘literatus hermit’, but also as someone with a solid nancial acumen somehow helpful to the modern reader.67 Equally of interest is that the Clandestine Jottings is now claimed as a guide for sound management strategies. In their article “An Interpretive Reading of the Management Psychology Thinking of the Clandestine Jottings from My Little Window”, the authors Li Jin and Zhu Yongxin state in their introduction that: For a long time the Clandestine Jottings from My Little Window has been regarded as a work of literature but, actually, this work embodies the philosophy of management psychology, especially the philosophy of selfmanagement psychology.68

Terms like ‘management psychology’ would be foreign to Chen. Would he mind? Perhaps not. In making his shift from literature, or thought, to advice for business management graduates Chen is following the path set by such august texts as The Book of the Way and its Power and Sun Zi Bing Fa 孫子兵法 [The Art of War], he may be pleased indeed.

66 Chen Jiru, Dushu jing 讀書鏡 [A Mirror for Reading], (Beijing: Zhonghua shuju, 1985), p. 37. 67 Wu Jie, A Modern Chinese Edition of Chen Meigong’s Clandestine Jottings from My Little Window. 68 Li Jin 李瑾 and Zhu Yongxin 朱永新, “Jiedu Xiaochuang youji de guanli xinli sixiang” 解讀《小窗幽記》的管理心理思想 “An Interpretive Reading of the Management Psychology Thinking of the Clandestine Jottings of the Little Window” Suzhou chengshi jianshe huanjing baohu xueyuan xuebao 蘇州城市建設環境保護學院學報, 3:2, p. 40.

CONCLUDING REMARKS At the beginning of this study I mentioned that Chen Jiru’s best-known work today is the Clandestine Jottings, a book that in all likelihood he had nothing to do with, even when it was initially printed under the title The Scouring Blade. Some of the precise details of how Chen’s name became associated with this text remain unclear, but I have advanced a general understanding of the factors that made it possible, and in some senses even likely, that Chen’s name could come to be associated with this text. Chen Jiru was able to make himself a remarkably successful writer. Born into the lower stratum of Jiangnan gentry society, he rejected the conventional path to socio-cultural advancement, the examination system and the state bureaucracy, and forged his own way toward renown and celebrity and a modest fortune (two things, as he never tired of reminding his readers, which supposedly played no part in the decisions he made throughout his life). Known throughout the empire, with his name on the lips of both far-ung tribes and local publishers eager to make some money from the popularity of his work, his name took on a life of its own. There was a widespread dissemination of knowledge through text during the late Ming, and at the heart of this social and cultural development there was a particular irony. We know that during the late-Ming period, knowledge was more and more in demand, and that texts reached more people in less time than ever before. The irony was that a great number of elite thinkers, from the philosopher Wang Yangming in the early-sixteenth century on, many of whom wrote extensively, turned away from text as the reliable repository of true knowledge. Interestingly, this occurred at the same time that many outside the elite were turning to text for real knowledge. Although I have not found any comments directly related to this tension in Chen’s writing, it is difcult to believe that he was not acutely aware of this irony. If he was either embarrassed in some way, or wryly amused, he has left us no indication. Although this study has focused on the writings that Chen produced, the non-literary objects associated with Chen’s name are also of considerable interest. From the extraordinary collection of products associated

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with Chen’s name we have an early example of a public literary persona being used within the context of the burgeoning urbanisation and social ux of the seventeenth century, as part of mercantile strategies aimed at promoting commodities. In other words, in Chen as the object of material culture, we see the reection of a nascent advertising industry. It is true that other late-Ming gures such as the writer Zhong Xing also had their names associated with publications that had nothing to do with them.1 However, as the contemporary record, the Private Gleanings of the Wanli Reign reminds us, in Chen’s day only Su Shi and Qin Kui were better known than Chen, and neither of these gures appears to have had their name used as widely on non-literary products, such as cakes, cloth, and other household items. In our own age when so many products are associated with nubile women with fantastically long legs, or young men with square jaws, dressed or undressed in whichever guises presently represent an alluring modern life, the thought of a hoary, possibly unattractive, cultural gure becoming an “icon” in a nascent world of advertising stands as testament to the particular social conditions of merchandising in seventeenth-century China. Taken together, Chen, his publishing activities, those attributed to him, and his position in the public imagination of the late Ming, indicate an incipient modernism in late-Ming China.2 There are of course cultural gures in China who still command audience recognition. Several decades ago, like many other foreign students in China, I once thoroughly enjoyed a day dressed up as Karl Marx, in an advertisement for some furiously strong alcohol. I recall that the anachronistic guests who came to my apartment to join

1

Zhong Xing’s name apparently appeared on books of jokes and ction that he had nothing whatsoever to do with. See Fang Chaoying, “T’an Yüan-ch’un” in DMB, p. 1247. 2 Xia Xianchun takes the ubiquity of Chen’s name on common goods in the late Ming as evidence that Chen enjoyed harmonious relations with the commoners in his area and that all and sundry liked to hold him in high esteem (see Xia Xianchun, “On the Late-Ming Recluse Chen Jiru”, p. 132). While Xia accurately points to the clear disparity between the local reputation enjoyed by Chen and Dong Qichang (oddly saying that this shows that Chen was more adept at dealing with the world), this undoubtedly has more to do with the respective local actions of the two rather than their particular characters. Dong was involved in empire-wide politics and rarely at home, and when he was his family was embroiled in an especially nasty local dispute that ended in their residence being burned to the ground. Chen on the other hand was active in local politics and promoting local causes. Perhaps the best we can say is that Chen did not have especially acrimonious relations with his local ‘commoners’, and that was enough to make possible the utilisation of his reputation on products unrelated to his activities.

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me in drinking were the Tang dynasty poets and famed drinkers, Du Fu and Li Bai 李白 (701–762), all three no doubt chosen because, even if not picture perfect, they were readily recognisable to the audience. Chen certainly has not approached the level of cultural recognition that those two poets enjoy, nor in this televised age can he compare to such readily recognisable gures like the former gymnast Li Ning 李寧, who markets his own brand of sportswear, or Liu Xiang 劉翔, the athlete whose success at the 2004 Athens Olympics now sees his face on billboards all over the country. The history of the development of the advertising industry in China remains to be written. Although I have not recently seen Chen’s name on anything except a book, and my enquiries in the modern pastry shops in Songjiang about cakes bearing Chen’s name have proved fruitless, it is true that Chen’s name is enjoying another rise in popularity, but that is due to his association with a book that he never wrote. Whether Chen’s name will fade into relative obscurity once more, as it did in the eighteenth century, or enjoy a successful career in association with non-literary products is a matter for the future. One thing certain now is the perceived success and relevance of the Clandestine Jottings. There are good reasons why some Chinese books have remained popular for centuries, even over millennia. I am not thinking of popular novels for they belong in a discussion about cultural narratives, but of texts like The Book of the Way and its Power, the Book of Changes, and The Analects. I will leave The Analects to one side, for it belongs to a philosophy of social order and harmony. Although it is connected with the social role of the individual, it is not a personal guide to the cosmos and oneself, or the vicissitudes of life. However, The Book of the Way and its Power and the Book of Changes are promoted as repositories of wisdom for the individual in need of guidance, and one feature that they have in common is the gnomic and short nature of their utterances and aphorisms. Through this format of short phrases with ambiguous or equivocal meanings, these texts allow the reader to project themselves and their lives into their pages, and identify with ‘ancient philosophy’. As the Ming dynasty is a world far removed from the present-day Chinese imagination, being earlier than all of the ‘Qing dynasty’ period dramas that monopolise the television screen as the imperial past, the Clandestine Jottings can be promoted as a classical work offering meaningful philosophical thought relevant to everyone. In this context it is worth remembering that the recent outbreak of Chinese consumerism developed with very particular characteristics.

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Even a decade and a half after the reforms began, Chinese families were spending: “. . . less than 5% of household income on housing, health care, education, and transportation combined.”3 This phenomenon has changed in the recent decade, especially with the introduction of the private housing market and the automobile, however we cannot escape the conclusion that for a period of time the extraordinary saving capacity of a population mostly denied overseas travel, cars, and housing saw much of that money given to consumable products. With housing and automobiles now added to the two-decade explosion of consumer goods, the social pressures to consume are mounting and becoming daily more visible. The numerous republications by publishers with commercial interests of the Clandestine Jottings, and related works that similarly claim to be a ‘balm for the ills of the world’, stand as witnesses some of the social and economic deracination that has arisen in contemporary China. The Clandestine Jottings is hardly likely to usurp the lofty position occupied by The Book of the Way and its Power, for that work is too gnomic and mysterious, or indeed the Book of Changes, with its unparalleled predictive power. But, in concert with works like Nights Spent Chatting around the Brazier and the Vegetable Root Discourses, which have all found new readers and a broader cultural acceptance in the Chinese-reading world than ever before, Chen’s name may well achieve a long-lasting fame that will resonate with posterity.

3 Hong Junhao, “The Resurrection of Advertising in China: Developments, Problems, and Trends” Asian Survey, 34:4, p. 333.

APPENDIX ONE

WHEN AND HOW CHEN DISPOSED OF HIS ROBES There are two unresolved questions in the records that deal with Chen’s actions in becoming a commoner. The rst is his age, the second is the nature of the action that he took. Ch’en Kuo-tung summed up the age question as follows: The Unofcial Annals of the Final Two Reign Periods of the Ming states that Chen was twenty-eight when he tore his cap. However, the History of the Ming, and the Songjiang Provincial Gazetteer state that he was twenty-nine when he took his scholar’s robes and burnt them. The Huating District Gazetteer says that he was twenty-nine when he retired from public life.1 Ch’en Kuo-tung suggests that the three latter texts all included, covertly or overtly, the text from the Unofcial Annals of the Final Two Reign Periods of the Ming by Zou Yi in their own records. Actually, the earliest record by another hand probably belongs to that of Chen’s friend Wang Heng who states that Chen was twenty-eight when he acted.2 The Chronological Biography which also records this event, states that Chen was twenty-nine sui 歲.3 This is in accordance with the Unofcial Annals of the Final Two Reign Periods of the Ming and the Northern Strategies of the Ming. Both of those works list Chen’s age as twenty-eight nian 年, which is the same. The Northern Strategies of the Ming appears to be copied from the Unofcial Annals of the Final Two Reign Periods of the Ming. As noted, the Huating District Gazetteer reads twenty-nine nian, as do the Songjiang Provincial Gazetteer and the History of the Ming. It is clear that the four earlier records, that is the Chronological Biography (<1644) and the three aforementioned sources, the Collected Works of Wang Heng (1610s?), the Unofcial Annals of the Final Two Reign Periods of the Ming (c. 1645) and the Northern Strategies of the Ming (1671), all give his age as twenty-eight. The earliest record which gives his age as twenty-nine is the History of the Ming. This work was not published until the 1730s,

1 Ch’en Kuo-tung, “Temple Lamentation and Robe-Burning—Gestures of Social Protest in Seventeenth-Century China”, p. 73. 2 See Wang Heng, “Songs Presented to Mr. Chen Lianshi”, 4:38b. 3 NP, p. 7a.

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although an earlier edition (published later), the Draft Outline of Ming History also reads the same. The most obvious explanation for this is that the History of the Ming contains a typographical error, or has mixed up sui and nian, and that once this work became the default reference work for both the period in question and supercial biographical information on Chen, the error has been faithfully reproduced. The last word on this should belong to Chen himself. Chen mentions his age in three different records. In two of them he mentions the year bingxu 丙戍, that is 1586, when he was twenty-eight.4 Chen also touched on this incident much later when he came to write his own necrology, writing that this incident occurred when he was twenty-eight.5 While Chen’s age is one point of contention in the records, the action he took is another. That the robes were destroyed in some way seems beyond doubt, but the verbs used in the various records to describe the action vary. Commenting on the records Ch’en Kuo-tung suggest that they may reect: “. . . the different styles of his biographers.”6 Then, considering the way records of other gures who also disposed of their robes Ch’en Kuo-tung says that: “. . . perhaps their biographers had a reason for making the accounts more colourless than the reality.”7 He wrote that: “. . . they range from the insipid ‘. . . he retired from public life’ in the Huating District Gazetteer to the much more direct and forceful ‘. . . he took his scholars’ robes and burnt them’ in the Songjiang Provincial Gazetteer.” Ch’en’s comments remain the most coherent explanation of the discrepancies. One early record, written during the mid-1600s, states that Chen burnt his robes and cap.8 Chen’s own description, mentioned above, consists of only six ideographs, he merely says that he discarded his robes: “In 1586 I threw away my robes” [bingxu yu zheng qingshan 丙戍 余擲青衫]. Perhaps, as several records suggest, he really did burn them, but when thirty years later he was writing a foreword to Wang Heng’s collected works Chen simply chose to note that he relinquished his ofcial status rather than call attention to such violence. In the obituary he wrote for himself he changed the verb to lie 裂, meaning to tear. 4 The rst instance occurs in Chen Jiru, “Dedication for Wang Jingshi” in BSQ, 8:137–8. The second is in Chen Jiru, “Foreword to the Collected Works of Wang Heng” in QJ, 6:12a–14b. 5 Chen Jiru, “Tomb Epitaph for Mister Blue Sky” in QJ. 6 Ch’en Kuo-tung, “Temple Lamentation and Robe-Burning”, p. 73. 7 Ibid., p. 75. 8 Qian Qianyi, “The Summoned Scholar, Chen Jiru”, 011–677.

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More violent than zheng 擲, discard, but still not as strong as burning.9 Yet another record by Chen also uses the word ‘tear’ [lie]. In written for his friend Wang Heng, Chen said that he rent his scholars robes [lie qingjin 裂青衿].10 Chen’s exact actions remain unknown.

9 10

Chen Jiru, “Tomb Epitaph for Mister Blue Sky”. See Chen Jiru, “Dedication for Wang Jingshi” in BSQ , 8:137–8.

APPENDIX TWO

XU YISUN The earliest biographical sketch of Xu Yisun, Chen’s partner in robeburning and tutoring, is found in the Yunjian jumuchao 雲間據目鈔 [Transcript of What I Saw in Yunjian] published around 1593.1 This record notes that Xu was a keen student in his youth; he gained the rst degree at an early age, but abandoned any thought of an ofcial career after his mother’s death. Shortly after her death Xu, like Chen, burnt his robes.2 After this he lived in a small hut by her grave. Xu died young, before he was fty.3 Although this record does not mention it, we already know from several other sources that Xu joined Chen at Little Mount Kun in the late 1580s, but what happened to Xu after the move to Little Mount Kun is not taken up by any biography. A biography of Xu in the Outline Gazetteer of Yunjian, edited by Chen’s erstwhile teacher, He Sanwei, provides some detailed information on the circles that Xu moved in. Although Chen is not mentioned in the biography, the list of people with whom Xu was familiar includes, among others, Chen’s seniors and friends Tu Long, Xu Jie, Lu Shusheng, and Wang Xijue.4 That Xu either was part of the circle around Wang Shizhen by the mid-1580s is clear from the many references to him in Wang Shizhen’s works.5

1593 is the date of the foreword by Fan Lian 范濂. The inconsistency in the description of how Chen burnt his robes is also found in the records that deal with Xu’s action. One record merely notes that Xu solemnly relinquished his position as a holder of the rst-degree [er yan qi zhusheng ye 而厭棄諸 生業]. See “Biography of Xu Mengru, Student” in He Sanwei ed., Outline Gazetteer of Yunjian [Yunjian zhilüe]. 3 Fan Lian, Transcript of What I Saw in Yunjian, in Biji xiaoshuo daguan 筆記小說大觀 [A Parade of Note-Form Fiction] (Taipei: Xinxing shuju, 1978) vol. 22:1.11b. 4 “Biography of Xu Mengru, Student” in He Sanwei ed., Outline Gazetteer of Yunjian. 5 See, for example, the entries in Further Manuscripts of the Hermit of Yanzhou, chapters 1,3,22,62, 160 and 183, particularly ch.160 where in the following entry he is mentioned as performing some rituals over ve days with Wang Heng, “Ti yu Xu Changru san zha hou” 題與徐長孺三札後 “Inscription for Xu Changru after Three Illnesses”, and ch. 183 in the letter to Chen (Chen is referred to as Chen Zhongchun). 1 2

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There is biographical information on Xu in some other sources but they do not add anything to the two biographies mentioned above.6 None of Xu’s writing seems to have survived. There are a couple of entries for him listed in the Songjiang Provincial Gazetteer but apparently neither of those works is extant.7 Xu Yisun, Chen Jiru, and Burning the Robes Xu and Chen were both from Huating, they knew the same people, they both burnt their robes, and for a time they lived together. When they rst met is not clear. In an essay celebrating his friendship with Chen Zhideng 陳稚登, Chen makes it clear that he knew Xu as early as 1584, for it was Xu who introduced them to each other.8 That Chen and Xu met before burning their robes is certain as Chen wrote a dedication in honour of Xu’s mother when she died, and we know that Xu did not burn his robes until after her death.9 It seems that they did not burn their robes at the same time, had they done so then that fact would have been included in the various accounts of their robe-burning. Circumstantial evidence, which may be little mre than formulaic rhetoric, points to Xu burning his robes before Chen did. One biography notes that after Xu’s mother died he spent three years living beside her grave, if this was true then he cannot have moved with Chen to Little Mount Kun until those three years had passed.10 We know that Xu burned his robes soon after his mother’s death, and that Chen did not burn his until shortly before the move to Little Mount 6

Xu is mentioned in the Songjiang Provincial Gazetteer, 55:39a. Like the Outline Gazetteer of Yunjian, this record states that Xu gained the rst degree, but abandoned any further ambition for the examinations after the death of his mother. Another record, the Affairs Related to Ming Poems, from the late-Qing, records Xu living in seclusion with Chen at Little Mount Kun. See Chen Tian ed., Affairs Related to Ming Poems, p. 1934a. 7 The Songjiang Provincial Gazetteer, 72:35b mentions a Xu Mengru gao 徐孟孺稿 [Xu Mengru Manuscript] as his but they do not indicate the source or which collection they have taken it from. The same applies for another work they attribute to Xu (72:39a mentions a four-chapter work, the Oucun ji 偶存集 [Accidentally Kept Collection] as being by Xu). 8 See Chen Jiru, “Shu Chen Zhideng jiaoqing shiwei” 書陳稚登交情始未 “Letter to Chen Zhideng on the Beginnings and End of Fraternal Feeling” in WXT, 17:47a–50a. 9 Chen Jiru, “Ji Xu Mengru mu” 祭徐孟孺母 “Dedication for Xu Mengru’s Mother” in QJ, 47:24a–b. 10 “Biography of Xu Mengru, Student” in He Sanwei ed., Outline Gazetteer of Yunjian.

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Kun. It appears that there may be a gap of up to two years between their respective actions. Xu Zefu 徐澤夫 The absence of information on Xu Yisun in biographical material on Chen is complicated by the information available on a gure called Xu Zefu. The information on the two gures is sufcient to note similarities between them, but insufcient to state with any certainty whether they are related, the same gure, or two unrelated gures. Xu Zefu also moved in the same circles as Chen, and seems to have been a good friend of Wang Heng as Wang mourned Xu in a dedication written after Xu’s death.11 Xu is also mentioned in Further Manuscripts of the Hermit of Yanzhou.12 Xu Zefu, according to the Chronological Biography says that his son also said an early good-bye to ofcial life, and regarded high ofce lightly.13 Xu Zefu died two years later, leaving Chen distraught. Against that is the mention of Chen then teaching Xu Zefu’s eldest son, Yushi, after the death of Xu Zefu.14 Yisun could have been Yushi’s brother. If that were so one would expect him to be mentioned more in the Chronological Biography. There is, however, a work called Xu Zefu shiji 徐澤夫詩集 [Collected Poems of Xu Zefu] mentioned in the Songjiang Provincial Gazetteer. It is listed as being compiled by a Xu Yuanpu 徐元 普, but it has not been possible to nd.15 Whoever Xu Zefu was we know that he lived locally and most likely, as a member of the literati, was also an art collector. Chen certainly knew him and described a visit to view some artworks at his residence.16

11 Wang Heng, “Ji Xu Zefu” 祭徐澤夫 “Dedication for Xu Zefu” in Wang Heng, Collected Works of Wang Heng, ch. 20:4a–5b. 12 Further Manuscripts of the Hermit of Yanzhou, ch. 12. 13 NP, 8b. 14 Ibid., 9a. 15 Songjiang Provincial Gazetteer, 72:37a–b. 16 Chen Jiru, Record of Fondness for Antiquity, 3:4b.

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INDEX academies 55–56, 63, 69 Donglin 東林書院 15, 55 Analects, The see under Lunyu Baishiqiao zhengao 白石樵真稿 [True Manuscript of the White-Stone Woodcutter, The] xv, 74–76, 216–17 bandits 48–50n, 111n, 120n, 130, 133–34, 189–90 Bao Yan tang miji 寶顏堂祕笈 [Secret Satchel from the Hall of Treasuring Yan, The] xv, xxxiii, 68–69, 78, 154, 192–95, 216–17, 236, 248 biography (biezhuan 別傳, liezhuan 列傳, nianpu 年譜, waizhuan 外傳, zhuan 傳) xiii–xiv, xxx–xxxiii, xxxix, 1n, 15, 43, 46, 101–37, 139–40, 142, 147, 212–13 types of 102–4, 110n see also Chen Jiru, literary forms Book of the Way and its Power, The see under Dao De Jing books as goods xiii, xxviii, xxxii, xxxv–xxxvii, xli, 59–66, 75, 89, 116n, 148, 151–54, 167, 209, 233, 242 banned xiii, 52, 206, 216–19, 222 forgeries xiv, xvi, 16n, 49n, 70, 75, 93, 182, 185, 188, 194–204, 218, 219n, 227 bribery 38n, 107n, 125–26 Buddhism xii, 19, 37–39, 41–44, 61, 97–98, 128–29, 131n, 137, 143, 145, 155, 161–62, 172, 182, 190, 218, 250, 253 see also Chen Jiru Caigen tan 菜根譚 [Vegetable Root Discourses] 252–53, 258 celebrity xii, xxviii–xxx, xxxii–xxxiii, 202, 230, 253 see also Chen Jiru see also fame charitable deeds 49–50, 110, 128, 130–31 donations xxxiiin, 48, 87, 117, 119, 131–34

Chen Benjing 陳本敬 222–23, 230, 250 Chen Jiru 陳繼儒 activities, local 12–13, 34, 44–51, 53–54, 68–70, 72, 76–81, 85–91, 93–94, 196, 256n biographical writing on xli–xlii, 2–3, 4n, 6, 11, 12n, 14, 18, 32, 36, 47–48, 49n, 54–55, 57, 69, 72, 73n, 87–88, 90, 93, 96–99, 180, 206, 212–17, 240–41, 246, 247n, 253, 259–61 biographies by “Chifeng huguo jiyun Jinlong Sida Wang zhuan” 敕封護國 濟運金龍四大王傳 “Biography of the Fourth Son Golden Dragon Great King, Known by Imperial Decree as He who Aids Transport and Protects the Empire” 137–38 commissioning of 107–8 language of 108–114, 125n, 129–30 laughter in 111–112n merchant biographies 114–119 “Muzhi Fan gong waizhuan” 牧之 范公外傳 Unofcial Biography of the Honourable Fan Muzhi 139–42, 148 repeated lines in 109–110 subjects of 104–8 women, of 119–124, 135–36 see also biography, literary forms Buddhism and 19, 37–42, 44–45, 57, 72, 97–98, 129, 137, 144, 145, 151, 155, 167, 182, 190, 218 see also Buddhism burning robes 18, 23–24, 35–36, 259–61 calligraphy of xvi, 45, 72n, 80, 97, 200–2, 240 celebrity and fame xii, xxvii–xxviii, xxx, xxxii–xxxiv, xlii, 17, 20, 26, 35, 41, 45, 54, 56, 188–90, 192n, 202–3, 207–9, 211, 214–15, 219, 225, 240, 246n, 247, 253, 255, 258

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comments on contemporary 243–47 late-Ming, early-Qing 171–90, 205 modern 231, 233–34, 238–41 mid-late Qing 205–16 Confucianism and 19, 21, 38, 97, 137, 150, 169, 176, 180, 182–83, 218 see also Confucianism Daoism and 38, 43–45, 74, 97, 149, 167, 180, 224 see also Daoism drama, as character in 182–90, 208–11 see also literary forms education of 4–7 examinations xxxiv, 2, 5n, 6–7, 9n, 11–12, 18–20, 21n, 22–23, 25–27, 56, 93–94, 126, 128–29, 176, 185–87, 255 see also examinations excursions xiv, xxxiii–xxxiv, 9, 13–15, 16n, 27–28, 40–41, 55, 73, 89n, 95, 166, 178, 188, 229n see also excursions family of 1–4, 11–12, 13n, 18–19, 36, 76, 88–89, 91, 95, 97–98, 122n, 123n, 180, 187, 241, 246n see also Chen Menglian, Tang Dajie images of 181–83, 203, 251–52 politics and xlii, 8, 10, 17, 21, 23–26, 32, 34–36, 44–51, 53–57, 77–79 professional writer, as x–xi, xlii, 2, 34, 72–73, 104–8, 112–14, 119 publishing xii, xiv–xv, xxxvii, xlii, 5n, 7n, 40, 59, 65–81, 89, 92n, 93, 144, 153–57, 163, 192–202, 225 see also Jiangnan printing in, publishing reclusion xii, xlii, 26n, 27–36, 38, 57, 176, 209, 211–12, 215, 239–41, 243–47 see also reclusion, shanren, withdrawal recommended for position 56–57, 180, 213, 214n tutoring by xxxvii, 12–13, 15, 17, 26n, 36, 42, 72, 87, 94–95, 127, 186, 263 withdrawal, motivations for 18–26 see also withdrawal Chen Meigong quanji 陳眉公全集 [Collected Works of Chen Meigong, the] xiii–xv, 12, 33n, 45, 51, 76–77, 89, 94–95,

97, 102, 111n, 114, 119, 124, 197, 216 Chen Menglian 陳夢蓮 12, 76, 95, 97, 197 Chen Zilong 陳子龍 xli, 91, 113n, 146, 217n Clandestine Jottings from My Little Window see under Xiaochuang youji Clear Words from a Peaceful World see under Taiping qinghua Collected Works of Chen Meigong, the, see under Chen Meigong quanji Confucianism 19, 21, 37–38, 52, 61, 65, 97–98, 110, 112, 119, 122–24, 128–29, 133, 136–37, 142, 173, 176, 180, 187, 253 see also Chen Jiru Dao De Jing 道德經 [Book of the Way and its Power, The] xxxi, 254, 257–58 Daoism 19, 36–37, 43–44, 61, 74, 137, 145, 149, 208, 216, 250, 253 see also Chen Jiru death in water 41–42, 138, 141 suicide 120–22, 140n, 142 donations see under charitable deeds Dong Qichang 董其昌 3–4, 5n, 6, 7n, 8–11, 13n, 16n–17n, 20, 24–25, 26n, 37, 41, 80, 85–87, 96n, 176, 182–83, 186–88, 190, 196, 200, 209, 213, 256n Dream of the Lin River see under Linchuan meng Dushu shiliu guan 讀書十六觀 [Reading: Sixteen Views] xi, 75, 89, 191n, 193n, 236n, 240 eunuchs 23n, 111, 116n, 125, 127, 165, 220 see also Wei Zhongxian examinations xxxvn, xl, 7, 14n, 16n, 19–20, 22–25, 37, 56, 63–66, 93–95, 118, 125, 140, 151–52, 171, 184–86, 210, 222, 255, 264n failure at 23, 25–26, 118, 124, 126–30, 186 see also Chen Jiru examinations excursions xiv, xxxiii–xxxiv, 13–15, 16n, 38n, 55, 95, 116n, 127, 129, 135, 156–57, 166, 178, 188, 229n cultural xxxiv, 9, 40, 73 scenic 9, 27–28, 39, 41, 89n, 117 see also Chen Jiru excursions

index fame xii, xxvii–xxxiii, 2, 21, 24, 25n, 128, 183, 188–89, 209, 221, 225, 253–54 see also celebrity Fan Yunlin 范允臨 xin, 12, 13n, 226n Fang Xiaoru 方孝孺 45, 51–54 Fang Yuegong 方岳貢 45–46, 78–79 Feng Mengzhen 馮夢禎 70, 228 esh cutting 122–24 forgeries see under books Fragrant Archives see under Xiang’an du Ge Hong 葛洪 29, 32 Gu Xiancheng 顧憲成 15, 55, 118 He Sanwei 何三畏 6–7, 7n–8n, 19, 33, 70, 78 Huang Daozhou 黃道周 80, 177, 214 Huang Zongxi 黃宗羲 xxxiv, 88, 91, 177, 204, 205n Huating 華亭 see under Songjiang immortality, quest for xxx–xxxi, 29, 32–33, 35, 124, 189 Jiang Shiquan 蔣士銓 208–11, 239, 245 Jiangnan 江南 x, xii, xxx, xxxiv–xxxviii, 1, 6, 9–10, 14, 29, 46n, 50, 53, 64, 96, 111n, 115, 116n, 166, 207, 255 land in 83–6 printing in 59–60, 68, 153 see also Chen Jiru publishing, publishing see also Songjiang Li Mengyang 李夢陽 118, 145 Li Rihua 李日華 78, 160, 164, 176, 183, 193 Li Zhi 李贄 xin, 16, 93, 174–75, 196, 199, 216, 244 Lin Yutang 林語堂 220,232–33, 252 Linchuan meng 臨川夢 [Dream of the Lin River] 208–11, 239, 245 literary forms, terms of accounts of moral conduct (xingzhuang 行狀) 104 auto-necrology (xiaoxiang 小像, zizhuan 自傳) 96, 98, 178n, 260 biography see under biography, see also Chen Jiru collectanea (congshu 叢書) xli, 81, 190, 191n, 216–17, 219, 235–36, 249

289

colophons (ba 跋) 5n, 9n, 10, 126n, 147, 186, 197–98, 238n commentaries (shu 疏) 147 correspondence (chidu 尺牘, shu 書, shujian 書簡) xiv, xxxv, 71, 73–75, 81, 92, 147, 186, 194, 205n, 217n, 238 diaries (riji 日記) xiv, 147, 164n, 193, 238n discussions (lun 論, lunshuo 論說, qingtan 清談) 147, 207, 228, 238n drama xin, xiii, xxxix–xln, 46n, 64, 91, 139, 146n, 148n, 182–90, 198–200, 208–11, 218, 245, 257 northern (zaju 雜劇) 184 romantic (chuanqi 傳奇) 184 see also Chen Jiru drama forewords (qianyan 前言, xu 序, xu 敘, xuyan 序言) ix, xiv, xxxiii, 7n, 13n, 14, 15n, 16n, 17n, 19n, 40, 45–46, 49n, 70, 72, 74–75, 77, 79, 92, 93n, 94, 112, 113n, 144n, 147, 148n, 151–52, 163n, 173n, 175–76, 178, 191, 196–98, 200–2, 218–19, 222–28, 230, 235, 237–38, 250–51, 260 gazetteers (zhi 志) xxxi–xxxii, xxxvn, 13n, 46, 51, 57, 62, 71, 74, 77–79, 86, 88n, 96n, 102n, 110, 124n, 165, 213, 215, 225, 246, 253, 259–60, 263–65 grave notice (mubiao 墓表) 74, 92, 101n, 148n inscriptions (ming 銘, ti 題) 9–11, 80, 97, 110, 125, 132, 147, 210 letters (chidu 尺牘) see under correspondence memorials (biao 表) 23, 29n, 45, 51, 53–54, 66, 77, 141n, 146, 228 miscellaneous notes (zhilin 志林) 147 poetry (ci 詞, shi 詩) xiv, xxvii, 5, 7, 14, 40–41, 67, 75–76n, 77, 79, 92, 118, 127n, 145, 147, 154–56, 159n, 163, 167–68, 174, 182, 189, 216, 219, 238 sacricial odes ( jiwen 祭文) 101n, 147 records ( ji 記) 47, 62, 75, 88, 147, 235, 238n strange tales (chuanqi 傳奇) 103 see also xiaopin literary personae x–xii, xiv, xxvii, 1, 39, 59, 96, 101–02, 136–38, 149, 151, 168–69, 206, 238, 256

290

index

Lu Ji 陸機 28, 33–35, 85 Lu Shaoheng 陸紹珩 ix, 223, 225–26, 230, 248–49, 254 Lu Shusheng 陸樹聲 9n, 33, 39, 87, 103, 105, 114, 124n, 158n, 160, 172n, 194n, 263 Lu Xun 魯迅 78, 175, 231–32, 239–40, 245 Lu Yu 陸羽 158, 162n, 165 Lunyu 論語 [Analects, The] 21, 107n, 112, 117, 174n, 237, 257 Mao Jin 毛晉 68n, 115 Mencius, The see under Mengzi Mengzi 孟子 [Mencius, The] xxxin, 107n, 117, 130n, merchants xxxvn, xxxix, xl, 65–66, 114–19, 131, 134, 157, 166, 204 biographies of 104, 114, 117–19, 153 relations with scholar-ofcials 114–16, 118 moderation 134–36 Mudan ting 牡丹亭 [Peony Pavilion, The] 186–87, 210 “Muzhi Fan gong waizhuan” 牧之范 公外傳 Unofcial Biography of the Honourable Fan Muzhi see under Chen Jiru biographies Neo-Confucianism xl, 6, 29, 31, 120, 131n, 144–45, 160 Ni Zan 倪瓚 89, 212–13 Nights Spent Chatting around the Brazier see under Weilu yehua Nigu lu 妮古錄 [Record of Fondness for Antiquity] 9n, 71, 73–74, 153n Notes on Cooking Congee see under Zhuzhou tiaoyi Peony Pavilion, The see under Mudan ting Phantom Book affair, see under Yaoshu pirates 47, 50, 105–6, 111 Providence of the Heart see under Yizhong yuan publishing late-Ming ix, xii, xvn, xxx, 59–68 republican period 234–36 contemporary 245 see also Chen Jiru publishing, Jiangnan printing in Qian Qianyi 錢謙益 211

91, 96, 180, 203,

Reading: Sixteen Views see under Dushu shiliu guan reclusion xxvii, 28–36, 151, 168, 172, 175–77, 179, 208, 229, 239–40, 246 see also Chen Jiru, shanren, withdrawal Record of Fondness for Antiquity see under Nigu lu renown see under fame schools, literary Gongan School 公安派 xxxviii, 16, 152–53, 244 see also Yuan Hongdao, Yuan Zhongdao grand secretary style [taige ti 臺閣體] 144–45, 233 Jingling School 景陵派 xxxviii, 16–17n, 152–53, 244 see also Tan Yuanchun, Zhong Xing return to antiquity movement [ fugu 復古] 144–45 Scouring Blade from the Hall of an Infatuation with Antiquity, The see under Zuigutang jiansao Secret Matters from the Majestic Perch see under Yanqi youshi Secret Satchel from the Hall of Treasuring Yan, The see under Bao Yan tang miji shanren 山人 xxvii, 31, 172–76, 178n, 179, 208, 215, 245 see also Chen Jiru reclusion, reclusion, withdrawal Shen Dexian 沈德先 68–69, 192n Shen Fuxian 沈孚先 68, 192n, 193–94 Shi Dabin 時大彬 165 Shu jiao 書蕉 [Writing on Plantain] 154–57 Songjiang 松江 (Huating) x, xvi, 10, 15, 40–1, 50, 54, 86–7, 111n, 166, 177, 208, 257 cultural world xxxiii, 5–16, 27–8, 39, 45–6, 78–9, 196n, 264 development in xxxvin, 1, 51 see also Jiangnan Songjiangfu zhi 松江府志 (1630) [Songjiang Prefectural Gazetteer] 46, 51, 74, 77–79 Su Shi 蘇軾 (Su Dongpo 蘇東坡) xxxin, 38, 68n, 72, 109n, 155, 167, 196n, 202–3, 209, 240, 256 Taiping qinghua 太平清話 [Clear Words from a Peaceful World] 152–53, 165–66, 221

index Tan Yuanchun 譚元春 16, 17n, 148n, 175 see also schools, literary: Jingling School Tang Dajie 湯大節 12, 76, 88–89, 144 Tang Xianzu 湯顯祖 186, 199, 210 Tao Yuanming 陶淵明 30, 32 tea (and teahouses) xxxviii–xxxix, 27n, 39–40, 42, 62, 73, 90, 97, 158–66, 181–82, 203, 252 terms, late-Ming xxvii, 171–80, 188, 212, 222–23, 245 charm, yun 韻 148, 220 feelings, qing 情 139–40, 148, 186 Grand Councillor in the Mountains, the [shanzhong zaixiang 山中宰相] 179 interest, qu 趣 96, 148 unusual, yi/pinwai 異/品外 150, 152, 176, 221 see also shanren True Manuscript of the White-Stone Woodcutter, The see under Baishiqiao zhengao Tu Long 屠隆 7n, 33, 46n, 53, 70, 73n, 143, 160, 172n, 191, 194n, 210n, 229, 263 Vegetable Root Discourses see under Caigen tan vulgarisation, late-Ming process of xxxix, 67, 115, 146 Wang Heng 王衡 13–15, 18n, 27–28, 43, 55, 80, 103, 113n, 175–76, 180, 184–86, 196, 210, 211n, 259–61, 263n, 265 Wang Shizhen 王世貞 7, 14–16, 27–28, 43, 45, 46n, 72n, 73n, 85, 92, 103, 113n, 172n, 173, 184, 199, 209, 244n, 263 Wang Siren 王思任 38, 70, 91–93, 123n, 143, 147, 178, 191 Wang Xijue 王錫爵 13, 14n, 15, 46n, 48, 94–95, 263 Wang Yangming 王陽明 xxxviii, 205, 255 philosophy and teaching of 31, 93, 144, 205n, 207 Wanxiangtang xiaopin 晚香堂小品 [Xiaopin from the Hall of Evening Incense] xv, 75–76, 89, 92, 216 Weilu yehua 圍爐夜話 [Nights Spent Chatting around the Brazier] 249n, 252–53, 258

291

Wei Zhongxian 魏忠賢 10, 24, 133n, 221, 245 see also eunuchs withdrawal, literature of 21, 23n, 24–25, 28, 30, 32–35, 128, 165–68 see also Chen Jiru reclusion, Chen Jiru withdrawal, reclusion, shanren Writing on Plantain see under Shu jiao Wu Congxian 吳從先 160, 226–30, 248n Wu Zhenyuan 吳震元 94–95 Xia Shufang 夏樹芳 73, 160, 163 Xiang’an du 香案牘 [Fragrant Archives] 37, 74, 149, 190, 191n Xiaochuang youji 小窗幽記 [Clandestine Jottings from My Little Window] ix–x, xiii, 143, 206, 219–31, 248–55, 257–58 xiaopin 小品 xn, xin, xiii, xv, xxxix–xl, 17n, 43n, 75n, 79, 103–4, 130, 139, 141–53, 176, 191, 201, 231–38, 241, 244–45, 247–48 see also literary forms Xiaopin from the Hall of Evening Incense see under Wanxiangtang xiaopin Xu Jie 徐階 7, 11–13, 39, 56, 86, 263 Xu Jing 許經 94–95 Xu Wei 徐渭 72n, 98, 113n, 139n, 143, 172n, 191, 199 Xu Xiake 徐霞客 xxxiii–xxxiv, 38n, 54 Xu Yisun 徐益孫 27, 34, 35n, 36, 72, 85, 94, 127, 263–65 Xu Zefu 徐澤夫 265 Yan Zhenqing 顏真卿 xvn, 89, Yanqi youshi 巖棲幽事 [Secret Matters from the Majestic Perch] 24, 42, 71, 153, 166–68, 176, 225, 228 Yaoshu 妖書 [Phantom Book] affair 126 Yizhong yuan 意中緣 [Providence of the Heart] 182–83, 187–90 Yuan Hongdao 袁宏道 16n–17n, 43n, 113n, 139n, 143, 146, 151n, 158–59, 173, 191, 193 see also schools, literary: Gongan School Yuan Zhongdao 袁中道 16n, 143, 191, 197 see also schools, literary: Gongan School Zhang Chao 張潮 192, 210n Zhang Dai 張岱 xxxix, 91, 98, 178, 181, 237–38

292

index

Zhang Xianwen 章憲文 74n, 87, 107n, 124n, 133 Zhong Xing 鍾惺 16, 17n, 73n, 80, 90, 98, 115, 256 see also schools, literary: Jingling School Zhou Zuoren 周作人 232–33, 238 Zhu Guozhen 朱國幀 80, 144n, 176 Zhu Jianxin 朱劍心 xi, 146n, 237–38, 240–41

Zhu Yizun 朱彝尊 203, 206–7, 211, 214 Zhu Yuanzhang 朱元璋 23, 31, 62, 84, 172 Zhuzhou tiaoyi 煮粥條議 [Notes on Cooking Congee] 49, 218 Zuigutang jiansao 醉古堂劍掃 [The Scouring Blade from the Hall of an Infatuation with Antiquity] ix, 70, 223–30, 248n, 249, 252–53, 255