The Novel and Theatrical Imagination in Early Modern China (Sinica Leidensia)

The Novel and Theatrical Imagination in Early Modern China

Sinica Leidensia Edited by

Barend J. ter Haar Maghiel van Crevel In co-operation with

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

VOLUME 101

The Novel and Theatrical Imagination in Early Modern China By

Mei Chun

LEIDEN • BOSTON 2011

On the cover: “Shi Jin and Liu Tang,” from Shuihu quantu 水滸全圖, Yuedong zangxiutang 粵東臧修堂, 1882. This book is printed on acid-free paper. Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data Mei, Chun, 1976– The novel and theatrical imagination in early modern China / by Mei Chun. p. cm. — (Sinica leidensia, ISSN 0169-9563 ; 101) Includes bibliographical references and index. ISBN 978-90-04-19166-2 (hardback : alk. paper) 1. Chinese fiction—Yuan dynasty, 1260–1368—History and criticism. 2. Chinese fiction—Ming dynasty, 1368–1644—History and criticism. 3. Theater in literature. 4. Shui hu zhuan. 5. Wu, Cheng’en, ca. 1500–ca. 1582. Xi you ji. I. Title. II. Series. PL2432.5.M45 2011 895.1’34809—dc22 2010046686

ISSN 0169-9563 ISBN 978 90 04 19166 2 Copyright 2011 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.

To my parents, Mei Fazhu and Zhang Youfang

CONTENTS Acknowledgements ............................................................................ Figures .................................................................................................

ix xi

Introduction ........................................................................................

1

Part I Xi in Early Modern Context Chapter One Chapter Two

Theatrum Mundi: The Theatrical, the Playful, the Ephemeral ...................................................... The Structuring of Xi in Illustrations and a Prologue Theatrical ..........................................

Part II

Chapter Three Chapter Four Chapter Five Chapter Six Chapter Seven

35

Playful Theatricals: Shuihu zhuan and Xiyou ji

Staging, Spectacles, and Acts of Recognition ........................................................... Staging, Mimicry, and Acts of Appropriation ...................................................... Acting, Quren, and the Authenticity of Incongruity ........................................................... Acting, Jiaren, and the Artifice of Congruity .............................................................. Viewing: Perceptive and Fleshly Eyes .............. Part III

Chapter Eight

13

79 109 139 167 191

Didactic Theater versus Playful Theatricals

Tropes of Theater in Zhishang chuntai and Wusheng xi ...........................................................

221

Epilogue ............................................................................................... Bibliography ........................................................................................ Index ....................................................................................................

251 257 271

ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS This work would not have come into existence without the patient guidance of Professor Robert E. Hegel. Not only is he an excellent sounding board for tentative ideas, but also the epitome of a teacher and scholar. I am grateful beyond words to have had Dr. Hegel as my advisor during my years at Washington University in Saint Louis. I am also grateful to the anonymous reader for Brill whose salient comments and detailed critique were instrumental in strengthening and sharpening my arguments; and, to Patricia Radder for her professionalism and for guiding me through the publication process. Many thanks go to my teachers at Washington University in Saint Louis and my colleagues at Central Washington University. Particular thanks to Professor Beata Grant for urging me to practice straightforward writing, to Professor L. Letty Chen for challenging me to engage in theoretical thinking, to Professors Robert Henke, Steven Miles, and Elizabeth Oyler for their helpful comments, and to Professors Joshua Nelson, James Cook, and Nathalie Kasselis-Smith for their friendship, their belief in, and support of this project. This project began during a graduate seminar on Shuihu zhuan with Professor Hegel in 1999. I thank my cohort and friends for their discussions and input, particularly Luo Manling, Zhang Jie, and Zhang Jing. A scholarship from the Association of International Education, Japan, and an assistantship from Washington University in Saint Louis allowed me to conduct research at the University of Tsukuba, Japan and in Beijing, China in 2003. A dissertation fellowship from Washington University in Saint Louis further enabled me to stay in Champaign, Illinois, to work on the project. I want to thank Professor Rania Huntington and the East Asia reading group at the University of Illinois for their input on this project. Portions of this work were presented at the Association for Asian Studies Annual Meeting and the Midwest Conference on Asian Affairs Annual Meeting in 2005. I want to thank the discussants Professors Catherine Swatek and David Rolston, and Professor Katherine Carlitz, for offering enlightening comments. Lane has brought love and laughter into my life that seasoned the writing of this monograph. He read and edited drafts of all the

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chapters, often many versions of them, with good humor and patience. This book has been as much a part of his life as mine. This book is dedicated to my parents, Mei Fazhu and Zhang Youfang, who taught me to love and treasure Chinese literature and the humanities when I was young. Note on Romanization For the sake of consistency, the Wade-Giles romanizations of Chinese terms and names in quoted translations have been converted to pinyin.

FIGURES 2.1 “Qing neiting xitai” 清內廷戲臺 (The imperial theater of the Qing court). ......................................................................... 2.2 Qiu Ying’s 仇英 (ca. 1494–ca. 1552) rendition of “Qingming shanghe tu” 清明上河圖 (Going to the river on Qingming). ........................................................................... 2.3 “Nandu fanhui jingwu tujuan” 南都繁會景物圖卷 (A scroll of scenery from the prosperous Southern Capital). ....................................................................................... 2.4 Illustrations from (a) “Yuan Shi yiquan” 袁氏義犬 (The loyal dog of the Yuan family), in Sheng Ming zaju yiji 盛明雜劇一集 (Variety plays from the High Ming, Vol. 1), juan 11, Songfentang edition, 1629; (b) “Tongjia hui” 同甲會 (The meeting of people of the same age), in Sheng Ming zaju erji 盛明雜劇二集 (Variety plays from the High Ming, Vol. 2), juan 10, Songfentang edition, 1641. ............................................................................................ 2.5 Illustrations from (a) “Hehua dang” 荷花蕩 (The lotus marsh), Chongzhen edition, in Guben xiqu congkan erji 古本戲曲叢刊二集, vol. 9; (b) “Ximen Qing guan xi” 西門慶觀戲 (Ximen Qing watching theater) from Jin Ping Mei cihua, Chongzhen edition. ..................................... 2.6 Illustration from “Yuhe ji” 玉合記 (The tale of a jade box), Rongyutang edition, ca. 1607–1619. ...................................... 2.7 Illustration from “Longshan yan” 龍山宴 (A banquet at Longshan), Sheng Ming zaju erji, juan 9. ............................. 2.8 Illustration from (a) “Huanhun ji” 還魂記 (Tale of a retuning soul); (b) “Cheng’en ci yuyan” 承恩賜御宴 (The imperial banquet bestowed with the emperor’s favor), Zhongyi Shuihu zhuan, late Wanli edition. .......................... 2.9 Illustrations from (a) Sui Tang yanyi 隋唐演義 (Romance of the Sui and Tang), Changzhou Chushi Sixuecaotang 長洲褚氏四雪草堂 edition, 1695; (b) “Yan Qing wrestling,” Li Zhuowu xiansheng piping Shuihu zhuan 李卓吾先生批評忠義水滸傳 (Shuihu zhuan with commentaries by Mr. Li Zhuowu), Rongyutang edition, 1610. ............................................................................................

39

40

41

43

45 46 47

47

48

xii 2.10 2.11

2.12 2.13

2.14

2.15 2.16

2.17

5.1

5.2

6.1

figures Illustration from “Nü zhuangyuan” 女狀元 (The female zhuangyuan), Sheng Ming zaju yiji, juan 8. ....................... 50 The two juanshou illustrations for “Dangui tianhe” 丹桂鈿合 (Dangui and the jewel box), Sheng Ming zaju erji, juan 14. ............................................................................. 51 Illustration from “Zhen kuilei” 真傀儡 (The real puppet), in Sheng Ming zaju yiji, juan 26. .......................................... 52 Illustrations from (a) “Ji xianfeng dongguo zhenggong” 急先鋒東郭爭功 (The Impetuous Vanguard vies for merit in the eastern outer city), Li Zhuowu xiansheng piping Shuihu zhuan; (b) “Beijing yuanzhan” 北京轅戰 (The battle in Beijing city gate), Zhongyi Shuihu zhuan. ........................................................................................ 53 Illustrations from (a) Chapter 7 juanshou illustration, Li Zhuowu xiansheng piping Shuihu zhuan; (b) “Caiyuan xiangyu” 菜園相遇 (Meeting at the vegetable garden), Zhongyi Shuihu zhuan. ........................................................... 55 Illustration from Shuihu zhizhuan pinglin 水滸志傳評林, Shuangfengtang 雙峰堂 edition, 1594. ............................... 56 Illustrations from Shuihu quantu 水滸全圖, Yuedong zangxiutang 粵東臧 修堂 (a) “Shi Jin and Liu Tang”; (b) “Lin Chong and Xu Ning”; (c) “Hua Rong and Lu Junyi.” ........................................................................................ 59 Illustration to the 1614 edition of Sisheng yuan 四聲猿 (Four cries of a gibbon) published by Qiantang Zhongs, Zhejiang province. .................................................................. 62 “Xiao Bawang zuiru xiaojin zhang” 小霸王醉入銷金帳 (Drunk, the Little King raises the gold-spangled bed curtains”, from Li Zhuowu xiansheng piping Shuihu zhuan, Rongyutang. ................................................................ 144 “Lu Zhishen Zhejiang zuohua” 魯智深浙江坐化 (Lu Zhishen expires in Zhejiang in a trance), from Li Zhuowu xiansheng piping Shuihu zhuan, Rongyutang. ............................................................................. 162 Two pages from Wuche wanbao quanshu 五車萬寶全書, 1614. .......................................................................................... 181

INTRODUCTION One knows that the Zhang Fei passing by the forest is an imposter but does not know that the Zhang Fei stomping and yelling in the camp is also fake. The Zhang Fei in the latter situation is an imposter playacting the real Zhang Fei, the Zhang Fei in the previous situation is the real Zhang Fei playacting an imposter. An imposter playacting the real in the latter situation certainly constitutes “marvel,” but in the former, the real playacting the imposter is even more marvelous. 人但知樹林中過去之張飛是假﹐不知大寨中跌足大叫之張飛亦是 假。後之張飛是以假張飛扮作真張飛﹐前之張飛是以真張飛扮作假 張飛。後之以假為真固奇﹐前之以真為假尤奇。 Mao Zonggang’s Commentaries on Sanguo yanyi1

This is a study of sixteenth- and seventeenth-century Chinese who infused their living, and writing, with theatricals. The late Ming and early Qing dynasties, or early modern China, was a period of great affluence and cultural florescence, but also of tremendous political, social, and intellectual insecurity. Late Ming and early Qing literati were marked with an enhanced ‘stage’ consciousness, linking the nature of theater to their social context thereby emphasizing the ephemerality of both plays and real life. Ruminating on the nature of theatricality was not only necessary but considered therapeutic for living through their tumultuous age. This period also saw an explosion in cultural and intellectual production giving rise to the mature novel and other genres of popular fiction as literati forms of writing. Unlike the reverent Victorians who shunned theatricality as destructive to the social order and believed it a betrayal of human nature,2 the preoccupation with theatricality among early modern Chinese fiction writers influenced their worldview and, in turn, the lives that they created in their works. Plots such as paichang 排場 (staging theater), zhuang 妝 or ban 扮 (masquerading), xi 戲 (playing tricks), nao 鬧 (making spectacles), and guan 觀 (viewing) were extremely popular.

1 Zhu Yixuan 朱一玄 and Liu Yuchen 劉毓忱, eds., Sanguo yanyi ziliao huibian 三 國演義 資料彙編 (rpt.; Tianjin: Nankai daxue chubanshe, 2003), p. 349. 2 On antitheatricality in the Victorian period, see: Jonas Barish, The Antitheatrical Prejudice (Berkeley and Los Angeles: University of California Press, 1981).

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As a result, early modern fiction was filled with performance, imposture, spectatorship, connoisseurship, and voyeurism—it was distinctively theatrical. Critics applauded these theatrical elements in fictional plots as a necessary element of the most celebrated works as well as fertile terrain to explore important concepts such as authenticity and recognition. Sixteenth- and seventeenth-century writers used “theater” (xi 戲) or terms reminiscent of theater such as liyuan 梨園 (literally, pear garden) and chuntai 春台 (literally, spring platform) in the titles of their fiction collections.3 Li Yu 李漁 (1610–1680), the famous fiction writer-cum-playwright, entitled one of his fiction collections Wusheng xi 無聲戲 (Silent operas). Titles from the late Ming and early Qing period also include fiction collections named Bi liyuan 筆梨園 (Theater by brush), Zhishang chuntai 紙上春臺 (Theater on paper),4 and a seventeen-chapter vernacular novella entitled Xizhongxi 戲中戲 (Playwithin-a play). The latter reminds one of an act in Hehua dang 荷花蕩 (The lotus marsh), a chuanqi of the same period, called “xilixi” 戲裡 戲 (Play-within-a play), whose main action is watching theater.5 These usages point to the meaning of theater being broadened to refer to fictional narratives in general. In addition to titular theater references, writers often reveal their theatrical orientation by describing their characters and story development in terms of roles and play performances. Likewise, fiction commentators drew heavily upon theater as the basis for their vocabulary in reading early modern fiction. For such works as Juanxiang guben Xiyou zhengdao shu 鐫像古本西遊證道書 (The illustrated ancient edition of the Way to enlightenment through the Xiyou ji, 1663), the commentator Wang Qi 汪淇 (ca. 1600–1668) reads and guides potential readings by consistently referring to dramatic structure and theatrical roles. Other commentators such as Mao Zonggang 毛宗崗 (fl. 1660)

3 “Pear Garden” refers to the place where Tang Xuanzong’s (r. 712–756) drama troupes performed. It gradually became a synonym for theater in general. “Spring platform” refers to a scenic spot from which to overlook. 4 Ouyang Jian 歐陽健 concludes that to refer to xiaoshuo as “silent plays,” “theater by brush,” or “theater on paper” carries the same meaning. Ouyang Jian, et al., eds., Zhongguo tongsu xiaoshuo zongmu tiyao 中國通俗小說總目提要 (Beijing: Zhongguo wenlian, 1990), p. 346. 5 “Hehua dang,” Chongzhen edition, in Guben xiqu congkan erji 古本戲曲叢刊二 集, vol. 9 (Shanghai: Shanghai shangwu yinshuguan, 1955).

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3

and Jin Shengtan 金聖嘆 (1610–1661) also contributed to the theatrical turn in early modern fiction criticism. The use of theater and theatrical vocabulary as a source for fictional structuring and critical vocabulary demands our scholarly attention. This work is the first attempt to view the cultural fascination with and imagination of theater as an important historical and literary context for the full-length novel in the late Ming and early Qing. It is the first to develop a theoretical framework particularly designed to analyze the various performances, masquerades, and other theatricals in early modern fiction. This study is not an examination of either theater as a popular social practice or theatricality solely in drama, as has been ably covered by previous scholars, but of how a theater- and theatricallyinformed intellectual orientation influenced the worldview of fiction writers and the lives that they created and how readers/commentators received and recreated that theatricalist fiction. We might ask, what was the nature of theatricality? How did the theatrical imagination affect literature, especially the mature novel? What does the selfreflective reference to playacting and the production and reception of theatricals in early modern novels signify? Answers to these questions necessitate a historically and culturally specific understanding of xi in the early modern era. Theatricality as defined in contemporary dictionaries, or the definition most familiar to us, generally denotes the literary genre of drama and the social practices of theater. The modern dictionary definition of theatricality is not only unyielding, but also limits a productive understanding of the immense effect that the theatrical imagination had on early modern Chinese literature. Following the practice of early modern writers and illustrators who based their idea of theatricality on plot/event/structure rather than genre, I broaden the concept of theatricality in this study. There are two primary elements that constitute theatricality in early modern texts and images. First, the texts or images include playacting, masquerades, metamorphoses, and other theatrical events; second, the texts or images underscore reflexively the perceptual dynamics of the viewer/ viewed relationship. This broadened definition allows me to surmount the narrow preoccupation of drama criticism with poetics and musicality and to draw upon fiction and fiction criticism that explores theatrical relationships, or, the making of theater and theatricality. With the broadened definition of theatricality, this book raises the concept of ‘the theatrical novel,’ which is a novel that pays specific

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attention to performances, playacting, spectacles, and spectatorship. In the theatrical novel, the production and reception of theatricals become of primary importance. Novelists borrowed heavily from the creative usage of theater and its premises for conflating the theatrical and the real, juggling theatrical roles, persons, and identities, and contesting orthodoxies by challenging and appropriating sites of control and authority. This perspective connects, and forces entirely new readings of, the major early modern novels Shuihu zhuan and Xiyou ji. It also showcases the novel’s unique position as a new form of literati self-representation in response to the destabilizing social and political forces of early modern China. The theatricalist perspective also distinguishes this study from existing examinations of theatricality that focus mainly on meta-theatrical elements, or plays about plays, in late imperial drama.6 The study of the theatrical novel necessitates locating it in a textual and visual matrix. This matrix is constituted of texts and images that embed theatricals and emphasize the perceptual dynamics of the viewer/viewed relationship. Constituting the center of this matrix are two theatrical novels, Shuihu zhuan 水滸傳 (Outlaws of the marsh) and Xiyou ji 西遊記 (Journey to the West). But, this matrix also includes illustrations, fiction commentaries, metatheatrical plays (a play-within-a-play), random essays, and short stories. These sources represent life through references to theater by exploring and blurring the boundaries between the virtual world of theater and the actual world, aestheticizing the idea of ‘play,’ and presenting identity as artificial, performative, and relational. They inform us of a ‘theatrical’ culture that endowed the exploration of theatricality—theatrical events and relationships—with epistemological and ontological significance. It is important to examine fiction commentaries for several reasons. Early modern Chinese read their novels in commentarial editions. Printed right next to the text, the pingdian 評點, or interlineal commentaries, constitute an integrated part of the novel. Moreover, from

6 For example: Tina Lu, Persons, Roles, and Minds: Identity in Peony Pavilion and Peach Blossom Fan (Stanford: Stanford University Press, 2001); Judith T. Zeitlin, The Phantom Heroine: Ghosts and Gender in Seventeenth-Century Chinese Literature (Honolulu: University of Hawai‘i Press, 2007), pp. 131–80; Shen Jing, “The Use of Literature in Chuanqi Drama,” (Ph.D. diss., Washington University in Saint Louis, 2000), pp. 211–313.

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the late sixteenth, and throughout the seventeenth century, editors, compilers, and commentators published various editions that took great liberties in deleting from, adding to, and changing the anonymous novel Shuihu zhuan, which may have already been the creation of multiple authors. The published text of Xiyou ji was read, revised, and commented on throughout the seventeenth century at the same time Shuihu underwent its process of tailoring. Finally, as I show in this study, fiction commentaries—instead of drama criticism—offer important source materials that are influenced by and illustrative of the early modern theatrical imagination. This study is not only about writing the novel, but also about a particular reading fashion in early modern China that was fused with the theatrical imagination. The analytical perspective of theatricality connects two major novels of the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries, Shuihu zhuan and Xiyou ji, but also draws attention to their strikingly similar commentarial editions that appeared around the same time, Li Zhuowu xiansheng piping Zhongyi Shuihu zhuan 李卓吾先生批評 忠義水滸傳 (Rongyutang, 1602–10) and Li Zhuowu xiansheng piping Xiyou ji 李卓吾先生批評西遊記 (1620–27).7 It seems likely that the latter, whose publisher is presently unknown, is a sister edition of the former and was produced by the same Hangzhou publisher Rongyutang. In contrast to Jin Shengtan’s famous commentarial edition of Shuihu zhuan, Wang Qi’s commentarial edition of Xiyou ji, Xiyou zhengdao shu, has received far less scholarly attention. Wang Qi emerges from this study on theatricality as acommentator worthy of the same fame as Jin Shengtan. Wang Qi, “Li Zhi,” and Jin Shengtan were all keenly tuned to embedded theatricals and played an important role in the formation of the theatrical novel. It is also the author’s hope that this study of the late imperial theatrical novel will provide a small contribution to the current lively studies of early modern theatrical culture in works on theater and drama. Most recently, Grant Guangren Shen, following in the footsteps of scholars who studied the social practices surrounding theater in the late Ming, provides the most informative work to date on actual Ming theater performances.8 Another work of note is Li-ling Hsiao’s study 7

David Rolston, ed., How to Read the Chinese Novel (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1990), pp. 405, 451. 8 Grant Guangren Shen, Elite Theater in Ming China, 1368–1644 (New York: Routledge, 2005). Scholars such as Zhou Yibai, Tanaka Issei, and Cyril Birch pioneered

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of drama illustrations in the Wanli Period (1573–1619), The Eternal Present of the Past, in which she raises the concept of “performance illustration,” illustration that “entirely dispenses with the mimetic function in an attempt to embed the story within the ontological frame of the stage.”9 The theatrical imagination that influenced and shaped the writing and reading of the novel was entwined with the social practices of theater in Ming-Qing society. The theatrical imagination in the novel reflects the well-documented popularity of public theatricals as a social practice. With the shift from the mid-Ming onward from balustrade theater to private performances, theater became even more ubiquitous.10 It could be and was viewed as an ad libitum event, on the spur of the moment, entering the lives of early modern Chinese and indicative of their personal obsession. Another manifestation of this entwinement is the strong emotional bonding that characterizes the fictional theatrical relationship to invoke emotions in the audience. This book, then, departs from previous studies that examine the relationship between theater and fiction through shared plotlines and instead focuses on a shared perspective that views the world as always-already theatricalized, which was triggered by the heightened stage consciousness in late Ming and early Qing. Part I of this book, “Xi in Early Modern Context,” is a discussion of the meanings of xi in the late Ming and early Qing dynasties, particularly how writers and illustrators broadened their concept of theatricality from one based on genre to one intertwined with plot/event/structure. Linking the epochal fascination with and mystification of theatricality to the vast social and cultural changes of the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries, Chapter 1 examines the enhanced ‘stage’ consciousness in a variety of literary discourses such as drama criticisms and poetry on theater. Since books often began with illustrations in the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries, Chapter 2 imitates the receptive process of early

the study of the various kinds of social practices—watching theater, owning dramatic troupes, acting styles—surrounding Ming-era theater. 9 Li-ling Hsiao, The Eternal Present of the Past: Illustration, Theatre, and Reading in the Wanli Period (1573–1619) (Leiden: Brill, 2007), p. 11. 10 Liao Ben 廖奔, Zhongguo gudai juchang shi 中國古代劇場史 (Zhengzhou: Zhongzhou guji chubanshe, 1997), pp. 61–74. Qtd. Yuming He, “Productive Space: Performance Texts in the Late Ming,” (Ph.D. diss., University of California, Berkeley, 2003), p. 33.

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modern readers by beginning with an examination of an important ‘compositional dynamic’ in early modern drama and fiction illustrations, which is followed by an analysis of the theatrical paradigms in a one-act variety play, “Kuang gushi” 狂鼓史 (The crazy drummer), by Xu Wei 徐渭 (1521–1593). Illustrations display an important ‘compositional dynamic’ in the visual representation of the viewers and the viewed, leading to an implied theatricality as the result of perceptual interaction. “Kuang gushi,” whose central plot is about the staging of a theatrical, narrativizes the formation of theatricality as a self-reflexive intertwining of the three theatrical elements of staging, acting, and viewing. This discussion of the historically specific conceptualization of xi sets the stage for the following chapters. Part II focuses on the two theatrical novels, Shuihu zhuan and Xiyou ji, and is heuristically organized according to the three categories of staging, acting, and viewing even though these categories simultaneously coexist and intermingle in the making of theater and the realization of the theatrical relationship. The main argument is that both novels espouse ‘playful theatricals’ that explore and celebrate flexibilities in roles, identities, and persons, which implicitly and explicitly questions all moral and orthodox fixities. Since identity in the late Ming and early Qing became increasingly diversified and negotiated through the play of characters/roles/actors, ‘playful theatricals’ served as the dominant usage of the theater trope that brought forth creative flexibilities. Chapter 3, “Staging, Spectacles, and Acts of Recognition,” examines the manifestation of xi in Shuihu zhuan. The novel presents heroism as built upon the histrionic relationship between two types of characters, the performers of heroism (e.g. Li Kui and Lu Zhishen) and the connoisseurs of heroism (e.g. Song Jiang). Staging in Shuihu zhuan allows acts of recognition, but the version of recognition that it produces emphasizes not virtue, but spectacles of prowess that are often morally ambiguous. By presenting heroism as performative and as conditioned upon the recognition of an understanding audience, the literati authors, readers, and commentators show their concerns about recognition and accurate judgment in an era marked by diversifying value systems. Chapter 4, “Staging, Mimicry, and Acts of Appropriation,” analyzes the staging of theatrical performances as acts of appropriation that cast doubt upon or contest orthodoxy, authority, and the established order. This chapter focuses on the embedded theatricals in Xiyou ji.

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Xi therein defies the social hierarchy of the demonic and the deity by putting both under a constant process of identity formation and presentation. Xiyou ji thus narrates the interdependence and, in fact, interchangeability of demons and deities by resorting to theatricality. Understanding the usage of xi is crucial for resolving the religious/ philosophical conundrums posed in the novel; as a theatrical novel, Xiyou ji deliberately contests both single religiously-informed interpretive viewpoints—Confucian, Buddhist, or Daoist—and religious and philosophical orthodoxies in general. It is the allegiance to xi that points us closer to the heart-mind of the Xiyou narrative. The concepts of theatricality and authenticity are connected in the valorization of ‘incongruous acting,’ i.e., acting that accentuates and justifies clash between an actor and a role. The major characters in both Shuihu zhuan and Xiyou ji act with incongruity. The authors, and particularly the commentators, of both novels applaud incongruous acting, illustrating a unique connection between spontaneity, authenticity, and theatricality in early modern fiction that epitomizes an interesting formation of selfhood through the conflation of the theatrical and the real (Chapter 5). While clashes of performative codes are celebrated as indicative of authenticity, artifice can simply mean acting with a purpose—a purpose often revealed by the congruity between an actor and a role and their conformity to social propriety and expected norms (Chapter 6). The ‘eye’ completes recognition and realizes theatricality. The most perceptive viewer is of crucial narrative significance in theatrical novels. Chapter 7, “Viewing: Perceptive and Fleshly Eyes,” argues the role and function of the bandit chief Song Jiang in Shuihu zhuan lies in his superb connoisseurship, his ‘perceptive eyes.’ Representing the master, Tripitaka, as fleshly eyed and the disciple, Monkey, as possessive of the most perceptive eyes, the author(s) of Xiyou ji deconstructs both the morality and authority of the master through an inverted ocular order. Spectatorship offers yet another site, in addition to acting, for writers of ‘playful theatricals’ to parody, question, and subvert the normative social order. To better understand the subversiveness of ‘playful theatricals,’ Part III compares two different usages of the theater trope in seventeenthcentury fiction. Both representative works have references to theater in their titles, Zhishang chuntai 紙上春臺 (Theater on paper) by Mijin duzhe and Wusheng xi 無聲戲 (Silent operas) by Li Yu. Li Yu’s Wusheng xi offers an additional example of a ‘playful theatrical’ because

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it explores and celebrates flexibilities in roles, identities, and persons thereby questioning moral and orthodox fixities. In Mijin duzhe’s ‘didactic theater,’ however, the trope of theater serves an exhortatory function. Roles are stereotyped after the theatrical types of sheng (male lead), dan (female lead), jing (forceful man or villain), and chou (clown) with easily predictable moral attributes, minimum identity confusion, and a universal moral code. Mijin duzhe carefully observes and accentuates the boundary between theater and real life thus creating an ideal Neo-Confucian order while affirming the Neo-Confucian orthodox attitude towards theater. This morally stable ‘didactic theater’ negates playacting and does not leave room for ambiguities. The epigraph by Mao Zonggang 毛宗崗 (fl. 1660), the seventeenthcentury commentator on Sanguozhi yanyi 三國志演義 (Romance of the Three Kingdoms), opening this introduction appears like an exercise in tongue twisting. From a theatricalist perspective, however, it illustrates the essence of ‘playful theatricals’ and the early modern fascination with and imagination of theater. The incident that Mao comments upon involves complex performance, playacting, spying, and double crossing among rival parties, all of which are prevalent throughout Sanguozhi yanyi. Mao’s adoption of theater vocabulary in his interlineal commentaries on Sanguo places him among the sixteenth- and seventeenth-century writers and commentators who turned to theater as both a source for fictional structuring and critical vocabulary.11 More significantly, Mao exemplifies a group of writers who regarded playacting as fertile terrain for the creation of the literary ideal of the marvelous. In other words, marvel borrows heavily from the creative usages of theater and its premises (playacting, masquerading, and spectatorship) as a trope in fiction for dealing with identity, roles, and persons. What is real and what is theatrical? Can we distinguish the theatrical from the real? One thing was certain for late Ming and early Qing novelists and fiction critics: a truly marvelous piece of writing should always incorporate theatricals.

For example, 此一卷, 則是副末登場也 (Zhu Yixuan 朱一玄 and Liu Yuchen 劉 毓忱, eds., Sanguo yanyi ziliao huibian 三國演義資料彙編 (rev. ed. Tianjin: Nankai daxuue chubanshe, 2003), p. 307); 有一段絕妙排場在後, 欲借司馬氏演出 (Sanguo yanyi ziliao huibian, p. 408). 11

PART I

XI IN EARLY MODERN CONTEXT

CHAPTER ONE

THEATRUM MUNDI: THE THEATRICAL, THE PLAYFUL, THE EPHEMERAL When I read it leisurely and think about it carefully, history is like puppets on stage. 閒閱舊史細思量,似傀儡排場. The ending lyric in Chu Renhuo’s 褚人獲 (ca. 1630–ca. 1705) Sui Tang yanyi 隋唐演義1 The figured carpet is a dreamland. 氍毹一片是邯鄲. Kong Shangren 孔尚任 (1648–1718), “Pingyang zhuzhi ci” 平陽竹枝詞2

The Theatrical, the Playful When examining the cultural imagination and discursive conceptualization of xi, the crucial questions are: What is this thing called xi that has been translated roughly as ‘theater’? What were the Chinese formulations of theatricality and how did they signify in the fictional imagination? The meanings of xi are inextricably bound up with the issues they are being used to discuss. Offering the most culturally specific account of the term, theater scholar Wu Shuanglian frankly admits that the meaning of xi still eludes him after decades of study.3 Wu opines that with its various and contingent usages, ‘xi’ can only be understood in quotation marks. Late Ming-early Qing literati were eager to articulate the social function and signification of theater and produced discourses in

1 Chu Renhuo 褚人獲, Sui Tang yanyi 隋唐演義 (Shanghai: Shanghai gudian wenxue chubanshe, 1956), p. 774. 2 Qtd. Zhao Shanlin 趙山林, Lidai yongju shige xuanzhu 歷代詠劇詩歌選注 (Beijing: Shumu wenxian, 1988), p. 373. 3 Wu Shuanglian 吳雙連, “Lun ‘xi’ ” 論戲, Xiju yishu 戲劇藝術 1 (1990): 4–14, p. 4.

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various genres exploring how theater signified. The introductory poems (kaichang shi 開場詩) of sixteenth and seventeenth century plays, which usually summarize the plot and offer the author’s insights on theater, are a good source for understanding the authors’ conceptualizations of theatricality.4 Para-theatrical materials—play prefaces and post-faces—elucidate what theater signifies and shape how theater should be received. Poetry about plays (yongju shi 詠劇詩), as a poetic sub-genre, were written, exchanged, and circulated widely beginning in the early modern period.5 In these poems the authors evaluate, ruminate on, and personalize their responses to plays, playwrights, performers, and performances. In the following, I will start with the dictionary definitions of xi as an entry point and go on to explore the more complex matrix of its application in sixteenth and seventeenth-century China. Shuowen jiezi 說文解字 (Explanation of simple and compound graphs), the oldest Chinese dictionary, states, “Xi refers to the branch of three armies. It can also refer to weapons following its radical ge 戈 (dagger-axe)” 戲，三军之偏也，一曰兵，从戈. The reference to a side army (pianshi 偏師) implicitly suggests marginality.6 In the third-century B.C.E. Guoyu 國語 (Discourse of the states), xi means wrestling, a competition of physical strength, which reminds one of the various fights in Shuihu zhuan. The Kangxi zidian 康熙 字典, Ciyuan 辭源, and Cihai 辭海 all define xi as including xinong 戲弄 (playing tricks) or xishua 戲耍 (playing around), which echoes

4 Liao Tengye concludes that introductory poems in chuanqi, the most popular form of plays in the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries, bespeak a common conceptualization of theater as capturing the ephemerality and dream-like nature of life. Liao Tengye 廖藤葉, Zhongguo mengxi yanjiu 中國夢戲研究 (Taibei: Xuesi, 2000), pp. 12–17. 5 Ye Changhai 葉長海, Zhongguo xijuxue shigao 中國戲劇學史稿 (Shanghai: Shanghai wenyi chubanshe, 1986), pp. 448–59. Ye Changhai states that yongju shi were so numerous, scattered in the collected works of the Ming-Qing literati, that they could not be numbered. See also: Zhao Shanlin 趙山林, Zhonggguo xijuxue tonglun 中 國戲劇學通論 (Hefei: Anhui jiaoyu chubanshe, 1995), pp. 927–45. For an anthology of theater, see Zhao, Lidai yongju shige xuanzhu. Even this five-hundred-page book is a far from complete anthology of poetry on theater. Ye Changhai refers to this type of poetry as lunqu shi. I use Zhao Shanlin’s term yongju shi because in poetry criticism yong is a catch-all phrase for different kinds of poetry—any shorter lyrics on “some single thought, feeling, or situation” (Anne Birrell, New Songs from a Jade Terrace: An Anthology of Early Chinese Love Poetry (London and Boston: Allen & Unwin, 1982), p. 22). 6 Xu Shen 許慎, Shuowen jiezi 說文解字 (rpt.; Nanjing: Jiangsu guji, 2003), p. 266.

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the hundred games (baixi 百戲) of the Han dynasty.7 The majority of the various entries in Peiwen yunfu 佩文韵府 (Composed words, stored by rhymes), the Qing thesaurus of literary phrases, refers to the combination of playing tricks and physical display.8 The author of Zhengzi tong 正字通 (A complete mastery of correct characters), a widely-circulated dictionary dominating both the popular and professional Chinese lexicography in the late Ming and early Qing, defined xi in two respects. First, Zhengzi tong quotes the martial aspect of xi defined in Shuowen jiezi, “Xi means military affairs, or the competition with arms” (戲者, 兵也, 猶言以兵相見也); second, xi is equated to nong 弄 (play). The examples related to this usage connote both “inappropriate” affairs (yinxi 淫戲) and “play” that makes fun of and contests social proprieties.9 The connection of xi to theater is not even listed as a minor meaning. Ju 劇, which is attached to xi in modern Chinese as a general term for theater, probably stemming from a Japanese neologism, also means tricks or games.10 The combination of xi and ju means “absurdity” in classical Chinese, which is rather different from its modern meaning. For example, in “Meditation by West River” (Xijiang huaigu 西江懷古), Du Mu 杜牧 (803–852) paired xiju with huangtang 荒唐 (absurd). Su Shi 蘇軾 (1037–1101) uses xiju to refer to the mischievousness of fate. In his “A Minor Rhyme upon the Son of Wang Standing in the Rain,”

7 Baixi, or sanyue 散樂, is non-official singing, dancing, and other performances as opposed to the official zhengyue 正樂 or yayue 雅樂 forms. Zhou Yibai 周貽白, Zhongguo xiqu fazhan shi gangyao 中國戲曲發展史綱要 (Shanghai: Shanghai guji, 1979), pp. 9–15. 8 Zhang Yushu 張玉書 et al., eds., Peiwen yunfu (rpt.; Taibei: Shangwu yinshuguan, 1967), p. 176, pp. 2389–2392. 9 Zhang Zilie 張自烈, comp., Zhengzi tong (rpt.; Beijing: Zhongguo gongren, 1996), “Maoji zhong gebu 卯集中戈部,” p. 9. Two irrelevant usages of xi listed in Zhengzi tong are: xi as a surname and xi as a genre of elegy. On Zhengzi tong’s influence, see: L. Carrington Goodrich and Chaoying Fang, eds., Dictionary of Ming Biography, 1368–1644 (New York: Columbia University Press, 1976), pp. 1061–2. 10 For terms coined by the Japanese using Chinese characters to translate European words that were then imported into modern Chinese, see: Lydia Liu, Translingual Practice: Literature, National Culture, and Translated Modernity—China, 1900–1937 (Stanford: Stanford University Press, 1995), p. 297. Ming-Qing drama theorists distinguished ju from xi differently. For example, Wang Jide 王驥德 (d. 1623) used ju as a general term for Northern drama (beiju 北劇) and xi for Southern theater (nanxi 南戲). See his “Lun ju xi” 論劇戲 in Wang Jide, Qulü 曲律 (rpt.; Changsha: Hunan renmin chubanshe, 1983), p. 154.

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Su wrote, “I hope you can laugh it off/the Creator likes to play jokes (xiju).”11 While modern scholars have often seen ritual as being the origin of Chinese theater, Su Shi saw xi as the social distribution of pleasurable energy thus clearly demarcating xi from ritual. In Dongpo zhilin 東坡志林 (Eastern Slope’s collectanea), Su Shi separates xi from ritual: “The eight la is a joyous ritual of the Three Dynasties. That people gather and play around at the end of the year is only natural. To attach morality is only a way to state that it is not just fooling around” (八臘，三代之戲禮也。歲終聚 戲，此人情之所不免也; 因附以禮 義，亦曰不徒戲而已矣).12 Su suggests that the possibility of humans masquerading as animals is part of the ritual. For Su Shi, the basic meaning of xi is playing with acting/impersonation without reference to morality.13 The economic, social, and cultural context of the late Ming and early Qing played an important role in heightening the linkage between the theatrical and the playful. Triggered by the rapid growth and commercialization of the Ming-Qing economy, society underwent great social and cultural changes. Urban culture took on new configurations with notable features such as the patronage of the arts, the growth of a larger reading public, the appearance of the novel as a serious literary form, an expansion of drama, the cultivation of private ‘scholar’s’ gardens, an increasing number of elaborate mansions, and the conspicuous consumption of objets d’art, to name just a few. The scholar (shi 士) and the merchant (shang 商) status groups increasingly overlapped.14 There emerged, in addition to merchants and literati degree holders, a new group of cultural elites whose status rested largely on

11

Du Mu and Su Shi’s poems qtd. in Wu Shuanglian, “Lun ‘xi’,” p. 4. La 蜡 is a ritual of the Zhou dynasty (c.1045–256). It is also called bala 八蜡 because it offers sacrifice to eight objects, including the God of Harvest (Shennong shi 神農氏) and beneficiary animals such as cats. Ciyuan, p. 0300. Su Shi’s paragraph is included in Chen Duo 陳多 and Ye Changhai 葉長海, eds., Zhongguo lidai julun xuanzhu 中國歷代劇論選註 (Changsha: Hunan wenyi, 1987), pp. 52–3. 13 Faye Fei’s edition and translation of Chinese theories on performance starts with early writings that emphasize the realm of music and ritual and therefore focuses on morality and the edifying elements of theatricality. Faye Chunfang Fei, ed. and trans., Chinese Theories of Theater and Performance from Confucius to the Present (Ann Arbor: University of Michigan Press, 1999). 14 Kai-wing Chow, Publishing, Culture, and Power in Early Modern China (Stanford: Stanford University Press, 2004). 12

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their patronage and engagement with the arts.15 While living in urban areas thus altered patterns of elite consumption and production of cultural products, social status boundaries became more porous allowing both merchants and literati elites to constantly shift roles to engage in practices that were both commercially and intellectually relevant. Early modern literati considered xi as a signifier of uninhibited freedom in personal expression. Xi was a pleasurable art. Tang Xianzu 湯顯祖 (1550–1616) described the theater god Master Qingyuan in the Yihuang County Temple as “a beautiful creature who achieves the Way through playing (youxi 游戲) and spreads this religion in the human world” (為人美好，以游戲而得道，流此教於人間).16 Xi, in its crudest form, fascinated the literati and constituted a major reason for their participation in theater. Tang himself is often regarded as capturing the spirit of “the immortal of playing and saint of jocularity” (游戲之仙，滑稽之圣).17 In Qupin 曲品 (Evaluations of lyric drama), Lü Tiancheng 呂天成 (ca. 1580–ca. 1618) comments flatteringly on Shen Jing’s 沈璟 (1553–1610) Boxiao ji 博笑記 (A world of jokes), “Mr. Shen’s youxi reaches the level of the sublime” 先生游戲，至 此神化极矣.18 As Zhao Shanlin observes through an interesting and rather deliberate misreading, youxi in the early modern context is best understood as indulging in theater (you yu xi 游于戲).19 To be said to be ‘playing with literature’ was a flattering comment to receive from contemporaries, especially from the sixteenth century onwards. In the early modern period there was a fascination with stylized obsessions. Playfulness was not a gesture representative of modesty or a sense of triviality. Through playing, early modern writers advocated an ‘easy and unaffected’ manner, which was self-indulgent and free from social regulation. This stylized ‘playing with literature’ and the appreciation of such a gesture, a relationship based on mutual recognition, was a crucial nexus for forming literary communities in the early modern period. Playwrights often explained the lure of xi as offering them the freedom and power to assign roles or role-play in an attempt to break 15 Willard J. Peterson, Bitter Gourd: Fang I-chih and the Impetus for Intellectual Change (New Haven: Yale University Press, 1979), p. 32. 16 Tang Xianzu, Tang Xianzu shiwen ji 湯顯祖詩文集 (Shanghai: Shanghai guji, 1982), p. 1128. 17 Qtd. Zhao, Zhonggguo xijuxue tonglun, p. 788. 18 Ibid., p. 784. 19 Ibid., p. 706.

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social fixities. The pleasure that a playwright has with his plays, for Wang Jide, is not much different from that of an emperor with his kingdom.20 Li Yu also comments on the satisfaction of producing dramatic literature with its attention to role-playing and its potential to be performed. “If I want to be an official, I will receive riches and honor immediately.”21 He made a similar argument in his play Bimuyu 比目魚 (A pair of soles), in which he plays off the actors’ exclusion from officialdom by having the actor-disciples say: “We’re happy to enter the troupe and learn from the master while wearing an official hat and robe; we can become officials in a flash without having to bother studying.”22 The celebration of ‘playing’ is neither unique in dramatic literature nor exclusive to writing about drama. Zhang Yuanzheng 張元徵 (fl. 1629), author of the preface to the famous variety play collections, Sheng Ming zaju 盛明雜劇 (Variety plays from the High Ming), and friend of its editor, Shen Tai 沈泰 (fl. 1629), relates that the greatness of zaju in the Ming period lies in its extreme playfulness and hence the realization of a theater nature. That is, “since these plays are called plays, they excel in extreme playfulness” (正以戲絕為妙).23 Interestingly, the commentator “Li Zhi” adopts a similar syntactic structure to explain that the wondrousness of Shuihu heroes is their persistent regard of fighting as a form of play (yi zhan wei xi 以戰為戲).24 Fiction critic Jin Shengtan applauds a masquerade in Shuihu zhuan as a good example of “viewing literature as theater” (yi wen wei xi 以文為戲).25 Xi applies to both the plot and the author’s style of writing. Chapter 59 of Lü Xiong’s 呂熊 (ca. 1640–ca. 1722) novel Nüxian waishi 女仙外史 (Unofficial history of a female immortal) includes a battle scene in which the winning side succeeds by having the soldiers wear painted faces to masquerade as monsters. A commentator of the early Qing lauded the author for “using a theatrical pen for a theatrical trick” (以戲筆而行 20 “Zalun” 雜論 in Wang Jide’s Qulun 曲論, qtd. Zhao, Zhongguo xijuxue tonglun, p. 708. 21 Li Yu, Xianqing ou’ji 閑情偶寄 in Li Yu quanji 李漁全集 (Hangzhou: Zhejiang guji, 1992), vol. 11, p. 47. 22 Li Yu, Liweng chuanqi shizhong 笠翁傳奇十種, in Li Yu quanji, vol. 2, p. 125. 23 Zhang Yuanzheng’s preface to Sheng Ming zaju, in Shen Tai, ed., Sheng Ming zaju (Songfentang’s 誦芬堂 edition, 1629; rpt. Taibei: Wenguang, 1963), Preface One. 24 Zhu Yixuan 朱一玄 and Liu Yuchen 劉毓忱, eds., Shuihu zhuan ziliao huibian 水滸傳資料 彙編 (Tianjin: Baihua wenyi, 1981), p. 205. 25 Chen Xizhong 陳曦鐘 et al, eds., Shuihu zhuan huiping ben 水滸傳會評本 (Beijing: Beijing daxue, 1987), p. 582.

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戲法) and concluded: “The Yan people finally lose because they do not know how to create a theatrical” 燕人卒不知為戲所敗亡者.26 ‘Playing with theater’ became a gesture of physicality and stagecraft that appeared around the time of an enhanced stage consciousness in the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries. An early Qing literati, Wang Wei 王炜 (fl. 1600s), friend of the famous Ming-Qing scholars Gu Yanwu 顧炎武 (1613–1682) and Huang Zongxi 黄宗羲 (1610–1695), found in ‘playing’ (youxi 游戲) a link between the men of literature and the immortals. In a preface written for his friend, he called for the recognition of his friend’s effort to stretch the paper and play with it (shenzhi youxi 伸紙游戲).27 Wang Jide ended his play Nan wanghou 男王后 (Male queen) with a discussion between the dan and the jing that interpreted the play as an example of the playwright’s ‘playing with literature.’ Through the jing character, Wang comments that even the audience members would recognize the drama’s fictional nature and only use the play as a way to express their own sarcasm.28 The Theatrical, the Ephemeral The economic development and cultural florescence of the late Ming influenced a conceptualization of xi as playful. This era was, however, also tinted with a darker hue. The Jiajing (r. 1522–1567) and Wanli (r. 1573– 1620) emperors established the political mood of late Ming China. Their apparent indifference to and incompetence in dealing with the administrative problems of the empire spread throughout the imperial bureaucracy. This led such powerful figures as Wang Shizhen 王世貞 (1526–1590) to criticize stridently late Ming political culture for being decadent and corrupt.29 The government itself became embroiled in

26

Lü Xiong, Nüxian waishi (Tianjin: Baihua wenyi, 1985), p. 684. Wu Yuhua 吳毓華, ed., Zhongguo gudai xiqu xuba ji 中國古代戲曲序跋集 (Beijing: Zhongguo xiju chubanshe, 1990), pp. 335–336. 28 Wang Jide, “Nan wanghou” in Shen Tai, ed., Sheng Ming zaju, juan 27, p. 29. Zheng Zhenduo comments on the existence of the model audience rather negatively from the context of a Western theatrical background. “Zaju de zhuanbian” 雜劇的轉變, in Zheng Zhenduo 鄭振鐸, Zheng Zhenduo gudian lunwen ji 鄭振鐸古 典論文集 (Shanghai: Shanghai guji, 1984). 29 Kenneth J. Hammond, “The Decadent Chalice: A Critique of Late Ming Political Culture,” Ming Studies 39 (1998): 32–49. 27

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violent academic and bureaucratic factional conflicts, which weakened it.30 Eunuch power, to the chagrin of the bureaucrats, also increased.31 These two trends, factionalism and eunuch power, finally clashed in the bloody repression of the Donglin faction by the powerful eunuch Wei Zhongxian (1568–1627). The political crises of the Ming government were only worsened by waves of violence that accompanied the decline of the Ming and the Ming-Qing transition. Widespread rural violence and bandit/‘rebel’ activities began in the mid-Ming and worsened over time.32 By the early 1640s peasant uprisings and rebellions led by Wu Sangui and others had brought the Ming to its knees, but the dynasty was ultimately finished off by the Manchu invasion and the devastation of major urban centers in the Jiangnan region. The disgrace of being defeated by the ‘lowly’ Manchus led some Han to choose suicide rather than acquiesce to the new regime.33 It was not until the end of the seventeenth century, with the Qing victory in the War of the Three Feudatories, that the Manchus were finally able to consolidate their rule and re-stabilize local society.34 The literary realm of the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries was keenly attuned to the contemporary political disorder. Fiction on contemporary events (shishi xiaoshuo 時事小說) included novels published within months of the event, which utilized a new kind of textual source, the Dibao 邸報 (Capital Gazette).35 The most famous historical

30

On Ming factions, see: Zhao Jie, “A Decade of Considerable Significance: LateMing Factionalism in the Making, 1583–1593,” T’oung Pao 88.1–3 (2002): 112–150. 31 For the negative portrayal of eunuchs in literati writings, see Jennifer W. Jay, “Random Jottings on Eunuchs: Ming Biji Writings as Unofficial Historiography,” Hanxue yanjiu 漢學研究 11.1 (1993): 269–285. 32 On Ming banditry and violence, see: David Robinson, Bandits, Eunuchs, and the Son of Heaven: Rebellion and the Economy of Violence in Mid-Ming China (Honolulu: University of Hawai‘i Press, 2001). 33 Frederic E. Wakeman, Jr., “Localism and Loyalism During the Ch’ing Conquest of Kiangnan: The Tragedy of Chiang-yin,” in Frederic Wakeman, Jr. and Carolyn Grant, eds., Conflict and Control in Late Imperial China (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1975); Jerry Dennerline, The Chia-ting Loyalists: Confucian Leadership and Social Change in Seventeenth-Century China (New Haven: Yale University Press, 1981). 34 Frederic E. Wakeman, Jr., The Great Enterprise: The Manchu Reconstruction of Imperial Order in Seventeenth-Century China, 2 vols. (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1985). 35 For a list of fiction on contemporary events, see Robert E. Hegel, Reading Illustrated Fiction in Late Imperial China (Stanford: Stanford University Press, 1998), pp. 41–42.

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play of the seventeenth century, Taohua shan 桃花扇 (The peach blossom fan) by Kong Shangren 孔尚任 (1648–1718), is an exploration of the reasons for the collapse of the Southern Ming court in Nanjing in 1645 based on historical research. The scenes of the play are dated by the year and month, and contemporaneity is highlighted in the introductory act. As in fiction on contemporary events, the notorious eunuch Wei Zhongxian also appeared as a figure of many plays. As the noted seventeenth century essayist Zhang Dai 張岱 (1597–1689) recorded in his entry “The Tale of An Iceberg” (Bingshan ji 冰山記), in Tao’an mengyi 陶庵夢憶 (Dreamy remembrances of Tao’an), there were more than ten plays on Wei Zhongxian.36 Meanwhile, Huanduzhai 還讀齋, a publishing house operated by Wang Qi and Wang Ang 汪昂 (fl. 17th century) in Hangzhou and later Suzhou between the 1620s and 1690s, published three popular serials of model letters. In the preface, the editor expressed his wish to fulfill his readers’ interests in the lives of others during this tumultuous period.37 The political, social, and intellectual insecurity of the late Ming resulted in another frequent response by writers: the aestheticization of the theatrical through its links to the ephemeral. This uncertainty, or better, feeling of ‘the ephemeral,’ was expressed by writers who lamented their lack of control over their lives, by their concern with the vagaries of time, by their acute feelings of marginality, by their inability to explain the events of the Ming-Qing transition, and by their resignation to social displacement.38 No single Chinese term encompasses the variety of meanings I have associated with ‘the ephemeral.’ Relevant Chinese terms, such as bian 變 (to change), shi 逝 (to be passé), cangsang 滄桑 (swift changes of the world), xingwang 興亡 (prosperity and decline), and huan 幻 (illusory) evoke a general set of feelings that were shared by Ming-Qing writers in the highly politicized intellectual and political atmosphere of the dynastic transition. My understanding of these overlapping feelings suggests that a broadbased term like ‘the ephemeral’ captures the writers’ underlying sense of anxiety, their perceived lack of control over politics and society, and

36 Zhang Dai 張岱, Tao’an mengyi 陶庵夢憶 (rpt.; Hangzhou: Xihu shushe, 1982), “Bingshan ji” 冰山記, pp. 97–98. 37 Ellen Widmer, “The Huanduzhai of Hangzhou and Suzhou: A Study in Seventeenth Century Publishing,” Harvard Journal of Asiatic Studies 56.1 (1996): 77–122. 38 Wilt Idema, et al., eds., Trauma and Transcendence in Early Qing Literature (Cambridge: Harvard University Press, 2005).

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their consciousness and fear of the passage of time—“people are profoundly moved over the recent vicissitudes of the world” (邇來世變 滄桑, 人多懷感), wrote the author of the minor preface to Zaju sanji 雜劇三集 (Variety plays, third collection).39 Early modern literati linked the nature of xi to political and social chaos by emphasizing the ephemerality of both plays and lives. A message commonly conveyed in their writings, until it almost became a cliché, was that theater is ephemeral. Theater, like dreams, became a favorite trope and an important signifier of the ephemeral through which the literati expressed their insecurity and anxiety towards the contradictions and paradoxes of political, social, economic, and intellectual life. The novelist, dream expert, and author of Zhaoyang mengshi 昭陽夢史 (The dreamy history of Zhaoyang), Dong Yue 董說 (1620–1686) observed, “A turbulent age is suitable for dreaming” 亂 世宜夢.40 The dream, as representative of the surge of interest in the illusionary and the ephemeral in the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries, has received much scholarly attention. 41 Theater, too, was experienced like a dream. Audience members often mentioned with foreboding that plays were like dreams in that both were ephemeral and difficult to grasp. Tang Xianzu recognized the similarities between dreams and theater and utilized the latter as a privileged genre for the description of dreams. Tang’s explanation for theatricalizing dreams was: “dreams are formed by emotionality, theater is formed by dreams” 因情成夢，因夢成戲.42 The correlation between theater and dreams, as drama scholar Guo Yingde points out, was a shared literary concept among the literati playwrights of the Ming-Qing period.43 Tang Xianzu’s oft-quoted preface to Mudan ting 39

Chen and Ye, eds., Zhongguo lidai julun xuanzhu, p. 293. Qtd. Zhang Jun 張俊, Qingdai xiaoshuo shi 清代小說史 (Hangzhou: Zhejiang guji, 1997), 38. 41 Cf. Lienche Tu Fang, “Ming Dreams,” Tsing Hua Journal of Chinese Studies 10.1 (1973): 55–72; Judith Zeitlin, Historian of the Strange: Pu Songling and the Chinese Classical Tale (Stanford: Stanford University Press, 1993), pp. 135–140. For plays including significant dream sequences, see: Liao Tengye, Zhongguo mengxi yanjiu, pp. 70–98. 42 Tang Xianzu, “A Reply to Gan Yilu” 復甘義麓 in Tang Xianzu shiwen ji, p. 1367. 43 Guo Yingde 郭英德, “ ‘Yinqing chengmeng, yinmeng chengxi’: Ming Qing wenren chuanqi zuojia wenxue guannian sanlun” “因情成夢, 因夢成戲”: 明清文人傳奇 作家文學觀念散論, Zhongguo wenxue yanjiu 中國文學研究 3(1990): 77–83. Tang Xianzu’s phrase is from “A Reply to Gan Yilu” rather than “In Answer to Sun Siju” 答孫俟居 (n. 28, p. 83). 40

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claims that love in a dream is as real as in life. This helps explain Tang’s conceptualization of theatricality: there is truth in the ephemeral and reality in illusion. Tang’s attention to dreams was part of a larger current in the late Ming and early Qing fascination with theater and staging—theater could express that life was ephemeral.44 In the same vein as Tang Xianzu, Zhao Shilin 趙士麟 (1629–99) (jinshi 1664) commented on Jianghua meng 江花夢 (The dream of river flowers), “Dreams speak through illusion, and theater speaks through play, which is also illusion. Is there a difference between dreams and theater? 夢之為言幻也，劇之為言戲也，即幻也，夢与戲有二哉.45 Xie Zhaozhe 谢肇浙 (1567–1624) also commented that “theater and dreams are the same” (xi yu meng tong 戲与夢同) because they were both illusory.46 Theatrical spectacles rank at the top of Zhang Dai’s remembrances of the past because of their close connection to dreams. For Zhang Dai, the memory of theatrical spectacles was a vivid signifier of the ephemeral, which formed a nostalgic hue in Zhang’s mind like the lanterns in the background of a performance.47 Seventeenth-century readers could imagine Zhang ruminating on the theatrical spectacles he witnessed as the lights at the outdoor theater were extinguished and its grandeur sank into the dark night. Zhang often sat and brooded over how the dramatic events of his own past life ended like the denouement of a play. Zhang’s very real remembrance of the past was thus a rumination on theater, dreams, social vicissitudes, and the sense of transience that bound the three.48 The understanding of life’s ephemerality made theater therapeutic for writers and was a salve for living though the social turbulence

44 Wai-yee Li situates Mudan ting and two other famous chuanqi plays, Changsheng dian and Taohua shan, within the late Ming works fascinated with dreams, illusion, and emotionality. Enchantment and Disenchantment: Love and Illusion in Chinese Literature (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1993), pp. 50, 53. 45 Preface to the manuscript Jianghua meng, qtd. Guo Yingde, “ ‘Yinqing chengmeng, yinmeng chengxi’,” p. 80. 46 Xie Zhaozhe, Wu zazu 五雜俎 (Shanghai: Shanghai shudian, 2001), juan 15, “Section Three on Things,” p. 313. 47 Zhang Dai, in his typical poetic language, states that without theatrical performances the spirit of lanterns is not exuberant (燈不演劇則燈意不酣). In his “Lantern of Shimeitang” 世美堂燈, Tao’an mengyi, pp. 49–51, p. 50. 48 For a discussion of Zhang Dai and late Ming sensibility, see Robert Hegel, “Dreaming the Past: Memory and Continuity Beyond the Ming Fall,” Trauma and Transcendence, pp. 345–71.

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of the times. In the preface to Tanhua ji 曇花記 (The tale of nightblooming cereus), the playwright Tu Long 屠隆 (1542–1605) claimed that realizing the ephemeral nature of theater could be as revelatory as a Buddhist ceremony. Tu’s preface is presented as a dialogue between an enlightened “I” and “somebody” on the true nature of xi: I say, “This [play] is my Buddhist ritual.” “Is it justified to view theater as a Buddhist ritual?” The answer is: “All karmic connections are artificial, and theater is the most artificial of all. If one realizes the false nature of secular connections from the most false, theater can only be of benefit . . . .” 余曰: “此余佛事也。 ” “以戲為佛事，可乎？” 曰: “世間万緣皆假，戲又假中之假也。從假中之假而悟諸 緣皆假， 則戲有益無損 . . .”

Even Buddhists could not avoid theater as a place for spiritual enlightenment because of theater’s superiority as a metaphorical site for the demonstration of life’s artificiality. Theater also made the audience realize its own ephemerality and the world’s.49 The two plays that enamored late seventeenth century China, Taohua shan and Changsheng dian 長生殿 (The palace of eternal youth), expressed a much enhanced ‘stage’ consciousness—a resignation to and obsession with the ephemeral—and were written by two playwrights haunted by a strong sense of fin-de-siècle fortified by the dynastic change. The authors of the plays, Kong Shangren and Hong Sheng 洪昇 (1645–1704), are often mentioned together as the two leading playwrights in the phrase nan Hong bei Kong 南洪北孔 (Hong of South and Kong of North). They both utilized the specific rhetoric of analogizing theater, dreams, and life through their ephemerality to foreground the social functions of their plays. In his preface to Changsheng dian, Hong Sheng compares watching theater to the exploration of the dreamland. Theater ends like awakening from a dream and therefore his play serves the function of “bells in the middle of a silent night triggering the sudden awakening from dreams” 清夜 闻钟，夫亦可以 蘧然梦觉矣.50 In his play, Kong Shangren integrates the love affair between the courtesan Li Xiangjun and the scholar Hou Fangyu with the social turmoil of the dynastic transition aiming

49 50

Wu, ed., Zhongguo gudai xiqu xuba ji, p. 102. Hong Sheng, Changsheng dian (Beijing: Renmin wenxue, 1997), p. 1.

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“to describe the feeling towards the rise and fall [of a dynasty] through separation and reunion” 借离合之情，写兴亡之感.51 Both Hong Sheng and Kong Shangren were keenly aware of theater’s efficacy in reminding one of the illusory nature of life because, while dreams might continue, the ending of a play inevitably is a self-reference to its nature as theater. Poeticizing Xi The transient nature of theatrical grandeur made theater itself a popular subject for poeticization. Poetry about plays offers us an entry point for an examination into what theater signified in the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries. Composing poetry after watching a play was a common practice among early modern Chinese literati. Like other kinds of poetry writing, often carried out as a group activity, the shared experience of watching theater was intimately recorded in poems usually begun by one of the audience members and matched by others. Sometimes a fellow audience member, or later readers, would write a matching poem. Although poems about plays are scattered throughout late imperial literature, I will utilize Zhao Shanlin’s Lidai yongju shige xuanzhu 歷代詠劇 詩歌選注 (Selected anthology of premodern poetry on theater) as my main source for understanding the ephemeral process of watching theater. Although poems on actors or plays appeared before the early modern period, the writing and circulation of poetry about theater on a grand scale was a distinctively new phenomenon.52 In the late seventeenth century poetry about theater, despite the social status of the poets, showed a distinctive trend in subject matter: ruminations on the theatrical world and its relationship to real life. Du Jun 杜濬 (1611–87) (zi Yuhuang), friend of Li Yu and a literatus who became poor after the Ming fall, writes in “Watching a Tragedy” (Kan kuxi 看苦戲)—“My life cannot be compared to theater; sweetness has not come to me late in my life” 吾生不如戲, 垂老未甘回.53 Gong Dingzi 龔鼎孳 (1615–73), a high official under the Kangxi Emperor (1654–1722), wrote a matching poem to Du Jun’s called, “Casual

51 52 53

Kong Shangren, Taohua shan 桃花扇 (Beijing: Renmin wenxue, 1998), p. 1. Ye, Zhongguo xijuxue shigao, p. 448; Zhao, Zhongguo xijuxue tonglun, p. 928. Du Jun, “Kan kuxi,” in Lidai yongju shige xuanzhu, p. 271.

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Thoughts Watching Theater—Composed after Yuhuang” (觀劇偶感 同于皇作). In the poem Gong describes a play from the perspective of an audience member who experiences social changes in a profound and embittered way, who feels the passage of time and laments it, and who fears the fallacy of predictability: I turn old with the heaven and earth, Tears of lament deep in my bosom; I hear the happy tunes of the sheng and xiao instruments change, I see rain and snow follow the sunny day. 乾坤同白首, 涕淚且深懷。 歡入笙簫變, 晴看雨雪來.54

Gong’s personal experience of the Ming-Qing transition is knit into his interpretation of the theatrical performance. The tendency to characterize real life through the trope of theater bespeaks the literati’s consciousness of the passage of time in this chaotic and insecure period. Tang Xianzu’s Handan ji 邯鄲記 (The tale of Handan) is among the best plays through which to evaluate the literati’s ruminations on the illusoriness of time and existence. Based on a Tang story, “Zhenzhong ji” 枕中記 (The world within a pillow), Handan ji relates the experience of a certain Scholar Lu who bemoans his threadbare existence, but meets a Daoist on the road to Handan who gives him a pillow. While using the pillow Scholar Lu dreams of a successful and extravagant life only to wake up to find that the millet, which the innkeeper was cooking before he fell asleep, was still not ready. Zhong Xing 鐘惺, in “Watching The Dream of Handan on a Boat and Accidentally Writing on My Left” (舟中看<<邯鄲夢>> 傳奇偶題左方),55 purposefully conflates the theater time explored in Tang’s play with the real time in which he watches the play, A moment in a boat, Several generations have passed in the world. A moment behind the stove, Several decades in a dream. The immortal’s life is already hastened, The dream is already prolonged. Who understands the logic of eternity and illusoriness? Who controls the power to extend or to shorten [time]?

54 55

Gong Dingzi, “Guanju ougan,” in Ibid., p. 298. Handan meng (The dream of Handan) is another name for Handan ji.

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舟中片時間﹐世上幾代傳。 爨下片時間﹐夢中幾十年。 仙齡亦已促﹐夢境亦已延。 誰明修短故﹐疇司伸縮權.56

Time is what is confusing and questionable here. In the play, the dream and real life are confused with the Daoist sense of the ephemeral. The staging of the play adds an additional element to the confusion. The theatrical conflates with the real: theatrical time crisscrosses with real time, actors reach out to the audience, and the audience becomes actors in their dream-like life. The boat and the stage, where the three ephemeral activities of watching theater, cooking millet, and dreaming of prosperity take place simultaneously, evoke the most penetrating question of the late Ming-early Qing period: how do we explain life’s changes? How do we grapple with the vagaries of time? And more to the point, what is real here? Song Wan 宋琬 (1614–1673) (jinshi 1647) also wrote a poem after watching Handan ji with his jinshi degree-holding friends. Song Wan’s poem on watching theater was famous among his contemporaries and inspired many matching poems.57 His poem is especially touching because it grasped the sentimentality of loss and the insecurity of the Ming-Qing transition through personal experience: Song had been imprisoned for his purported connection to the Shandong Rebellion (1661) when he had been the Chief Inquisitor of Zhejiang.58 Song Wan’s lyrical poem is divided into two parts—the first part focuses on the play, the second part on the integration of the viewer’s self: Just a moment—Scholar Lu awakens, his Qiuci mule still grazing.59 Immortals of the Three Islands loafing outside the play,60 A lifetime of officialdom on the felt carpet; Bewail the secular world:

56

Zhong Xing, “Zhouzhong kan Handan meng,” in Lidai yongju shige xuanzhu, p. 215. 57 See Zhao Shanlin’s annotation in Lidai yongju shige xuanzhu, p. 297. 58 Ibid., p. 292. 59 Qiuci is the name of a country on the border of western China. To refer to a mule as qiuci is from a literary quotation in “Xiyu zhuan” in Han shu. It is said that the king of Qiuci went on pilgrimage to China several times and liked Chinese customs. He began to imitate Chinese customs in his own country and was said to share similarities with the mule, which is neither a donkey nor a horse. Qtd. Zhao, Lidai yongju shige xuanzhu, p. 296, n. 7. 60 The three mythical islands of the East Sea, Pinglai 蓬萊, Fangzhang 方丈, and Yingzhou 瀛洲.

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chapter one Millet takes longest to cook. Who can partake? 恰半晌, 盧生醒矣, 龜茲無恙。 三島神仙游戲外, 百年卿相氍毹上。 嘆人間, 難熟是黃粱, 誰能餉.61

For Song, watching theater and contemplating the protagonist’s life becomes an opportunity to examine his own life. The poem ends with the inclusion of the audience and a reference to their lives as theater. In the background of such poetic discourses on watching theater we find a rather peculiar response by Mao Xiang 冒襄 (1611–1693), who was a celebrated literatus and owner of a private troupe. On the ninth of the ninth month of the lunar calendar, Mao Xiang mounted the Wangjiang Pavilion to watch “Kong qingshi” 空青石 (Empty emerald stone), a play by his friend Wan Shu 萬樹 (fl. 1600s). Rather expectedly, Mao wrote a poem to note the theatrical event. What is peculiar about this poem, shared with the audience, is that it sharply contradicted the content of the play. “Kong qingshi” is a comedy of miracles and romance. The protagonist Zhong Qing wins two beauties with the help of his “secret eye medicine,” which is called “empty emerald stone.” The play belongs to the romantic scholar-beauty genre, which rapidly rose in popularity during the Ming-Qing transition. In this genre the number of beauties a man possesses is a measure of his success. Mao Xiang’s poem is subtitled, quite lengthily, as “expression of sorrow from this old bosom awaiting for other matching poems” (老懷悵觸, 倚聲待和). Mao Xiang completely ignored the success story in the play, nor did he pay lip service to his friend; he devoted all his poetic attention to the subject of transience and ephemerality. Mao Xiang called for matching stanzas from his fellow audience members implicitly inviting more gloomy responses. For Mao Xiang, the Wangjiang Pavilion, an old theater where he used to watch plays, had taken on a dramatic change. Depoliticizing the nature of changes he observed, Mao Xiang highlights the changes in the ‘natural’ scenery. It is through this “naturalization” that the dramatic changes in the social and political realms are blended into a scene of nature through poetic diction:

61

Ibid., p. 296.

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Nests are overturned, mossy hills are far away, Only maple leaves remain to please us. This morning I mount Wangjiang Pavilion again, Saddened that everywhere the foggy woods have utterly changed. 朴巢已覆，苔岑遙隔， 剩有丹楓堪玩。 今朝重上望江樓， 悵南北，煙林全換.62

For early Qing literati theater itself became the meta-reference to the ephemeral. Watching theater was no longer escapist entertainment, but became a vehicle for acute self, social, and political reflection. It also made them aware of the significance of theatricals on and off the stage.63 For Mao Xiang, the act of “mounting the Wangjiang Pavilion again” is a paradox. He is haunted by the social and political changes around the Pavilion that have altered the meaning of watching theater—echoing Confucius he accentuates the vagaries of time, and in a manner reminiscent of Heraclitus, he highlights the impossibility of repetition. Comedies may be performed, but the Pavilion’s situatedness in a social and political context overpowers the play being performed—the frame becomes the picture, the stage becomes staged, the comedy becomes tragedy. This yongju shi by Mao Xiang is about seeing the world through the stage. Tragic or comic, theater in the early Qing was given a bleak meaning. It is within such a context that we can understand Mao Xiang’s rather peculiar poem. After all, Mao Xiang initiated a gloomy but definitely ‘necessary’ re-evaluation of the nature of theatricality after watching a comedy. Fictionalizing Xi The literati’s exploration of the meaning of xi, situated within its social context, in play prefaces, postfaces, and poetry about plays bespeaks the literati’s acute sense of theatricality. In these varied works, the theatrical is extended to conflate with the real and the real intrudes upon the theatrical. Alertness to the conflation of the theatrical and the real

Mao Xiang, “Queqiao xian” 鵲橋仙, in Lidai yongju shige xuanzhu, p. 285. For an example of political theatricals in the early Qing period, see: Jonathan Hay, “Ming Palace and Tomb in Early Qing Jiangning: Dynastic Memory and the Openness of History,” Late Imperial China 20: 1 (1999), pp. 1–48. 62 63

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profoundly influenced the fictional lives that literati created in their works. In fiction, writers used theatricality primarily to explore the juggling of multiple identities in an era of social changes. The creation and representation of fictional theatricals in early modern narratives, part and parcel of the literati rumination over theatricality, offers us the richest material to explore this concept. Theatricalization became a key to fictionalization. Writers and commentators of the novel, in particular, were interested in using theatricality to explore identity because writing and publishing popular literature was an unprecedented social role for literati in a Confucian society. Although the real identities of the authors of Shuihu zhuan and Xiyou ji, and the “Li Zhi” commentators, remain shadowy at best, scholars have convincingly argued that novels and vernacular stories were produced by, and in a certain degree for, the literati.64 As the economy grew apace and education became more widely available, competition for examination success became more intense, especially in the Jiangnan region.65 On the other hand, a boom in commercial publishing, along with the insecure political atmosphere, pushed failed scholars into the realm of cultural production for the consuming market thereby giving them a livelihood.66 Scholars who failed in the civil service examination turned to commerce and to professional writing, in particular, because the market consumed, conspicuously, cultural objects as well as material products. To a significant degree, literati writers digressed from their traditional roles to engage in writing that was both commercially and intellectually relevant for an audience equally interested in contemporary life and the growth, spawned by the interaction of the old and new cultural elite, in role-playing in real life and fiction.

64

For example, Robert E. Hegel, The Novel in Seventeenth-Century China (New York: Columbia University Press, 1981), esp. Chaps. 1–2; Andrew Plaks, The Four Masterworks of the Ming Novel (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1987). 65 On Ming examination quotas, see: Ho Ping-ti, The Ladder of Success in Imperial China: Aspects of Social Mobility, 1368–1911 (New York: Columbia University Press, 1962), pp. 173–179; Benjamin A. Elman, “The Evolution of Civil Service Examinations in Late Imperial China,” Jindai Zhongguo shi yanjiu tongxun (Newsletter for modern Chinese history) 11 (1991): 65–88. 66 Chow, Publishing, Culture, and Power, pp. 57–90. K. T. Wu, “Ming Printing and Printers,” Harvard Journal of Asiatic Studies 7.3 (1943): 203–260; Richard G. Wang, “The Publishing of the Ming Novellas and the Print Culture,” Monumenta Serica 48 (2000): 93–132.

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The intertwining of the literati’s self expression with their interest in theatricality is succinctly captured in a short story in Wang Shizhen’s 王士禎 (1634–1711) Chibei outan 池北偶談 (Casual chats north of the pond).67 Incorporating the literalization of a familiar metaphor, theatrum mundi, the story emphasizes the permeable boundaries among theater, real life, and dreams thus illustrating an intensified literati orientation towards understanding identity as performative. Wang’s story goes as follows: A man named Zhang has a dream during an afternoon nap. In the dream a six-inch man emerges from Zhang’s heart. The tiny man, who appears like an actor clothed in a scholar’s costume, begins to sing a highly refined Kunshan tune in a clear voice. The performer introduces himself and his hometown, which are identical to Zhang’s. The pint-sized man’s arias describe the events of Zhang’s life. After four acts, the performer recites an ending poem and vanishes. Upon awakening, Zhang remembers the ‘plot’ of the little man’s drama and tells people about it. Shortly after Wang Shizhen’s story appeared, his contemporary Pu Songling 蒲松齡 (1640–1715), in his collection of stories Liaozhai zhiyi (Liaozhai’s records of the strange), quoted and modified the story into one called “Zhang Gongshi.”68 The writer Zhuxuezhai 鑄雪齋 (b. 1689) later amplified the story in his hand-copied edition by including the introduction of a reader/investigator named Gao Xiyuan 高西園 through whose perspective a more detailed version of the same story is told again.69 An acquaintance of Zhang, Gao happens to read about the dream of the original Zhang in Wang’s Chibei outan and thinks that the protagonist might be the same Zhang he knows. Zhang remembers

67 This story is attached to “Zhang Gongshi” in Pu Songling, Liaozhai zhiyi huijiao huiping ben 聊齋志異會校會評本, ed., Zhang Youhe 張友鶴 (Shanghai: Shanghai guji, 1978), p. 1190. 68 Wang Shizhen and Pu Songling were acquaintances who corresponded with each other. Judith Zeitlin, Historian of the Strange: Pu Songling and the Chinese Classical Tale (Stanford: Stanford University Press, 1993), pp. 161–62. Zeitlin mentions Pu’s version of the anecdote in her discussion of “dream and fictionality,” p. 174. 69 The paragraph about Gao Xiyuan appears as part of the text only in the Zhuxuezhai manuscript of Liaozhai zhiyi, upon which Zhang Youhe’s edition is based. The more recent Ren Duxing 任篤行 edition of Liaozhai ziyi includes the paragraph, but as an attachment based upon Yuan Shishuo’s observation that Zhuxuezhai, rather than Pu Songling, had penned the paragraph. Liaozhai zhiyi: Quanjiao huizhuu jiping 聊齋志異: 全校會註集評 (Jinan: Qilu shushe; 2000), pp. 1740ff. Yuan Shishuo 袁 世碩, “Zhuxuezhai and the Zhuxuezhai Hand-copied Edition of Liaozhai zhiyi” 鑄 雪齋和鑄雪齋抄本聊齋志異, in Zhu Yixuan, ed., Liaozhai zhiyi ziliao huibian (rpt. Tianjin: Nankai daxue, 2002), pp. 331–52, p. 351.

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the epilogue poem and likes to recite it at gatherings of friends, where Gao records it. The story triggers more commentaries on the blurring of the boundaries between theater and real life. While reading Liaozhai zhiyi commentator Dan Minglun 但明倫 (1795–1853) encapsulated the story’s message with the popular metaphor, “A person’s whole life is no more than a play” 人之一生, 不過一場戲耳.70 Why is the dream worth telling and retelling, reading and commenting upon? The literalization of metaphorical language is a zhiguai (record of the strange) convention.71 The story, however, literalizes a familiar metaphor, theatrum mundi, thus combining the zhiguai convention with seventeenth century stage consciousness to present an interestingly-staged and uniquely-viewed theatrical. The theatrical, the dream, and real life are conflated, a theme that continues to emerge throughout this study. The actor and the dreamer are virtually the same. There is no direct account of Zhang’s life; his life-story is only conveyed through the pint-sized man’s performance. Knitting these plots together is the scholar role as a link between the actor in the dream and the dreamer. The attention is upon the scholar’s ‘costume,’ which dominates the ‘stage.’ The pint-sized man wears a scholar’s hat and clothes (ruguan rufu 儒冠儒服) and therefore performs a scholar’s identity. The scholarly-dressed actor’s narrativization of Zhang’s life and the refined Kunshan tune in which the arias are sung serve as important reaffirmations of Zhang’s self-identification as a scholar. After the pint-sized man’s performance is over, we see Zhang, like an actor in the theater, echoing the performance by reciting the epilogue poem to a gathering of his friends. By repeating a performed act Zhang becomes an actor himself; an act in theater becomes an act in real life. Through the mouth of the pint-sized man, Zhang carries out the theatrical gesture of venting his frustration over an unfulfilled life. Zhuxuezhai’s version further details that the character by the actor has had an unfulfilled life and becomes a village schoolmaster in old age, which is similar to Zhang’s own experience. Through this addition Zhuxuezhai attempts to clarify that this performed self is the dreamer’s self.

70

Dan Minglun’s commentary, Liaozhai zhiyi huijiao huiping ben, p. 1190. Zeitlin observes that the literalization of metaphorical language is one of Pu Songling’s most common mechanisms for generating fantasy. Zeitlin, Historian of the Strange, pp. 145, 199, 248n58, 267n40. 71

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The story, particularly Zhuxuezhai’s version, conveys a strong sense of self theatricalization, exploration, and appreciation and thus is part and parcel of the discourses on xi in the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries. Significantly, the pint-sized man comes from the physical organ of the dreamer’s heart. Since traditional Chinese believe that the heart is the same as the mind, metaphorically the actor is the construction of the dreamer’s mind to represent the performer-in-the-self. Dan Minglun clarifies this pun in the commentary, “One can only ask his heart what role he plays and which act he is in” 祇要問心, 自己是何 角色, 生平是何節末. One’s self theatricalization, on the other hand, is dependent upon the viewer-in-the-self. The viewer’s importance is accentuated by the fact that the initial role of the dreamer is viewing and this viewer-in-the-self lays the foundation for the story. This example of achieving the theatrical relationship through splitting a personality into the actor-in-the-self and the viewer-in-the-self teaches us that the self is the result of self-perception and staging. This self-consciousness, as Dan also reminds us, raises suspicions about the nature of the imaginary theatrical as a dream. Rather, it is Zhang’s deliberate theatricalization of his life that reflects upon the cultural sensibility of his time. In the chapters to come we will further explore the connections between the creation and reception of fictional theatricals and the exploration of literati self identity. In the verse chosen as an epigraph for this chapter, Kong Shangren draws an analogy between theater and dreamland. The epochal spirit’s fascination with and mystification of theater and theatricality, captured most succinctly in Kong Shangren’s analogy, was intimately connected with the vast social and cultural changes of the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries. The historical, social, and literary sense of the ubiquity of theatricality—an enhanced ‘stage’ consciousness—represented in the literary discourses of drama criticism and yongju shi in the late Ming and early Qing periods has lain the groundwork for the next chapter in which the historically and culturally specific structuring of xi, most vividly presented by fiction and drama illustrations, will be explored.

CHAPTER TWO

THE STRUCTURING OF XI IN ILLUSTRATIONS AND A PROLOGUE THEATRICAL I can take any empty space and call it a bare stage. A man walks across this empty space whilst someone else is watching him, and this is all that is needed for an act of theatre to be engaged. Peter Brook, Empty Space1

In the last chapter we discussed the historical, social, and literary context in which the literati’s self expressions became intertwined with their interest in xi. Xi connoted a wide range of meanings—the playful, the theatrical, and the ephemeral—in drama criticisms, yongju shi, and other literary discourses. Illustrators of this period embraced a similar ‘stage’ consciousness by producing images that not only embedded theatrical events, but also underscored reflexively the ‘perceptual dynamics’ of the viewer/viewed relationship.2 In the illustrations we see an explicit representation of the broadened concept of xi as structured upon the perceptual dynamics of the viewer/viewed relationship. Illustrations are important as a visual context for the study of the theatrical novel. Book illustration experienced rapid development in late imperial China reaching its apogee during the Wanli era (1573– 1620).3 As a result, most publishers in the late Ming included illustrations in their fiction and drama editions. For late imperial readers, the images conditioned the reception of the text because the pictures were located at the top of the page or at the beginning of a chapter.4 Those

1

Peter Brook, The Empty Space (New York: Atheneum, 1978), p. 9. The term ‘perceptual dynamics’ is adopted from Josette Féral’s “Theatricality: The Specificity of Theatrical Language,” SubStance 31 (2002): 94–108, p. 105. 3 For the historical development of book illustrations, see Robert E. Hegel, Reading Illustrated Fiction in Late Imperial China (Stanford: Stanford University Press, 1998), pp. 164–215, 243–51, 270–76. 4 There were three different formats for fiction and drama illustrations, shangtu/ xiawen 上圖/下文 (illustration above/text below), chatu 插圖 (inserted illustration), and guantu 冠圖 (capping illustrations). Hegel, Reading Illustrated Fiction, pp. 168– 213. 2

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images highlight certain crucial scenes of the text and help guide the reader’s visualizations.5 Images not only initiated the reception process for late imperial readers, but also portrayed ‘the moment’s story’ thus elucidating how the text should be interpreted spatially. The spatiality incorporated into the images thereby provides the visual structuring of how theatrical space in late imperial fiction is presented.6 That is, the spatiality inherent to illustrations clearly and directly presents to us a broadened conception of theatricality based on structure. That structure—the viewer/viewed relationship—constituted an important ‘compositional dynamic’ leading to an implied theatricality as the result of the perceptual interaction between the two types of characters. To complete the discussion of xi as structured upon of the viewedviewing relationship, the second part of this chapter examines a oneact variety play, “Kuang gushi Yuyang sannong” 狂鼓史漁陽三弄 (The crazy drummer beating to the tune “Yuyang sannong”; hereafter “Kuang gushi”) by Xu Wei 徐渭 (1521–1593), to explain how the relationship enacts a theatrical. “Kuang gushi” verifies the conceptualization of theatricality as a relationship between performer, audience, and the space in which both interact. It reveals a self-reflexive intertwining of the three theatrical elements of staging, acting, and viewing, a division heuristically followed in Part II that focuses on the examination of the theatrical novel. Visualizing Theatrical Space The attention to theatrical structuring in illustrations prepares late imperial readers, and us, for reading fictional texts. Such images, like

For example, Gu Ling 顧苓 comments that the Shuihu illustrations by the famous and eccentric painter and fiction illustrator Chen Hongshou 陳洪綬 (1598–1652) accentuate the intention of the author through visualization. Gu Ling, “Ba Shuihu tu” 跋水滸圖, in Zhu Yuxuan 朱一玄 and Liu Yuchen 劉毓忱, eds., Shuihu zhuan ziliao huibian 水滸傳資料彙編 (Tianjin: Nankai daxue chubanshe, 2002), p. 609. 6 I am drawing upon Martin Meisel’s discussion of G. E. Lessing’s basic distinction between image as the spatial and text as the temporal art in Laocoon (1766). Martin Meisel, Realizations: Narrative, Pictorial, and Theatrical Arts in Nineteenth-Century England (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1983), pp. 17–28. For an illuminating discussion of the issues of space and time, image and text, see: W. J. T. Mitchell, Iconology: Image, Text, Ideology (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1986), pp. 95–115. 5

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texts, serve to remind us of the enhanced stage consciousness of the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries when theater was given cultural, political, and even existential meaning for living through the profoundly unsettling times. Among the important ‘compositional dynamics’ in early modern drama and fiction illustrations is the visual representation of the viewers and the viewed.7 The space being viewed is often framed by stagelike iconic signs, which create and police the boundaries that separate from and connect with the viewer’s space. This compositional dynamic leads to an implied theatricality as the result of a perceptual interaction between the onlooker and someone or something that is looked at. The space in which this viewing-viewed relationship occurs, often quotidian, is transformed by the presence of the relationship into a theatrical space—it is a theatrical space not because a ‘performance’ takes place nor because it visually represents a theatrical space, but because it is where the viewers interface with the viewed. This broadened theatrical space helps elucidate the heightened stage consciousness in social discourses of the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries concerned with identity performance—that is, the ‘staginess’ within the text is shown through visual representations. The Literal Theater My examination begins with images of the literal theater followed by a discussion of more general theatrical spaces. The latter images are my primary focus because images of the literal theater provide the visual structuring for pictures of general theatrical spaces. In addition to visual structuring, elements drawn from images of the literal stage appear as iconic signs within more general theatrical images by showing the quotidian spaces that frame the area being viewed. What we see as ‘theatrical structuring’ in the quotidian spaces of general theatrical images is related to elements from late imperial theater—the raised stage and the felt carpet.

7 I am borrowing Jerome Silbergeld’s phrase by which he describes how any “compositional arrangement establishes some internal dynamic tensions—emphases or directional thrusts that are felt by the viewer even if not consciously recognized.” Chinese Painting Style: Media, Methods, and Principles of Form (Seattle: University of Washington Press, 1982), p. 53.

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Let us first look at some of the constitutional elements of the literal theater. The term theater, or xichang 戲場,8 was often shortened to chang (a level open space).9 This abbreviation conveys successfully the commonality of theater: a performance in the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries could take place anywhere using a flat area for staging. There were two types of stages: (1) the felt carpet for private performances (quyu 氍毹) often laid on the ground in a courtyard or a hall; (2) the raised stage (xipeng 戲棚) for more public entertainment, with the exception of the imperial theater.10 The stage for imperial theater was a raised platform in its grandest form—three levels of stages—and was suitable for creating the most extravagant spectacles (Fig. 2.1).11 Despite the differences among theaters (rural, urban, public, or private), late imperial theater was distinctive in its interactive atmosphere and the purposeful inclusion of the audience in the performer/audience relationship.12 Theater itself is an object of visualization although often we regard it only as a source for the circulation of visual images such as masks, costumes, and theatrical gestures. Raised stages, especially, were one of the most important features in depictions of the urban landscape— an equivalent to the modern skyscraper. For example, in Qiu Ying’s 仇英 (ca. 1494–ca. 1552) rendition of “Qingming shanghe tu” 清明上 河圖 (Going to the river on the Qingming Festival), the Ming painter inserted, in his version of the famous Northern Song panoramic paint-

The modern Chinese word for theater, juchang 劇場, did not come into usage until the May Fourth theater scholar Feng Yuanjun 馮沅君 (1900–1974) introduced the term after importing the Japanese word, Gekijyo, to refer to the theater or playhouse of the Song-Yuan period, goulan 勾欄. Juchang as the modern word for theater was further established with the publication of Zhongguo juchang shi 中國劇場史 (Changsha: Shangwu yinshuguan, 1940) by Zhou Yibai 周貽白, another influential theater scholar. On the history of the phrase juchang, see: Wang Anqi 王安祈, Mingdai chuanqi zhi juchang ji qi yishu 明代傳奇 之劇場及其藝術 (Taibei: Taiwan xuesheng shuju, 1986), p. 1, and p. 5, n. 2. 9 Other variations of xichang in classical Chinese are paichang 俳場, youchang 優場, quyu 氍毹, and so on. For some examples of the usage of chang, see: Wang, Mingdai chuanqi zhi juchang, p. 4, n. 1. 10 John Hu, “Ming Dynasty Drama,” in Colin Mackerras, ed., Chinese Theater: From Its Origins to the Present Day (Honolulu: University of Hawaii Press, 1983), p. 85. For illustrations of variations of the raised theater, see: Zhou, Zhongguo juchang shi, pp. 472–82. 11 For an account of Qing imperial theater, see: Cao Xinquan 曹心泉, “Recollections of Theater in the Qing Imperial Household” 清內廷演戲回憶錄, qtd. Zhou, Zhongguo juchang shi, p. 23. 12 Tan Fan 譚帆, Youling shi 優伶史 (Shanghai: Shanghai wenyi, 1995), p. 136. 8

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Figure 2.1

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“Qing neiting xitai” 清內廷戲臺 (The imperial theater of the Qing court) (Zhou, Zhongguo juchang shi, p. 22).

ing, what he considered to be the marker of an urban space: a raised stage with a pressing crowd surrounding a performance (Fig. 2.2).13 In another Ming painting of Nanjing, “Nandu fanhui jingwu tujuan” 南都繁會景物 圖卷 (The scroll of scenery from the prosperous Southern Capital), a raised stage is only located in the lower left corner but the viewers occupy the center of the image. The audience packs the nearby buildings and viewing stands looking down at the stage or assembles in the open space in front of the stage and looks upward (Fig. 2.3).14 Both pictures use the theater with a large crowd as a symbol of a prosperous urban space. They also depict a common visual trope of theater representations as structured upon the interaction of spectators, in large numbers, and the stage.15 13 In Wang Anqi, Mingdai chuanqi zhi juchang, Illus. 10, p. 32. According to William Dolby, Ming copies of “Qingming shangshe tu” add a picture of a raised stage. Some later copies show a red carpet on the stage. Dolby, A History of Chinese Drama, p. 103–4. 14 Wang, Mingdai chuanqi zhi juchang, Illus. 9, p. 11. 15 For more pictures with a similar structure, see Ibid., Illus. 11, 12, 13, 15, pp. 12–3, p. 33, p. 14.

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Qiu Ying’s rendition of “Qingming shanghe tu” (Wang, Mingdai chuanqi zhi juchang, Illus. 10, p. 32).

Fiction and drama illustrations constitute the most important source for images of the felt carpet, the more private type of theater, in late imperial China. For example, the sources that Wang Anqi uses in Mingdai chuanqi zhi juchang jiqi yishu 明代傳奇 之劇場及其藝術 (The stage of Ming chuanqi and its art) to show how quyu performances were conducted in the Ming period are all fiction or drama illustrations.16 This is as revealing for the historical examination of the quyu performance as for the popularity of metatheater or xilixi 戲裡戲/ xizhongxi 戲中戲 (play within the play) as a trope in early modern narratives. The high percentage of meta-plays in Sheng Ming zaju indicates that the action of watching theater was itself a subject for dramatization.17 The main event in “Tongjia hui” 同甲會 (The meeting of people of the same age) is a gathering for a banquet and a theatri-

16 Mingdai chuanqi zhi juchang ji qi yishu, pp. 38–49. Wang Bomin 王伯敏, Zhongguo banhua shi 中國版畫史 (Shanghai: Shanghai renmin meishu chubanshe, 1961), pp. 74–5. 17 For more examples, see Wang, Mingdai chuanqi zhi juchang ji qi yishu, illustrations.

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Figure 2.3

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“Nandu fanhui jingwu tujuan” (Wang, Mingdai chuanqi zhi juchang, Illus. 9, p. 11).

cal performance.18 “Zhen kuilei” 真傀儡 (The real puppet) is about a retired prime minister who leads an eremitic life in a village and entertains himself by going to the village puppet theater (kuilei peng 傀儡棚), which the local hooligans also frequent. “Zhen kuilei” turns into a meta-discourse on watching theater and distinguishes among different levels of audience.19 “Kuang gushi” is about the appropriation of the courtroom as a space for a theatrical performance, which will be discussed below as a ‘prologue theatrical.’ My approach is not to examine illustrations simply as evidence of historical quyu performances,20 but as visual representations that are influenced by ‘semiotics,’ or the symbolic conventions in illustrations. To take quyu too realistically precludes productively looking at them as iconic signs of the construction of theatricality through the visual representation of an awareness of one party acting on and the other party viewing the staged space. I will return to this function of quyu later.

18 “Tongjia hui,” in Shen Tai 沈泰, ed., Sheng Ming zaju 盛明雜劇 (Songfentang 誦芬堂 edition, 1629, rpt. Taibei: Wenguang, 1963), erji 二集, juan 10. 19 Sheng Ming zaju, yiji 一集, juan 26. 20 Wang, Mingdai chuanqi zhi juchang, pp. 159–61.

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Quyu were first used as literal stages for theater performances. Like the raised stage, quyu set up a boundary separating and connecting the viewers and the viewed as seen in “Yuan Shi yiquan” 袁氏義犬 (The loyal dog of the Yuan family), “Tongjia hui” (see Fig. 2.4), “Hehua dang” 荷花蕩 (The lotus marsh), and Jin Ping Mei 金瓶梅 (see Fig. 2.5). These illustrations of quyu performances share a similar layout: the representations of the theater are secondary to the banquets so they are not illustrations of theater per se, but of guests and hosts viewing the quyu performance. The performances are located in the lower right hand corner of the illustrations and therefore the gaze is directed from the upper left hand corner. Generally speaking, it is virtually impossible to determine the play actually being staged. Among the four illustrations in Figure 2.3, only in “Yuan Shi yiquan” we can tell from the jumbo gourd on the shoulder of the Daoist monk that “Hulu xiansheng” 葫蘆先生 (Mr. Gourd) is being performed.21 Quyu were also used for plays and also for other performances such as dances. In this case, the visual representation of a quyu is shown in more detail with complex designs woven into the carpet and thus rather different from the simple rectangle floor pattern in the above illustrations. The quyu are, however, the same in the above cases in that they frame the area that is being viewed. For example, the illustrations for “Yuhe ji” 玉合記 (The tale of a jade box) (Fig. 2.6), “Longshan yan” 龍山宴 (A banquet at Longshan) (Fig. 2.7), “Huanhun ji” 還魂記 (Tale of a returning soul), and “Cheng’en ci yuyan” 承恩賜 御宴 (The imperial banquet bestowed with the emperor’s favor) all have a common element: a carpet-like space which locates the dancers—the upper left corner in “Yuhe ji”, the upper right corner in “Huanhun ji”, or in the center in Shuihu zhuan (Fig. 2.8). The illustrations are self-reflexive by directing ways of potential viewing. Model viewers are located around the performances (“Longshan yan” and “Cheng’en ci yuyan”). These compositional arrangements linking the model viewers to what is viewed establish an internal directional dynamic for the viewers of these illustrations. In conclusion, the visual representation of theater as a demarcation/ continuation of the performers’ and viewers’ spaces finds its representation of theater drawing equal attention to what is on stage and the

21 Looking at pictures, Wang Anqi relates in detail the plays and scenes staged on those quyu. Most of Wang’s viewing depends on the texts and constitutes, of course, a hypothesis.

Figure 2.4 Illustrations from (a) “Yuan Shi yiquan,” in Sheng Ming zaju yiji, juan 11, Songfentang edition, 1629; (b) “Tongjia hui,” in Sheng Ming zaju erji, juan 10, Songfentang edition, 1641.

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viewers off stage. The inclusion of both the viewers and performers confirms the essential role of the audience in the making of meanings in Chinese theater. Visualizing Theatrical Space The commonality of representations of the viewing/viewed relationship, in addition to images of the literal theater, is a crucial element in the understanding theatricality in the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries. The viewing/viewed structure applies to other public activities besides theater such as games, sports, and banquets—events that contemporary social theorists address as social performances. I divide the theatrical structuring of illustrations into: (1) ‘staged’ staging, referring to the usage of images including a raised area or carpet through which the area being viewed is framed; and (2) ‘stageless’ staging, in which theatrical structuring is achieved by simply including the viewers and the viewed. The framing of the viewed space follows the general pattern of a raised platform or a felt carpet in images of the literal theater. Wrestling, for example, is framed in a raised area surrounded by crowds in both Sui Tang yanyi and Shuihu zhuan illustrations. This structuring of the gaze follows the images of the raised stage in which the viewers’ eyes are directed upwards (see Fig. 2.9). Quyu, the more private form of the literal stage, appear more often in illustrations of quotidian spaces. In this sense, quyu simply means a carpet and is a stock iconic sign for directing the viewers’ gaze. What the extended usage of the quyu element in illustrations discloses is the closeness and, in effect, the indistinguishability of the theater and theatrical space, especially when these illustrations belong to the same collection. The rectangle carpet-like iconic sign demarcates a space where the model audience members in the illustration, as well as viewers outside the picture, direct their eyes. For example, in Xu Wei’s “Nü zhuangyuan” 女狀元 (The female zhuangyuan) collected in Sheng Ming zaju, a quyu icon is inserted under a new zhuangyuan in the household while we see his father in the picture looking at him and more people running to look at him (See Fig. 2.10). Like “Nü zhuangyuan,” the two illustrations for “Dangui tianhe” 丹桂 鈿合 (Dangui and the jewel box) in the same collection similarly highlight a staged space to be viewed through the rectangle icon of a quyu. The plot of the play mocks the standard love themes through a freewheeling scholar Quan Ciqing 權次卿, who quits the Hanlin Academy, buys a jewel box from the market, and marries the woman for

Figure 2.5 Illustrations from (a) “Hehua dang,” Chongzhen edition, in Guben xiqu congkan erji 古 本戲曲叢刊二集, vol. 9 (Shanghai: Shanghai shangwu yinshuguan, 1955); (b) “Ximen Qing guan xi” 西門慶觀戲 (Ximen Qing watching theater) from Jin Ping Mei cihua, Chongzhen edition (Wang, Mingdai chuanqi zhi juchang, Illus. 20, p. 39).

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Figure 2.6 “Yuhe ji,” Rongyutang edition, ca. 1607–1619, (Zhou Wu 周蕪, Huipai banhuashi lunji 徽派版畫史論集, p. 81).

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Figure 2.7

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“Longshan yan,” Sheng Ming zaju erji, juan 9.

Figure 2.8 Illustrations from (a) “Huanhun ji” 還魂記 (Chang Bide 昌彼德, Mingdai banhua xuan 明代版畫選, p. 24); (b) “Cheng’en ci yuyan” 承恩賜 御宴, in Zhongyi Shuihu zhuan chatu 忠義水滸傳插圖, p. 43.

Figure 2.9 Illustrations from (a) Sui Tang yanyi 隋唐演義 (Romance of the Sui and Tang), Changzhou Chushi Sixuecaotang 長洲褚氏四雪草堂 edition, 1695 (Guojia tushuguan xiqu xiaoshuo banhua xuancui 國家圖書館戲曲小說版畫選粹, p. 135); (b) “Yan Qing wrestling,” Li Zhuowu xiansheng piping Shuihu zhuan 李卓吾先生 批評忠義水滸傳 (Shuihu zhuan with commentaries by Mr. Li Zhuowu), Rongyutang edition.

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whom the jewel box was a keepsake. When the emperor’s messenger arrives to present Quan with a promotion thus revealing his real identity, all are happy with the imposter. The two scenes chosen for illustration in “Dangui tianhe” both feature the viewing/viewed interaction leading to a revelation. The first one illustrates a temple with elements like trees, moon, and stars. In the lower middle portion of the illustration are the woman and her maid, upon which Quan Ciqing and the readers gaze. It is in this scene that Quan finds out that the jewel box is a betrothal keepsake for a beautiful woman. The second illustration shows Quan Ciqing receiving the emperor’s edict. The text of the play merely states, “The roles laodan, dan, jing, chou, and tie all leave the stage. Mo plays Quan Zhong [Quan Ciqing’s servant] and does the act of helping Quan change into his hat and his clothes to receive the emperor’s edict.”22 The illustration not only visualizes, but also highlights the staging effect. Quan is stepping onto the quyu in official clothes and hat while the servant holds the scholar’s hat that Quan just took off. In the background are spectators waiting for a theatrical to happen (see Fig. 2.11). The demonstration of the viewing/viewed interaction is not limited to the two above ways of guided viewing in which the frame, a raised area or a rectangle indicative of the felt carpet, follows the general layout of a late imperial stage. Often the interaction is achieved, simply, by the inclusion of viewers and the viewed. For example, looking at the illustrations of scenes in Sanguo Shuishu quanzhuan 三國水滸全傳 and Sun Pang douzhi yanyi 孫龐鬥志演義, Hegel points out the existence of spectators in the background, as well as twisted and scarred trees.23 The chatu (inserted illustration) for “Zhen kuilei” illustrates the moment Du Yan receives the emperor’s edict while he happens to be watching a puppet show in a local theater. Like the scenes that blend theater into real life in Li Yu’s “Tan Chuyu,” the puppet theater audience becomes the ready audience for this performance. Framed between two pillars they gaze at the ceremony. Meanwhile, in the background we see another group of the emperor’s envoys approaching, indicating that the performance will soon be repeated, in a slightly different version (See Fig. 2.12). In these cases, the area being viewed is not framed but there is still a certain demarcation between the viewers and viewed, such as mountains, trees, or pillars.

22 23

“Dangui tianhe,” Sheng Ming zaju erji, juan 14, p. 19. Hegel, Reading Illustrated Fiction, p. 224. Illustration Fig. 4.35, p. 225.

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Figure 2.10 Illustration from “Nü zhuangyuan,” Sheng Ming zaju yiji, juan 8.

The panoramic view and attention to landscape, distinctive features of Wanli period illustrations,24 facilitates a more ‘framed’ structuring. For example, the Li Xuanbo 李玄伯 edition of Zhongyi Shuihu zhuan 忠義水滸傳 from the late Wanli period shares the same format with and yet includes finer details than the Rongyutang edition (1610) of Li Zhuowu xiansheng piping Shuihu zhuan.25 While illustration’s 24 Yao Dajuin, “The Pleasure of Reading Drama: Illustrations to the Hongzhi Edition of The Story to the Western Wing,” in Wang Shifu, The Moon and the Zither, ed. and trans. Stephen H. West and Wilt L. Idema (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1991), pp. 437–68, p. 445. 25 Zhongyi Shuihu zhuan chatu, in Zhonghua shuju Shanghai bianjisuo 中華書 局上海編輯所, ed., Zhongguo gudai banhua congkan 中國古代版畫叢刊 (Beijing: Zhonghua shuju, 1959–60), 5 series. Ser. 1, vol. 5. By the “Li Xuanbo edition,” I mean the hundred-chapter text discovered by Li Xuanbo in 1924 and subsequently reprinted by Li under the title Zhongyi Shuihu zhuan. It is often referred to as Li Shi cangben 李氏藏本 (the text collected by Mr. Li) in discussions of Shuihu editions. From the style and artistry of the illustrations, Zheng Zhenduo regards this edition as from the late Wanli period. The 120-chapter edition printed by Yuan Wuya 袁無涯 in 1614, the most influential edition in the fanben 繁本 (fuller recension) system, uses the same illustrations from the Li Boxuan edition merely adding illustrations for the additional chapters. Zheng Zhenduo, “Postface to Zhongyi shuihu zhuan,” in Zhongyi Shuihu zhuan chatu; also Andrew Plaks, The Four Masterworks of the Ming Novel (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1987), pp. 288–90.

Figure 2.11

The two juanshou illustrations for “Dangui tianhe,” Sheng Ming zaju erji, juan 14.

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Figure 2.12 Illustration from “Zhen kuilei,” in Sheng Ming zaju, yiji, juan 26.

sophistication is apparent in the finer details such as trees, leaves, and architecture, it also indicates a further complication of the viewing/ viewed relationship. One might say that the Li Xuanbo edition ‘pans out’ from the close up scenes in the Rongyutang edition.26 By locating the scene on a grander scale the Li Xuanbo edition is able to draw attention to how the scene is viewed by an even broader audience and from many more viewing perspectives. For example, let us compare the illustration for Chapter Thirteen, “The Impetuous Vanguard Vies for Merit in the Eastern Outer City, the Blue-Faced Beast Battles in the Northern Capital” 急先鋒東郭爭功, 青面獸北京鬥武 (Fig. 2.13). The two fighters in the foreground, Suo Chao and Yang Zhi, are like an echo—almost identical, but with some distortion—including having their weapons held at identical angles, their leaping horses

26 Another example is a comparison of the Hongzhi edition (1498) and the Wang Jide edition (1614) of Xixiang ji. For the panoramic view of the landscape in Wang Jide edition of Xixiang ji, see Yao, “The Pleasure of Reading Drama,” Fig. 16 and 17.

Figure 2.13 Illustrations from (a) “Ji xianfeng dongguo zhenggong,” from Li Zhuowu xiansheng piping Shuihu zhuan, Rongyutang edition, p. 174; (b) “Beijing yuanzhan” 北京轅戰 (The battle at Beijing city gate), rpt. in Zhongyi Shuihu zhuan chatu, p. 6.

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circling each other, and their armor and horses decorated similarly.27 The viewer of the Li Xuanbo edition moves back from the Rongyutang scene presenting a much more panoramic scene. The number of spectators is thus significantly increased and they are located on the same plane as the arena, on both sides of the fighters, on top of the stairs near the magistrate, and on the pavilion, which complicates the visual structure. The architecture surrounding the arena is depicted in detail, and the gazing points create the shape of a theater in the round. The illustrations for Chapter Seven of the Li Xuanbo and Rongyutang editions (Fig. 2.14), although about two slightly different incidents, demonstrate the same use of distance, or ‘panning effect,’ at work. In Li Xuanbo’s edition, there is not only a slight increase in the number of spectators but also the ‘audience’ is distinguished by size.28 The dominant viewing figure Lin Chong equals Lu Zhishen in size while local hooligans in the ‘audience’ are much smaller. The potential friendship between the two major Shuihu heroes is thus presented as starting from the visual connection of viewing and being viewed. Even when the physical audience figure does not exist in a picture, the viewer is often mentioned in the text to highlight the staginess of the illustration shown. For example, the illustration of “Hong Jiaoshi Lin Chong bi zhangbang” 洪教師林沖比杖棒 (Teacher Hong and Lin Chong compete in staff ) (Fig. 2.15) from Shuihu zhizhuan pinglin 水滸志傳評林 demonstrates an interesting case in which the text cooperates with the illustration to produce the viewing/viewed relationship. Shuihu zhizhuan pinglin was a relatively cheap edition published by Fujian shulin 福建書林 in the format of shangtu/xiawen (illustration above/ text below).29 Compared to the half-block chatu (inserted illustration) format, the space for illustration in the shangtu/xiawen format is relatively small.30 Probably due to the limits of the space for

27 The Rongyutang edition (1610) of Shuihu zhuan was from a Hangzhou printer of plays and its illustrations were very fine and widely reproduced (Hegel, Reading Illustrated Fiction, p. 149). This explains the similarity of the Li Xuanbo edition to the Rongyutang edition. 28 The size of images conventionally indicates social status in the illustrations of Yuan qu xuan 元曲選. Hegel, Reading Illustrated Fiction, p. 413, n. 59. 29 For Shuangfengtang editions of other fiction in the shangtu/xiawen format, see: Hegel, Reading Illustrated Fiction, p. 184. 30 The chatu format in fiction, which first appeared in Ming Chenghua shuochang cihua 明成化說唱詞話, allows larger figures and more detail. The potential of the format was fully exploited during the late sixteenth century. This format transition, in fact, helped to produce the “golden age” of Chinese woodblock printing. Hegel, Reading Illustrated Fiction, p. 179, p. 183.

Figure 2.14 Illustrations from (a) Li Zhuowu xiansheng piping Shuihu zhuan, p. 97; (b) “Caiyuan xiangyu” 菜園相遇 (Meeting at the vegetable garden), rpt. in Zhongyi Shuihu zhuan chatu, p. 4.

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Figure 2.15 Illustration from Shuihu zhizhuan pinglin, Shuangfengtang 雙峰堂 edition, 1594, rpt. in Guben xiaoshuo congkan, ser. 12, vols. 1–3, p. 99.

illustrations, the illustration depends heavily upon the text to explain its content. The fight between Lin Chong and Teacher Hong occupies the full space of the illustration and there is no indication of the center stage nor who is watching. On the background the word tingtang 廳堂 (main reception hall) suggests the location of this competition. The commentary on the upper part of the image, however, suggests that Chai Jin, the ultimate viewer, is watching. “This paragraph narrates now Lin Chong’s martial technique is superior to that of Hong Jiaotou and hence proves Chai Jin’s powers of discrimination.”31 Here the image and text work together to create a scene of viewing and viewed.

31 Shuihu zhizhuan pinglin 水滸志傳評林, in Guben xiaoshuo congkan 古本小說 叢刊, ser. 12, vols. 1–3 (Beijing: Zhonghua shuju, 1991), p. 99.

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The visual representation of the co-existent viewer and viewed also appears in illustrations further separated from the text and circulated as independent visual objects. The greater separation of illustrations from their text seems to put more weight on the ‘agency and voice’ of illustrations. Illustrations are grouped in one fascicle in the guantu (capping illustrations) format. If the chatu format allowed for larger figures and more detail, the capping illustrations often displayed the most consummate artistry and use of shared common artistic elements found in decorative arts of all kinds, including the work of professional painters.32 That a single illustration had a two-page layout (popular among plays, such as Fig. 2.17) and that albums of illustrations circulated as art objects are two further developments in the separation of the illustration from the text as well as the growing attention to illustrations as a visual art. Albums of illustrations, yezi 葉子 (leaves, or albums of game card illustrations), and game cards at drinking parties, were distinctive for their fine artistry and were often from the hands of famous painters and carvers.33 They represent what Hegel refers to as the ‘final’ stage of illustrations. For example, Chen Hongshou’s illustrations include two yezi collections, Shuihu yezi 水滸葉子 made up of figures from Shuihu zhuan and Bogu yezi 博古葉子 (1653) of various famous historical figures. Yezi and other separate albums of illustrations were not only a way to circulate images from popular literature, but also established a different set of relationships among the image, text, and viewers. In the yezi albums, texts have their own portion of the page, but are presented similarly to the shangwen/xiatu format in which the text is a supplement to the illustrations, as in Yuan Ming xiqu yezi 元明戲曲葉子. In the majority of separate albums of illustrations, the text only serves as a caption. When illustrations were no longer supplementary to the text, the illustrators gained more creative freedom. An example of this type of album is Shuihu quantu 水滸全圖, attributed to Du Jin 杜堇 (fl. 1465–1509), who was one of the professional painters of figures famous for his baimiao (ink outline) style.34 One dominant feature of

32

Hegel, Reading Illustrated Fiction, p. 200. Fu Xihua 傅惜華, “Yuan Ming xiqu yezi ba” 元明戲曲葉子跋, in Zhongguo gudai banhua congkan, ser. 5 (Beijing: Zhonghua shuju, 1959–60). 34 Shuihu quantu was published by Yuedong Zangxiutang 粵東臧修堂 in the sixth year of the Guangxu 光緒 period and reproduced by Duoyun Zhai 朵雲齋 in Shanghai in November 1959. Ma Tiji 馬蹄疾, Shuihu shulu 水滸書錄 (Shanghai: Shanghai guji, 1986), pp. 632–633. 33

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this collection of illustrations is Du Jin’s consistency in showing pairs of viewer and viewed (Fig. 2.16). In the first image, Shi Jin, nicknamed Nine Dragons because of his tattoos, strikes his fist in the air while leaping skyward in a moment of ecstasy. His tattoos are shown in minute detail. Shi Jin is both exposed to and inviting Liu Tang’s gaze and that of the image viewers as well. Liu Tang is shown in a pose uncannily similar to Chen Hongshou’s self-portraits: sitting on a mat, half leaning backward, barefoot, and with a look of self-indulgence. His elevated face shows satisfaction in watching Shi Jin’s martial skills. Lin Chong and Xu Ning, Hua Rong and Lu Junyi, are also presented in a similar way with one hero performing their specialty while the other one watches. Du Jin’s pairing conveys a clear message in the presentation of the Shuihu gang: the interrelationship between watching and acting in the formation of group identity. I will further explore the meaning of viewers and viewed in Shuihu zhuan and the construction of heroism in the next chapter. Hillis Miller describes illustration as involving “triple doubling,” which includes “doubling within the stylistic texture, doubling of the text by illustration, doubling within the illustrations themselves.”35 The ‘recycling of received images’ producing the repetitious appearance of conventional elements in illustrations is examined extensively in Hegel’s Reading Illustrated Fiction in which he relates the images in fiction and drama illustrations to the visual network of the time, such as formal paintings and carvers’ and painters’ manuals.36 How much was the co-existence of the viewer and viewed part of the tradition of illustration? Or was the representation of the viewer and viewed the result of the enhanced stage consciousness of the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries? The compositional dynamics of the viewer-viewed relationship, I argue, is a convention in illustrations, but also elucidates the already theatrical texts which the illustrations portray. In other words, early modern texts display a strong sense of ‘staginess’ and the visual representations of such ‘staginess’ are linked intimately to the social discourses of the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries about identity performance. Thus, the ‘staginess’ within the text surfaces in its visual

35 36

Hillis Miller, Illustration (Cambridge: Harvard University Press, 1992), p. 111. Hegel, Reading Illustrated Fiction, pp. 251–70.

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Figure 2.16 Illustrations from Shuihu quantu 水滸全圖, Yuedong zangxiutang 粵東 臧修堂 (Rpt., Shanghai: Duoyun zhai 朵雲齋, 1959): (a) “Shi Jin and Liu Tang”; (b) “Lin Chong and Xu Ning”; (c) “Hua Rong and Lu Junyi”.

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representation and, in turn, strengthens the overall trend toward theatricality by increasing the circulation of these stock elements. In examining pre-Renaissance painting in Italy, Claude Gandelman finds an omnipresent “gesture of demonstration,” “a hand with its index finger pointing towards an object within the painting” as a device for directing the gaze of the viewer/reader.37 In a like manner, quyu is significant as a sign to demarcate a boundary between the viewed space and viewer’s space. Such demarcation even exists when the physical icon does not appear. Quyu as a special technique, just one way the artists manipulated the viewer’s attention,38 discloses an implied theatricality in the visualization of early modern fiction and drama. However, with or without quyu, the existence of spectators seems to indicate the imagination of a world that is both highly staged and intensely watched. Several scholars have speculated on the relationship between woodblock illustrations and theater.39 Theatrical images (masks, costumes, and theatrical gestures) had a great impact upon early modern visual consumption, recreation, and circulation, which emerges in textual images in early modern fiction. My examination of images here instead focuses on the similarity of the compositional dynamics and visual structuring in illustrations of the literal theater and illustrations in general. The representational similarity between images of the literal theater and images of the theatrical space bespeaks a perspective that views the world, or at least the narrative world, as always-already theatricalized. This perspective emerged simultaneously with and reinforced, and was reinforced by, the enhanced stage consciousness of the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries. Illustrators of fiction thus used the compositional dynamics of the viewer-viewed relationship because it was part of the image-makers repertoire, but also because the texts they were illustrating were already theatricalized. As Brook’s epigraph at the beginning of this chapter suggests, and as the evidence above attests, the transformation of a ‘bare stage’ or quotidian space into theatrical space is premised upon the interac37 Claude Gandelman, Reading Pictures, Viewing Texts (Bloomington and Indianapolis: Indiana University Press, 1991), pp. 14–35. 38 Silbergeld, Chinese Painting Style, pp. 53–60. 39 Robert Mowry’s catalogue notes in Chu-tsing Li and James Watt, eds., The Chinese Scholar’s Studio: Artistic Life in the Late Ming Period (New York: Thames and Hudson, 1987), p. 159; Yao, “The Pleasure of Reading Drama”; Hegel, Reading Illustrated Fiction, pp. 311–15; Hsiao, The Eternal Present of the Past.

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tion of two ‘agents’—the viewer and the viewed. The viewed-viewing relationship in early modern images and texts evinces a strong theatricality in the way illustrators imagined the texts and the way writers presented their stories. The viewed-viewing relationship enacts the theatrical, but it is only within a narrative that the relationship takes on meaning. Therefore, from an examination of the theatrical space in illustrations we, like early modern readers, move on to theatricalized texts to investigate the meaning of the ‘bare stage.’ A Prologue Theatrical The reading of “Kuang gushi” in early modern China usually began by viewing a pictorial representation showing a space that fits into the category of stageless staging (e.g. Fig. 2.17).40 These illustrations— of the guantu format appearing on a separate page preceding the text—are similar in picturing the viewing/viewed relationship; both officials and guards are watching the performance of a drummer in a courtroom. The minor differences in the images being the extent to which the drummer is clothed, his position on the right or the left of the image, the number of goblin guards, and whether the officials are seated.41 What is this theatrical space about? Let us proceed to the narrative for an examination of its formation. The first zaju of the four-zaju collection Sisheng yuan 四聲猿 (Four cries of a gibbon), “Kuang gushi” is about a spectacle-loving underworld official, Judge Cha, who regrets not having actually seen a historical incident from the latter Han period (25–220). The historical incident Judge Cha so wanted to watch was when a blunt scholar named Mi Heng (173–198) played a drum while scolding Prime 40 Xu Wei, Xu Wei ji 徐渭集 (Beijing: Zhongua shuju, 1983), pp. 1177–1185. The play is hereafter referred to as “Kuang gushi.” “Kuang gushi” is collected in Sheng Ming zaju, yiji, juan 5; also in Wang Qi 王起 et al., ed., Zhongguo xiqu xuan 中國戲 曲選 (Beijing: Renmin wenxue, 1998), pp. 644–58. My translation of quotations from the play draws upon Jeannette Faurot’s translation with extensive changes. For Faurot’s original translation, see: “Four Cries of a Gibbon: A Tsa-Chü Cycle by the Ming Dramatist Hsu Wei,” (Ph. D. diss. Berkeley, 1972), pp. 163–88. 41 Fu Xihua 傅惜華, ed., Zhongguo gudian wenxue banhua xuanji 中國古典文學版 畫選集 (Shanghai: Shanghai renmin meishu, 1981), p. 158, p. 308; Chang Bide 昌彼德, Mingdai banhua xuan 明代版畫選 (Taibei: Guoli Zhongyang tushuguan, 1969), p. 199; Sheng Ming zaju, yiji, juan 5, p. 1. For the guantu format and its significance in the history of late imperial fiction illustration, see: Hegel, Reading Illustrated Fiction, pp. 198–206.

Figure 2.17 Illustration to 1614 edition of Sisheng yuan published by the Qiantang Zhongs, Zhejiang province (Fu Xihua 傅惜華, ed., Zhongguo gudian wenxue banhua xuanji 中國古 典文學版畫選集, p. 158).

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Minister Cao Cao. In “Kuang gushi” Judge Cha directs a reenactment of the scene using the ghosts of Mi and Cao, both of whom happen to be under his charge, as his cast, with his courtroom as a stage, to create an ‘authentic’ theatrical copy.42 “Kuang gushi” serves as an excellent ‘prologue’ theatrical with its succinct enumeration of meta-theatrical paradigms. The play is very short consisting of only one act, which makes Judge Cha’s theatrical the central event. The play presents the making of a theatrical as constituted of the conscious intertwining of three self-referential parts: staging, acting, and viewing. Such theatrical framing creates a palimpsest effect enabling the performance to be open and equipping it with new theatrical meanings—a comical statement on the artificiality of performance, the openness of appropriation in staging, the conflation of the theatrical and the real, the hybridized nature of acting, and potential clashes of performative codes. The Scene and its Lineage Mi Heng first appears in a biography in Hou Han shu (History of the Latter Han) in the fifth century.43 In this biography Mi Heng deliberately snubs Prime Minister Cao Cao despite the possibility that Cao Cao could have been his patron. Thus Cao Cao, knowing Mi Heng as a good drummer, decides to humiliate him by calling him to display his skill at a banquet. Mi Heng arrives, in his usual clothes, and plays his drum. When accused of not wearing the proper drummer’s uniform, Mi Heng strips down and bares his naked body without the slightest embarrassment before leisurely putting on the uniform. There is no cursing recorded during the scene—that happens several days later. The short drumming scene in Hou Han shu is expanded and dramatized in Sanguo zhi yanyi.44 Mi Heng’s confrontation becomes

42 In her study of Mudan ting, Tina Lu makes an interesting observation that ghosts and actors are “morphologically similar” because they are both “simulacra and lesser copies of the originals” and possessors of double identity. Tina Lu, Persons, Roles, and Minds: Identity in Peony Pavilion and Peach Blossom Fan (Stanford: Stanford University Press, 2001), p. 118. 43 Fan Ye 范晔 (398–445), Hou Han shu 后漢書 (Beijing: Zhonghua shuju, 1972), pp. 2652–58. Partial translation in Faurot, 40–44. For Mi Heng’s life and his literary work, see: William Nienhauser, Jr. et al., ed., The Indiana Companion to Traditional Chinese Literature, vol. 1 (Bloomington: Indiana University Press, 1986), pp. 625–26. 44 Faurot, p. 44. For an examination of the difference in plot among the three texts, see: Faurot, “Four Cries of a Gibbon,” pp. 40–47.

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more physical and verbal and his bluntness more dominant. As Faurot observes, rather humorously, the Sanguo version does not substantially change the story line except that it gives Mi Heng more opportunities to “rail and abuse.”45 The cursing is moved forward to immediately after he finishes beating the drum. Although the change is quite significant relative to the succinct and non-descript record in Hou Han shu, the scene is very short compared to Xu Wei’s creation of Mi Heng’s long tirade. The most significant departure of Xu Wei’s play from the story’s antecedents is the usage of metatheater. In Xu Wei’s play, both Cao Cao and Mi Heng are already dead and their ghosts are under the care of an underworld judge named Cha. Prior to the play’s beginning Mi Heng’s ghost has already brought suit against Cao Cao’s ghost and a trial was conducted, resulting in the imprisonment of Cao Cao’s ghost. The cursing acted out by Mi Heng’s ghost is no longer ‘original’ but an underworld re-creation framed as an inner play. After the performance, Mi Heng’s ghost leaves the underworld to serve in Shangdi’s heavenly court because he is righteous, brave, and talented in drawing up drafts of official documents.46 The re-creation keeps the judge and all his staff members entertained before Shangdi’s embassy comes for Mi Heng. Xu Wei is one of the forerunners of the new-style variety play that arose in the second half of the sixteenth century. Zaju were no longer bound by the rules of the earlier dramatic genre of the same name and could vary in length from one to ten acts whereas the earlier zaju usually had a wedge and four acts. It also greatly influenced other early modern Chinese playwrights so there was the appearance of a whole body of zaju collections, which the modern drama critic Zeng Yingjing refers to as the Sisheng yuan style.47

45

Ibid., p. 47. It is surprising that the ghost of an unruly and eccentric scholar like Mi Heng would be good at drafting official documents considering that his most famous extant work, “Yingwu fu” 鸚鵡賦 (Rhapsody of the Parrot), expatiates on the miserable state of the parrot in captivity. I wonder whether the observation of Mi Heng as Xu Wei’s self-impersonation is accurate because Xu Wei seems to satirize the ‘tamed’ characteristics of Mi Heng’s ghost. 47 Among the admirers and imitators of Xu Wei are also Shen Zizheng 沈自徵 (1591–1641), nephew of the famous Ming playwright Shen Jing, and Hong Sheng 洪昇 (1645–1704). Zeng Yingjing 曾影靖, Qingren zaju lüelun 清人雜劇略論 (Taibei: Xuesheng, 1995), p. 13, 18. For a more detailed description of the playwrights writing 46

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“Kuang gushi” was acknowledged for its inventive usage of zaju traditions and its spectacular theatrical effects in early modern China. Drama critic Wang Jide hailed it as a marvelous piece of work. While marvel (qi) was a common term of admiration, it often connotes a critic’s satisfaction with the author’s exploration of theatricality. Similar comments can be found in Qi Biaojia and Lü Tiancheng’s evaluations.48 The play, however, was not as fortunate during the modern era, especially among early critics of classical fiction and drama such as Sun Kaidi and Zheng Zhenduo. Both scholars, implicitly valorizing the mimetic ‘modern’ theater of the May Fourth period, find the play’s self-reference to theater and its “language of ghosts” unpleasant.49 The play, as a matter of fact, reflects the context of theatrical culture.50 Tailored to the dramatic category of cursing,51 Xu Wei’s rendition of Mi Heng’s tirade advantageously takes on the formal feature of intermingling arias and dialogues. The musicality of the dramatic form allows, for the first time in the Mi Heng story cycle, drumming to be intermingled with cursing, thus producing both sound and visual effects. Alternating between drumming and singing arias, Mi Heng’s tirade is constituted of eleven charges against Cao Cao’s crimes such as inciting war, carrying out mass murder, and committing atrocities against the puppet Han emperor and royal families while he served as prime minister. Sisheng yuan style zaju and their work, see: Chen Fang 陳方, Xu Wei jiqi Sisheng yuan yanjiu 徐渭及其<<四聲猿>>研究 (Hong Kong: Hongda, 2002), pp. 207–216. 48 For commentaries on “Kuang gushi” in Ming and Qing drama criticism, see: Wang, ed., Zhongguo xiqu xuan, pp. 657–58; Faurot, “Four Cries of a Gibbon,” pp. 6–7; Zeng Yongyi 曾永義, Ming zaju gailun 明雜劇概論 (Taibei: Xuehai, 1979). 49 Sun Kaidi 孫楷第, Xiqu xiaoshuo shumu jieti 戲曲小說書目解題 (Beijing: Renmin wenxue, 1990), p. 285. For Zheng Zhenduo’s comments, see: Xiaoshuo yuebao, 21.1 (1930), qtd. Qi Shijun 戚世雋, Mingdai zaju yanjiu 明代雜劇研究 (Guangzhou: Guangdong gaodeng jiaoyu chubanshe, 2001), p. 238. 50 I arrived at this observation, similar to Yuming He’s, independently and based on different materials. Yuming He observes in her reading of “Kuang gushi” that the creation of a judge with theatrical desire is not emblematic of Xu Wei as an idiosyncratic author but rather reflective of a contemporary practice of private performance. My statement derives from a perspective displayed in the play’s contemporary texts that views the world, or at least the narrative world, as always-already theatricalized. Yuming He, “Productive Space: Performance Texts in the Late Ming” (Ph.D. diss., University of California, Berkeley, 2003), p. 29. 51 The thematic category of condemnation of treachery and slander (chijian machan 叱奸罵讒) is the sixth out of the twelve thematic categories of drama according to Zhu Quan 朱權 (1378–1448) of the early Ming dynasty. Zhu Quan 朱權, Taihe zhengyin pu 太和正音谱. Excerpts from Chen Duo 陳多 and Ye Changhai 葉長海, eds., Zhongguo lidai julun xuanzhu 中國歷代劇論選註 (Changsha: Hunan wenyi, 1987), p. 95.

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The re-creation of the scene in the courtroom is not a trial, but by its very nature is a theatrical. The courtroom is a common theatrical space in early modern narrative because of its ready theatrical elements such as a judge, a crowd, required performative codes, and the melodrama of right versus wrong. For example, in Wusheng xi Li Yu describes the court as a highly staged space in which participants assume their roles and rehearse their parts like actors.52 The court in Shouzhang County, for example, also serves as a locale where Li Kui, one of the active heroes in Shuihu zhuan, plays the magistrate (李逵壽張喬坐衙), as we will discuss later.53 In “Kuang gushi,” the staged scene is not meant to be a trial but a theatrical re-creation; the underworld judge is there to watch the performance and not to try the two ghosts. Furthermore, staging the court appropriates the locale by shifting it from a site of authority to one of entertainment. Staging: An Appropriation of the Court Staging, simply defined, is putting on a show—it is how actors are assigned to their roles and how the stage setting is arranged. Ming zaju offer excellent examples of discourses reflexive on the making of theatricals for several reasons. First, the reference to staging by a minor character inside the play is a formality in zaju and often includes ‘discursive staging’ or metatheatrical comments. Second, zaju often dramatize the action of watching theater, a trope often referred to as xilixi 戲裡戲 or xizhongxi 戲中戲 (play within the play). For example, the main event in “Tongjia hui” 同甲會 (The meeting of people of the same age) is that a group of tongjia get together for a banquet and a theatrical performance.54 “Zhen kuilei” 真傀儡 (True puppet) is about a retired prime minister who leads an eremitic life in a village and entertains himself by going to the village puppet theater (kuilei peng 傀儡棚), where the local hooligans also go. The play turns into a metadiscourse on watching theater, distinguishing among different levels of audience.55 52 “Mei nanzi bihuo fan shengyi” 美男子避禍反生疑, in Li Yu quanji 李漁全集 (Hangzhou: Zhejiang guji, 1992), 4:35. 53 Rongyutang ben Shuihu zhuan 容與堂本水滸傳 (Shanghai: Shanghai guji, 1988), Ch. 74, p. 1024. 54 “Tongjia hui,” in Sheng Ming zaju erji, juan 10. 55 Sheng Ming zaju, juan 26.

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“Kuang gushi” accords with both of these conditions. It is Judge Cha, the wai role type, who carries out the staging with his theatrical impulse. Judge Cha is presented as a lover of spectacles: his daily activity includes “supervising a hoard of ghosts and raising a rumpus in the evening courtroom” (押鬼成群闹 晚衙).56 The word nao (raising a rumpus) indicates playful theatricals in early modern China and relates the humorous magistrate to contemporary fictional characters Sun Wukong, Li Kui, or Lu Zhishen, who also like to put on shows and will be discussed in later chapters. In real life Judge Cha has a counterpart in a certain prefect, recorded by the Ming literati He Liangjun 何良俊 (1506–73), who also liked to transform his public office into a private theater.57 Like Sun Wukong and others, Judge Cha is free-minded and easy-spirited, which is how Judge Cha describes himself and which is confirmed by the commentator of the Ming edition of Sisheng yuan.58 Like ‘copying,’ Judge Cha intends to keep an underworld edition of the marvelous scene to have “something to talk about here in the underworld” 留在陰司中 做個千古的話靶.59 Judge Cha’s staging includes character assignment and the preparation of setting. The setting of the outer play includes Mi’s ghost, who is invited to the court and assumes the seat of honor, Cao’s ghost, who is released from the underworld prison and stands on the left side of the court, and Judge Cha, who seats himself below Mi’s ghost. This setting is only temporary and is changed when the inner play begins, but the power structure of the underworld court retains its significance. Judge Cha’s character assignment bespeaks the power structure among the actors. With Mi Heng’s ghost, the judge requests with courtesy, “I will pluck up my courage and dare ask you to go out of your way to recreate your actions of that day” (下官斗膽, 敢請先生權做 當日行徑).60 He commands Cao’s ghost, “Cao Cao, today I want you to take on your former role of Prime Minister, and, along with Master Mi, act out the episode in which he beats the drums and curses you” (曹操, 今日要你仍舊扮做 丞相, 与彌先生演述舊日打鼓罵座那一

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事).61 With stage directions that highlight the theatrical medium with words like ‘assume X appearance,’ ‘pretend,’ or ‘personify/act out’ (qiao 喬, zhuang 裝, ban 扮, or yanshu 演述), Judge Cha directs his actors to replicate how he imagines the original scene. Mi Heng’s ghost also participates in staging by inviting Judge Cha to serve as Cao Cao’s guest at the banquet and as the spectator of the scene because without a spectator “it would not constitute a theatrical play” (就不成一場戲耍).62 Hence Judge Cha, the major authority figure in the outer play, joins in the play within the play to enact a double role as an audience member and as Cao Cao’s guest. The request not only brings an additional actor into the inner performance but also presents the nature of theatricality as inclusive of spectatorship. Bringing in the physical appearance of Judge Cha, it marks the intertwining of the outer play and the inner play. Mi Heng’s participation in staging also foreshadows his elevated position in the performance to come. The performance, on the surface, promises a superlative replica. The cast is great; after all, who can be more similar in appearance than the ghosts of the real life figures? Who can be more resourceful than an underworld judge as the provider of such a cast? The spectacle effect is excellent; along with the original members of the underworld court, Judge Cha brings in Cao Cao’s previous underlings and singing girls, all in their ghostly forms, of course, to resume the original ‘spectacle’ for the replica performance. The forthcoming re-creation promises to be superior to the original with its comprehensiveness because, as Mi Heng’s ghost claims, he is able to enumerate Cao Cao’s crimes even after the drum-beating scene and hence the re-creation will be more lively and fun. The nature of the underworld performance as replication tantalizingly evokes and yet negates the original. First of all, the court as stage is already displaced. In illustrations of “Kuang gushi” of various editions depicting the court, the crowd is not faceless as usual but consists of goblins, which marks the displaced nature of the underworld stage (See e.g. Fig. 2.17). That is, the court does not serve its usual function as a court, but is remodeled as a theatrical space that mimics the original banquet hall where Mi Heng publicly humiliates Cao Cao. The ‘remodeling’ of this particular space is highlighted through the theatri-

61 62

Ibid. Faurot, p. 166. Xu Wei ji, p. 1178.

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cal connection among performers, spectators, and the stage space. As a result, the staged becomes destabilized into a ‘stage arrangement,’ More importantly, the re-creation is an impossible repetition because of the power reversion. The original cursing scene, Mi Heng cursing the throne, is constructed upon a power structure with Cao Cao higher up and Mi down below. In the replica performance the basic power relationship between the two major characters collapses, as indicated by Judge Cha’s character assignment.63 The theatrical copy, as a result, is quite different from its original in that it involves a complete reversal of the power relationship. Acting: Incongruity in Impersonation Acting is the effectuation of staging directions and the most visible element of a theatrical scene. What distinguishes acting in “Kuang gushi,” and playful theatricals in general, is the co-existence and conflation of the impersonated (the theatrical) and the impersonator (the fictionally real), suggesting a meta-theatrical reference illustrative of the nature of performativity. There are three layers of impersonation and interaction in “Kuang gushi”: characters of the outer play who are acting; characters of the inner play who are being performed; and the role types of the outer play who are somehow coterminous to the inner play, as the text seems to suggest. In Judge Cha’s role assignment and stage setting, which offer the basic context for the play within a play, we know that the inner play is performed by characters from the main play. With such framing, “Kuang gushi” fits what Dieter Mehl defines as the second type of a play within the play. While in the first type of a play within a play the inner play is performed by actors who have nothing to do with the main play and hence there is no identity confusion, the second type is much trickier because double roles for characters often lead to “startling shifts of identities and deliberate confusion of the spectators.”64 The three layers of impersonation are constantly intertwined resulting in a confusion-ridden performance. With death signifying both transformation and continuity, the ghosts—actors in recreating the

63

Xu Wei ji, p. 1177. Dieter Mehl, “Forms and Functions of the Play Within a Play,” Renaissance Drama 8 (1965): 41–61, p. 50. 64

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scolding scene—remain close to the real life characters that they are supposed to play and cannot resist the temptation of being both their ghostly selves and their roles. Their performing styles are, moreover, mediated by their role-type assignment—we expect the sheng role to have a more serious/refined manner and the jing and chou roles to be more humorous. The confusion of performative identities produces humor, as the index to “Huaji liezhuan” 滑稽列傳 (Biography of jesters) in Shiji 史記 (Records of the Grand Historian) suggests when it defines humor (huaji 滑稽) as the “confusion of similarities” (luantong 亂同).65 The court, although rendered a space for performance and viewing, retains a titillating reminder of its normal function as a locale for pleading, evaluating, and judging. The power structure in the recreation is convenient for Mi Heng’s ghost to curse the throne. We expect a certain dignified manner because of his sheng role, which he fulfills. In fact, his performance is magnificent and draws a standing ovation from the authority, and model audience figure, Judge Cha. The play-within-the-play starts with the character Mi Heng’s self-introduction (zibao jiamen 自報家門) of his talents, dignity, and current troubles. Mi’s self-introduction also includes a short reiteration of the events as recorded in Hou Han shu, that is, how the banquet in which Mi Heng was ordered to beat the drum was intended to shame the drummer. The drum beating is mingled with the cursing of the throne through Xu Wei’s ingenious metaphor of comparing the drum to the physical bodies of Cao Cao and his ghost. The metaphor is sung by Mi Heng’s ghost and addressed to Cao Cao. “Cao Cao the skin of this drum is the shell of your body, the mallet the rib under your armpit, the nail hole is your navel in the pit of your stomach and these clappers the fierce teeth in your mouth.”66 Mi Heng’s ghost justifies his own cursing by pointing out the continuity between Cao Cao’s ghost and the real life Cao Cao he plays, and his future incarnation, “Even in your next life you will not change your sneaky nature” 就还魂也改不过精 油滑.67 It is through the blending of the three, drum, Cao Cao, and his ghost form, that the scene of beating the drum and cursing the throne

65 Sima Qian, “Huaji liezhuan” 滑稽列傳 (Biography of Jesters), in Shiji (Beijing: Zhonghua shuju, 1973), pp. 3197–3214. The index defines humor in speech but the concept can be applied to performance (p. 3197). 66 Xu Wei ji, p. 1178–79. Faurot, p. 168. 67 Ibid., p. 1183.

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is staged, a textual tirade transformed into a performance with sound and images. While Mi Heng’s ghost dramatizes the cursing of Cao Cao because of the new power structure in the underworld court, it is virtually impossible for Cao Cao’s ghost, a lowly prisoner, to act like a dignified prime minister. Cao Cao’s failure to act out his real life persona provides the play not only with a major comical touch, but also a new theatrical meaning through mal-performance. Judge Cha conveys the specific performance requirements for Cao Cao’s ghost as follows, “If you pretend to be careful and timid and hide your fierce appearance, my men will give you a hundred lashings with an iron whip and you will have to start from the very beginning” (喬做 . . . 的模樣). On the surface Judge Cha reasonably demands fidelity to the original scene necessary to reproduce a more authentic replica. However, the irony is that his unself-conscious request renders it more difficult for the scared ghost of Cao Cao to fulfill his performative requirements. The majority of theatrical chaos occurs when Cao Cao’s ghost fails to assume the fierce look (狠惡的模樣) demanded by his role. Cao Cao’s ghost often wants to quit the performance in the middle saying “I am drunk, I want to sleep” 我醉了, 要睡了.68 Threatened with beating and having to start the performance over again, he resumes performing the real life Cao Cao figure. Soon falling back into his “real” identity as a powerless ghost in the underworld court, he pleads for Mi Heng’s forgiveness and thus again mixes his present identity with his role. At this point the mediator, Judge Cha, threatens him again with an iron whip. While performing his real life figure, Cao Cao’s ghost clings to the hope of using the re-creation to plead for his innocence before Judge Cha, saying, “Your Excellency, it was a chaotic period and it was not just me Cao Cao” and “Your honor, you cannot believe [Mi Heng] on this. My confession the other day was forced from me.”69 However, such petitions are mal-performances because he not only fails to consistently assume the fierce look assigned to his character, but he is also confusing the court as a space for performance with its normal function.

68 69

Ibid., p. 1182. Ibid., p. 1180, p. 1182.

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The following dramatic episode is a typical example of how Judge Cha’s policing Cao’s performance contributes to the impersonation confusion: Cao: I’m drunk, I want to go to sleep. (Acts yawning.) Judge: Attendants, take him down and give him a hundred strokes with the iron whip, then make him start over from the beginning. (Cao, franticly, says) I’m awake, I’m awake! (Judge) You are finally aware of the consequences!70 (曹)俺醉了, 要睡了。(打顿介) (判)手下采将下去, 与他壹佰铁鞭, 再从头做起。 (曹慌介云)我醒, 我醒。 (判)你才省得哩.71

The inability of Cao Cao’s ghost to fulfill his stage requirements is best seen as the play reaches its climax when Cao Cao’s ghost is ordered to “hastily assume an angry appearance” 慌作怒介 in the stage directions.72 A purely nonsensical song by the singing girls indicates more than Xu Wei’s idiosyncrasy, it also illustrates the hybridized nature of acting and the conflation of identities. A big pelican over there (Ya, yige di du, ya, yige di du) Became a spotted pig (di da du, da di du) And sang the “Partridge Song.” (ya, yige di du, ya, yige di du) 那裡一個大鵜鶘, 呀, 一個低都, 呀, 一個低都。 變一個花豬, 低打都, 打低都, 唱鷓鴣。 呀, 一個低都, 呀, 一個低都.73

Describing an impossible transformation interspersed with onomatopoeia, the nonsensical song implies the helpless position of Cao Cao’s ghost. Having transformed into a pig from a pelican, the spotted pig is, however, still required to sing the “Partridge Song.” To fail to sing the song might well cause Butcher Wang to be called in to kill the pig

70 “Awake” and “understand” have the same pronunciation, xing, in Chinese. The usage of punning is typical of the humor that Judge Cha uses throughout the performance and that he requests and polices. 71 Xu Wei ji, p. 1182. Faurot, p. 175. 72 Ibid., p. 1193. 73 Ibid., p. 1181. Faurot, 172–173.

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body of the pelican-transformed spotted pig. The spotted pig reminds one of the snark in Lewis Carroll’s famous nonsense verse, The Hunting of the Snark, which, supposedly, has hybridized references to both snail and shark.74 Nonsense thereby helps in exploring the limits of its own medium and foregrounds, in a more verbal and celebratory way, the internal confusion caused by the limits of language and, in the case of the underground re-creation, the ‘language’ of the stage. The performance of singing girls also demonstrates incongruity in impersonation. They were brought in, upon the insistence of Judge Cha, as the original singing girls of the real Cao Cao. For the recreation, singing girls serve to add to the spectacle and visual authenticity since there were singing girls at Cao Cao’s original banquet. However, their songs gradually shift from direct accusations against Cao Cao’s brutality to a more random cluster of words, which, comments the approving Judge Cha, convey the heavenly machinations (tianji 天機) of the underworld court. That is, the girls who are supposed to be entertaining Cao Cao are also staged by Judge Cha: Cao Cao’s ghost has no power to control their singing. When criticized for his crimes as a prime minister, Cao Cao’s ghost can only say, “This singing girl speaks for outsiders.”75 Quite right in criticizing the singing girls for not fulfilling their roles, Cao Cao’s ghost merely reminds readers, once again, of the incongruity in impersonation. Through acting with incongruity, Xu Wei highlights the nature of the underworld re-creation as a performance. Acting with incongruity, with its conflation of the theatrical and the real, will be discussed in more detail later. Viewing: The Remaking of the Judge Figure Judge Cha has a dual role as an audience figure. He stages the playwithin-the-play for his own entertainment—his desire to see initiates the theatrical performance. He also announces his onstage existence by assuming the role of Cao Cao’s guest at the banquet. Judge Cha’s name, Cha You 察幽 (observer of the concealed) and style name Nengping 能平 (equalizer)—ironic because of his fascination with

74 Lewis Carroll, The Hunting of the Snark (1894, rpt. London: Penguin Books, 1962). 75 Xu Wei ji, p. 1181.

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melodramatic effects—draws our attention to how Judge Cha carries out his dual audience roles. Judge Cha mingles his dual identities as the original audience figure and his role as the audience and director of the play-within-the-play. He starts off complying with his performative code by referring to Cao Cao respectfully as the prime minister and Mi Heng as the unruly scholar. When Cao Cao’s ghost scolds Mi Heng for failing to maintain order, Judge Cha agrees by saying, “This scholar is really rude,” which might be expected from an amiable guest agreeing with the host. However, Judge Cha also gives a standing ovation to Mi Heng’s ghost, whose performance benefits from the reversal of the power structure in the underworld court. Judge Cha is quite impulsive in his comments, applause, and encouragement. “Sir, spit it all out” (先生 盡著說), he declares while continuing to direct the performance. His shifting usage of reference, calling Cao Cao’s ghost either the Prime Minister or Cao Man, his informal name, further indicates Judge Cha’s enjoyment of juggling the two identities while participating and controlling both performances. As the audience member and modulator of the inner play, Judge Cha serves as an important reminder of the inner play’s performative nature. When Cao Cao’s ghost fails to assume his dictatorial role, Judge Cha steps out of his theatrical role as a guest at Cao Cao’s banquet and assumes his directing position. His constant threats to beat Cao Cao’s ghost with an iron whip, for example, “You still pretend to be weak and timid like this! Guys, where are the iron whips?”, is rather comical because, after all, the latter is supposed to play the role of a prime minister.76 Judge Cha uses the word xu to indicate the pretence of Cao Cao’s ghost, linking it to the discussion of xu 虛 (falseness) and shi 實 (truthfulness), from the perspective of his role requirement. Judge Cha constantly threatens to restart the performance if the ghost of Cao Cao fails to perform the real-life Cao Cao figure well. His threats not only accentuate his position as the modulator of the performance but also highlight the metatheatricality of the play and leave the theatrical circle open. Judge Cha thus begins, interrupts, and restarts the performance, rendering the performance like a modern video, which he can stop, rewind, and fast-forward.

76

Xu Wei ji, p. 1182.

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Contrary to the usual role of the judge, Judge Cha demands a recreation outside the realm of justice again emphasizing the performative and entertaining nature of the rendition. When Cao Cao’s ghost pleads his innocence, as he had done at the court of the Yama King, Judge Cha terminates what he views as a digression by saying that the underworld court has information about this.77 Judge Cha thus brings back the nature of the re-creation as a mere act of performance for the sake of his entertainment. That the inner play is brought to an abrupt end when a messenger from King Yama arrives further indicates that the theatrical is an off-duty gig. Judge Cha’s order to his attendants to put Cao Cao back in prison reveals that Judge Cha is not authorized to release the prisoners to perform a theatrical. For Judge Cha, as well as for the staff members of the court, the re-creation is a comical treat during their off-duty hours. Judge Cha’s nod to the social function of the re-creation merely reminds one of the “lip service to the didactic intent” conventionally paid by Ming and Qing novelists.78 The play ends with Judge Cha’s reassertion of the power of the underworld court and his expression of his viewing pleasure, “After watching Mi [Heng]’s performance of Yuyang sannong, I, Judge Cha, laugh till my eyes are as narrow as a stitch” (看了這檷正平漁陽三弄,笑得我 察判 官眼睛一縫).79 Although “Kuang gushi” might appear to be an inauthentic copy, it exemplifies a conceptualization of a theatricality that is authentic in its own way: it is truthful to the nature of playacting by exposing the conscious intertwining of three self-referential parts: staging, acting, and viewing. Staging foregrounds the ‘remodeling’ of a particular space through the theatrical connection among performers, spectators, and the stage space.80 The staged is destabilized into a ‘stage arrangement’ with its superficial power structure completely disrupted. In acting, both impersonator and impersonated co-exist on stage. Viewing by an audience character further affirms the performative nature of the theatrical. The binary concepts of the theatrical and the real are presented as intermingling and porous. 77

Ibid., p. 1180. Faurot, p. 171. Hegel, Reading Illustrated Fiction, p. 69. 79 Xu Wei ji, p. 1185. Faurot, p. 184. 80 Jean Caune, La dramatisation (Louvain: Édition des Cahiers Théâtre Louvain, 1981), p. 230. Translation from Patrice Pavis, Dictionary of the Theatre: Terms, Concepts, and Analysis, trans., Christine Shantz (Toronto: University of Toronto Press, 1998), pp. 335–36. 78

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In Part II, we will discuss additional characters who understand the conventionality and artificiality of theater and play with it for their own benefit. They explore the flexible boundaries between theater and real life, conflate the theatrical and the real, and juggle different theatrical roles, persons, and identities. Early modern writers and commentators praised such characters for using theater as an alternative realm for authentic personal expression. This sense of playing with theater, which I call ‘playful theatricals,’ reflects the enhanced stage consciousness and the increasing diversification and negotiation of identity in the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries. Playful theatricals are the primary avenue for my examination of theater’s role in identity making in early modern fiction, particularly in the two theatrical novels, Shuihu zhuan and Xiyou ji.

PART II

PLAYFUL THEATRICALS: SHUIHU ZHUAN AND XIYOU JI

CHAPTER THREE

STAGING, SPECTACLES, AND ACTS OF RECOGNITION For a long time I was a smuggler on the Xunyang River and for several years played a hero in Liangshan Marsh. 我在潯陽江上做了許多年私商，梁山泊內又妝了几年的好漢. Li Jun, Shuihu zhuan1

A goodly number of the images discussed in the preceding chapter— images that underscored the perceptual interaction between viewing and viewed characters—came from Shuihu zhuan. In particular, the pairing of the viewers and the viewed in these images conveys the centrality of the interrelationship between watching and performing in the formation of friendship and Shuihu group identity. In this chapter we explore how the perceptual interaction of viewer/viewed is represented in the written novel, the degree to which visual and written ‘staginess’ is connected, and how the illustrations help guide the reader’s visualizations and subsequent reading of the novel. This chapter argues that a sense of the ubiquity of the stage and the structuring of the viewing/viewed relationship contributes to the development of a major literary theme in Chinese literature, namely, the presentation of heroes. In the late Ming period mature editions of Shuihu zhuan began to appear and were widely read. From the late sixteenth, and throughout the seventeenth century, editors, compilers, and commentators published various editions that took great liberties

1 Shuihu zhuan, Chap. 93, p. 1275, p. 1472 (translation modified). As my main text for the novel, I use: Shuihu zhuan (Beijing: Renmin wenxue, 1985) based on the 1602–1610 Rongyutang 容与堂 edition. Chapters and page numbers for the Chinese text and English translation are listed for the convenience of readers using either version. I also use Shuihu zhuan huiping ben 水滸傳會評本 edited by Chen Xizhong 陳曦鐘 et al., 2nd ed. (Beijing: Beijing daxue, 1987) for commentaries. For the English translation I use: Sidney Shapiro, Outlaws of the Marsh (Beijing and Bloomington: Foreign Languages Press and Indiana University Press, 1981). If Shapiro’s page numbers are not noted after translations of Shuihu zhuan, the translations are mine.

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in deleting from, adding to, and changing this anonymous text, which may have already been the creation of multiple authors.2 Shuihu zhuan is a primary text in this study because the intensified stage consciousness of sixteenth- and seventeenth-century China shaped the different versions of the novel. Shuihu zhuan represented a new trend in chivalric writings by including vivid descriptions of martial acts with a heightened attention to the visual, which accentuates a highly theatricalized aspect of the characterization of heroism and formation of heroes (xia or haohan). This Shuihu style of protraying martial heroes became popular and spawned many imitators in the chivalric genre.3 Two aspects make up the style of presenting theatrical heroism in Shuihu zhuan. First, heroism is highly performative with an emphasis on speech and action rather than morality; second, the self-reflexive inclusion of two types of characters, the performers of heroism and the connoisseurs of heroism, underlines emphatically the interdependence of heroes and hero-worshippers. Heroism is thus contingent upon the existence of ideal performers of heroic roles and ideal audience members for their performances. Following a brief discussion of why the previous atheatrical approach to the study of heroism only befits earlier chivalric writings, this chapter then defines the unique theatricality of Shuihu heroism as constituted of the relationship between performers and connoisseurs. After analyzing these constituent elements of theatrically-inspired heroism, I will discuss the strong emotional bonding between performers and connoisseurs of heroism—a bonding late imperial writers and commentators saw as central to the staging of acts of recognition. To conclude the chapter, I analyze the scene in which the Emperor grants

2 The earliest extant version of Shuihu, entitled Xin’an ke Tiandu waichen xu Zhongyi Shuihu zhuan 新安刻天都外臣序忠義水滸傳, appeared in 1589. Most modern texts, however, rely on early seventeenth century editions such as the Rongyutang keben 容与堂刻本 (1610) and Jin Shengtan piping Diwu caizi shu 金圣嘆批評第五才子書 (1641). For information on the versions of Shuihu zhuan and relevant publication data, see: David Rolston, Traditional Chinese Fiction Reading and Writing Between the Lines (Stanford: Stanford University Press, 1997), pp. 30–32; Andrew H. Plaks, The Four Masterworks of the Ming Novel (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1987), pp. 532–534; Ma Tiji 馬蹄疾, Shuihu shulu 水滸書錄 (Shanghai: Shanghai guji, 1986), p. 86, p. 117. 3 For novels inspired by the popularity of Shuihu zhuan, see: Chen Dakang 陳大康, Mingdai xiaoshuo shi 明代小說史 (Shanghai: Shanghai wenyi, 2000), pp. 253–82.

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amnesty to the Shuihu heroes arguing that he places himself as the viewer, but his viewing ‘contains’ the anti-establishment elements of Shuihu heroic theatricality. Heroism: An Atheatrical Concept? Scholars of Chinese heroism have portrayed it as centered upon a distinctive moral code. Such a moral code renders it markedly atheatrical. C. H. Wang was among the first scholars to attempt a definition of cultural heroism as established in the early Zhou dynasty (1122–771 BCE) and developed in subsequent periods.4 He observes that the repudiation of the martial spirit in Confucian ideals directed the Chinese poet of all ages to the conscious omission of battle scenes in poetry.5 In Shijing poems, descriptions of birds eating human flesh is often a metonym for the aftermath of a battle.6 Wang claims, “The deliberate avoidance of arms, the ellipsis of battle, brings Chinese poetry about war to a stylistic achievement opposed to the detailed narrative of the so-called ‘heroic action.’ ”7 The type of heroism most often recognized in Chinese poetry represents wen 文 (the civil) rather than wu 武 (the martial). Chinese ethics, in general, dictate a division between martial spirit and heroism. While Wang’s argument is limited to poetry, James Liu’s influential, cross-generic study of heroism, The Chinese KnightErrant, marks the establishment and reaffirmation of a search for the morality in heroism in modern scholarship. Liu concludes that the basis of knightly behavior in late imperial China was altruism, justice, individual freedom, personal loyalty, courage, truthfulness, mutual faith, honor, fame, generosity, and contempt for wealth.8 An atheatrical orientation in the studies of heroism applies well to chivalric literature prior to Shuihu zhuan. Chinese fiction scholar Hou Jian observes that the entertaining effect of chivalric literature lies in aestheticizing the distance between readers and martial heroes.9 4 C. H. Wang, “Towards Defining A Chinese Heroism,” Journal of the American Oriental Society 95.1 (1975): 25–35. 5 Ibid., p. 25. 6 Ibid., p. 32. 7 Ibid., p. 33. 8 James T. C. Liu, The Chinese Knight-Errant (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1967), pp. 4–7. 9 Hou Jian 候健, Zhongguo xiaoshuo bijiao yanjiu 中國小說比較研究 (Taibei: Dongda tushu, 1983), pp. 90–91.

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Echoing Liu, Luo Liqun reminds us that the moral orientation of martial novels can be traced to the earliest extant chivalric fiction entitled “Yan Danzi” 燕丹子 (Prince Dan of Yan), which emphasizes the knight-errant’s virtue and courage instead of his superb martial skills.10 For the Han historian and father of Chinese historiography Sima Qian, the physical prowess of knights-errant is of secondary importance—“Knights-errant nowadays, although their actions are not restricted by righteousness, honor their word and achieve results. They are always true to their vows” (今游俠﹐其行不軌于正義﹐然其 言必信﹐其行 必果﹐己諾必誠).11 Heroes are defined through their morality and virtues not their martial feats. In Tang poetry and chuanqi stories, martial heroes are given supreme powers enabling them to appear and disappear like ghosts, such as Hong Xian 紅線 in “Hong Xian” and Kunlun nu 昆侖奴 in “Kunlun Nu.”12 Savagery and speed also become the mystified symbols of strength as in Li Bai’s “Xiake xing” 俠客行 (The song of the knights-errant): The silver saddle shining on the white horse, he rides like a shooting star. Slaying a person every ten steps, he does not leave a trace for a thousand li. 銀鞍照白馬﹐颯沓如流星。 十步殺一人﹐千里不留行。13

Many Tang poems about martial heroes are set in border regions representing the chaotic military situation in those areas.14 Placing heroes in the liminal zone of border regions, however, might also be profit-

10 Luo Liqun 罗立群, Zhongguo wuxia xiaoshuo shi 中国武侠小说史 (Shenyang: Liaoning renmin, 1990), p. 50. 11 Sima Qian 司馬遷, “Biographies of the Traveling Knight-Errants” and “Biographies of the Assassins,” Shiji, pp. 3181–3189, 2515–2538. For translations, see: Stephen Owen, ed. and trans., “Biographies of the Assassins: Nie Zheng” and “Heroes of the Will” in An Anthology of Chinese Literature—Beginnings to 1911 (New York: Norton, 1996), pp. 152–154 and 82–83. 12 Their stories are collected in Li Fang 李昉, ed., Taiping guangji 太平廣記 (Beijing: Zhonghua shuju, 1961), pp. 1460–62, 1452–54. 13 Li Bai 李白, “Xiake xing” in Wang Li 王力, ed., Gudai hanyu 古代漢語 (Beijing: Zhonghua, 1964), pp. 1406–08. 14 Cao Zhengwen 曹正文, Zhongguo xia wenhua shi 中國俠文化史 (Shanghai: Shanghai wenyi, 1994), p. 42. For the military situation and border problems, see: Denis Twitchett and John K. Fairbank, eds., The Cambridge History of China (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1979), vol. 3, pp. 32–38.

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ably viewed as a literalization of their marginal existence and a way of distancing them from the educated authors and readers. Differences in the characterizations of earlier chivalric characters and Shuihu martial heroes is partially a function of genre—the genre of lengthy novels allows elaborate descriptions of characters and scenes—but Shuihu’s attention to visuality is also a manifestation of an intensified fascination with theatricals. Beneath these changes—the invocation of the reader as viewer and the accentuation of the martial heroes’ visual performance—lie structural shifts in the literati outlook towards martial heroes. Shuihu commentators vividly announce their closeness to, and identification with, martial heroes rather than their distance from them. Facetiously, the “Li Zhi” commentator in the Rongyutang edition makes full use of the fact that he shares a surname with the Li Kui 李逵 character. This moves the commentator to refer to Li Kui proudly as “A Kui of my own clan” (Wojia A Kui 我 家阿逵).15 The commentator also jokingly identifies himself with Lu Zhishen because both of them shaved their heads and were monks. In the chapter commentary (huiping 回評) of Li Zhuowu xiansheng piping zhongyi Shuihu zhuan 李卓吾先生批評忠義水滸傳, every paragraph begins with the words “the commentator says” (moumou yue 某某曰). In the novel’s one hundred chapters, the commentator refers to himself as “monk” (heshang 和尚) in 23 chapters, “the bald-headed old man” (tuweng 禿翁) in 13 chapters, and “the bald-headed” (tutou 禿頭) in three chapters. Aside from the obvious comical effects created by such self-conscious word choices, the purpose of the names is to identify with the martial heroes. The commentators also use more subtle forms of literati self-reference to describe the Shuihu heroes. “Li Zhi” of the Rongyutang edition comments on the bandit leader Song Jiang: “His body resides in the water marsh and yet his heart dwells high in the court” (身居水滸 之中﹐心在朝廷之上), which is a paraphrase of a famous line by the Song scholar and Chancellor Fan Zhongyan 范仲淹 (989–1052).16 Fan’s original quote, “When one is high in the court, he worries about his people; when one is far away among rivers and lakes, he worries

15 The commentary for Chapter 52 says, “A Kui of my family clan is simply straightforward. He does not have the slightest indication to scheme” (我家阿逵只是直性﹐別 無回頭轉腦心腸) (Shuihu zhuan huiping ben, p. 201). 16 Fan Zhongyan 范仲淹, “Yueyanglou ji 岳陽樓記,” in Fan Zhongyan quanji 范仲 淹全集 (Chengdu: Sichuan daxue chubanshe, 2002), pp. 194–95, p. 195.

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about his lord” (居廟堂之高，則懮其民； 處江湖之遠，則懮其君), describes the proper way for a literati-official to face exile. The seventeenth-century commentator Jin Shengtan referred to the Shuihu heroes as men with “talents and tastes with nowhere to demonstrate them” (蓋 自一副才調，無處擺划).17 “Talents and tastes with nowhere to demonstrate them” might have been a description of Jin’s own self-identity. The vivid, detailed descriptions of martial heroes in Shuihu zhuan mark its departure from previous chivalric writings, which generally presented martial heroes from a distance. When scholars of Chinese heroism, overlooking the theatrical turn in early modern China, continue to read the novel within the general framework of addressing heroism as morally-based, Shuihu zhuan becomes a problematic text. James Liu’s moral definitions of heroism are only partially applicable; Shuihu heroism is far more complicated and negative, especially considering its disturbing and morally ambiguous glorification of violence. C. T. Hsia has observed that gang morality (savagery and sadism) leads to the novel’s brand of moral confusion. A pronounced misogyny also heightens the virile heroism in the novel.18 In an early study, Jack Wu emphasized the general brutality and revenge carried out by the Liangshan heroes.19 Although the novel fails to offer a positive moral definition of heroism, the scholars’ intention to find one ultimately leads Timothy Wong to write “killing, robbing, and debauching can have positive ‘moral value’” in the text. As Wong puts it, “as long as a righteous man acts with courage and conviction and faith, his actions, however extreme, become admirable and good.”20 Understanding the theatrical reworking of the chivalric theme presented in this major novel helps explain why theatrical structuring purposefully disrupts a single moralistic branding of heroism. There are constant references to moral codes in Shuihu zhuan, but the codes are as much deconstructed as constructed. The spectacles (killing, robbing, pillaging) in the novel are morally ambiguous in order to express a profound ambivalence about rigidly defined moral attributes. Spectacles,

17

Shuihu zhuan huiping ben, p. 81. C. T. Hsia, The Classic Chinese Novel: A Critical Introduction (New York: Columbia University Press, 1968), pp. 75–115. 19 Jack Wu, “The Morals of All Men are Brothers,” Western Humanities Review 17 (1963): 86–88. 20 Qtd in Charles J. Alber, “A Survey of English Language Criticism of the Shuihu chuan,” Tsing Hua Journal of Chinese Studies 2 (1969): 102–118, p. 113. 18

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however problematic in current studies of heroism, were important in an early modern Chinese literary culture fascinated with theatricality. As illustrated below, the group identity of the heroes is assumed through shared spectacles. The bloody actions of the heroes are not morally relevant, but necessary for emphasizing the mutual recognition between viewer and viewed. From this perspective, previous scholars of Shuihu have strained to morally define Chinese heroism, but have misunderstood that moral standards in Shuihu zhuan are necessarily inconsistent because of the nature of theatrical staging. To address Shuihu zhuan from the theoretical perspective of theatricality enables us to avoid the conundrum of defining morality, which the text defies anyway, and to look at the visual and theatrical aspects in its presentation of heroism. Theatrical Recognition The change in literati attitudes towards martial heroes from distancing themselves to identifying with, and from mystification to humanization, triggered an exploration of recognition in their presentations of heroism. Recognition is a dominant theme throughout Chinese literature across time and literary genre. It can be found in Confucian classics such as the Analects and late imperial vernacular fiction such as Feng Menglong’s Sanyan 三言 stories. In “The Motif of Recognition in Early China,” Eric Henry exposes a narrative world in which “to be ‘known,’ that is, valued at one’s true worth, is the only bliss; to be ‘unknown’—misunderstood, unappreciated, falsely blamed—is the only torture.”21 The people who recognize talent are the necessary condition, the bringers-into-being, of talent itself. As such, the Tang literati and official Han Yu 韓愈 (768–824) writes, “Only when the world has Bole does it have thousand-li horses” (世有伯樂, 然後有 千里馬).22 Bole’s recognition of thousand-li horses, then, brings them into existence.

21 Eric Henry, “The Motif of Recognition in Early China,” Harvard Journal of Asiatic Studies 47 (1987): 5–30, p. 8. 22 Han Yu, “Zashuo” 雜說 in Han Changli quanji 韓昌黎全集, Dongyatang 東 雅堂 edition (rpt. Taibei: Xinxing shuju, 1967), p. 207. The story of Bole appears in “Shuo Fu” 說符, Lie Zi 列子 (Shanghai: Shangwu yinshuguan, 1926), p. 89.

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Literati writers constantly dealt with the issue of recognition. The playwright and drama critic Qi Biaojia 祁彪佳 (1602–1645), for example, comments, “because of the nature of a literatus he will not encounter [his recognizer] and not encountering is his inherent nature” (夫惟文人故不遇，不遇故文人本色也).23 Interestingly, Qi finds consolation in watching Shuihu ji 水滸記 (Tale of the Water Margin), a Ming play derived from the novel. During late 1635 and early 1636, Shuihu ji was performed twice at Qi’s residence, making the list with Mudan ting 牡丹亭 and Xilou ji 西楼记 as his three favorite plays.24 The question of recognition is as unsettling and full of contradictions in Shuihu zhuan as in the real life of literati writers and commentators. On the one hand, heroes lament not being recognized. The three Ruan brothers are typical among Shuihu heroes in asking “who will recognize our worth?” (誰是識我們的)” and claiming “we sell this column of hot blood to the man who appreciates its worth” (這腔熱 血只要 賣与識貨的).25 The heroes’ code voiced by Lin Chong and repeated by the verse narrator asserts, “the astute and the gallant each cherish their own kind” (惺惺惜 惺惺，好漢惜好漢).26 In chapter seven, Lin Chong is tricked into buying a sword because its vendor repeatedly lamented that his precious sword is not recognized.27 On the other hand, “not encountering a recognizer” (buyu zhiyin 不遇 知音) occurs frequently despite the great importance of recognition. Shuihu heroes are often marginalized and hence not ‘recognized’ in society proper.28 Recognition can take many forms. In the cultural context of the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries, Shuihu zhuan offers a highly visual and theatricalized version of recognition, which I call ‘theatrical recognition.’ First, the group identity among the Liangshan heroes is built upon theatrical recognition. The ones who will be recognized as heroes enact a special code of speech and action valorized by the other Shuihu 23 Qi Biaojia, Yuanshan tang ming qupin jupin jiaolu 遠山堂明曲品劇品校錄, edited by Huang Shang 黄裳 (Shanghai: Shanghai chuban gongsi, 1955), p. 248. 24 Huang Shang, “Houji” 後記, in Qi, Yuanshan tang, pp. 285–308, n. 25. 25 Chapter 15, pp. 191–2, 228–9. 26 Chapter 19, p. 248, p. 295. 27 Chapter 7, pp. 105, 125. 28 On liminality and plays, see: Victor Turner, From Ritual to Theatre: The Human Seriousness of Play (New York: Performing Arts Journal Publications, 1982), pp. 20–61. He notes, “Liminality, marginality, and structural inferiority are conditions in which are frequently generated myths, symbols, rituals, philosophical systems, and works of art” (p. 52).

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heroes.29 Recognition is then achieved by the literal viewing and the consequent perception of the recognizer character. Second, speech and action instead of moral attributes are the identifying heroic code. Men of spectacular action and rough language, like Li Kui and Lu Zhishen 魯智深, become major heroes, exemplary performers, and the major focus of the novel. The method of mutual recognition in Shuihu zhuan gives rise to a common Chinese epigram, “Men do not know each other unless they fight” (不打 不成相識).”30 In Shuihu zhuan, the identification of heroes is achieved through observed similarities in martial performances. That is, identification comes from recognizing the similarity of one character’s abilities with the martial skills of an already recognized hero. The morality of the heroes is thus not as clear a mode of identification as the display of their martial ability. Some Shuihu heroes, such as Li Zhong and Xue Yong, are professional martial arts street performers who show off their skills for their livelihood.31 During a fight between Lin Chong and Yang Zhi they both attack each other with murderous fury, “eyes glaring, mustaches bristling” (睜圓怪眼,倒豎虎須). Fighting to a standstill after more than forty rounds, the hidden audience, including Wang Lun and his group, who are watching from the background, identify both of them as heroes (haohan).32 Yang Zhi and Lu Zhishen’s recognition of each other also derives from a dramatic fight: When [Yang Zhi] entered the grove he received a shock. Seated in the cool of a pine was a big fat monk, stripped to the buff. His back was elaborately tattooed. . . . The monk, on seeing Yang Zhi, grabbed a staff that was beneath the tree and leaped to his feet. . . . The two went back and forth and up and down in the forest. They were well-matched. 轉入林子裡來，吃了一驚。只見一個胖大和尚，脫的赤條條的，背上 刺著花繡. . . . 那和尚見了楊志，就樹根頭綽了禪杖，跳將起來. . . . 兩 個就林子裡一來一往，一上一下，兩個放對.33

29 Performance is ‘a field of action’ in which speech and action are given attention because of their performative effects. Henry Sayre, “Performance,” in Frank Lentricchia and Thomas McLaughlin, eds., Critical Terms for Literary Study (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1995), p. 94. 30 Ciyuan 辭源, p. 0042. 31 Chapter 3, p. 42 and Chapter 37, p. 497. 32 Chapter 12, pp. 153–4, p. 184. 33 Chapter 17, p. 215, pp. 255–6.

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After battling up and down the grove for forty or fifty rounds with neither the victor, both recognize each other’s martial skills and their mutual haohan identity. They demand each other’s names as a sign of recognition. In almost all of the mutual recognition scenes in Shuihu zhuan, fighting skills are much more important than morality—or even names. Speech constitutes another distinguishing criterion for recognition. Shuihu heroes are conscious of the way they act and speak. As Wu Song 武松 says to the petrified guards in Zhang Qing’s tavern at the beginning of Chapter Twenty-Eight, “Don’t be startled by the way we heroes speak.” What Wu Song refers to as “scary speech” describes heroic and violent actions, “feats of good fellows in the gallant fraternity, of deeds of murder and arson.”34 The actions they boast of are morally ambiguous. When Lu Zhishen and Li Zhong fail to recognize each other after both changed their appearance, Lu’s heroic, if crude, language is what distinguishes him as a hero. Lu Zhishen insistently uses sajia 洒家 (Big daddy), a synonym of laozi 老子 in modern Chinese, as the first person pronoun and his invective “Dirty unflogged scoundrel, Big Daddy will teach you to know me” reveals his heroic identity. Upon discovering Lu’s identity, Li Zhong “laughed delightedly and rolled from his horse, tossing his weapon aside.” Bowing (jianfu 剪拂) follows their mutual recognition as the logical conclusion of their acknowledgement of each other.35 Fights between heroes are often framed by viewers who then recognize them both as heroes. The thick and often naked bodies of Li Kui and Lu Zhishen, for example, makes the viewing more interesting. With his dark naked body, Li Kui offers a tremendous visual contrast to Zhang Shun, who is as pale as glistening frost. They fight fiercely in a lake, interlocked amidst the green water. The scene is viewed by several hundred ‘greedy’ spectators, including the potential chief of the Liangshan bandits and the hero Dai Zong, from the riverbank who raise cheer after cheer (江岸上那三五百人貪看, 沒一個不喝采).36 Admiring Zhang Shun’s performance, Song and Dai befriend him even though Zhang fought with their comrade Li Kui.

34 35 36

Translation modified. Chapter 28, p. 375, p. 441. Chapter 5, p. 78. Chapter 38, pp. 522–3, p. 605. Translation modified.

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Mutual recognition and appreciation based on martial skills also appears in Xiyou ji. Like Shuihu zhuan, the narrator’s typical introduction, “This was quite a marvelous battle! Look at it” is followed by a long verse describing the fight. Again, like Shuihu, thirty rounds are enough to judge a similar martial performance. A typical example comes from Chapter Fifty in which the demon king and Sun Wukong burst into applause, while fighting, for each other’s martial skills. The “Li Zhi” commentary states, “They are a pair of bosom friends” (還是 一對知己). No bowing, however, follows their mutual recognition.37 The mutual recognition of martial skills does not lead to comradeship in Xiyou ji: the combatants respect each other, but remain enemies. ‘Theatrical recognition’ continues and yet appropriates the dominant theme of recognition by surfacing it in such a way that the haohan group identity is created through shared spectacles. Virtues, commonly attached to the literary theme of recognition, become deemphasized in theatrical recognition. As Guy Debord argues, a culture assumes a shared public identity through the images it holds up as spectacle.38 Although Debord’s examination of spectacles focuses on a highly commercialized society utilizing the mass production and consumption of images, his model is useful for helping us understand visuality as strategic staging as it contributes to the formation of group identity among the Shuihu heroes.39 Displaying a constant fascination with the visuality of spectacles, Shuihu’s making of heroes is often dissociated from moral standards. In the first seventy-one of the novel’s one-hundred-chapters, three major heroes dominate the storytelling: the militant, impetuous, and yet morally ambiguous Li Kui, Lu Zhishen, and Wu Song. Their tales, vivid and highly picturesque, constitute the most fascinating part of Shuihu zhuan. Later commentators implicitly support the dominant role of the threesome by giving them the most attention and favorable remarks.40 Attention to this 37 Li Zhuowu pingben Xiyou ji 李卓吾評本西遊記 (Shanghai: Shanghai guji, 1994), Chapter 50, p. 675. 38 Guy Debord, The Society of the Spectacle, translated by Donald Nicholson-Smith (New York: Zone Books, 1994). 39 I am influenced by Stanbury’s application of Debord’s discussion of spectacles in premodern England focusing on the public exposure of Christ’s body. Sarah Stanbury, “Regimes of the Visual in Premodern England: Gaze, Body, and Chaucer’s Clerk’s Tale,” New Literary History 28.2 (1997): 261–289. 40 For example, Jin Shengtan refers to Wu Song as a tianren 天人 (heavenly character). Zhu Yixuan 朱一玄 and Liu Yuchen 劉毓忱, eds., Shuihu zhuan ziliao huibian 水滸傳資料彙編, (rev. ed. Tianjin: Tankai daxue, 2002), p. 425. He applauds Li Kui’s

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threesome is reinforced by the commentators who consistently attend to the theatricality of the novel by guiding potential visualizations of spectacular scenes. Li Kui, Lu Zhishen, and Wu Song are frequently the heroes in Shuihu drama, especially in Ming-Qing Peking opera, because of their performances and tendency to create spectacles.41 Eight out of the nine Shuihu plays by the Yuan playwright Gao Wenxiu 高文秀 (fl. 1270) recorded in bibliographies are about Li Kui, although only “The Black Whirlwind’s Double Exploits” 黑旋風雙獻功 is extant. In “Double Exploits” and at least two of his other plays, “The Black Whirlwind Plays the Teacher” 黑旋風喬教學 and “Black Whirlwind Wreaks Havoc in Peony Garden” 黑旋風大鬧牡丹園, Gao dramatizes Li’s ruckus-raising and playacting adventures.42 Wu Song is the main character in eight Peking operas in Tao Junqi’s Jingju jumu chutan 京 劇劇目初探 (Preliminary exploration of the Peking opera repertoire).43 He is also the hero of the chuanqi “The Noble Knight-Errant” 義俠記 by the prominent Ming playwright Shen Jing 沈璟 (1553–1610).44 The Performers of Heroism Through deed and word Shuihu heroes recognize each other, but the theatrical dimension of recognition emerges more clearly if we turn our attention to the perceptual dynamics of recognition by focusing

killing of the Zhu family with the comment “kuairen kuaishi kuaibi” 快人快事快筆 (sharp character, sharp action, and sharp pen) (p. 923). Huai Lin, who wrote the preface to the Rongyutang ben Shuihu zhuan 容與堂本水滸傳 (rpt.; Shanghai: Shanghai guji, 1988) regards Li Kui as the first living Buddha. Zhu and Liu, Shuihu zhuan ziliao huibian, p. 185. An early twentieth-century poet wrote poems for his three favorite characters, Lu Zhishen, Wu Song, and Li Kui (Shuihu zhuan ziliao huibian, p. 372). Further discussions of these commentaries can be found in Chapter 6. 41 For annotated lists of existing bibliographical titles of Shuihu plays from the Yuan dynasty, see: Shuihu zhuan yanjiu ziliao huibian, pp. 53–76; from the Ming and Qing dynasties and related criticism, see pp. 525–598. Ming playwrights may have written some of the zaju attributed to the Yuan period making it almost impossible to evaluate the mutual influences passing between the plays and the versions of the novel. 42 Fu Xihua 傅惜華, “Tiji” 題記, in Fu Xihua, ed., Shuihu xiqu ji 水滸戲曲集 (Shanghai: Zhonghua shuju, 1964), p. 4. “The Black Whirlwind’s Double Exploits,” in Shuihu xiqu ji, pp. 1–15, p. 3. 43 Tao Junqi 陶君起, Jingju jumu chutan 京劇劇目初探; excerpts of the Peking operas on Shuihu can be found in Shuihu zhuan ziliao huibian, pp. 568–85. 44 Shen Jing, Xiuke yixia ji dingben 繡刻義俠記定本 (Taibei: Kaiming shudian, 1970).

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on the novel’s use of two types of heroes. These two types, desperately seeking visibility and recognition, bond through what I call ‘heroic theatricals.’ By heroic theatricals I mean a histrionic balance between two major character types both necessary for this type of theatrical bonding: performers of heroism and connoisseurs of heroism. Shuihu heroes, in general, can be divided into these two types with the stage being the rhetorical boundary dividing and connecting the performers and connoisseurs. To emphasize the development of theatrical bonding, the narrative is self-reflexive on the staging of heroism by basing itself on ideal performers and ideal audience figures. Similar to the previous example of Wang Shizhen and Pu Songling’s Zhang as a performer-in-self and viewer-in-self, the formation of the group identity of the one-hundredand-eight heroes in Shuihu zhuan is based on a performing group and an audience group. A perceptual dynamic links the performer of heroism whose intention is to invite the gaze of, and to command attention and appreciation from, the connoisseur of heroism whose intention is to see and to evaluate. Luo Liqun, scholar of Chinese chivalric fiction, divides the Shuihu heroes into two groups: wuxia 武侠 (martial heroes) and wenxia 文侠 (civilian heroes). The first to elaborate a conceptual difference between military and civilian heroes was Liu Shao 劉卲 (ca. 172–250). For Liu Shao, “those whose wisdom is outstanding are considered ying 英 and those whose strength and courage are superior are regarded as xiong 雄.”45 In Luo Liqun’s reading of Shuihu zhuan, military heroes refer to men of superb fighting skills such as Wu Song, Lu Zhishen, and Yang Zhi, who take up their cudgels on behalf of the injured. Civilian heroes refers to men like Chao Gai, Song Jiang, and Chai Jin who give money generously to needy people, relieve them of their worries, and help solve their problems.46 Luo’s conclusion about the morality of both groups of heroes is, however, problematic. After all, Song Jiang uses his money to bribe corrupt officials and martial heroes

45 Qtd in Martin Huang, Negotiating Masculinities in Late Imperial China (Honolulu: University of Hawai‘i Press, 2006), p. 89. 46 Luo, Zhongguo wuxia xiaoshuo shi, pp. 121–123. Ruhlmann divides heroes into four groups: princes, scholars, exemplary heroes, and swordsmen who have inherent shortcomings. Robert Ruhlmann, “Traditional Heroes in Chinese Popular Fiction,” in Arthur F. Wright, ed., Confucianism and Chinese Civilization (New York: Atheneum, 1964), pp. 141–77, p. 161.

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alike. Li Kui shows more interest in fighting for its own sake than in its moral purpose. I will follow Luo’s division, but eliminate the moral interpretation and foreground the interconnection of the martial and civilian heroes. Martial and civilian heroes are distinguished by their theatrical roles in the Shuihu narrative. That is, the perceptual dynamic between connoisseur (viewer) and performer (viewed) is the method used by the Shuihu authors to present and discourse upon identity formation. Men of action such as Li Kui, Lu Zhishen, and Wu Song serve as the martial heroes and performers of heroism because of their enormous energy and the obvious pleasure they derive from creating spectacles. Civilian heroes and connoisseurs of heroism like Song Jiang are marked by their intention to see and eagerness to appreciate outstanding martial performances. Major performers of heroism in Shuihu zhuan have impetuous temperaments and unusual physical strength; they often raise an uproar and create spectacles of themselves. This form of impetuous character is also represented by the likes of Zhang Fei in Sanguo yanyi 三國演義 (Romance of the three kingdoms) and Sun Wukong in Xiyou ji. Such impetuous characters are common in Shuihu zhuan with a few like Qin Ming, Suo Chao, and Li Kui distinctive for their impetuosity. Their language is distinctively marked with curse words like niao 鳥 (fuck) and sajia 洒家 (big daddy).47 The spectacles that the performers of heroism create are countercultural, anti-establishment, and iconoclastic. Lu Zhishen creates an uproar in the Wutai Monastery by eating dog meat and smashing Buddhist statues. Both he and Li Kui also like to square off in the nude. As mentioned previously, during his fight with Yang Zhi, Lu Zhishen shows off his thick, naked, tattooed body. Later, in the raid on the execution ground at Jiangzhou, Li Kui is seen naked at the center of the fray:

47 The language is typically masculine as niao 鳥 can be a reference to penis (Bu Jian卜鍵, ed., Yuanqu baike da cidian 元曲百科大辭典 [Beijing: Xueyuan, 1991], p. 41). Both niao and sajia are closely related to male sexual functions. Pan Jinlian and Yan Paoxi adopt this “masculine” language. One might argue that the transgression of adopting this masculine language is one of the reasons they are killed.

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A hulking dark tiger of a fellow, stark naked, appeared in the upper storey of a tea-house beside the crossroads. Brandishing a battle-ax in each hand, he uttered a heaven-splitting roar, leaped down, hacked the executioners to death, and began carving his way towards the mounted prefect.48

The leaping, naked Li Kui creates quite a spectacle for Chao Gai and the other Liangshan leaders who are quite impressed that Li’s actions surpassed his own reputation. Violence committed by major performers of heroism becomes a crucial ‘staged effect’ and should not be approached from a realistic perspective. Similarly, nakedness in battle is ‘put on’ rather than ‘real’ because it is a highly symbolic and theatrical gesture for the author(s) of Shuihu zhuan. Nakedness thus accentuates not only bravery but the spontaneity and childishness of the two major performers of heroism. Performers of heroism are an especially exhibitionist type of martial hero who are marked by their desire for visibility. They create spectacles of themselves and invite others to gaze upon their ‘heroic’ deeds. In so doing they, like performers, initiate the perceptual dynamics that lead to theatricality. Moreover, to quote from Sarah Stanbury’s discussion of the meaning of visibility in premodern England, “to be seen and to command the gaze of others is to control visual relations, to be moved from the edge to the center.”49 Therefore, in Chapter 7, when Lu Zhishen brandishes his solid iron Buddhist staff and uproots a willow tree for an audience of twenty to thirty knaves, he asserts his dominance in this visual relationship. The direct outcome of his spectacle is that a fellow haohan Lin Chong happens to pass by and, impressed with Lu’s physical strength and martial skills, becomes his sworn brother. Li Kui’s eagerness to invite the gaze echoes the comic Li Shan’er in Gao Wenxiu’s “Double Exploits.” In the play, Li Shan’er comments on his own dark skin and invites the audience to “look at my dark fingers.”50 After killing twenty or thirty in the Duck and Drake Pavilion Wu Song writes on the wall, “The slayer is Wu Song the tiger-killer,” thus linking his two heroic deeds together and leaving

48

Chapter 40, p. 554, p. 641. Stanbury, “Regimes of the Visual,” p. 279. 50 Hu Shi, Zhongguo zhanghui xiaoshuo kaozheng 中國章回小說考證 (Shanghai: Shanghai shudian, 1980), pp. 26–27. 49

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his mark.51 These performers of heroism, their spectacles and implications, will be further discussed in Chapter 5. The Connoisseurs of Heroism Civilian heroes like Song Jiang, Chai Jin and Chao Gai fill the role of audience members as connoisseurs of heroic performances. Although they are introduced as men fond of weapons, they never really display their martial techniques. They enjoy observing others rather than performing themselves. Well-to-do and very generous with money, they like nothing better than opening their houses to gallant men and watching their martial performances. Although civilian heroes sometimes makes use of strategic ruses, they are usually protected by martial heroes when confronted with violence. For connoisseurs of heroism, a set of viewing vocabulary is used. Chapter titles illustrate the differences between the major activities of this type of character from the performers of heroism. For performers of heroism verbs in the chapter titles usually connote violent action, for example, danao 大鬧 (wreaking havoc) in Chapters 3, 4, 5 and 6, quanda 拳打 (fist fight) in Chapter 3, and dou 斗 (tussle) in Chapter 12. For the connoisseurs of heroism verbs in the chapter titles imply the non-violent role of an audience member, for example, zhao 招 (recruit) as in Chapters 4, 5 and 8, kan 看 (view) as in Chapter 33, and hui 會 (meet) as in Chapter 38. The relationship between performers and audience mirrors that between heroism and hero-worship. In probing hero-worship in Shakespeare’s plays, Kirby Farrell observes that heroism “merges the hero-worshiper with an idealized other, and this symbiosis effectively produces an ‘us’ superior to any lone individual (the self-sacrificing way to hero-worship).”52 In Shuihu zhuan, the theme of recognition strengthens the bonds between heroes and hero-worshippers, the bonds that constitute their group identity. In recognizing performers as heroes, an ability Song Jiang often demonstrates, hero-worshippers

51

Ch. 31, p. 411, p. 479. Kirby Farrell, Play, Death, and Heroism in Shakespeare (Chapel Hill: University of North Carolina Press, 1989), p. 59. 52

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are themselves transformed into heroes because of their perception, which makes them worthy viewers and recognizers. Heroes and hero-worshippers are interrelated identities whose existence depends upon each other. This interrelationship is crucial for the formation of Liangshan group identity. If the performers of heroism create spectacles, the connoisseurs of heroism, with their intention to see, are eager to transform what they see into a spectacular object. Together they contribute to the novel’s distinctive theatricality. In Shuihu zhuan, sometimes the initiation of the perceptual dynamics between viewer and viewed is made by the connoisseurs of heroism. They desire to recognize other worthy heroes who demonstrate martial prowess. For example, when Chai Jin invites arms instructors to stay at his mansion, he enjoys having a ringside seat at their bouts. As an audience member, Chai Jin has them perform their martial skills. In one of the performances, Lin Chong easily defeats Instructor Hong by using a move called “separating the grass to find the snake,” which delights Chai and demonstrates Lin’s heroic skills before his fervent admirer.53 The close relationship between Song Jiang and Li Kui is similar to that between performer and audience; it is a performative relationship echoed in Shuihu plays. Song Jiang recognizes Li Kui’s display of physical strength and uncultured behavior as that of an authentic martial hero. During the first encounter of the two heroes they go to a tavern for a meal. After Li demolishes three bowls of fish soup including the bones, Song orders two catties of mutton and watches him chomp them down “in a twiddle of thumbs.” Song comments, “Magnificent! A real haohan” (壯哉, 真好漢也). Song Jiang’s narrative significance as the viewer will be further discussed in Chapter 7. Song Jiang is an excellent hero-worshipper who can also initiate theatrical performances. When the Liangshan band captures the enemy Huang Wenbing, Song Jiang merely strips Huang of his wet clothes and ties him to a willow tree instead of killing him. He then asks, “Which one of your brothers will do the deed for me?” Out of joy and excitement, Li Kui leaps forward at the prospect of performing in front of the other heroes while the assembled gallants watch him slice

53

Chapter 9, p. 127.

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Huang to bits.54 Violence in this scene, framed within the theatrical relationship of the viewer/viewed, is no more real than violence in puppet or human theater. Modern readers who find violence depicted in this scene, and in Shuihu zhuan in general, offensive have been conditioned by nineteenth century European ‘realism.’ They miss the more important issue, namely, the prevalent usage of theatricality as it relates to the presentation of heroism in the novel. The request for performance and its fulfillment in the killing of Huang Wenbing reminds one of an incident between Song Jiang and Li Shan’er in the play “Lu Zhishen Enjoys Yellow-Flower Valley” 魯智 深喜賞黃花峪. Before Song Jiang sends Li Shan’er down the mountain to help Lu Zhishen, Song asks, “Hey, Shan’er, here, I ask you one thing. When you arrive there, how are you going to strike him? How are you going to catch him? You tell me about it and I will listen” (山兒﹐ 我問你﹐ 這一件事﹐ 你若到于山下﹐ 你怎生打那廝﹖拿那 廝﹖你說一遍﹐我試聽者). Li Shan’er answers, “I will perform. Elder Brother, you listen to me” (我敷演一遍﹐哥哥試聽者).55 Performance in Shuihu zhuan is essentially a centrifugal force that demands the trope of a journey as an enlarged stage for the realization of heroism. The first seventy chapters of the novel describe the individual journeys of several characters such as Wu Song, Lu Zhishen, Lin Chong, and Yang Zhi as they are exiled for committing crimes. Their journeys terminate upon arrival in Liangshan Marsh where they “gather for justice” (juyi 聚義). Song Jiang’s journey, begun shortly after the killing of his concubine Yan Poxi in Chapter 22, spans eleven chapters; it is the major content of Chapter 23 and Chapters 32 to 42, interrupted only by Wu Song’s journey. The second longest journey, by Wu Song, covers a mere six beginning in Chapter 26 and ending in Chapter 32. Song Jiang’s journey is lengthy because of his unwillingness to join the Liangshan band and, more importantly, because of his

54 Chapter 41, pp. 568–569, p. 656. Modern readers have been troubled by the issues of cruelty and violence in Shuihu zhuan. It might be suggested that the ability to act cruelly shows heroic strength. The idea of giving enemies a slow death also exists in zaju plays. In “Hei Xuanfeng shuang xiantou” 黑旋風雙獻頭 (The Black Whirlwind twice presents heads) by Gao Wenxiu, Li Shan’er states, “[Bai Yanei] has cold liquor here. Let me sprinkle it over him and wake him up. I will kill him slowly” (他這兒有 涼酒﹐噴醒這廝﹐我慢慢的殺他). Fu, Shuihu xiqu ji, p. 15. 55 Fu, Shuihu xiqu ji, p. 87.

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role as a connoisseur of heroism through whom performers of heroism are recognized and their spectacles appreciated. The most fruitful outcome of his exile, as Song Jiang tells Dai Zong, is his encounter with many haohan along the way.56 Like typical audience members at a play, the connoisseurs of heroism are rich enough to pay for the martial heroes’ performances. Song Jiang gives away money freely to show his appreciation for the performers of heroism. For example, in a bustling market town on the way to exile Song comes across a crowd. Led by his intention to see, Song pushes his way through the throng to watch a wandering medicine seller putting on a display with weapons. He exclaims “excellent” and gives the performer five ounces of silver as a token of his esteem. The man accepts (shouke 收科) the gift with gratitude and later becomes a part of the Liangshan fraternity.57 The viewer/viewed dynamics dominant in the composition of Shuihu illustrations, discussed in the last chapter, is reflective of, and in turn foregrounds, the theatricality of the text. For example, in the Li Xuanbo 李玄伯 edition of Zhongyi Shuihu zhuan from the late Wanli period (c. 1600), only two capping illustrations (juanshou 卷首) precede each chapter. In Shuihu zhuan, the embedded theatricals are often deemed worthy enough to befit the capping illustrations. The scene “Lu Zhishen swinging his heavy staff ” receives an illustration for Chapter Seven (Figure 2.14b). Hua Rong’s archery performance and Yan Qing’s wrestling both appear as capping illustrations for their individual chapters.58 These illustrations directly and visually describe the theatricals that are to appear in the text, and offer an additional ‘paratextual’ space where the constant renewing of the theatrical balance of performing and viewing among the Shuihu heroes is emphasized. Similarly, the pairing of characters in Shuihu quantu by Du Jin,

56

Chapter 38, p. 518. Note the verb “accept,” shouke, ends with ke, which often appears in plays when referring to an action. This suggests the linguistic closeness between fiction and plays. The Chinese term for “accept” in Shuihu zhuan huiping ben is shouke 收科 (Chapter 35, p. 672). See also: Shuihu zhuan 水滸傳 (Beijing: Renmin wenxue, 1952) (Chapter 36, p. 424). Another variation of shouke is shouhe 收呵 (to accept with a grunt), which appears in Rongyutang ben Shuihu zhuan and Shuihu zhuan. 58 See the illustrations “Liangshan sheyan” 梁山射燕 (Shooting geese in Liangshan) and “Yan Qing bo Gao Qiu” 燕青搏高俅 (Yan Qing wrestling with Gao Qiu) in “Zhongyi shuihu zhuan chatu” 忠義水滸傳插圖 collected in Zhongguo gudai banhua congkan 中國古代版畫叢刊, ser. 1, vol. 5. 57

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mentioned in last chapter, can be seen as the illustrator’s attempt to visually represent the inclusion of the two character types, heroes and hero-worshippers, and their symbiosis in the presentation of heroism. In Du’s illustrations, although most paired characters are from the same scenes or from the same family, and sometimes from the same occupation, there are also ‘randomly’ paired characters. These pairs are most significant for an examination of the illustrator “Du Jin’s” agency in creating these pairs. His illustrations not only represent the illustrator’s understanding of the heroic types in Shuihu zhuan and how the mechanism of heroism functions, but also his imagination of what his intended viewers will appreciate. From the randomly paired figures, we see that the combination of a performer and an audience member is very popular. In one of Du Jin’s illustrations, Hua Rong, a performer of heroism, performs his archery skills in front of Lu Junyi, a civilian hero, although there is no textual connection between the two characters (see Figure 2.16). The Qing of Theatrical Bonding The group identity of heroes is achieved through the constant renewal of theatrical recognition between the performer and connoisseur characters. The importance of staging as acts of recognition is further underscored through the evocation of qing 情, the widely idealized concept containing a range of meanings including love, romantic sentiment, and desire. For the Shuihu authors and editors, casting the viewer/viewed relationship in the familiar language of qing effectively illustrated the interdependence between heroes and hero-worshippers. It also emphasizes the importance of staging as acts of recognition. The use of qing in Shuihu zhuan gives an interesting twist to our understanding of this concept and the Chinese cultural representation of heroes. Qing in the late Ming is commonly associated with romance. Compared to Du Liniang from Tang Xianzu’s famous play Mudan ting, the emblematic character in the cult of qing, the heavydrinking, meat-eating, rough-and-ready Shuihu heroes seem to be less likely candidates. The qing among the Shuihu heroes showcases a unique formation of desire that testifies to the amorphousness and complexity of qing in the late Ming. In the Chinese cultural representation of heroes, the image of John Wayne-like characters who do not shed tears easily (yingxiong youlei bu qingtan 英雄有泪不轻弹) is opposed to the Shuihu heroes who weep openly; the martial arts hero

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as a loner in contemporary fiction also contrasts to the fraternity of the Liangshan Marsh band.59 Although Shuihu heroes are tough, brave, and willing to die for those who recognize their true value, crying is not a sign of cowardice. Similar to the justification of romance through qing, qing underscores the importance of staging as acts of recognition.60 Rather like Buddhist clergy, the sworn brotherhood of the Shuihu heroes means the rejection of one’s own lineage, which constitutes a transgression of Confucian ideology.61 Many of the Liangshan heroes are actually homeless, single, and irresponsible from a Confucian perspective. Their indifference towards women, an element in the heroic code, implies the failure to produce offspring, which is another transgression of Confucian responsibility. When the Shuihu heroes happily join the fraternity, “I don’t have any family members. We can just go,” they are actually seeking an alternative bonding that is based on heroic recognition. The anti-establishment and anti-normative pursuits of the performers of heroism await an understanding eye to help restore sanity and significance to the socially irresponsible and outrageous performances by the spontaneous actors. The short and swarthy Song Jiang offers performers like Wu Song and Li Kui a sort of brotherly support, which allows them not only to act but also to ‘act out.’ The theatrical bonding between performers of heroism and connoisseurs of heroism is located along a continuum from emotional to erotic. Such bonding presumes misogyny and is often achieved through the sacrifice of women. Performance and recognition in Shuihu’s construction of heroism are distinctively masculine. Li Kui and Lu Zhishen are not physically attractive, but there are a large number of heroes who make their appearance with their impressive physique, such as Wu Song, Xu Ning, Yan Qing, and Shi Jin. Shi Jin, whose face is as round as a silver platter, erotically invites the male gaze of the heroes with the nine dragons tattooed all over his body.62

59

For a general introduction to modern and contemporary chivalric novels, see Luo Liqun, Zhongguo wuxia xiaoshuo shi, chapters 7 and 8. 60 Utilizing qing as a rationale occurs in the defense and celebration of homoerotic love. Martin Huang, Desire and Fictional Narrative in Late Imperial China (Cambridge: Harvard University Press, 2001), pp. 176–205. 61 Jean Chesneaux regards the rejection of one’s lineage as “in fact a liberating move, both in modern and classical China.” “The Modern Relevance of Shuihu zhuan,” translated by Alyce Mackerras, Papers on Far Eastern History 3 (1971): 1–25, p. 11. 62 Chapter 2, p. 19, p. 27.

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The language of the relationship between heroes and hero-worshippers can be highly eroticized. Comparing Shuihu zhuan to romances, Jin Shengtan implies they share a similar structure in the late Ming literary network of desire. Song Jiang’s gaze at Wu Song, as Jin Shengtan observes, is highly erotic and Wu Song is equated to a beauty (meiren 美人). Later in the same chapter Song Jiang has new clothes made for Wu Song, which further underlines Song Jiang’s appreciation of Wu Song’s physique. The giving of material goods is reminiscent of the materiality of qing in Jin Ping Mei and helps ‘feminize’ Wu Song under Song Jiang’s dominant ‘male’ gaze.63 In the description of Yan Qing, the male homoeroticism is most explicit because of his position as Lu Junyi’s servant. Yan Qing’s attractive body receives lavish description: Over six feet tall, [Yan Qing] was twenty-four or five years of age, was adorned with a thin mustache and goatee, and had a slim waist and broad shoulders. . . Because he had pure white skin, Lu Junyi engaged a skilled tattooist to decorate his body. The result was kingfisher blue added to white jade. No one could match the young man in beauty of physique.64

Lu Junyi refers to Yan Qing as “that man of mine” and dotes on him by dressing him up in silk and leather and decorating him with gold and silver.65 Lu Junyi is also described as being uninterested in women and often ignores his wife. The homoerotic relationship of the master and the servant, the pairing of Lu Junyi and Yan Qing, is clearly implied. Li Kui and Song Jiang best exemplify the performers and connoisseurs of heroism through their close emotional bond. Li Kui, despite his rough appearance, is similar to Du Liniang because they both die for qing. Li Kui’s qing for Song Jiang enables him to quit drinking, despite his love for alcohol, in order to take better care of Song when the latter is put in prison.66 To save Song Jiang on the execution ground Li Kui releases “a heaven-splitting roar” and dramatically leaps around. This dramatic gesture not only brings to the text a pleasantly comical visuality but, more importantly, foregrounds Li’s feelings for Song Jiang.

63 64 65 66

Shuihu zhuan huipingben, pp. 416–7. Chapter 61, p. 715, p. 984. Ibid. Chapter 39, p. 538.

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At the end of the novel Song Jiang discovers that the wine sent from the court is slowly poisoning him. Knowing that Li Kui will rebel against the government to revenge his death, Song sends for Li and offers him the same wine. The revelation of the truth is full of tears and deep sentiments: “After you’ve expired, come to Liao’er Flats, outside Chuzhou’s South Gate. It’s a beautiful place and looks just like Liangshan Marsh. Our spirits can meet there. That’s where I’m going to be buried after I die. I’ve already decided!” As he spoke, Song Jiang’s tears fell like rain. Li Kui also wept. “Enough, enough, enough!” he cried. “I served you in life, Big Brother, and I’ll be a minor ghost and serve you after death as well!” His body felt heavy. Weeping, he bid Song Jiang farewell and boarded his craft. . . .”67

To have Li Kui dying willingly for, and with, Song Jiang, the author(s) of Shuihu zhuan most strongly demonstrates that Shuihu is not simply about heroes, but about the intricate relationships between heroes and hero-worshippers. The qing, derived from the heroes’ interdependent identities, complicates the symbiotic signification of heroes and heroworshippers. Because of the emotional bonds between the performers and the audience, Li Kui dies for and with Song Jiang. In the narration of Shuihu zhuan, misogyny is taken for granted as an element of the heroic code and yet it offends many modern readers. Women are presented as dangerous because of the potential threat they pose towards the theatrical bonding between male performers and their male audience. In such structuring, women menace the male theatrical balance in their rivalry for the occupation of the stage, which threatens the performance of the martial heroes. Although Shuihu heroes do not pay attention to women, many heroes enjoy performances by female singers and actresses. During the earlier meeting of Song Jiang, Li Kui, and other two heroes, when Li Kui is in the midst of boasting of his bold exploits, a singing girl appears and distracts the other three. Li Kui shows his deep anxiety about fighting over the ‘stage’ in front of his audience. Furious, and rather jealous, Li Kui “jumps up” and “thrusts two fingers against her forehead.”68 Despite the otherwise perfect qing between Song Jiang and Li Kui, Li Kui is suspicious of Song Jiang’s Achilles’ heel. Li Kui becomes very

67 68

Chapter 100, p. 1388, p. 1596. Chapter 38, p. 526, p. 609.

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irritated when Song pays attention to female performers. Li’s fear that he might lose his position to female performers, and therefore his theatrical bond with his hero-worshiper, often throws him into a fit. In Chapter 72, Song Jiang visits the famous courtesan Li Shishi seeking a chance to reach the emperor accompanied by Chai Jin and Yan Qing. Li Kui was taken along, because he insisted, but was naturally left outside when the three are being entertained inside the brothel. Li Kui soon loses his patience and his temper when he sees that Song Jiang and Chai Jin are being distracted by a courtesan and are ignoring him. His mistrust builds in the following chapter in which Li Kui believes that Song Jiang snatched away the daughter of a local squire. In his anger, he “took his axes and cut down the apricot-yellow banner inscribed with ‘Act in Heaven’s Behalf ’ and ripped it to shreds.”69 His fury can be explained as the fear of losing theatrical balance. Women are easily sacrificed for the sake of strengthening male bonding. Song Jiang in Shuihu zhuan, ignoring the impropriety of his actions and the potential of being cuckolded, introduces his concubine Yan Poxi to his assistant Zhang Wenyuan. Zhang, not a haohan, soon becomes Yan Poxi’s lover. Song Jiang does not mind. Only after Yan Poxi interferes in his relationship with the Liangshan band does Song kill her. Yang Xiong also introduces his new wife Pan Qiaoyun to his blood brother Shi Xiu.70 Through presenting their women, Song Jiang and Yang Xiong demonstrate their trust towards their friends, which is important for the establishment of male bonding. Even for Wang Ying, an unusual lover of women among the Shuihu heroes, male bonding is still more important. Twice he gives up the woman he craves, although reluctantly, upon Song Jiang’s remonstration.71 Song Jiang later rewards him with a beautiful captured woman, Hu Sanniang, as compensation for Wang Ying’s loyalty. Sexually active women constitute a threat to theatrical bonding among men in Shuihu zhuan. Women with the potential to upset theatrical bonding are punished severely, as in the case of Pan Jinlian, a famously salacious woman who participates actively in the appreciation of masculinity. While Wu Song gratefully returns Song Jiang’s appreciation of his male physique, he is offended by an equally fervent apprecia-

69 70 71

Chapter 73, p. 1168. Chapter 44, p. 526, p. 711. Chapter 32, p. 377, p. 307 and Chapter 35, p. 404.

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tion from Pan Jinlian. When Pan Jinlian runs her eyes over Wu Song’s body, he keeps his head down to avoid her gaze.72 Pan Jinlian’s visual transgression challenges the balance of the male social world. Her violent decapitation is therefore designed to destroy her viewing agency. The other transgressive woman who experiences a horrible death is Pan Qiaoyun. Qiaoyun slanders Shi Xiu saying that Shi is treating her inappropriately while she herself commits adultery with a monk. Posing as a vulnerable woman, Qiaoyun convinces Yang Xiong of her lies thereby jeopardizing the brotherhood between Shi and Yang. When the truth is revealed, the two sworn brothers trick Qiaoyun into accompanying them into the mountains where she is murdered. When women are killed as punishment for jeopardizing the theatrical bonding of heroism, it is significant that this bonding is reestablished through the creation and viewing of spectacles. As in the scene of Wu Song killing Jinlian, the recreation of the male bond demands a misogynistic and ritualistic killing scene.73 Qiaoyun is not punished for having the illicit affair with the monk, but for lying to Yang Xiong thereby endangering the mutual affection of the fraternity (壞了我兄 弟情分).74 The murder of Pan Qiaoyun is marked by the transformation of her privatized body into a stage for the sworn brothers. Shi Xiu, who masterminds when and where the killing will take place, also serves as the viewer of the scene. Yang Xiong, as the husband of Pan Qiaoyun, conducts the killing following the stage directions of Shi Xiu in order to redeem his stature with his sworn brother. Yang Xiong’s performance for Shi Xiu marks the achievement of healed fraternity, and verifies, again, the interconnection of theatrical bonding and friendship among the Shuihu heroes. Preceding the killing of the two Pan women, patriarchical standards of female propriety are reestablished. Only after rectifying the women are they pure enough for their ritual deaths. Qiaoyun’s jewelry and clothes are removed symbolizing male authority and control over women’s appearance (furong 婦容) before she is murdered. Furthermore, cutting out Pan’s tongue symbolizes the punishment for her major transgression, her attempt to slander Shi Xiu, and the reestablishment of control over women’s speech (fuyan 婦言). As Ban Zhao

72 73 74

Chapter 34, p. 268, p. 366. Chapter 46, pp. 647–48, p. 746. Ibid., p. 648.

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班昭 (d. 46) explains in Nü jie 女誡 (Commandments for women), “A woman must not have a glib tongue—she chooses what words to say, not uttering any vicious slander; and she speaks at the right time, not detested by people. This is what women’s speech should be” 婦言不 必辯口利辭也—擇詞而說，不道惡語，時然后言，不厭于人，是謂 婦言.75 After the ritualistic killing of Qiaoyun, the two sworn brothers leave for Liangshan to join the fraternity. The only female characters that the Liangshan band tolerates are manish women who constitute no threat to the male bonding among Shuihu heroes. Two of the three women among the one hundred and eight Shuihu heroes, Sun Erniang and Gu Dasao, are nicknamed Mother Yaksha and Mother Tiger. The other woman, Hu Sanniang, is a stunningly beautiful martial arts expert, yet she is strangely voiceless. She fights for the Liangshan band despite the fact that they killed her entire family. She is even married off by Song Jiang to the short and salacious Wang Ying as a reward. The quality that all three women possess is that they constitute no threat to male friendship among the Shuihu heroes. Amnesty and Visual Containment The group identity of the Shuihu heroes is based upon a viewed/ viewing interaction, which is achieved through the spectacles that the performers of heroism create and the connoisseurs of heroism recognize. As a group of outlaws, the spectacles the Shuihu heroes create and appreciate are anti-authoritarian, subversive, and break the bonds of social propriety, which arise from and reaffirm the group’s marginality. Liangshan Marsh’s significance as a place lies in its ability to act as a perfect theatrical setting where the performers can finally be recognized by an audience. Daily activities in Liangshan Marsh consist of heroes gathering together, viewing, and appreciating the marital skills of the performers. Li Kui relishes performing on the Liangshan stage. He describes living in Liangshan as “ecstasy” (kuaihuo 快活).76 Towards the end of the novel, Song Jiang’s facial tattoo is removed by a skillful doctor allowing him to go to the capital during the Lan-

75 Qtd in Chen Dongyuan 陳東原, Zhongguo funü shenghuo shi 中國婦女生活史 (Taibei: Taiwan shangwu, 1978), p. 52. 76 Chapter 43, p. 508, p. 689.

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tern Festival to arrange an amnesty for the Liangshan heroes.77 The removal of the criminal’s mark is narratorially significant because it ‘marks’ the end of Song’s marginal identity. As in Hawthorne’s short story “Birthmark,” the removal of Song’s facial tattoo ends Song Jiang’s marginality thus endangering the theatrical relationship between the connoisseurs of heroism and the performers of heroism in the theater of Liangshan Marsh.78 Although the connoisseurs of heroism desire amnesty, the performers of heroism are strongly against it. After Song Jiang writes a poem on longing for amnesty, Wu Song says, “You are cooling our enthusiasm.”79 Li Kui’s reaction is even stronger: “Amnesty, amnesty, who needs a friggin’ amnesty,” and he kicks over a table smashing everything on it.80 Following the amnesty that Song Jiang secures for the group, the Liangshan heroes travel to the Eastern Capital where they parade past the Emperor. This parade renders the one-hundred-and-eight Shuihu heroes as the viewed and the Emperor as the viewer (南薰門外，一 百八員義士朝京；宣德樓 中，万万歲君王刮目). The crowds in the Eastern Capital, who view the heroes with awe from ground-level, are below the Emperor and the other officials who look down upon the Liangshan band from the Propagating Morality Pavilion.81 A long ekphrastic poem follows the rhetorical question “What did the onehundred-and-eight haohan’s procession into the capital look like? What was seen is as follows,” (怎見得一百 八員英雄好漢入城朝覲？ 但見), thus shaping the potential viewing of the readers. The ritual of amnesty is structurally important. It constitutes a minor ending (xiao shousha 小收煞) of the narrative. Furthermore, it serves as a way to contrast playful theatricals imagined and celebrated in the late Ming discourses and ‘contained’ theatricals—theatricals that equally emphasize the viewed/viewer relationship but are closely monitored and carefully controlled by an authority figure. The visual relationship between the Emperor and the heroes in the theatrical of amnesty is different from that between the performers and connoisseurs of heroism. An imperial edict foregrounds the change of the

77

Chapter 72, p. 963, p. 1146. Nathaniel Hawthorne, Short Stories, edited by Newton Arvin (New York: Alfred A. Knopf, 1964), pp. 177–193. 79 Chapter 71, p. 960, p. 1143. 80 Ibid. 81 The significance of lou as a structural device in staging theatricality is further discussed in Li Yu’s Shi’er lou. 78

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Shuihu outlaws into officials by staging a plot designed to contain and monitor spectacles and technologies of display. First, for its spectacular effect, the Shuihu bandits are ordered to march in full battle-dress into the city under the watchful eyes of the Emperor and his officials. Then, as the imperial edict states, “let them divest themselves of their armor and weapons, put on the satin robes which I have presented to them, and enter the palace through East Glory Gate.”82 The change of clothing from battle dress to silken robes, staged outside the East Glory Gate, symbolizes the heroes’ submission to the Emperor and their new roles as government officials. The dramatically staged and closely monitored process of imperial amnesty marks a shift in the control of visibility and the surveillance of spectacles.83 The Shuihu heroes are forced to expose themselves to a controlling eye and submit to an ocular order, which replicates the socioeconomic, political, and cultural power structure. In this staged scenario, the gaze endows the imperial viewer with even more power. In this case, the act of viewing does not serve the purpose of recognition, but surveillance; being viewed does not lead to being recognized, but being controlled. The Shuihu heroes are not playing their own roles but the roles prescribed by the emperor. Viewing such a carefully staged theatrical loaded with symbolic meanings, the crowd expresses awe not for what they are seeing, but for who controls what they see— the staging figure of the Emperor. An imperial banquet follows the staged parade reinforcing the unmaking of theatrical bonding. At the banquet, the Shuihu heroes enjoy a performance by the Bureau of Drama and the Bureau of Ritual Music. “The Drama Bureau performed a splendid Phoenix Dance and the Ritual Music Department presented a long line of actors” 教坊司鳳鸞韶舞，禮樂司排長伶官.84 The banquet is significant in the Shuihu narrative: of the large number of banquets described in the novel, this imperial banquet is the only one that features the Liangshan heroes viewing a professional performance. For the Liangshan heroes, it marks a shift in their role and the loss of their own stage. Before,

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Chapter 82, p. 1128, p. 1307. For a discussion of Foucault’s analysis of surveillance and visuality, see: Griselda Pollock, “Feminism/Foucault—Surveillance/Sexuality,” in Norman Bryson, Michael Ann Holly, and Keith Moxey, eds., Visual Culture: Images and Interpretation (Hanover, N.H.: University Press of New England, 1994), pp. 1–41. 84 Chapter 82, p. 1132. 83

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Liangshan Marsh had been a utopia for heroic theatricals with martial heroes performing and civil heroes watching. At this banquet, all are transformed into a passive audience and their evaluation of the performance is irrelevant. What is performed on the red carpet at the imperial banquet further suggests the Shuihu heroes’ displacement and their loss of control. A lengthy parallel prose piece starting with zhijian 只見 (what is seen is) describes luxurious food, furniture, and china, and the romances performed. “[The performers] strike the medal and hit the jade instrument and talk about family regulations; they sing about the wind, flowers, snow, moon, and the pleasures of the theater” (說的是敲金擊玉敘家風, 唱的是風花雪月梨園樂). Romantic drama is the last thing the Shuihu heroes would appreciate because of their marked indifference towards and detachment from women. After their amnesty and banquet, the emphasis of the narrative shifts to dream sequences: the Shuihu band starts to lose its members while becoming tragically disillusioned with the throne. Through an analysis of different character types and the theatrical recognition of heroes in Shuihu zhuan, we can safely assume that the compositional dynamics of the viewer-viewed relationship shown in illustrations are a reflection of already theatricalized written texts. The texts and images work together to evince a strong theatricality representative of the epochal spirit of the late sixteenth and early seventeenth centuries. Shuihu zhuan exemplifies the use of theatricality to address an intensified concern with recognition in the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries. The Shuihu hero Li Jun’s conclusion about his life is enlightening in this context. By juxtaposing his ‘smuggler’ identity with his ‘haohan’ identity and prefacing his latter identity with zhuang 妝 (perform), Li discusses heroism as constituted of highly performative codes with an emphasis on distinctive ways of speech and action. Presenting heroism as performative and conditional upon the recognition of an understanding audience and heroes as the product of an on-going identity formation, the literati authors, readers, and commentators shared concerns about recognition and accurate evaluation in an era with diversifying value systems. But what happens when ideal viewers do not exist, recognition is not achieved, and group identity not formed? Will the constant staging of identity be even more disruptive of social normalcy, which is itself built upon a relatively stable set of social roles? We shall discuss these questions as they relate to Xiyou ji in the next chapter.

CHAPTER FOUR

STAGING, MIMICRY, AND ACTS OF APPROPRIATION I have been learning to be a monster since childhood 我自小兒學做妖怪. Monkey, Xiyou ji The previous chapter “Beneath the Five-Phases Mountain the Monkey of the Mind is Stilled” marks the end of Act One and this is the beginning of Act Two. Analogous to the theater which invariably includes sheng (leading male role), dan (leading female role), jing (male clown), and chou (clown) role types, Tripitaka is the sheng, Monkey the jing, Pig the chou, and Friar Sand the mo (male secondary role) according to their dramatis personae. However, logically speaking, it is not entirely impossible for Heart Monkey, the jing, to be the sheng because those who realize the Way achieve their realization through the heart. Tripitaka is as benevolent and gentle as a woman so it is not entirely impossible, again, for the sheng to be an old dan. 前一回“五行山下定心猿” ， 第一段戲文已完矣， 此乃第二段起頭 也。從來戲場中， 必有生旦淨丑。試以此書相提而論， 以人物， 則 唐僧乃正生也，心猿當作大淨，八戒當作丑，沙僧當作末。若以道理 言，悟道者全憑此心為主，則心猿之大淨，未嘗不可為正生。唐僧慈 善溫柔，宛若婦人女子，則正生又未嘗不可為老旦. Wang Qi 汪淇 (fl. 1600–1668), Commentary on Chapter 9 of Xiyou ji1

In the last chapter we discussed the inclusion of two character types in Shuihu zhuan, the performers and connoisseurs of heroism, and the author’s emphasis on the viewer/viewed relationship to address a heightened concern over recognition. The perceptual dynamics that facilitates acts of recognition in Shuihu zhuan fosters an even more subversive meaning as acts of appropriation in Xiyou ji. In Xiyou ji, the staging of theatricals becomes even more playful and destabilizing. Roles, persons, and identities are artificial and flexible throughout the novel. Staging as acts of appropriation is constituted of two elements: a typically authoritative space or figure and the mimicry of the same.2

Xiyou zhengdao shu 西遊證道書 (Beijing: Zhonghua shuju, 1993), p. 77. Mimicry, in its current theoretical formulation, is frequently used in postcolonial studies. A key method of cultural appropriation by subalterns is what Homi Bhabha refers to as “colonial mimicry,” replication that is “almost the same, but not quite” (The Location of Culture [New York: Routledge, 1994], p. 86). Mimicry challenges the 1 2

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This chapter begins with three staging scenarios from Ming-Qing narratives taking place in supposedly authoritative locales including courtrooms, ritual spaces, and official ceremonial arenas, but that are disrupted by staging as acts of appropriation. Following those examples, I discuss how the early modern theatrical imagination affected the writing and reading of Xiyou ji casting doubt upon the validity of any single religiously-informed interpretation of the novel. The novel creates and valorizes staging characters that understand the conventionality and artificiality of theater and utilize it for their own benefit to put forth acts of appropriation. As a result, Xiyou ji deliberately contests both single religiously-informed interpretive viewpoints— Confucian, Buddhist, or Daoist—and religious and philosophical orthodoxies in general to defy the social hierarchy of the demonic and the deity by presenting both as interchangeable, which is produced by an unending process of identity shifting. Staging and Appropriation: Three Scenarios In order to construct a model of subversive acts of appropriation that help us unlock some of the interpretive puzzles posed by certain types of staged scenarios in Xiyou ji, I draw my three examples from scenarios taking place in locations of authority including rituals, trials, and official ceremonies.3 These sites of authority belong to the ‘theatrical continuum’—the most visible domains for the unification and governance of a society requiring carefully policed performative codes and constant social surveillance.4 These three scenarios demonstrate how staging does more than simply theatricalize these spaces, but, through ‘theatricalization,’ produces mimicries in disciplinary locales where

authority of colonial discourse by disclosing the colonial subject as only a partial, both incomplete and virtual, presence. 3 In choosing three scenarios as examples, I am influenced by Josette Feral’s excellent article, in which she examines the theatricality of modern quotidian spaces such as the subway or sidewalk café. “Theatricality: The Specificity of Theatrical Language,” SubStance 31 (2002): 94–108. 4 Richard Schechner argues for a “continuum of theatrical events” ranging from public activities such as games and sports through happenings to traditional theater. Richard Schechner, “Six Axioms for Environmental Theatre,” The Drama Review 12.3 (Spring 1968): 41–64, p. 43. For a sociological approach to theatrical theory in the late 1960s, see: Elizabeth Burns, Theatricality: A Study of Convention in Theatre and in Social Life (London: Longman, 1972).

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rituals, trials, and social ceremonies take place. The theatricalization of these policed spaces of authority and orthodoxy are thereby displaced by ‘acts of appropriation.’ Appropriation suggests the taking of, or gaining power over, something.5 Staging, involving the “remodeling” of a particular authoritative space through the theatrical connection among performers, spectators, and the stage space, has the effect of appropriation.6 The scenes are destabilized into a “stage arrangement” by parody replication and mimicry created through the accentuation of theatrical artificiality staged in the perceptual dynamics of performer and audience. The social disciplinary activities normally occurring in these spaces, which are usually under constant social surveillance, are staged by characters who ironically produce parodies of these activities. Staging in these scenarios shows that late imperial writers used theatricalization to mimic, parody, and re-appropriate social disciplinary activities and spaces. In addition to the re-appropriation of disciplinary spaces, these scenarios share the use of ‘perceptual dynamics’ to highlight the staginess of the re-appropriation process.

5 Appropriation has been a popular concept in literary studies and other disciplines for the past several decades. Edward Said’s Orientalism (New York: Pantheon Books, 1978), for example, examines the way the West used representations of “the Orient” as an “Other” to assert and solidify its own power. Said’s model of appropriation presupposes an unequal relationship between two concepts—usually cultures—manifested in a binary between those who act and dominate and those who are acted upon and dominated. In this context, domination is directly related to the unequal power relations implied in the term ‘appropriation.’ Since the late 1980s, with the rise of postcolonial studies, the agency of ‘subalterns’ and ‘natives’ in appropriating, and thereby resisting and subverting the dominant culture, has received much attention. For a discussion of the different usages of ‘appropriation,’ see: Kathleen Ashly, “The Cultural Processes of ‘Appropriation’,” Journal of Medieval and Early Modern Studies 32.1 (2002): 1–15; Robert S. Nelson and Richard Shiff, eds., Critical Terms for Art History, 2nd edition (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 2003), pp. 160–74. 6 Jean Caune, La dramatisation (Louvain: Édition des Cahiers Théâtre Louvain, 1981), p. 230, qtd. in Patrice Pavis, Dictionary of the Theatre: Terms, Concepts, and Analysis, trans. Christine Shantz (Toronto: University of Toronto Press, 1998), pp. 335–36.

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chapter four Staging a Ritual

Our first scenario takes place in a temple in Black Rooster Kingdom as the pilgrims in Xiyou ji enter the realm.7 A monster masquerading as a traveling monk has killed the monarch of Black Rooster Kingdom and buried his body in a well in the imperial garden. The monstermonk impersonates the king and rules over the country. The dead king relates his story to Tripitaka in a dream and asks for help from the monster-conquering Sun Wukong, or Monkey. To foil the imposter’s plans, the pilgrims decide to retrieve the real king’s body from the well and present it to the imperial court. As it turns out, the insightful Well Dragon King has preserved the king’s body and presents it as a piece of treasure to Zhu Bajie, or Pig, who is the porter among the pilgrims. The body is then carried to the temple where the pilgrims are lodging. The setting, a temple where religious ceremonies often take place, constitutes an excellent stage for a mourning ritual; the theatricalloving Monkey and Pig are especially pleased by the arrangement. With either a performer or audience member initiating a scene, the temple becomes a theatrical space. In this case the initiator is Monkey. The tender-hearted Tripitaka begs Monkey to save the dead king and responds by making a deal with the rest of the pilgrims that they should put on a mourning ritual. With tongue firmly in cheek, Monkey declares majestically that a dead body in a temple without a mourning ritual “does not have the proper appearance” (buxiang ge moyang 不相個模 樣). For Monkey, the director of this mourning ritual, proper appearance requires a host of staged effects. As a parodying ritualist, Monkey’s laughter and tears become a playfully staged affectation. As the director, Monkey chides Pig into contributing to the ritual by playing the major mourner. Puffing up his chest, Monkey then expounds upon different ways of mourning. Pig, the willing actor eager to please the director, jams rolled-up paper into his nostrils and squeals “I’ll give 7 For the main text and Li Zhi commentary of Xiyou ji, I use: Li Zhuowu pingben Xiyou ji 李卓吾評本西遊記 (Shanghai: Shanghai guji, 1994), which is a reprint of Li Zhuowu xiansheng piping Xiyou ji 李卓吾先生批評西遊記 (ca. 1620–27). For translations, I use: Anthony Yu, Journey to the West, 4 volumes (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1977–1983). Chapter numbers are given first, then the page number from Li Zhuowu pingben Xiyou ji, and finally the page number from Yu’s translation, if used. e.g. Ch. 39, p. 515, 2: 214.

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you an example of how I can wail!” Pig’s artful tears are important because they turn an action into a performance awaiting to be viewed and evaluated. The mise-en-scene is therefore a mixture of the real and the staged: a real corpse in a real temple; a fake mourner with fake tears. The exciting danger of this hybrid ritualization is the final confusion of the boundary between the real and the staged. After Pig’s forced tears have started, he suddenly sobs uncontrollably as if someone had really died. Sha Monk lights a few joss sticks for the deceased rendering the virtual, mimicked ritual even more real. As a credulous character, and an unsophisticated audience figure, Tripikata is moved to genuine tears. Tripikata , as discussed below, stands in contrast to Monkey in the text’s self-reference to different levels of audience.8 Several conclusions can be drawn about this scenario: it is a parody ritual that achieves its effects by highlighting how rituals are staged and manufactured. A discourse in Xiyou ji on the ‘ritual’ nature of the ritual then casts doubt upon their symbolic power and mocks them as mere plays. As director and audience figure, Monkey’s restaging of a mourning ritual as parody reveals the dominance of the audience in evaluating and ensuring the quality and conventionality of the performance.9 Situated in its historical context, a tongue-in-cheek staging of a ritual could be very subversive. In the unsettling period of the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries, Confucian ritualism served as a primary government strategy designed to reinforce the core values of Confucian principles. Conformity to rules, especially in minute ritual details, was seen as a way to mold one’s “physico-psychological self ” in accordance with external standards of behavior.10 The Xiyou parody of ritual, then, appropriates the space of authority and overturns it to challenge the very notions of orthodoxy and orthopraxy.

8 I will discuss the reference to different levels of spectatorship and return to Tripikata’s failure to be a perceptive audience member in Chapter 7. 9 James L. Watson, “The Structure of Chinese Funerary Rites: Elementary Forms, Ritual Sequence, and the Primacy of Performance,” in Watson and Evelyn S. Rawski, eds., Death Ritual in Late Imperial and Modern China (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1988), pp. 3–19. 10 Kai-wing Chow, The Rise of Confucian Ritualism in Late Imperial China: Ethics, Classics, and Lineage Discourse (Stanford: Stanford University Press, 1994), p. 38. The emphasis on “Confucian ritualism” began with the conservative Donglin scholars in the late Ming period and became a predominant philosophical issue in the early Qing.

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chapter four Staging a Court Case

The second scenario takes place in another authoritative space, a courtroom, where social and legal order is enforced. In the underworld court in “Kuang gushi,” Judge Cha transformed the designated locale for trials into a theatrical space by stage-setting the courtroom. We see a judge exerting his power not as an arbiter of justice but as an audience figure. Authority, law, and performance are deconstructed through the presentation of a live theatrical in the courtroom. In Shuihu zhuan, Li Kui enters the county town of Shouzhang during one of his excursions outside Liangshan Marsh whereupon he comes across the government courtroom. Li walks up to the gate and shouts, “The lord Black Whirlwind of Liangshan Marsh is here!” Li’s famous penchant for violence and impetuousness—the mere mention of his name scares crying children into silence—puts the fear of death into the Magistrate who immediately flees the scene. The rest of the courtroom staff also scatters leaving Li an empty courtroom—a bare stage to ‘play’ on. With an intent to ‘play’ (xianshua 閑耍), Li Kui grabs the magistrate’s robe and dresses himself to playact the magistrate. He roars for the frightened staff to return so that he can open the court (paiya 排衙). After three drum rolls are beaten the functionaries advance hailing Li Kui respectfully. Li orders a couple of jail keepers to play the roles of plaintiff and defendant. The scene attracts local vagrants who crowd the courtroom gate to watch the show. In his mock trial, Li Kui decides that the “defendant” who “clouted” the other was a good sort, but the “plaintiff ” was a “spiritless lout.” Li orders the cangue locked around the lily-livered man’s neck and sends him out into the street to become a spectacle.11 With the intention of playing “just for fun,” Li Kui initiates the theatrical scene and the local people serve as spectators to complete the production of theatricality. The courtroom is carefully imitated and yet parodied through the accentuation of theatrical production. Li Kui’s order to open the court (paiya 排衙) echoes the verb for setting up the stage in theater (paichang 排場).12 The Black Whirlwind costumes 11

Ch. 74, pp. 1023–24. For a summary of the dramatic concept of paichang by major Ming drama critics, see: Li Huimian 李惠綿, Xiqu piping gainian shi kaolun 戲曲批評概念史考論 (Taibei: Liren, 2002), pp. 343–426. 12

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himself in the garb of the magistrate, perches the official’s cornered hat on his expansive head, dons the green silken robe, slips on the elegant boots, and takes up the elmwood tablet. While Judge Cha’s theatrical intention transformed the courtroom into a staged space in “Kuang gushi,” in Shuihu Li Kui reallocates the courtroom space casting the ‘social control’ function of the courtroom into doubt. As a self-authorized judge and Liangshan bandit, Li Kui’s jungle logic rules the theatrical courtroom. The use of the courtroom as a common theatrical space in late imperial narratives indicates a strong attack on forms of authority, law, and social order. Seventeenth-century writer Li Yu remarks broadly on the moral authority of the courtroom in his short story through the authoritative narrator: “Well before the defendant is examined, both sides will have engaged scribes and witnesses who carry on like actors rehearsing their parts. One plays the official, another the clerk, and the witnesses are cross-examined until they are word perfect, at which point they present themselves for trial.”13 Li Yu goes on say that one is lucky if the magistrate belongs to the sheng or dan type and unlucky if he plays the jing or chou.14 This observation, heavily laden with theater vocabulary, exposes the staginess of court sessions. The regular cast of courtroom characters includes the authority-wielding magistrate, the loud-complaining plaintiffs, the vigorously-denying defendants, and the spectacle-loving crowd who all act out their roles and are often described as being ready for a free theatrical.15 In drama, the magistrates are sometimes played by the comical jing role. For example, in Mudan ting Judge Hu 胡 (literally: Outrageous Judge) of the underworld court is a dancing magistrate (wupan 舞判) who laughs and dances after he enters the court.16 Li Kui’s free-spirited distortion of the courtroom is not only justified, because court sessions are staged anyway, but also hailed by late imperial commentators as 13 Li Yu quanji, vol. 4, p. 35. Patrick Hanan, trans., Silent Operas (Hongkong: Chinese University of Hong Kong, 1990), p. 46. 14 Ibid. 15 In another Li Yu story in Wusheng xi, “Nan Mengmu jiaohe sanqian” 男孟母教 合三遷 (A male Mencius’s mother raises her son properly by moving three times), a crowd packs the court in anticipation of viewing the famed rump of a man who is to be stripped and caned. Li Yu quanji, vol. 4, pp. 124–5. 16 See Tang Xianzu, Mudan ting, p. 131. I borrow the term, wupan, from Xu Fuming. For a description of comical wupan character types, see: Xu Fuming 徐扶明, Mudan ting yanjiu ziliao kaoshi 牡丹亭研究資料考釋 (Shanghai: Shanghai guji, 1987), pp. 178–80.

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an embodiment of spontaneity—his easy and unaffected manner, his self-indulgence and freedom from social regulations, and his appropriation of the court all work to create a ‘playful theatrical.’ Li Kui’s court session may also be read as satirical—he is an idiot and does not officiate properly. However, in the context of the late Ming fascination with humor and play, it is not Li Kui that is satirized, but the court as a disciplinary locale. By praising “Judge” Li, the early modern commentators vented their anti-establishment sentiment. The “Li Zhi” chapter commentary points to Li Kui’s transformation of the courtroom into a theater space as manifesting his truly free spirit and his infinite resourcefulness (逢場作戲, 真箇神通自在).17 The monk Huailin 懷林, whose name is attached to several prefatory essays in the Rongyutang edition of Shuihu zhuan, further celebrates the conflation of the theatrical and ‘real’ by playfully referring to Li Kui, probably the person least likely to be a magistrate, as “the magistrate of Shouzhang county.”18 Although only consisting of one part of Chapter 74, Li’s courtroom theatrics were very arresting for late imperial readers and writers because of their humor and ‘play.’ To reinforce the importance of the scene, this small incident constitutes half of the chapter title; the minor scene “Li Kui play-acting the magistrate” was also important enough to rate a capping illustration (juanshou 卷首) in the Rongyutang edition. In commemoration of Li’s heroics, Zhang Dai also wrote a play, “Qiao zuoya” 喬坐衙 (Playing the magistrate), based upon this scene. Among many other dramatic works about playacting and dramatizing the staging of the courtroom, Li Kui’s courtroom theatrics hold a special place for early modern writers and commentators. Li Kui’s staging of the court session is a mimicry, a “metonymy of presence.”19 In this substitution of presence the mimic serves to return the gaze and power of the authority in order to subvert it. By mimicking the courtroom—elements such as drum beating, plaintiffs, defendants, and verdicts—the author of Shuihu accentuates the ‘stage’ characteristics of court sessions. Li’s jungle logic, like his mimicry of the magistrate, serves as a crucial site of ‘difference’ to the juridical system and legal code. The mimic remains, always already, an incomplete 17

Rongyutang ben Shuihu zhuan, p. 1096. Huai Lin懷林, “Piping Shuihu zhuan shuyu” 批評水滸傳述語, in Shuihu zhuan ziliao huibian, pp. 184–5. On the “Huailin” prefaces to Shuihu zhuan, see: Plaks, The Four Masterworks, p. 516. 19 Bhabha, The Location of Culture, p. 89. 18

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resemblance, whose incompleteness is the boundary of difference that removes, like the mechanical reproduction of art for Benjamin, the aura of reality. The make-believe courtroom transforms the disciplinary locale from a site where legal decisions are made and enforced, and where punishments are carried out, into a place where one can question the very foundation of law to determine right and wrong, orthodoxy and heterodoxy, morality and immorality. Staging an Official Ceremony Early modern writers used staging to appropriate rituals and courtrooms to undermine their social control functions, but also staged copies of official ceremonies to call into question the authority of the central government itself. Scenario three is taken from a portion of Wang Heng’s 王衡 (1561–1609) (jinshi 1601) play “Zhen kuilei” (The real puppet).20 In this scene in which an official ceremony for receiving an imperial edict takes place, what is staged and what is real are completely blurred. Additionally significant, this social ceremony actually takes place in a theater. The play sets up and signifies by blending two markedly different social spaces: a village puppet theater where local hooligans are entertained and an authoritative space where imperial edicts are accepted. Imperial envoys arrive at the local theater in search of the retired Song Prime Minister and hermit Du Yan who is watching a flesh puppet show.21 Caught by surprise Du Yan is concerned because he is not wearing the appropriate ceremonial clothing for receiving an

20 Wang Heng, “Zhen kuilei,” in Shen Tai 沈泰, ed., Sheng Ming zaju 盛明雜劇 (1629, Songfentang 誦芬堂 edition; reprint, Taibei: Wenguang, 1963), vol. 9, juan 26. 21 Among the different kinds of puppets, the most controversial is the flesh puppet (rou kuilei 肉傀 儡). Zhou Yibai interprets flesh puppets as simply hand or glove puppets, but Sun Kaidi supports the view that they were actually child actors. Sun further hypothesizes that child actors played flesh puppets while riding on the shoulders of adults. Zhou Yibai 周貽白, Zhongguo xiqu lunji 周貽白戲曲論集 (Beijing: Zhongguo xiju, 1960), pp. 63–6; Sun Kaidi 孫楷第, Kuileixi kaoyuan 傀儡戲攷原 (Shanghai: Shangza, 1952), pp. 54–55. In “Zhen kuilei,” puppet actors are divided into two types: the ou 偶 (the puppet), who does the acting, and the shua 耍 (the joker), who takes charge of talking and singing. Although the content of “Zhen kuilei,” about Song dynasty puppet shows, supports Sun’s view that flesh puppets were humans, it does not indicate whether adults or children played the roles. Sun extends his argument by positing that flesh puppet drama eventually gave birth to formal theater. Sun, Kuileixi, pp. 52–54; William Dolby, A History of Chinese Drama (London: Elek Books Limited, 1976), pp. 33–4.

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imperial edict. Making a fateful decision, Du borrows the ‘appropriate’ costume—a prime minister’s hat and a robe—from the puppet troupe’s wardrobe. The initial edict condemns Du for his social impropriety in mixing with country bumpkins while watching a theatrical. Shortly thereafter, a second set of imperial messengers arrives with an edict praising Du for his achievements. The theater crowd shifts their attention to Du’s interaction with the envoys, which is a more pleasant scene than the puppet show (這會兒強似看戲哩).22 The two edicts trigger different responses from the crowd. Upon hearing the first edict, they loudly deny any association with Du; after hearing the second the crowd sidles up to Du proclaiming their close relationship with the former prime minister. The play ends with a verse commenting on the ambiguity of the real and the fake: “Among actors half is truthful and half is false; among the audience who are truthful and who are false” (做戲的半真半假, 看戲的誰假誰真)? The use of theatrical costumes in the ceremony of receiving the emperor’s envoy turns it into a performance taking place in a puppet theater, which foregrounds its staginess. To echo the “metonymy of presence”—highlighting the small but crucial difference between reality and theatrical—the puppet troupe’s costume Du puts on is illfitting.23 After seeing Du’s new wardrobe the crowd jocularly exclaims, “Xianggong, your clothes don’t fit and they don’t look so good.”24 However, the ill-fitting costume is the point: the costume symbolizes the staginess of the scene and is therefore crucial for accentuating the artificiality of a ceremony as a performance. The ill-fitting costume signals that this is mimicry. Like the stone lion outside the Cathedral of Avila that is held by a real iron chain, the hybridized co-existence of the real and the theatrical conveys the idea of being staged. While the chain is absurdly redundant, it is crucial in conveying the discursive idea of the lion’s captivity. The creation of meta-theater is, in a similar way, the blending of the theatrical and the real. The interlineal commentaries on the reception of the imperial edict reinforce the theatricality of the scene. It repeatedly notes the per22

Wang, “Zhen kuilei,” p. 10. The fact that Du Yan even considers borrowing a costume indicates that the costumes are for adults; however, we might also agree with Sun Kaidi that this is pure absurdity at work. All that is safe to conclude is that the ill-fitting costume is significant to the narrative, but there is not enough evidence to speculate on the historical practices surrounding flesh puppets. 24 Wang, “Zhen kuilei,” p. 10. 23

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formative nature of both the puppet theater and the reception of the emperor’s envoy. The commentator informs the reader right at the beginning of the play that unlike the usual people-played-by-puppets story that this is a play with puppets played by humans (往常間都 是傀儡裝人, 如今卻是人裝的傀儡), or, in other words, flesh puppets.25 Interlineal emphasis reinforces the importance of the play as performed by flesh puppets. The shared ritual and public quality of the political and the theatrical domains also foreshadow the climatic scenario in which the emperor’s envoys are mistaken, by the audience, as another group of puppeteers. After putting on the costume of an official, Du Yan sings self-mockingly, “I have to perform the court ritual in a puppet theater, the fake gold-embroidered red robe covers my meager appearance” (只得演朝儀在傀儡場, 假金緋胡亂遮窮相).26 The commentator underlines the overlap between the theatrical and real by writing: “This performance of puppets is both real and illusory. The more illusory it is, the more real it is. This is wonderful beyond words” (此番演傀儡, 是真是幻, 愈幻 愈真, 妙不容言).27 Wang Heng’s satire of officialdom in “Zhen Kuilei” echoes Tang Xianzu and others who expressed their ambiguous relationship to the government through yongju shi. The common message that officialdom is like theater conveys a strong sense of the ephemeral. That is, there is no reality beyond what is constituted through performance. Like those who fight all forms of authority, these ‘theater anarchists’ use the notions and methods of theater to challenge all essentialized forms of organized domination and orthodoxy. That life is theater, and hence representations of life should include self-references to theater, is a most truthful statement about perceptions by fiction writers in the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries. The perceptual dynamics leading to staging as appropriation in these three scenarios varies. In the first two scenarios staging is begun by the theatrical intention of either the performer or the spectator; the third scenario is the product of both viewers and viewed. Perceptual dynamics become a key issue in the staging of a ritual, a court scene, and a ceremony. In these scenarios that remake the ‘theatrical continuum’— the most visible domains for the unification and governance of a society

25 26 27

Ibid., p. 1. Ibid., p. 8. Ibid.

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requiring carefully policed performative codes—staging confronts surveillance, denaturalizes sites of authority, and disrupts social hierarchical control. Political and moral authorities, reason and rationalities, social order and proprieties are all challenged through rearrangement and restaging, mimicry and mockery. In Xiyou ji we will see a much wider usage of imperfect or overly-perfect imitations, comic confusions, and outrageous coincidences serving as acts of appropriation. Xiyou ji and the Early Modern Theatrical Imagination The previous chapter demonstrated the impact of an enhanced stage consciousness upon the course of late imperial chivalric literature. Likewise, we see the use of the early modern theatrical imagination in the writing and reading of Xiyou ji, a major novel in the subgenre of what Lu Xun (1881–1936) called the “fiction of gods and demons.” Like Shuihu zhuan, Xiyou ji poses an interpretive conundrum about the religious/philosophical basis of the text and of its “fantastic” or “supernatural” heroes that has fostered widely different religious and philosophical readings.28 In 1592, the publishing house Shidetang produced the earliest complete edition of Xiyou ji, which is often attributed to Wu Cheng’en 吳承恩 (ca. 1500–ca. 1582). Throughout the seventeenth century the published text was read, revised, and commented on at the same time Shuihu underwent a similar process of tailoring. The texts and commentaries of Xiyou ji are closely linked to the early modern theatrical imagination. Wang Qi 汪淇 (fl. 1600–1668), poet, writer, and editor and commentator of an important version of Xiyou ji, Juanxiang guben Xiyou zhengdao shu 鐫像古本西遊證道書 (Illustrated, ancient edition of the Way to enlightenment through the Xiyou ji, 1663), is particularly keen to guide the reading of the theatricals in the text while consciously using many theater-related vocabulary.29 In

28 Lu Xun coined the term shenmo xiaoshuo 神魔小說 (supernatural/fantastic novel). The term, although a modern concoction, is a valid description of a popular theme begun in Xiyou ji. The success of Xiyou produced many fictional imitations. For imitations of Xiyou ji by famed publishers of the Wanli period such as Deng Zhimo 鄧志謨 (b. ca. 1560) and Yu Xiangdou 余象斗 (ca. 1560–ca. 1637), see: Chen Dakang 陳大康, Mingdai xiaoshuo shi 明代小說史 (Shanghai: Shanghai wenyi, 2000), pp. 415–26. 29 All quotations from Wang Qi 汪淇 and Huang Zhouxing 黃周星, the commentators of Xiyou zhengdao shu, can be found in Xiyou zhengdao shu 西遊證道書 (Beijing:

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writing and reading theatricals in the narrative, both the author and Wang Qi deliberately blur the boundaries between the virtual world of theater and the actual world, anesthetize the idea of ‘play,’ and reveal identity as artificial, performative, and relational. As a result, Xiyou ji defies the social hierarchy of the demon and the deity, the sacred and profane, putting both under a constant process of identity formation and presentation. The confusion over identities in Xiyou highlights how it is mainly a construction of performative codes and perceptual dynamics. Early modern writers argue that life is theater-like, open to playacting, role-shifting, and masquerading, which all become ways to reflect upon the interconnection among the illusory, the real, and the theatrical as in yongju shi, metatheatrical plays, Shuihu zhuan, and here again, Xiyou ji. Theatricalism and Religious Interpretations The Xiyou ji narrative invites widely different readings in terms of the Three Teachings (sanjiao 三教): Confucianism, Buddhism, and Daoism. For decades scholars have posed and counter-posed questions about the Buddhist, Daoist, or Confucianist nature of the Xiyou characters, their actions, and the larger journey. Andrew Plaks interprets the journey as a Neo-Confucian allegory for an internal pilgrimage of the mind; Anthony Yu, Francisca Bantly, and Li Qiancheng all focus on the Buddhist nature of the journey;30 and Shao Ping suggests Xiyou is best understood from a Daoist perspective. 31

Zhonghua shuju, 1993), which is a reprint of Juanxiang guben Xiyou zhengdao shu 鐫像古本西遊證道書 (1663). 30 On Buddhist ideas in Xiyou ji, such as the admonition to singlemindedness, see: Anthony Yu, “Religion and Literature in China: The ‘Obscure Way’ of The Journey to the West,” in Tu Ching-I, ed., Tradition and Creativity: Essays on East Asian Civilization (New Brunswick: East Asian Studies, Rutgers University, 1987), pp. 109–46; Francisca Bantly, “Buddhist Allegory in the Journey to the West,” Journal of Asian Studies 48.3 (1989): 512–524. Li Qiancheng sees an awareness of the intrinsic relationship between truth and illusion and of the nature of knowledge in Xiyou ji as references to some of the basic Mahāyāna tenets. Li Qiancheng, Fictions of Enlightenment: Journey to the West, Tower of Myriad Mirrors, and Dream of the Red Chamber (Honolulu: University of Hawai‘i Press, 2004), pp. 2–3. For the impact of Buddhism on the genre and structure of the Chinese novel, see: Li, Fictions of Enlightenment, pp. 21–48. 31 Shao Ping, “Monkey and Chinese Scriptural Tradition: A Rereading of the Novel Xiyou ji” (Ph.D. diss., Washington University in St. Louis, 1997). In Shao Ping’s reading, however, Monkey embodies a unified Daoist vision.

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These previous interpretations of Xiyou try to solve two particular problems. First, battles between the pilgrims and demons, sent by deities to test the pilgrims’ resolve, are entirely artificial. That is, the pilgrims’ conquest of the demons is ultimately meaningless because the text consistently refers to the demons as merely a litmus test for the pilgrims rather than a true confrontation. Second, the text confounds its readers because the overarching theme of emptiness appears to render the journey futile.32 This futility, in turn, leads to an apparent stasis in the development of Xiyou characters. Momentarily setting aside the above conundrums, let us examine the two paradoxes that Campany points out in the Xiyou version of demonology. The first is the conflict between “the narrative realism with which the demons are portrayed in the novel and the frequent explicit statement that demons are nothing more than illusory fabrications of a confused mind.” The second paradox, for Campany, lies in the complexity and mutual dependence in the relationships between the demons and pilgrims.33 The difference between these two types of characters, as Campany sees it, is centered on the demons’ bloated selfhood leading to the incorrect path of self-cultivation. While Campany makes some excellent points, his attempt to differentiate between character types overlooks the theatrical nature of the Xiyou text and its emphasis on the playacting and staging of character types, which effectively blurs the boundaries between demon and deity. The analytical problems posed by the Xiyou ji text highlight the close relationship between theatricality and religion, especially Buddhism. On the one hand, Buddhism heavily influenced the aestheticization of ‘play’ thereby entangling theatricals with the religion. As Anthony Yu comments on Xiyou ji, “it is undoubtedly Buddhism that offers the most obvious example of how jest and facetiousness can cohabit the

32

Andrew Plaks, noting the lack of spiritual development by the pilgrims and their doubts over the necessity of the journey, proposes reading the journey as a “pilgrimage of the mind” (The Four Masterworks of the Ming Novel [Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1987], p. 243). Bantley cites Plaks’s textual evidence and offers an alternative Buddhist reading: she finds Plaks’s proof to be supportive of the Buddhist concept of skillful means. Bantly also follows Anthony Yu’s argument by understanding the journey as a pilgrimage of karmic retribution and points out that the pilgrims’ struggles with demons are “expiatory for their sins in their past” (“Buddhist Allegory,” p. 518). Notably, all of the above readings attempt to explain the apparent futility of the journey. 33 Rob Campany, “Demons, Gods, and Pilgrims: The Demonology of Hsi-yu Chi,” CLEAR 7 (1985): 95–115, pp. 108–9.

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truth. Particularly in the enigmatic behavior and utterance of the Zen masters, the ridiculous, the farcical, the non sequitur, and even the slapstick, may function as inducement to awakening.”34 Linking the popular discourse of theatricality with Buddhism, the late Ming literatus Tu Long 屠隆 (1542–1605) elevated the staging of theatricals to an ultimate method of Buddhist enlightenment because it exposed the artificiality of life.35 The Buddhist theme of emptiness, in a way, also serves as an excellent ‘empty space’ and hence ‘bare stage,’ upon which the theater of identity making and performing takes place and where the demons, the pilgrims, and the Buddha are merely staged creations. On the other hand, theatricality shares with religious synthetism an infidelity to a single religiously-informed interpretive viewpoint. Theatrical vocabulary is invoked, in response to the increasing sense of porous identities in the late Ming, to explain the religious syntheses of the time. In the prologue comments for a story in Xihu erji 西湖二集 (The second collection of West Lake stories, 1640s), for example, the omnipotent narrator states that the Confucian, Buddhist, and Daoist only differ in their costumes: In a word about the saints of the three religions: when the scholar’s clothes and hat are worn, that is Confucius; a shaved head and the monk’s robe becomes Sakyamuni Buddha; topping a Daoist hat becomes Lord Laozi. 總之三教聖人﹕戴了儒衣儒冠﹐便是孔子﹔削髮披緇﹐便是釋迦牟 尼佛﹔頂個道冠兒﹐便是太上老君. 36

Trying to force a single religiously informed interpretive framework on Xiyou ji jeopardizes a fuller understanding of its theatricality. The underlying theme of the Xiyou text, I argue, is the lack of a clear cosmic order as the outcome of constantly staged theatricals. If there were a clear distinction between demon and deity, then the three pilgrims’ ‘progress’ from demon to deity would overcome the appearance of stasis. If the demon conquests were less obviously staged, the necessity for and purpose of the journey would be clearer. The debates among pre-existing scholarly interpretations of Xiyou ji lead us to the conclusion that the novel is a complex narrative beholden to no single religious or philosophical reading. Rather, it is a novel rife 34 35 36

Yu, “Religion and Literature in China,” p. 136. Wu, ed., Zhongguo gudai xiqu xuba ji, p. 102. Zhou Ji 周楫, Xihu erji 西湖二集 (1600s; reprint, Nanjing: Jiangsu guji, 1994), p. 99.

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with playful theatricals. Some scenes and messages can be related to the Three Teachings, but most of the novel is distinctively theatrical. Situated within the early modern theatrical imagination, the ‘staginess’ of the demon conquests, problematic for modern Xiyou scholars, makes ‘sense’ in the context of an exploration of the real and illusory. As I have shown in my discussion of metatheater in “Kuang gushi,” early modern Chinese writers sought to make meanings by exploring the artificiality of theater and highlighting its staginess. Once again, we see that the writer(s) and commentators of Xiyou ji used theatrical vocabulary and conventions in order to question the hard boundaries between real and unreal, demons and deities, higher and lower. Theatricalizing the Journey Like the journey in Shuihu zhuan that offers a locale for the theatricalization of heroism, the journey in Xiyou ji exemplifies the textualization of a highly theatrical and intensely watched imaginary world. The road on the journey is transformed into theatrical spaces through a performer’s appropriation of the path or through a viewer’s gaze framing it as a space. Both performers and viewers can initiate the transformation of the road into a theatrical space. Such figures therefore serve as ‘stage-setting characters’ sharing theatrical intentions like Judge Cha in “Kuang gushi.” The stage-setting characters come from different strata in the cosmic order. Masquerading demons use different roles to test whether their disguises will fool the pilgrims; Guanyin stages threats or temptations to test the resolution of the pilgrims. Among the pilgrims, Monkey is also the major performer and stage manager. Combined with the variety of his cast members and his own ability to metamorphize and split his self, he easily ‘theatricalizes’ the road on the journey. The staged spectacles in Xiyou ji are facilitated by the ready availability of a crowd. The supernatural elements in Xiyou ji allow an even more active viewing group than in Shuihu zhuan. Major demons and deities all have the ability to split their selves and thereby can serve as both participants and spectators of a performance, “The little ones” (xiaode men 小的們) or lesser demons (xiaoyao 小妖) and local deities (tudi 土地) often serve as the faceless crowd in the making of theater. Xiyou ji is built upon episodes involving various kinds of theatrical activities. Spectacles similar to ‘raising a ruckus’ (nao 鬧) in Shuihu

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zhuan are also common in Xiyou ji; the most famous of the nao scenes is, of course, Monkey raising a ruckus in heaven.37 Like chapter titles in Shuihu zhuan, ‘raising a ruckus’ is also featured in Xiyou titles for chapters 17, 25, 52, 63, and 89. In addition to ‘raising a ruckus,’ testing (shi 試), playing jokes (xi 戲), and competing (bi 比) are three recurrent and interrelated theatrical practices on the road to the West characterized by a highlighted process of staging. Each of these three practices are interrelated because all occasion imitations, impersonations, and masquerades, which are by nature theatricals constituted of performing and spectatorship. Deities create many demons to ‘test’ the resolve of the pilgrims. Chapter 23, “The Four Sages Test the Priestly Mind” provides a good example of this type of spectacle. Led by the Bodhisattva, four female deities lay a trap for the pilgrims by transforming themselves into beautiful women—a mother and three daughters—who live in a palatial mansion. Since the mother is widowed, the four women are seeking husbands who will be able to take care of the property and household. Sure enough, Pig, who is renowned for his salacity, falls into their trap. The following day, the pilgrims discover that the mansion has disappeared and they are bedded down in a pine forest. Instead of finding a beautiful wife, Pig finds himself bound with ropes. Wang Qi’s chapter commentary guides the reading of this episode by telling us that this is a particular form of staging (banyan 搬演) by the Bodhisattva,38 in which Pig serves as the jing or chou role (wei xichang jing chou 為戲場淨丑).39 Wang’s particular word choice is not simply a use of other theater vocabulary, but designed to highlight the staginess of testing: shi presupposes a stage setting and the potential for viewing and evaluating by the testers. In this scenario, the four deities disguised as beautiful women are both actors and directors of the theatrical who also watch the results of their impersonation. The noble halls, buildings, carved beams, and gilded pillars of the mansion were mere stage props that disappear with the dawn.

Tao Junqi 陶君起, Jingju jumu chutan 京剧剧目初探, excerpts in Xiyou ji ziliao huibian, pp. 461–7. 38 Xiyou zhengdao shu, p. 197. 39 Ibid., p. 196. According to Wang Qi the real intention of this chapter is not simply to use Pig in the jing or chou roles, but to liken him to those who are not far in the Way and are tempted by their desires (非真以木母為戲場淨丑﹐亦不過借以 況夫入道未深﹐見欲心亂者耳). 37

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In Xiyou ji, the theatrical structuring of ‘playing a joke’ (xi) follows the same pattern as testing. Crucial to the making of ‘tricks’ (xi) is the assumption of a different identity designed to the test whether the metamorphosis will be recognized. For example, in Chapter 27, “The Cadaver Demon Thrice Tricks Tang Sanzang; the Holy Monk Angrily Banishes the Handsome Monkey King” (尸魔三戲唐長老、圣僧恨逐 美猴王),40 the Cadaver Demon declares her intention to ‘play a trick’ on Tripitaka at the beginning of the scene; she then transformations herself from a beautiful maid into an old lady and finally into an old man. Her statement of theatrical intention reminds us of stagesetting characters in late imperial theater. A similar pattern of tricking, assuming transformations to test the effectiveness of the masquerade, also appears in Chapter 40 in which the Red Boy carries out his intention to “go down and trick [the pilgrims] a little” (xiaqu xi ta yi xi 下去戲他一戲).41 Competition (bi) is another activity involving the pilgrims with monsters and deities in Xiyou ji. Chapters 45 and 46 serve as good examples of the theatricality of competition. The pilgrims pass the Cart Slow Kingdom where three monsters masquerading as Daoists took control of the king through their ability to perform effective rainmaking rituals. When the pilgrims challenge the authority of the masquerading demons, a rainmaking competition is held. An alter is built as a viewing stand for the king and his officials. Both the demon/ Daoists and the pilgrims each perform a rainmaking ritual. Wang Qi further accentuates the “theatrical arrangement” (zhuangdian 妝點) of the altar in his interlineal commentary by asking the rhetorical question, “Isn’t it fun to watch?” (ke haokan fou 可好看否).42 After the three demon-Daoists lose the rainmaking competition, other contests are held including a meditation contest and a game of “guessing what’s behind the boards.” The theater-minded Wang Qi compares meditation to “jugglery” (cuobaxi 撮把戲) because of its specific setting.43 Fifty tables are stacked on top of each other to form two meditation alters. The two contestants each occupy one altar and meditate. Surrounding viewers watch the contestants and judge them.

40 I have altered the translation of this chapter title to convey the meaning of xi as “tricks” rather than “making fun.” 41 Ch. 40, p. 531. 42 Xiyou zhengdao shu, p. 375, p. 378. 43 Ibid., p. 381.

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The scene is a hilarious parody of the practice of meditation. In a way, the altars are like an exaggerated version of the raised stage, and the religious action of meditation, visually similar to acrobatics, is given new meaning in the context of competition. The theatricals involved in the game “guessing what’s behind the boards” provide an excellent opportunity to discuss the fluidity of the Three Teachings, a fluidity that is shown through the simple changing of costumes. This scene actualizes the comment in Xihu erji earlier that Confucians, Buddhists, and Daoists only differ in their dress. The demon-Daoists lose the first two rounds of guessing to Monkey because he twice manages to transform the inanimate object behind the boards. For the third round, the demon-Daoists request the King to put an animate object, assuming Monkey will not be able to play the trick on a living thing, behind the boards; the King agreed and positioned a Daoist youth there. Monkey, again, changes into a molecricket and enters the box effortlessly. He metamorphizes into an old Daoist to gain authority over the youth. Monkey shaves the youth’s hair with a golden-hoop-rod-turned-razor, forces him to don the outfit of a monk, and equips him with the necessary ‘props’ to act like a monk—a wooden fish and a striker. The box, in a way, becomes the backstage of the theatrical scene. “Disciple,” said Pilgrim, as he handed over the fish and the tap to the lad, “you must listen carefully. If you hear someone call for a Daoist youth, don’t even leave this chest. If someone calls ‘Monk,’ then you may push open the chest door strike up the wooden fish, and walk out chanting a Buddhist sutra.”44

And such is the outcome of Monkey’s staging directions after the pilgrims announce there is a monk in the chest. All at once the youth kicked open the chest and walked out, striking the wooden fish and chanting the name of Buddha. So delighted were the two rows of civil and military officials that they shouted bravos repeatedly.45

A ‘staged’ identity is equally effective as an original identity because of its metonymous function and its ability to accentuate the most crucial parts of identity construction. In other words, Monkey sees the difference between Daoism and Buddhism as artificial, superficial, and fluid,

44 45

Ch. 46, p. 617, 2: 342. Ibid., 2: 343.

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and theatricalizes the monk-identity by emphasizing how the spectators—rows of civil and military officials in this case—imagine what a monk should look like and presenting what people expect. Images and spectacles completely take over reality. Unexpected theatricals also constitute an important element of the humor in Xiyou ji. The playful performances along the journey can be disruptive: because the constant theatricals turn the pilgrims’ journey into a series of staged events, their spiritual transformation remains incomplete. Tests, games, and competitions along the journey attract the readers’ attention to what is staged and who is staging, making the journey a time when relativity and theatricality rule and where all appearances and identities are illusory and unstable. Now, returning to the question of a single religiously-inspired framework for understanding the text, I will show how the instability of identities produced by theatricals in Xiyou ji renders a clear hierarchical cosmic order a semantic impossibility. Restaging, Repeatability, and Cosmic Order Since the journey is theatricalized through the constant creation of perceptual dynamics, staging in Xiyou ji appropriates the cosmic hierarchy of deities over demons through mimicry. Mimicry signifies the ‘surface’ and artificiality of identity and shows how it can be playacted. To imitate is not simply to reproduce an exact image; mimicry represents the imitator’s understanding, potential staging, and appropriation of the mimicked subject. In Xiyou ji, an orderly cosmic hierarchy is a semantic impossibility because it is undermined by constant mimicry and masquerades. Two opposing sets of identities, deities and demons, in the normative cosmic order are often presented as interchangeable in the narrative. The Suzhou literati playwright and poet Yuan Yuling 袁于令 (1599– 1674), who wrote the preface to the Rongyutang edition of Xiyou ji, points out the closeness between monsters and Buddhas. “Monsters are none others but ourselves. We transform into Buddhas, but before that we are all monsters. Monsters and Buddhas are equal in strength and close in position. The difference between them is as narrow as a thread of silk or a hair” (魔非他，即我也，我化为佛，未佛皆魔，魔 与佛力齐而位逼，丝发之微).46 In Xiyou ji, demons are very filial and 46

Li Zhuowu pingben Xiyou ji, “Preface.”

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respectful to their seniors, one of the main Confucian virtues, even offering their own share of Tripitaka’s flesh to their elders. They can also have a strong urge towards self-cultivation, such as the Black Bear Spirit. On the other hand, deities engage in practices of the lesser creatures. Like Greek and Roman gods, Xiyou deities lose their temper easily, make bets, and perform masquerades. What makes the cosmic order in Xiyou ji especially fluid is the frequency with which celestial beings descend into the categories of demons, such as the Black Rooster Demon King, who was originally Manjusri’s green-haired lion.47 Restaging highlights repetition and difference, and consequent confusion, among characters from all strata of the cosmic order. Performances in Xiyou ji are markedly “twice-behaved behavior.”48 One of Wang Qi’s goals in his commentary on Xiyou ji is to point out these types of ‘re-staged’ situations. Commenting on the false Monkey in Chapter 57, Wang lists some other imitations, “[b]efore this there was the imitation of Guanyin by the Red Boy, and after this there is the imitation of Tathāgata by the Yellow Brows” (前此復有紅孩兒之假觀 音, 後此復有黃眉之假佛祖).49 In the chapter commentary for Chapter 27 Wang Qi draws an analogy between the trick played by the four female deities as a way to test the pilgrims’ resolution with a trick by the monster (前者既有四圣之試，而至此复有尸魔之戲).50 Wang Qi notes that the four female deities are just the beginning of a series of female monsters along the journey.51 The ‘re-staged’ situations can be viewed as one form of repetition theorized in late imperial interlineal commentaries, ‘partial repetition’ (lüefan 略犯). Partial repetition as a narrative technique is encouraged. Jin Shengtan 金聖嘆 (1610–1661), for example, coins the term te fan bu fan (特犯不犯), literally “purposeful repetition that is not a repetition.” Mimicry poses the question of the difference between the virtual and the actual indicating Xiyou ji’s participation in the conflation of the theatrical and the real. In the interlineal commentary for Chapter 41, Wang Qi again mentions several similar theatricals by masquerading

47 Chapters 37–39. For a more comprehensive list of this kind of demon, see: Campany, “Demons, Gods, and Pilgrims,” p. 99n10. Liu Yinbo also observes the sameness of deity and monsters in that monsters are fallen deities. Liu Yinbo 劉蔭柏, Xiyou ji fawei 西遊記發微 (Taibei: Wenjin, 1995), pp. 180–1. 48 Richard Schechner, “Collective Reflexivity: Restoration of Behavior,” in Jay Ruby, ed., A Crack in the Mirror: Reflexive Perspectives in Anthropology (Philadelphia: University of Pennsylvania Press, 1982), pp. 39–81. 49 Xiyou zhengdao shu, p. 473. 50 Ibid., p. 228. 51 Ibid., pp. 196–7.

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demons or deities. “Previously the Bodhisattva changes into a demon at the Black Wind Mountain, this time the demon changes into Bodhisattva at the Fire Cloud Cave. We do not know who is real and who is illusory” (向日黑風山菩薩變妖精, 此日火雲洞妖精變菩薩, 未知孰真孰幻).52 The indeterminability and ambiguity of the real and the illusory reflects a popular rhetorical device in the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries. In this case, because both the Bodhisattvaturned-monster and monster-turned-Bodhisattva are equally illusory figures all clarity in the cosmic order is clouded. In Xiyou ji ‘originals’ are frequently copied thus altering the original by underscoring its repeatability. To illustrate, I will discuss three examples: Monkey directs Guanyin to masquerade as a monster, Red Boy imitates Guanyin, and the fiend at the Little Thunderclap Temple imitates Tathāgata. In each example, I examine how imitation deconstructs the authority of deities by dissembling authorized icons. These examples are particularly important because Bodhisattva and Tathāgata are the two most authoritative deities and frequent mediators of demon conquests. It is the most active staging manager, Monkey, who involves the Bodhisattva in masquerading. In Chapter 17, after failing to conquer the Bear Monster at Black Wind Mountain, Monkey asks Guanyin to play the role of the monster’s demon friend in order to trick him. The Bodhisattva, unable to think of a better plan, agrees to the masquerade, which gives Monkey great satisfaction. Monkey’s pleasure in staging is not unfamiliar to us: Judge Cha in “Kuang gushi” also describes his pleasures in staging a show in his underworld court. What makes Monkey most happy is, however, the inclusion of the Bodhisattva in his cast of actors thereby expanding his usual troupe. By having one of the most authoritative deities mimic a demon, Monkey shows his signature theatrical style by overturning the hierarchical cosmic order. The Bodhisattva is a great mimic, we are told, because she has an “infinite capacity for transformation” (yiwan huashen 億萬化身), which means that she can easily masquerade as a demon. A verse describes the transformed Bodhisattva as having “no demonic self,” but Monkey teases “Is the monster the Bodhisattva, or is the Bodhisattva the monster?” 53 Guanyin’s answer defines a most important condition

52 53

Xiyou zhengdao shu, p. 341. Ch. 17, p. 225, 1: 363.

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in the playful world of devil-conquest, the fluidity of identity. “[T]he Bodhisattva, and the monster—they all exist in a single thought, for originally they are void of self” (菩薩，妖精，總是一念﹔若論 本來，皆屬無有). If the Bodhisattva can be disguised as a monster, a monster can be disguised as a Bodhisattva. After seeing Pig heading south and guessing, rightly, that he is seeking the Bodhisattva, the Red Boy Monster assumes the Bodhisattva’s form to lie await for Pig on the road. Pig, unable to tell the fake from the real, is tricked and captured.54 This incident serves as a partial repetition (lüefan) of Guanyin’s masquerade as a demon. As such, this partial repetition reflects back upon and demands a reconsideration of previous episodes. First, the partial repetition reminds the readers of Bodhisattva’s earlier masquerade to trick the Bear Monster. Second, the Red Boy Monster takes advantage of the convention of the demon conquest in Xiyou ji—deities are enlisted in conquering demons—by performing as one. Red Boy Monster’s imitation of Bodhisattva is superb and only perceivable to Monkey’s special eyes. The Red Boy Monster’s second imitation occurs in the next chapter, entitled “Guanyin with Compassion Binds the Red Boy,” in which he mimics Guanyin in her own presence. After being defeated by Red Boy in a fight, Monkey seeks out Guanyin for help. The Bodhisattva decides to trick Red Boy by faking defeat and leaving her lotus platform for him to find. As Guanyin expects, the victorious Red Boy Monster takes a seat on the lotus platform, which then magically transforms into pointed swords. This incident seems like déjà vu: earlier Monkey had put on a flower cap inlaid with gold, which then turned into a tightly-binding gold fillet. Tripitaka can recite a charm to tighten the fillet if Monkey disobeys him. The cap is in fact a gift from Guanyin to ensure Monkey’s obedience. The importance of this scene is the transformation of an iconic symbol into a stage. When Guanyin is separated from her platform, her Bodhisattva’s platform becomes, symbolically, a ready stage for an impersonator. When the Red Boy Monster sits on the lotus platform he imitates the Bodhisattva with hands and legs folded. His imitation is closely watched by spectators. At the request of the Bodhisattva,

54

Ch. 41, p. 551, 2: 260.

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“let’s see what he will do,” the invisible Pilgrim, Moksa, and Guanyin all gaze down at the Red Boy. Following these model viewers, readers are also encouraged to watch the potential acting of the Red Boy. With the lotus platform as his ‘stage,’ the Red Boy imitates the well-accepted icon of Guanyin. Although it is Guanyin who stages the conquest scene, Red Boy Monster’s performance is out of director Guanyin’s control. The lotus platform under the Red Boy Monster continues to bloom flowers and leaves (huacai 花彩) and auspicious luminosity (xiangguang 祥光), a symbol of godliness. In drawing the reader’s eyes to the impersonation of the Red Boy, the author parodies the veneration paid to Buddhist icons by having Monkey claim that Red Boy’s impersonation thus produces a ‘better’ image of ‘Guanyin’ than the real deity. The lotus platform befits the Red Boy better than Bodhisattva because the Red Boy is smaller.55 The ‘befitting’ challenges the authority of the Bodhisattva to sit on the lotus platform because she does not fit it as well as Red Boy. The actual Bodhisattva is removed, literally, from her dais. The mimicry is superb because it is built upon the fusion of the real lotus platform and the virtual and imitated gesture. The key to defeating the Red Boy Monster is to destroy the real lotus platform, which transforms from a treasure into a trap. Just before this transformation, Guanyin orders Monkey, and the readers, to watch the dharma power. Guanyin uses her superior power to disperse the flowers, leaves, and auspicious luminosity from the lotus platform. With the stage destroyed, Red Boy Monster’s impersonation falls apart. Although the masquerader is usually unmasked in Xiyou ji, the author devotes significant attention to describing the striking similarities between the original and the copy. To suit audience expectations, the masquerader re-creates, or re-stages, the distinguishing features of the original, but over-emphasizes them thus parodying and deconstructing the aura of authenticity and authority of the original. For example, the Yellow Brows Demon imitates the Thunderclap Temple of Tathāgata and creates the Small Thunderclap by reproducing the sense of spectacles in the great hall of Tathāgata. In addition to the perceptive Monkey, even the less perceptive pilgrims are awed by the superb spectacles they see:

55

Ch. 42, pp. 566–7; 2: 278.

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Outside the great hall door and beneath the treasure throne stood in rows the five hundred arhats, the three thousand guardians of the faith, the Four Diamond Kings, the mendicant nuns, and the upāsakas, along with countless sage monks and works. Truly, there were also glamorous fragrant flowers and auspicious rays in abundance.56

So much narrative time is spent describing the indistinguishability of the imitation from the real that only by grasping the pattern of demon conquests can readers understand that the Small Thunderclap is simply a stage arrangement. The imitation deprives the original of the aura of authenticity by producing a key element upon which the authority of the Tathāgata figure is built. Like the displacement of the lotus platform and restaging of Guanyin by the Red Boy, the Yellow Brows Demon’s mimicry casts doubt upon the habitual and stereotypical appearance of Guanyin and Tathāgata. The Buddhist attention to religious images makes the decoding of such an image especially iconoclastic. Monkey the Bogus Immortal Monkey serves as an intermediate figure in the cosmic hierarchy of demons and deities because of his identity as a ‘bogus immortal’ (yaoxian 妖仙).57 His ‘staging’ activities include parodied rituals and demon conquests, but also his consciously put-on multiple ‘selves.’ Monkey’s staging of different identities best represents the blurred boundaries between monsters and deities. On the journey to the west one is impressed not just by the number of monsters, but by Monkey’s willingness to metamorphose into and to playact so many of them. Monkey is a playful individual who is fascinated with exhibiting his hybridized identities. While assuming masquerades, or metamorphosing constantly, his character is ‘static’ in the sense that he displays no signs of development towards saintlihood. Monkey’s identity is best understood as hybridity in theatrical mode.58 The saintly journey requires that Monkey perform different

56

Ch. 65, p. 873, 2: 242. Ch. 4, p. 46, 2: 210. 58 I am influenced by John Jervis’s analysis of Homi Bhabha’s concept of mimicry as “hybridity in theatrical mode.” John Jervis, Transgressing the Modern: Exploration in the Western Experience of Otherness (Oxford: Blackwell Publishers Ltd, 1999), p. 197. 57

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roles using his partial selves during his encounters with monsters. His demonic self renders him a perfect performer in his favorite game of impersonating monsters. The co-existence and juggling of different identities creates a restless character. He has multiple masks and plays with different portions of his identities. His interaction with other crew members, demons or gods, becomes a manifestation of his acting-out of different identities. Monkey fully utilizes the fluidity of the cosmic order and stages his different identities thus proving the artifice of categories like demons and deities. Monkey is presented as understanding the artificiality of identity performance. Monkey’s “learned” behavior includes that of the human being and the monsters. For example, as the verse narrator comments, “Learning to be manlike since hatching from an egg that year/He set his aim to cultivate his conduct and achieve the Way” (當年卵化學 為人，立志修行果道真).59 In Chapter 20, Monkey explains that the reason for his sharp perception of monsters is that he learned to be a monster in his youth.60 Because he has learned so many identities, Monkey is capable of shifting easily among them. In Chapter 28 Monkey is driven away by Tripitaka, which leads Wang Qi to comment on the fine boundary between monsterhood and the Way, “The Way and Monsterhood cannot co-exist. The exit from the Way marks the entrance into the Monsterhood” (道与魔不两立，出乎道即入乎魔): When the Heart Monkey was living in the Flower-Fruit Mountain and Water-Curtain Cave he was obviously a demon. Fortunately, when he sought the righteous way with Tripitaka, his body and mind became one, and thereupon he changed from the demon to achieve the Way. . . . When he kills hunters and resumes his previous name, he is again obviously a demon. 彼心猿当日之在花果山水帘洞，固居然一魔耳.幸而歸正三藏，身心 合而為一，然後化魔而成道. . . .既殺獵人，復舊號,則又居然一魔耳。61

Wang highlights the easy changes between Monkey’s two opposing identities. Although his comments valorize the Way over monsterhood, he does point out Monkey’s facile juggling of his two selves. Monkey is conscious of the different ‘costumes’ used to perform his identities. When his ambition leads to the pursuit of immortality,

59 60 61

Ch. 7, p. 86, 1: 174. Translation modified to highlight “learning.” Ch. 20, p. 256, 1: 400. Xiyou zhengdao shu, p. 236.

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Monkey dons the clothes of a poor runner and learns human behavior and speech in the marketplace before he starts his journey.62 His outfit as a pilgrim is, incongruously, a tigerskin kilt. The significance of Monkey’s ‘clothing’ is that it serves as the starting point for him to assume the performative codes of a pilgrim. When Tripitaka drives him away in Chapter 31 and then calls him to return to the pilgrimage crew, Monkey has to take off his devil clothes, wash off his devil stink, and put on an embroidered tunic and tie on his tiger skin kilt.63 The fact that the devil smell can be washed away suggests the impermanence of Monkey’s personae. Monkey’s participation in the saintly journey does not change the perception of his monster-self. In his lengthy self-introduction at the beginning of his encounters with the Bear Spirit he exclaims, “Go and ask in the four corners of the universe: You’ll learn I’m the famous ranking daemon [sic] of all times.”64 The narrator also refers to both Monkey and the Bear Spirit as devil spirits.65 Furthermore, despite his commitment to a saintly journey, Monkey likes to masquerade as monsters. By playacting monsters Monkey acts out his demon identity. Perhaps the character who imitates Monkey ranks as the most uncanny copy among all the characters in Xiyou ji. The imposter, a sixeared macaque, is able to imitate Monkey to such a degree that even Tathāgata’s authoritative judgment proves incapable of distinguishing between the two, who have “the same appearance and the same voice.”66 The two Monkeys’ remarkable similarity constitutes a spectacle for a crowd of deities who gather for a lecture by Tathāgata: At that time the Four Great Bodhisattvas, the Eight Great Diamond Kings, the five hundred arhats, the three thousand guardians of the faith, the mendicant nuns and the mendicant monks, the upāsakās and the upāsikās—all this holy multitude was gathered beneath the lotus seat of

62

Ch. 1, p. 9, 1: 75. For a different reading of Monkey’s costuming in human clothes, see: Zhou Zuyan, “Carnivalization in The Journey to the West: Cultural Dialogism in Fictional Festivity,” CLEAR 16 (1993): pp. 69–93, p. 80. Zhou also argues that human clothes serve as the ‘costume,’ but he goes on to state that the costume “betokens the human status [Monkey] has reached” and “costume and masquerade systematically register Monkey’s shifting identities” from an animal to human to immortal. For Zhou, costuming does not cast doubt upon, but affirms the identity that the costume represents. 63 Ch. 31, p. 403, 2: 84. 64 Ch. 17, p. 218, 1: 352. 65 Ibid. 66 Ch. 58, p. 775, 3: 131.

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chapter four seven jewels to listen to a lecture by Tathāgata. . . . Then he said to the congregation: “You are all of one mind, but take a look at two Minds in conflict arriving here.” When the congregation looked up, there were indeed two Pilgrims locked in a clamorous battle as they approached the noble region of Thunderclap. . . .

As usual, the demons in disguise constitute a crucial element in the paradigm of the demon conquest and they will be eventually conquered; otherwise the message is too dangerous even in a fictional work. However, the narrative time spent on the failure of perceiving who is real and who is impersonating poses a question frequently asked in the sixteenth and seventeenth century: Can we really distinguish real life from the theater? Is the copy a mere alternative restaging? The impostor is not simply an imitator but Monkey’s alternate self—the surfacing of his monster identity. The uncanny double brings to light an already hybridized self so that mimicry is as real as the ‘original.’ The congregation of viewers therefore sees the similarity of a suspicious original and a vivid copy. Conclusion The accentuation of staging remodels and transforms a ritual, a trial, and an official ceremony into theater through which authority is mimicked and parodied. Staging as ‘acts of appropriation’ also deconstructs the pilgrims’ progress and the cosmic order in Xiyou ji. By constantly exhibiting the artificiality and staginess of a theatricalized journey, Xiyou ji challenges any indication of the fixity of roles and moral attributes. Cosmic and moral orders are therefore destabilized: the journey is constituted of various ‘stage arrangements’ that can be rearranged and restaged, in which political and moral authorities are vulnerable to mimicry, parody, and mockery, and even role reversals. As quoted in the epigraph, Wang Qi’s Zhengdao shu commentary is a specific reading of the Xiyou characters through theatrical role types. Wang’s commentary is yet another example of how theatrum mundi influenced fiction-reading habits. More importantly, Wang soon subverts this categorization by pointing out another way to typecast the characters. Through the addition of an alternative method of categorizing Wang exposes the artificiality and flexibilities of roles, persons, and identities in theater and the fictional world. Indeed it is the ‘not entirely impossible’ (weichang buke 未嘗不可) that renders the stag-

staging, mimicry, and acts of appropriation

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ing of theatricals in Xiyou ji intriguing: the mimicry and imposture of demons-by-deities and deities-by-demons on the journey to the West transforms the road into a stage upon which the order of the cosmos is parodied and ultimately challenged. The characters’ ability to become more perfect copies than the original makes the existence of a real hierarchical order among demons and deities, the sacred and the profane, impossible because the audience, both as characters and readers, cannot distinguish between the real and illusory. Although the consubstantiality of demons and other beings can be traced to Buddhist and Daoist texts,67 Xiyou ji narrates the interdependence and, in fact, interchangeability of demons and deities by resorting to theatricality. Once again we see that early modern Chinese writers and commentators used theatrical vocabulary and conventions in the writing and commenting on fiction in order to question the hard boundaries between real and unreal, demons and deities, higher and lower. The journeys in both Shuihu zhuan and Xiyou ji are constituted of theatrical spaces; however, the viewing/viewed relationship in Shuihu leads to bonding between the performers of heroism and its connoisseurs while in Xiyou ji they lead to more masquerades and competitions, more theater of mimicry, and more acts of appropriation. If Shuihu zhuan illustrates the theatrical orientation in the xi configuration, Xiyou ji heavily leans upon the ‘playful’ aspect. In the next chapter, we will examine what is viewed by looking at a popular style of acting that further conflates the theatrical and the real and freely juggles different identities and theatrical roles, but which is deemed a method of authentic personal expression.

67

Campany, “Demons, Gods, and Pilgrims,” p. 111, n34.

CHAPTER FIVE

ACTING, QUREN, AND THE AUTHENTICITY OF INCONGRUITY A theatrical, being theatrical, should appear real. The real, on the other hand, may appear theatrical. Today the theatrical is too theatrical, and the real too real, both are wrong. 戲則戲矣﹐倒須似真。若真者﹐反不妨似戲也。今戲者太戲﹐真者 亦太真﹐俱不是也。 “Li Zhi,” Li Zhuowu piping Pipa ji 李卓吾批評琵琶記1

Sixteenth- and seventeenth-century fiction commentators valued different acting styles for different reasons. Fiction commentators particularly favored one acting style. I call this style ‘incongruous acting.’ Acting with incongruity is present when a fictional character, such as Lu Zhishen in Shuihu zhuan or Monkey in Xiyou ji, impersonates another identity, experiences a transformation, or puts on a masquerade, but the change or shift remains incomplete giving rise to clashes of performative codes. Acting with incongruity often constitutes what is viewed in the perceptual dynamics of ‘playful theatricals.’ Like staging as acts of appropriation, acting with incongruity is based upon an understanding of the conventionality and artificiality of theater. It triggers the reader to question the hard boundaries between theater and real life by deliberately conflating the two. The dominant position in which the authors and commentators of Shuihu zhuan and Xiyou ji placed acting with incongruity, along with staging as acts of appropriation, further illustrates their espousal of ‘playful theatricals.’ Through praising characters who act with incongruity, early modern writers and commentators called for a playful juggling of different theatrical roles, persons, and identities, which is reflective of the enhanced stage consciousness and the increasing diversification and negotiation of identity in the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries.

1 Geben xiqu congkan chuji 古本戲曲叢刊初集 (Shanghai: Shanghai shangwu yinshuguan, 1955), p. 33.

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This chapter begins with a discussion of a few characteristic examples of acting with incongruity. I argue that its primary significance derived from fiction commentators linking incongruous acting with the important and valorized concept of spontaneity. To conclude the chapter, I discuss how the “Li Zhi” commentator used the oneword identities ‘Buddha’ and ‘Monkey’ as markers of incongruity to illustrate a provocative conceptualization of identity through playful theatricals. Acting with Incongruity One of the best examples of acting with incongruity appears in Shuihu zhuan when Lu Zhishen, an army officer turned monk, playacts a bride. In Chapter Five, Lu pretends to be a bride to save Grandpa Liu’s daughter from a local chieftain who pressured the family into the betrothal. Many late imperial fiction commentators such as Jin Shengtan celebrated this scene as “fiery and florid” (ruhuo sijin 如火似錦). The commentators of the Rongyutang and Yuan Wuya editions wrote ironically, “what a groom!” or applauded the scene for its visuality ( youjing 有景).2 Playacting the bride was a popular plot in late imperial China. In the Shuihu drama “Hei xuanfeng zhangyi shucai” 黑旋風仗義疏財 (The righteous Black Whirlwind distributes money) Li Kui plays the bride Qianjiao 千嬌 and in Xiyou ji Monkey plays Cuilian, who is Pig’s wife.3 Like Lu Zhishen, Li Kui and Monkey both volunteer and give a gung ho performance. Late Ming theater critic Qi Biaojia 祁彪佳 (1602–1645) felt that ‘playing the bride’ brought a pleasant lightness and qu, a concept discussed below, to what were otherwise heroic plays.4 Much of the incongruity in the scene of Lu Zhishen playing the bride stems from his physical features. In Chapter Three, Lu is introduced as a six-foot tall “big fellow” with “a girth of ten spans” who has large ears, a straight nose, a broad mouth, a round face, and a full beard. To emphasize the theatricality of the scene, Lu Zhishen pushes

2

Shuihu zhuan huiping ben, p. 131. See Shuihu xiqu ji, vol. 2, pp. 106–7; Xiyou ji, Chapter 18. 4 Ma Tiji 马蹄疾, ed., Shuihu ziliao huibian 水浒资料彙編 (Beijing: Zhonghua, 1980), p. 527. 粗豪之曲﹐而獨於假新婦處冷然入趣. 3

acting, quren, and the authenticity of incongruity 141 aside all the tables and chairs in the room to make space for a potential fight, which accentuates the room as a ‘bare stage.’ He then lowers the gold-spangled bed curtains, strips to the buff, and jumps into bed. A short time after the bridegroom enters the bridal chamber Grandpa Liu hears howling and kicking and hurries in with a lamp followed by the chieftain’s followers. What they see, and late imperial commentators accentuate, is the comical vision of “a big stout monk, without a stitch of clothes on, seated astride their chieftain and thumping him vigorously.” In the physical description of Lu Zhishen, as in a variety of other heroes in Shuihu zhuan, we observe the circulation between visual images in theater and fiction. Generally speaking, Lu Zhishen fulfills the requirements of the righteous jing character type. His “large ears, straight nose” and, significantly, “full beard,” all indicate uprightness. Lu’s violent thumping of the bridegroom is also what one would expect from a jing character. As we see, descriptions of the heroes’ complexion, physique, and clothing in Shuihu zhuan reveals significant borrowing from theater, which includes characterization based on pale versus dark complexions and different types of beards. The focus on the beard as emblematic of character type in Shuihu zhuan may be related to the use of false beards as props (chuanguan 穿關) in theatrical performances. In the lists of props for Shuihu plays, false beard types such as sanziran 三髭髯 and mengran 猛髯 follow descriptions of costumes, and precede descriptions of weapons, thus indicating their level of importance. Sanziran probably refers to sideburns, made from ropes hanging from the actor’s ears, and mengran to a full and thick beard. Many characters in the novel and Shuihu plays have sanziran. There are probably two reasons for the popularity of this facial hairstyle: first, sanziran was a fashionable style for men in early modern China; second, they were a simple prop and easy to wear for Shuihu performances. According to Bu Jian, there were more than ten types of common false beards, including bairan 白髯 (white beard), hongran 紅髯 (red beard) and Huihuibiran 回回 鼻髯 (Hui-style beard).5 Although it is very difficult to demonstrate that the Shuihu author(s) borrowed directly from theater props, there is a recognizable similarity, stemming from the influence of physiog-

5 Bu Jian卜鍵, ed., Yuanqu baike da cidian 元曲百科大辭典 (Beijing: Xueyuan, 1991), p. 697.

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nomy, in the relationship between beard types in theater and characterizations in the novel. This connection gives additional credence to the argument that the Shuihu author(s) paid attention to issues of performance. An interesting case of the intertwinement of fictional faces and theatrical masks comes from Shuo Tang quanzhuan 說唐全傳 (Stories about the Tang, complete, 1736). Forty martial heroes gather to celebrate the sixtieth birthday of Qin Shubao’s mother in Chapter 24. Having never met her son’s friends, Qin’s mother is shocked and frightened by their bizarre faces in colors like dark green, red, and purple. As Hegel observes, what Mother Qin sees is akin to a register of ferocious face patterns of jing role types.6 This exaggeration, serving as a parody, indicates the conventionality of drawing on theatrical masks when describing faces in fiction preceding Shuo Tang quanzhuan. What late imperial commentators observed in the scene of Lu Zhishen playing the bride was not only a theatrical reference, but the comics of incongruity: a spectacle is created when the husky, unambiguously masculine Lu volunteers to sit on a gold-spangled bed as a dainty, feminine bride. Instead of acting out the role of a bride, Lu busies himself with creating an empty space, a bare stage, upon which he carries out the beating of the bridegroom. By having Lu thump on the groom, the Shuihu author(s) confers upon him the jing role—he is therefore a forceful hulk with a rough and uninhibited character who uses his physical prowess to charm the audience, but whose sheer physicality is obviously incongruous with the bride role. Foregrounding the incongruity of Lu playing the bride is the capping illustration to the chapter in the Rongyutang edition of Shuihu zhuan (Fig. 5.1). In the image, a potbellied Lu Zhishen sits atop a lavishly illustrated bed. The exposed belly reminds the viewer of the ‘Laughing Buddha,’ a reference that will be explored below. His thickset torso is equal to the size of the terrified bridegroom, who is being thumped mercilessly. Rather than the smooth, rosy cheeks of a pretty bride, Lu is shown with facial stubble emphasizing his masculinity. His bald pate further reminds the reader that he is a monk and provides yet another visual index of the incongruity.

6 Robert E. Hegel, “Rewriting the Tang: Humor, Heroics, and Imaginative Reading,” in Martin W. Huang, ed., Snakes’ Legs: Sequels, Continuations, Rewritings, and Chinese Fiction (Honolulu: University of Hawai‘i Press, 2004), 159–189, p. 181.

acting, quren, and the authenticity of incongruity 143 For seventeenth century readers one of the essences of marvelous writing lies in the comics of incongruity. As Jin Shengtan wrote in the chapter commentary, “When you read this chapter you must remember that Lu Da is a monk. Sitting on a gold-spangled bed or rolling pell-mell down a grassy slope, it is always the same bald-headed man, which is what makes it so unspeakably marvelous” 看此回書﹐須要 處處記得 魯達是個和尚。 如銷金帳中坐﹐亂草坡上滾﹐都是光 著頭一個人﹐故奇妙不可言.7 For Jin, the constitution of ‘marvel’ is both visual and farcical and arises out of the incongruity of a potbellied monk playing a delicate bride. From a broader perspective, lending even more incongruity to the scene, the Lu-as-bride identity should be contextualized within his previous incomplete metamorphosis from an army official to a monk. The fusion of incompatible identities as a comical element can be readily found in many early modern fictional narratives. For example, Du Yan, in Wang Heng’s “Zhen kuilei,” wears an ill-fitting official robe borrowed from the costume wardrobe of a puppet theater to receive the emperor’s envoy. In “Kuang gushi,” Judge Cha’s theatrical recreation is rife with identity conflation as nearly every ghost character has multiple ‘identities.’ In seventeenth-century writer Li Yu’s story “Tan Chuyu,” which will be discussed later, the protagonist Tan dons his scholar’s hat while rehearsing the jing role with a professional troupe. Numerous examples of the comical effects of incongruity stemming from conflicting identities can be found in Shuihu zhuan. As a prelude to their attack on Beijing, the Shuihu bandits decided to send several heroes into the city masquerading as beggars. Rather than chose a couple of rough looking fellows, the leaders assign two brothers with “fair skin and a rosy complexion” (紅紅白白面皮) from a gentry family. Chiming in, another masquerading hero points out that their pink cheeks will give them away.8 Li Kui also enjoys playacting. Despite being physically imposing and of an impetuous nature, Li is often forced into pretending he is mute, sick, or dumb to hide his bandit identity.9

7 8 9

Shuihu zhuan huiping ben, p. 123. Chapter 66, p. 917, p. 1068. Chapter 73, p. 979.

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Figure 5.1 “Drunk, the Little King Raises the Gold-Spangled Bed Curtains” 小霸王醉入銷金帳, from Li Zhuowu xiansheng piping Shuihu zhuan, Rongyutang edition (Rpt. Shanghai guji, 1988, p. 69).

As a popular comical device, acting with incongruity also appears frequently in Xiyou ji. Some of the most ribald scenes in the novel stem from wild transformations leading to incomplete metamorphosis. Monkey’s hair, when turned into useful things, still retains its hairlike characteristics. For example, Monkey turns one of his hairs into a gourd to trade with two little demons for their treasure, but the gourd is too light and floats away.10 Even with the power of seventy-two transformations, Monkey never bothers to change his tail. When he metamophosizes into a she-monster, his tail still dangles behind him. Pig, who has been captured and hung from a beam—a privileged position for viewing—recognizes Monkey’s tail.11 Monkey’s reddish rump is another problem forcing him to darken it with soot.

10 11

Chapter 33, p. 441. Chapter 34, p. 288.

acting, quren, and the authenticity of incongruity 145 Pig’s clowning, like Lu Zhishen’s, is realized through his physical appearance. By origin Pig is a banished marshal from Heaven, but is earth-bound and iron-bristled in appearance. Pig points out this incongruity in his self-introduction, “I was reborn from the wrong womb,/And now I am known as Iron-Bristled Pig.” Playing the chou role in Xiyou ji,12 Pig retains features from previous incarnations giving rise to much of the humor surrounding his character. Pig can easily transform himself into a handsome monk, but has to pin his rush leaf-like ears to his head to “fix his ugliness” to avoid scaring people.13 Acting with incongruity contains another meaning. It brings to the surface the process and nature of playacting as an ongoing negotiation between a character’s identities and the identities of the roles he adopts. If we follow the practice of early modern fiction writers and commentators who view the major characters in Shuihu zhuan and Xiyou ji through theatrical role types, Lu Zhishen, Li Kui, Monkey, and Pig most approximate the jing (forceful man or villain) or chou (clown) roles. As in the theater where the jing and chou roles are the most likely to be meta-theatrical, these four characters tend to employ theatrical practices and to act out with humorous incongruity. The humorousness of such incongruity stems from incomplete impersonations, transformations, and metamorphoses as the identities of character and role become intertwined and confused. Another key element in such incongruity, according to early modern fiction commentators, was its link with the important concept of spontaneity. Spontaneity and Theatricality Notions of spontaneity and authentic emotions affected philosophy, literature, and other intellectual fields in the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries. Prominent Ming philosopher and writer Li Zhi 李贄 (1527–1602), for example, strongly advocated zhenren 真人 (the genuine person), zhenxin 真心 (the genuine mind), and zhenwen 真文 (the genuine composition) in his essay “Tongxin shuo”

12 Wang Qi and Huang Zhouxing associate Monkey with the jing and Pig with the chou role types. Xiyou zhengdao shu, p. 77, p. 196. 13 Chapter 20, p. 258.

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童心說 (On the child-mind).14 Feng Menglong 馮夢龍 (1574–1645) supported qingjiao 情教 (education through inner experience) while Yuan Hongdao 袁宏道 (1568–1610) emphasized xingling 性靈 (native sensibility). Yuan’s two brothers also focused on true emotionality in poetry and fiction.15 On the surface, there seems to be a contradiction between theatricality and spontaneity. Being theatrical, according to its common dictionary usage, is to be marked by “exaggerated self-display and unnatural behavior” and “affectedly dramatic.”16 Being spontaneous is, on the other hand, to be unconstrained and unaffected in manner or behavior. Spontaneity suggests authenticity, is self-generated, and arises from a natural inclination or impulse.17 Lionel Trilling’s Sincerity and Authenticity, probably the best-known study of the topic, avows an authentic subjectivity that requires an urgent assertion of interior selfhood.18 Trilling’s notion of authenticity is antitheatrical and reflects the glorification of the original artist deeply committed to self-definition and resistant to conventions. While Trilling’s work idealizes a primal, unitary selfhood, a more recent approach is to view the self as a dialogic formation, such as in Charles Taylor’s The Ethics of Authenticity.19 As two theoretical terms, the interconnection between theatricality and spontaneity replaces the seemingly inherent contradiction within the framework of the postmodern and poststructural study of subjectivity.20 Sixteenth- and seventeenth-century Chinese fiction writers and commentators did not see a contradiction between theatricality and

14 Li Zhi, “Tongxin shuo,” in Fenshu 焚書 (Beijing: Zhonghua shuju, 1975), pp. 98–9. For Li Zhi’s thoughts and the issue of authenticity, see: Maram Epstein, Competing Discourses: Orthodoxy, Authenticity, and Engenderd Meanings in Late Imperial Chinese Fiction (Cambridge: Harvard University Press, 2001), pp. 74–79. 15 For a detailed discussion of Feng Menglong’s advocation of emotionality, see Chen Wanyi 陳萬益, Wan Ming xiaopin yu Mingji wenren shenghuo 晚明小品與明 季文人生活 (Taibei: Da’an, 1988), pp. 179–82. 16 The American Heritage Dictionary. 17 Ibid. 18 Lionel Trilling, Sincerity and Authenticity (Cambridge: Harvard University Press, 1972). 19 Charles Taylor, The Ethics of Authenticity (Cambridge: Harvard University Press, 1992). 20 For discussions of “theatricality versus authenticity,” “theatricality and authenticity,” and more details on the above studies of authenticity, see Lynn Voskuil, Acting Naturally: Victorian Theatricality and Authenticity (Charlottesville: University of Virginia Press, 2004), pp. 4–17.

acting, quren, and the authenticity of incongruity 147 spontaneity. Rather, theatricality was intimately connected to discourses on authenticity, true emotionality, and spontaneity. Many Shuihu and Xiyou commentators lauded Lu Zhishen, Monkey, and Pig as embodying authenticity and spontaneity despite, or because of, their playacting (zhuang 妝, ban 扮, or yan 演) and other theatrical practices such as transformation and masquerade. At the core of the aesthetic sensibility fostering the interconnection between theatricality and spontaneity was an appreciation for incongruous acting manifested as an appreciation of qu. The concept of qu 趣, translated as “zest” by Lin Yutang, as “gusto” by James Liu, as “flair” by David Pollard, as “liveliness” by Stephen Owen, and as “pleasure” by Maram Epstein,21 serves as a site where theatricality and spontaneity meet and as a trope through which writers valorized the seemingly contradictory notions of theatricality and spontaneity.22 For early modern writers, commentators, and readers acting incongruously epitomized the idea of qu because characters carried it out with a carefree attitude towards impersonation and social propriety. As a result of the character’s playful qu, the artificiality of both theater and acting are highlighted, but the theatrical and the real are also conflated. Early modern commentators viewed qu-style playacting as both theatrical and authentic and felt it represented the most authentic method for revealing someone’s ‘true’ nature. Commentators used the vocabulary of authenticity and spontaneity most frequently in their interlineal notes to a novel. Fiction commentaries are an excellent source through which to understand qu as they maintain a close relationship to the text and represent literati reading habits in the Ming-Qing period. The commentators repeatedly utilized the concept of qu, and other similar terms, thereby shaping the reader’s reception of the text’s embedded theatricals and framing them within the discourse of authenticity. 21 Lin Yutang, “On Zest in Life,” in The Importance of Understanding (New York: World Publishing, 1960), p. 112; James Liu, Chinese Theories of Literature (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1975), p. 81; David Pollard, A Chinese Look at Literature: The Literature Values of Chou Tso-jen in Relation to Tradition (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1973), p. 80; Owen, Anthology, p. 811; Epstein, Competing Discourses, p. 110. For discussions of qu, see: Chou Chih-p’ing, Yüan Hung-tao and the Kung’an School (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1988), pp. 52–4; Wai-yee Li, “The Rhetoric of Spontaneity in Late-Ming Literature,” Ming Studies 35 (1995): 32–52, pp. 39–41; Epstein, Competing Discourses, pp. 108–11. 22 Since conveying the subtle usages of qu by early modern fiction writers and commentators through a single English term is impossible, I will leave it untranslated.

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The valorization of authenticity and spontaneity in the late Ming and early Qing has received much scholarly attention. Rather than attempt to engage the entire discourse, I will focus on Li Zhi and Yuan Hongdao who both had direct connections with the vocabulary of spontaneity and authenticity used in fiction commentaries.23 Li Zhi’s “Tongxin shuo” is one of the works that best represents the literary and philosophical trend toward uncovering the authentic self through spontaneous behavior. His ideal of tongxin (the child-mind) is especially important to the study of early modern fiction because many commentaries are attributed to him.24 In the late Ming it was common for commentators to adopt both the persona of Li Zhi and his name. In addition to the commercial benefits of using the name “Li Zhi,” it is important to see the name as embodying a popular commentarial style because of its links to his discourses on authenticity and his legendary impetuous personality. The real Li Zhi advocated the substitution of artificial moral standards with the innate ‘childmind.’ A child-mind, Li Zhi wrote, is the basis of the ‘genuine person’ (zhenren 真人) because it is “free of all falseness and entirely genuine” ( juejia chunzhen 絕假純真). “Li Zhi” fiction commentators accepted this definition of the ‘genuine person’ based on the child-mind and used it to evaluate of characters in both fiction and drama. Exemplifying a direct continuation from Li Zhi, Yuan Hongdao celebrated the childlike mind and the aestheticization of playfulness, spontaneity, and authenticity in his discussions of qu. Yuan Hongdao’s notion of qu is therefore relevant to our interpretations of the Shuihu and Xiyou commentators. The perfacer of the “Li Zhi” commentarial edition of Xiyou ji felt that Yuan’s comments on qu exhausted the useful things to say about it.25 In “Xu Chen Zhengfu Huixin ji” 敘陳正甫會心集 (On Chen Zhengfu’s collected works, Intuitive Grasp) Yuan Hongdao describes qu as the most desirable trait in the world. He likens qu to “the color of mountains, the taste of water, the light among flowers, the grace of women” because of its subtlety and

23 For recent discussions of Li Zhi on authenticity, see Epstein, Competing Discourses, pp. 76–8; Li Wai-yee, “The Rhetoric of Spontaneity,” pp. 37–8. 24 Some intellectual historians argue that Li Zhi’s importance arose when twentieth-century historians started devoting significant scholarly attention to strands of Chinese individualism. On this issue, I agree with Maram Epstein that there is an abundance of indelible evidence of Li Zhi’s influence in late imperial fiction. Epstein, Competing Discourses, p. 76. 25 “Fanli,” in Li Zhuowu pingben Xiyou ji, p. 1.

acting, quren, and the authenticity of incongruity 149 its meaning beyond the rational. Yuan writes lengthily about authentic and inauthentic qu in the late Ming: These days people are drawn to the label of qu and seek what it represents. Those who hold forth about calligraphy and painting, or dabble in antiques, to show their purity of spirit lose themselves in abstruse speculations or try to remove their traces from the dusty, mundane world to show their sense of distance and detachment. Worse yet are those who burn incense and make tea in Suzhou. All of these are mere “skin and hair,” or superficial manifestations, of qu, and have nothing to do with its spirit and essence. Qu is largely the gift of nature and only tangentially the result of learning. A child does not know about qu, yet nothing he does is devoid of that quality. 今之人慕趣之名﹐求趣之似﹐於是有辦說書畫。涉獵古董以為清﹐ 寄意玄虛﹐脫跡塵紛以為遠﹐又其下則有蘇州之燒香煮茶者﹐此等 皆趣之皮毛﹐何關精神。夫趣得之自然者深﹐得之學問者淺﹐當其 26 為童子也﹐不知有趣﹐然無往而非趣也。

In Yuan’s formulation of qu, he distinguishes between those who have it and those who use superficial practices to represent it. Using superficial manifestations of qu—trying to attain its qualities—actually produces the opposite result. To have and attain qu, Yuan argues, one must be like a child who does not know its nature yet whose actions exemplify it. That is, the true realization of qu is unwitting and hence nested in the authenticity of unawareness. A Troupe with Qu Early modern fiction commentators utilized Li Zhi and Yuan Hongdao’s definitions and descriptions of spontaneity and authenticity to make meanings out of acting with incongruity. The Ming monk and occasional literary critic Huai Lin 懷林 referred to Li Kui as the most important Shuihu character and the first living Buddha (diyizun huofo 第一尊活佛).27 Jin Shengtan thought Li Kui an excellent character because of his straightforward unaffected puerility (tianzhen lan-

26 Yuan Hongdao, Yuan Zhonglang quanji 袁中郎全集 (Shanghai: Shijie shuju, 1935), p. 5. This paragraph is translated by Wai-yee Li (“The Rhetoric of Spontaneity,” pp. 39–40) with slight modification. Another translation of this essay can be found in Stephen Owen, ed. and trans., An Anthology of Chinese Literature: Beginnings to 1911 (New York: Norton, 1996), pp. 811–2. 27 Shuihu zhuan ziliao huibian, p. 185.

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man daodi 天真爛漫到底).28 Lu Zhishen won approval as a “genuine person” (zhenren) from the “Li Zhi” commentator of the Yuan Wuya edition (Suzhou, before 1612) or a fo 佛 (Buddha) from “Li Zhi” of the Rongyutang edition of Shuihu zhuan. The “Li Zhi” commentator of Xiyou ji refers to the pilgrims—probably except for the straightfaced Tripitaka—as a troupe of qu people ( yiban quren 一班趣人).29 They are “marvelous,” “Li Zhi” comments, because of their qu (qushen, miaoshen 趣甚﹐妙甚).30 Wang Qi describes Pig as possessive of so much “natural qu” that even Li Kui and Lu Zhishen are not as forthright (一团天趣﹐觉李逵﹐ 鲁智深无此爽快).31 In fact, qu was so widely used that the prefatory matter in Li Zhuowu xiansheng piping Xiyou ji 李卓吾先生批評西遊記 (ca. 1620–27) contains a special entry for its usage.32 The following are examples of how the vocabulary of authenticity, spontaneity, and qu was applied, both in novels and their commentaries, to playacting. In order to provide a clearer analysis, I divide my discussion into several heuristic categories: playacting as a pleasurable activity, the childlike ‘play’ of playacting, unawareness glorified, nakedness put-on, and impetuousness hailed. Acting exemplifies a pleasurable activity for which qu serves as the only raison-d’etre. In Shuihu zhuan, masquerades are usually required whenever the bandits leave their base and, in most cases, contribute many of the carnivalesque aspects of the novel. In Chapter 66 a small troupe of Shuihu heroes festively masquerading as hunters, rice merchants, beggars, lantern sellers, and even yamen runners infiltrate Beijing to liberate two of their brethren. In Chapter Five, Lu Zhishen can barely stifle his laughter as he pretends to be a bride and awaits the bridegroom, whom Lu is going to thump. Among the Shuihu band, Li Kui takes the most hedonistic pleasure in his playacting. He seizes every opportunity to perform by accompanying other heroes on their journeys: he offers to go with Chai Jin to Gaotang in Chapter 52, with Dai Zong to fetch Gongsun Sheng in Chapter 53, and with Wu Yong to trick the Jade Unicorn in Chapter 61. In the battle with Zhu village, Li reports to Song Jiang that once he had got into the swing of killing,

28 29 30 31 32

Ibid., p. 221. Li Zhuowu pingben Xiyou ji, p. 319. Ibid., 318. Xiyou zhengdao shu, p. 74. Li Zhuowu pingben Xiyou ji, “Fanli,” p. 1.

acting, quren, and the authenticity of incongruity 151 he massacred everyone in the manor. Song criticizes Li Kui’s excessiveness, but Li retorts, “all that killing was a real pleasure.”33 In Xiyou ji, Pig and Monkey’s joy in their playfulness is strikingly similar to Li Kui and Lu Zhishen’s happiness. Wang Qi and Huang Zhouxing’s commentaries on Xiyou both draw close parallels between these four characters, something quite common for seventeenthcentury readers. Play (shua 耍) is the most popular activity on the journey to the West. The importance of play as an activity is magnified by the flexibility of the supernatural genre. The pilgrims, except for the straight-faced Tripitaka, enjoy putting on playful performances. In the Scarlet-Purple Kingdom Monkey delays his mission to collect scriptures and tells the others to “allow an Old Monkey to play physician for a bit” 等老孫做個醫生耍耍.34 In the Cart Slow Kingdom Monkey says his competition with three demons “is great fun” 倒好 耍子.35 Monkey derives the most pleasure by acting like different monsters during his various demon conquests. For example, after being discovered masquerading as the Red Boy’s monster father, Monkey leaves the Red Boy’s cave doubled over with laughter.36 As Wang Qi and Huang Zhouxing observe, “Everybody has their obsessions. Monkey’s obsession is catching demons” 人各有癖﹐行者当有拿妖之癖.37 Monkey’s ‘obsession’ with the playacting aspect of catching demons echoes late Ming playwright Qi Zhijia’s 祁豸佳, cousin of the theater connoisseur Qi Biaojia, own obsessions with theater.38 Obsession in late Ming was a sign of authentic emotions and childlike nature.39 As Zhang Dai begins his essay on Qi Biaojia, “You can’t befriend a person without obsessions because they don’t have deep emotions; you can’t

33 Chapter 50, p. 595, p. 811. One wonders whether the very concept of the childlike nature is parodied here. It was common for late Ming intellectuals and writers to parody and mock certain intellectual constructs that they themselves created and advocated. However, judging from the consistently positive comments by seventeenthcentury commentators on Li Kui, one might argue that Li Kui’s enjoyment of killing is emblematic of his spontaneity and his zestful personality. Li Kui’s violence, often too brutal for modern readers, is more rhetorical than realistic. 34 Chapter 68, p. 916, 3: 296. 35 Chapter 46, p. 619. 36 Chapter 42, p. 560. 37 Xiyou zhengdao shu, p. 560. 38 Zhang Dai 張岱, “Qi Zhixiang pi” 祁止祥癖 (The obsessions of Qi Zhixiang), in Tao’an mengyi 陶庵夢憶 (Hangzhou: Xihu shushe, 1982), p. 53. 39 For the late Ming glorification of obsession, see: Judith Zeitlin, Historian of the Strange: Pu Songling and the Chinese Classical Tale (Stanford: Stanford University Press, 1993), pp. 69–74.

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befriend a person without shortcomings because they don’t have a true spirit” (人無癖不可與交﹐以其無深情也﹔人無疵不可與交﹐以 其無真氣 也). By elevating Monkey’s demon conquests to the status of an obsession, Wang Qi and Huang Zhouxing are accentuating the conquests as both a pleasurable activity and, therefore, as a vehicle for authentic self-expression. Early modern fiction commentators adopted the vocabulary of pleasure to describe these fun-loving characters, but also to express their own identities. Commentators and readers often proclaimed pleasure as their main motivation for reading fiction. Jin Shengtan exclaimed in his commentaries on Shuihu zhuan, “Ah! Among the pleasures of the world, the first is reading; among the pleasures of reading, the first is reading Shuihu” 嗚呼﹗天下之樂﹐第一莫若讀書﹐讀書之樂﹐ 第一 莫若讀 <<水滸>>.40 In a letter to his friend Jiao Ruohou, Li Zhi wrote, “Making interlineal comments on Shuihu zhuan pleases me to no end” <<水滸傳>>批點得 甚快活人.41 In the actual interlineal commentaries, exclamatory comments such as “wonderful,” “marvelous,” and “excellent” are intended to convey pleasure. In Chapter 5 of Xinke xiuxiang piping Jin Ping Mei, published around 1635, the commentator embodies a childlike playful spirit by inserting “laugh, laugh” (xiao, xiao 笑﹐笑) in the margin whenever noting a comic detail in the novel. When something is particularly funny, he writes, it is “so laughable that I might spit out my rice” (keyi penfan 可以喷饭).42 By adopting similar vocabulary literati writers and commentators show their warm-hearted applause for the characters who embody the commentators’ own spirit as readers. Both Li Zhi and Yuan Hongdao’s idealization of spontaneity leads to a celebration of impetuous and childlike characters and a great admiration for unwittingly carried-out actions. This anti-intellectualism is foremost among commentators who support action for action’s sake. Performers of heroism are repeatedly lauded for their spontaneous childlike nature. Monkey is also a childlike character whose surname Sun 孫 is a compound of boy (zi 子) and baby (xi 系).43 The “Li Zhi”

40

Shuihu zhuan huiping ben, p. 245. Shuihu zhuan ziliao huibian., p. 171. 42 Hou Zhongyi 候忠義 and Wang Rumei 王汝梅, eds., Jing Ping Mei yanjiu ziliao 金瓶梅 研究資料 (Beijing: Beijing University Press, 1985), p. 310. 43 Chapter 1, p. 13, 1: 82. 41

acting, quren, and the authenticity of incongruity 153 chapter commentary reaffirms the doctrine of the child by tracing its origin back to Zhuangzi and Mengzi.44 Jin Shengtan pointed out and analyzed Lu Zhishen as a model of spontaneity who acted purely for the sake of action: He gets in trouble because of a girl and as a result goes to Mount Wutai and becomes a monk. After he is driven out of Mount Wutai, he almost gets in trouble again because of a girl. Well, he doesn’t care if it’s because of the girl or not and he doesn’t care if he gets in trouble or not. He doesn’t even know if he’s a monk nor does he care about going up the mountain or being driven out of the mountain. He drinks when he has wine, acts when he can act, helps the needy, and beats the strong. That is all. 為一女子弄出來﹐直弄到五臺山去做了和尚。及做了和尚弄下五臺 山來﹐又為一女子又幾乎弄出來。夫女子不女子﹐魯達不知也。弄 出不弄出﹐魯達不知也。和尚不和尚﹐魯達不知也。上山與下山﹐ 魯達悉不知也。亦曰遇酒便吃﹐遇事便做﹐遇弱便扶﹐遇硬便打﹐ 如是而已矣.45

Through his marked unawareness Lu Zhishen becomes a true Buddha thus drawing the attention of late imperial readers to incongruity as the basis of his spectacles. “Li Zhi,” noting the difference between intentional and unintentional acts as they relate to qu, comments on Chapter 74, “Yan Qing’s wrestling is already a thing of qu, but it is still an action with an intention. Our Big Brother Li, however, playacts the county magistrate, and raises uproar at the school—these are accidental, or ‘creating a theatrical when meeting the occasion’. . . . What a living Buddha, what a living Buddha” 燕青相扑﹐已屬趣事﹐然猶 有 所為而為也。例如李大哥做知縣﹐鬧學堂﹐ 都是逢場作戲 . . . 活佛﹐活佛.46 Impetuous characters became a trope in sixteenth- and seventeenthcentury literature because of their spontaneity. The “Li Zhi” commentary for Chapter 3 of Shuihu zhuan offers a long list of impetuous characters ( jixing de 急性的).47 Topping the list are our three major ‘performers of heroism,’ Li Kui, Lu Zhishen, and Wu Song. As mentioned above, Li Kui is constantly making scenes because of his impetuousness. When Li accompanies Yan Qing to a wrestling competition

44 45 46 47

Chapter 1, p. 14. Shuihu zhuan huiping ben, p. 123. Rongyutang ben Shuihu zhuan, p. 1096. Ibid., p. 48.

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and Yan is treated unfairly, Li “pries up a stone slab and pounds Ren Yuan to a pulp.”48 After rushing back to his inn, Li grabs his axes and goes on a drastic, eye-popping killing spree. Another hero suggests to Li that he ask for an amnesty from Song Jiang, but instead Li suddenly uses an axe to shred the apricot-yellow banner inscribed with “Act in Heaven’s Behalf.”49 Like Li Kui, Lu Zhishen, and others, Monkey is marked by his impetuousness. Whenever his well-informed partners tattle that Monkey was once the Protector of Horses, he throws a temper tantrum and makes a scene with his magic rod. In Chapter 22, Pig is supposed to lure the water monster away from the water, but once the fight starts Monkey cannot restrain himself from joining the fun. When Pig complains that Monkey ruined their strategy, Monkey confesses he had an uncontrollable itch to join in the fun/fight. Monkey’s greatest regret is that the water monster does not “appreciate playing with them” (bushishua 不識耍).50 Acting in the literal theater also showed the influence of the MingQing valorization of zest and spontaneity. ‘Unwitting’ (wuxin 無心) acting was considered the most superb form. In “Qingchi” 情痴 (Emotional obsessions), drama critic Pan Zhiheng 潘之恒 (1556–1622) describes the wonderful performances by Wu Yueshi’s 越石 family troupe. Like many private troupe owners, Wu Yueshi directed the actors himself. Wu’s choice of actors and actresses was unique because he chose them not for their superior technique, but for their natural obsession with emotionality. Since his two actresses, Jiang Ru and Chang Ru, are “love obsessed” (qingchi), they can perform “the dreamy and romantic scenes, acting out Liniang’s illusoriness and Liu Mengmei’s abandon unconsciously” 江孺昌孺各具情痴﹐而为幻﹐ 为荡﹐若莫知其所以然者.51 Acting thereby enters the realm of literati theatricals: it is not about the technique of acting, but as a method of authentic expression. What is on stage is both the actor’s self and the acted character.

48

Chapter 74, p. 1187. Chapter 73, p. 1168. 50 Chapter 22, p. 284. 51 Pan Zhiheng 潘之恒, Pan Zhiheng quhua 潘之恆曲話 (Beijing: Zhongguo xiju chubanshe, 1988), pp. 72–3. Translation from Catherine Swatek, Peony Pavilion Onstage: Four Centuries in the Career of a Chinese Drama (Ann Arbor: Center for Chinese Studies, University of Michigan, 2002), pp. 6–7. 49

acting, quren, and the authenticity of incongruity 155 As Wai-yee Li observes, the late Ming advocation of spontaneity is in itself a rhetorical stance, a cultural ideal designed to produce the effect of immediacy through stylistic traits of dramatization.52 The convergence of theatricality and spontaneity especially brings forth the creation, appreciation, and exploration of anti-disciplinary and anti-establishment performances. It is within the context of a cultural sensibility that celebrates individuality, originality, authentic emotions, and daring transgressions of social norms that the early modern narrative offers us a unique conceptualization of identity, theater, and performativity—the signification of incongruity. The Significance of Flippancy Related to the celebration of spontaneity is a special and rather underrated feature of commentaries: minimal interlineal comments often constituted of one or two-character expressions. These remarks, such as “marvelous” (qi 奇), “wonderful” (miao 妙), and qu, are more exclamatory than argumentative. Scholars of late imperial fiction have focused on longer and more argumentative commentaries such as Jin Shengtan’s prefaces and chapter commentaries and written off these minimal remarks as perfunctory and flippant.53 The Ming-Qing usage of such one or two-character comments, however, was not only widely practiced, but also quite popular. These short interlineal commentaries, frequently appearing between lines of text, constitute roughly eighty percent of all interlineal commentaries. The special usage of two one-character commentaries, qu and hou 猴 (Monkey), for example, appears in the “General Principles” of Li Zhuowu xiansheng piping Xiyou ji 李卓吾先生批評西遊記, which appeared fairly early in the seventeenth century explosion of commentaries, indicating their importance in commentarial matters. These short comments are gestures of spontaneity in reading and commentating that signify, paradoxically, through their ‘flippancy’ and apparent insignificance. While celebrating incongruity in acting as qu they likewise embody that selfsame spontaneity. This, and the

52

Li, “The Rhetoric of Spontaneity,” p. 32. Andrew Plaks, “Terminology and Central Concepts,” in David Rolston, ed., How to Read the Chinese Novel (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1990), pp. 75–123, p. 79; Rolston, Traditional Chinese Fiction, p. 32. 53

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conscious play with voices by the snappy insertion of another short expression that I will discuss below, show that the minimal commentaries are the product of self-conscious literary minds. The “Li Zhi” commentaries of Li Zhuowu xiansheng piping zhongyi Shuihu zhuan 李卓吾先生批評忠義水滸傳 (Rongyutang edition, 1610) and Li Zhuowu xiansheng piping Xiyou ji exemplify the “one character” commentarial tradition. Despite the recent interest in paratextual materials and the early and rather influential status of the “Li Zhi” commentaries on Shuihu zhuan, scholarly interest in the “Li Zhi” commentaries has mainly centered on their authenticity and authorship.54 We are fairly certain that they are not by Li Zhi, but probably by Ye Zhou 葉晝 (fl. 1595–1624). Ye, according to one of his contemporaries, was down on his luck but remained untrammeled.55 Apparently, Ye used the pseudonym “Li Zhi” not only to borrow Li’s authority, but also to evoke his noted spontaneity and playfulness. The minimal remarks in the “Li Zhi” commentaries of Shuihu zhuan and Xiyou ji ‘slip in’ and add a crucial and highly provocative voice highlighting the hybrid nature of playacting. Two seemingly ironic one-word expressions in the “Li Zhi” commentaries reveal a distinctive conceptualization of identity. “Buddha!” in the “Li Zhi” commentary of Shuihu zhuan is applied whenever the haohan-turned-monk Lu Zhishen acts most unlike a monk. “Monkey!” in the “Li Zhi” commentary of Xiyou ji refers to Monkey when he is playacting others. In other words, “Buddha!” and “Monkey!” are used whenever the ‘true’ nature of a Buddha or Monkey is present, which, significantly, occurs only when Lu and Monkey are playacting other roles. While the usages of “Buddha!” and “Monkey!” might be said to be ironic, it is more productive to contextualize them within the late Ming preoccupation with theatricality, spontaneity, and authenticity. By using “Buddha!” and “Monkey!” the commentators are deliberately attempting to accentuate the contested nature of self, Monkey-nature, and Buddha-hood. Following the “Li Zhi” commentaries, I will use these two key terms as a method to examine the trope of acting in the characterization of Lu Zhishen and Monkey and discuss how incongruity is applauded as an embodiment of authenticity and qu.

54 55

How to Read the Chinese Novel, Appendix 2, pp. 356–64. Shuihu zhuan ziliao huibian, p. 137.

acting, quren, and the authenticity of incongruity 157 “Buddha!”: The Fo Identity The farcical spectacles involving Lu Zhishen, as Jin Shengtan observes, are created by the inherent conflict between his makeshift identity as a monk and his other haohan behavior. In many ways, Lu only occupies the center of attention after his superficial and perfunctory ordination as a monk. With his ordination, Lu becomes a comical character. In Chapter 4, Lu takes the tonsure and shortly thereafter raises an uproar on Mount Wutai. This chapter and the accompanying interlineal commentaries serve as an excellent case study for several reasons: first, the temple is a highly viewed space with a ready-made audience for spectacles; second, and more importantly, “Li Zhi” inserts forty-four “Buddha!” comments to describe Lu Zhishen in the margins. The single-word interlineal comment ‘Buddha’ is a term used to refer to irrational action or behavior divorced from social responsibility and propriety. For example, in Chapter 31, after killing fifteen people, Wu Song cuts a strip of cloth from one of the corpses, dips it in blood, and writes on the wall, “The slayer is Wu Song the tigerkiller.” The commentator writes, “Buddha!” While other ‘Performers of Heroism’ like Wu Song occasionally receive the ‘Buddha’ comment, the bulk are given to Lu Zhishen. The commentator inserts “Buddha!” in reference to Lu Zhishen whenever he fails to act out his newly assumed identity as a monk. In this context, the combination of the narrative and the interlineal commentaries forms a deliberate heteroglossia, which accentuates the social role that Lu Zhishen is supposed to play. The main text and interlineal commentaries combined become a meta-theatrical discourse highlighting the nature of playacting and exposing the discrepancy between the ‘actor’ and the role. With a constant reference to himself as sajia 洒家 (big daddy) and his appearance as “a savage-looking brute,”56 Lu Zhishen is in no position to carry out the performative codes of a monk. Instead, Lu tends to create uproars (nao 鬧), or spectacles, that are visually inviting and watched closely by the monks of the Wutai Monastery. During the ceremony of taking monastic orders, Lu requests to keep at least some hair, which arouses laughter from the hundreds of monks assembled in the preaching hall. Lu’s request to keep some hair reminds one of

56

Chapter 4, p. 65.

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Li Zhi, who shaved his head but not his beard.57 Lu’s primitiveness and uncouthness are also seen as he dashes out to relieve himself behind the temple.58 Here, as readers, we are invited to view Lu through the eyes of an assistant at the monastery. The private act of urination is made public because the action is carried out in the most inappropriate place, which also reminds us that Monkey’s uses his bodily functions as a way to defy social performative codes in Xiyou ji. “Li Zhi” takes advantage of the double meanings of ‘Buddha’ to contain a contradiction. On one hand, Buddha-hood signifies the ultimate achievement of a bona fide monk. On the other, ‘Buddha-nature’ ( foxing) is a Chan concept, which refers to the potential of human nature (zixing 自性). Chan Buddhists believed that the zixing remains in its original pristine state and is only impaired by false misconceptions generated by the mind. Once the misconceptions are removed, one can reach instant Buddha-hood. The concept of ‘Buddha-nature’ offers a good opportunity for commentators to play with the interior and exterior, the authentic and the socially performative.59 Playing with the double meaning of ‘Buddha-like,’ “Li Zhi” comments on Lu’s failure to carry out monastic requirements as a ‘Buddha’s act.’ For the following unruly actions Lu receives the generous exclamation of “Buddha!” from “Li Zhi”: when Lu urinates and defecates all over the preaching hall, in the mediation room when he flops down on the bed and falls asleep, when he drinks liquor and eats dog meat, and when he wrecks the monastery pavilion after getting drunk. From these examples we might say that Plaks and Rolston have their reasons for characterizing the “Li Zhi” commentaries as flippant. However, in the context of the literary celebration of spontaneous and incongruous playacting and their own use of minimal commentaries to express a self-identity, ‘Buddha’ takes on a more complex meaning. The discrepancy in performative codes between Lu’s identity as a hero and a monk is dramatized in a conversation held between the monks and Lu Zhishen in a meditation room:

57 Ray Huang, 1587: A Year of No Significance (New Haven and London: Yale University, 1981), p. 197. 58 Chapter 4, p. 65, p. 71. 59 On the Chan conception of ‘Buddha-nature,’ see: Feng Yu-lan, A History of Chinese Philosophy, trans., Derk Bodde (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1952–53), p. 390; Sallie B. King, Buddha Nature (Albany: State University of New York Press, 1991).

acting, quren, and the authenticity of incongruity 159 When Lu got back to the meditation room, he threw himself down on his bed and went to sleep. The monks meditating on either side shook him into wakefulness. “You can’t do that,” they said. “Now that you’re a monk, you’re supposed to learn how to sit and meditate.” “If I want to sleep, what’s it to you?” Lu demanded. (Buddha!) “Evil!” exclaimed the monks. “What’s this talk about eels? It’s turtles I like to eat.” (Buddha!) “Oh, bitter!” “There’s nothing bitter about them. Turtle belly is fat and sweet. They make very good eating.” (Buddha!) The monks gave up. They let him sleep. 話說魯智深回到叢林選佛場中禪床上﹐撲倒頭便睡。佛。上下肩 兩個禪和子推他起來﹐說道﹕“使不得。既要出家﹐如何不學 坐禪﹖”智深道﹐“洒家自睡﹐干你甚事﹖”佛。禪和道﹐“善 哉﹗”智深裸袖道﹐“團魚洒家也持﹐甚麼‘善(鱔)哉﹖’”佛。 禪和子道﹐“卻是苦也。”智深便道﹐“團魚大腹﹐又肥甜了﹐ 好吃﹐那得‘苦也﹖’”佛。上下肩兩個禪和子都不睬他﹐由他自 睡了.60

The dialogue reveals the miscommunication and confusion of different linguistic codes and intensified conflict between the institutionalized monk’s behavior and Lu’s qu-style acting. When the monks say “evil” he understands it as “eels” and lapses into the presentation of another heroic code, feasting. Note, also, Lu Zhishen repeats the monk’s words, but endows them with a different association. With the repeated insertion of “Buddha!” after Lu’s appropriation of the Buddhist lingua, the dialogue is transformed into a three-way conversation with the inclusion of the spontaneous commentator who poses himself as a recognizer of a true Buddha-nature. “Li Zhi” posits that Chapter Four is a “picture of becoming Buddha” (chengfo zuozu tu 成佛作祖圖).61 By picture, “Li Zhi” again hints at the visual aspect of Lu’s incongruity in impersonation, a comical incongruity that Jin Shengtan also clearly enjoys.62 The usual practices of the monk, such as “closing the eyes and clasping hands,” are superficial and those monks who merely act in accordance with the performative codes of a monk can never be a Buddha 閉眼合掌的和尚, 決 無成佛之理. For “Li Zhi,” the customary codes are only the surface

60 61 62

Rongyutang ben Shuihu zhuan, p. 57. Ibid., p. 67. Shuihu zhuan huiping ben, p. 123.

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(pixiang 皮相). This logic echoes Yuan Hongdao’s discussion of “skin and hair” in the pursuit of qu. Despite his uncouth behavior, Lu’s unstrained performance ‘reveals’ a complete Buddha nature; he is destined to become a true Buddha. The abbot Zhizhen 智真 recognizes Lu’s true Buddha nature and prophesizes, “Take action in the forest, prosper in the mountains, flourish amid the waters, but halt by the river.”63 It is only after Lu achieves the double recognition, that is, recognizing the full implication of the abbot’s prophesy, that he manifests his true monk identity by reaching the highest monastic achievement, the rounding out of the circle and resting in silence ( yuanji 圓寂). Lu’s Buddha nature is also highlighted by his innocence: he has to ask other monks for the meaning of yuanji and its practices. Lu’s unwitting actualization of Buddha-hood follows in the tradition of Huineng (638–713) who became the sixth patriarch of Chan Buddhism by superseding his rivals in the intuitive grasp of the truth of enlightenment even though he was illiterate. Huineng’s ignorance of Buddhism becomes a key to understanding the idealization of intuition in the rhetoric of spontaneity. Lu Zhishen’s misunderstanding of the most basic aspects of Buddhism sets up a sharper contrast when he finally performs the most Buddhist act of passing away: In the meditation hall, he pulled a hassock to the center, lit some fragrant incense in a burner, and placed the slip of paper on the meditation couch. Then he seated himself cross-legged on the hassock, with his left foot resting on his right and, quite naturally, transcended into space. 去法堂上﹐捉把禪椅﹐當中坐了。焚起一爐好香﹐放了那張紙在禪 床上﹐自疊起兩只腳﹐左腳搭在右腳﹐自然天性騰空.64

The viewer/viewed structuring of Lu Zhishen passing away in a sitting posture (zuohua 坐化) in Liuhe Temple is captured in the chapter illustration (Fig. 5.2). Lu is still a rough looking hero, but he is deified and shown with an aura around his head; the model audience in the image views him with awe. Lu’s highly theatricalized death remains today in the public imagination; the fictional locale where Lu Zhishen passed away is commemorated, as part of a recent garish tourist trap, on the Liuhe Temple grounds in Hangzhou. Lu’s death is followed by

63 64

Chapter 5, p. 70, p. 80. Chapter 99, p. 1369, p. 1576.

acting, quren, and the authenticity of incongruity 161 more spectacles as Song Jiang asks the Jingshan temple monks, joined by ten other monasteries, to conduct a three-day memorial service—an extraordinary ritual for a monk who never acted like one. The final unwitting Buddha’s death of Lu Zhishen expresses the author’s ironic take on social propriety and confirms “Li Zhi’s” reading of the true Buddha nature of Lu Zhishen. “Monkey!”: The Hou Identity Monkey is a major staging character because he not only directs how a theatrical is put on, but also stages the different constituent parts of his own identity as a bogus immortal. Through his highly staged ‘bogus’ and ‘immortal’ parts, Monkey contributes to the corruption of a clear hierarchical cosmic order. The one-word commentary ‘Monkey’ essentializes his theatrical selves, especially the playacting aspects of his behavior. Playacting is an important constituent part of what “Li Zhi” refers to as the hou identity. ‘Monkey’ as a one-word commentary is accorded a full entry in the prefatory section to the commentarial version of Xiyou ji. “Li Zhi” explains his use of the term as follows: “Monkey!” as a comment indicates Monkey’s playfulness and unpredictability. I was thinking of another word to describe him but it was never as good as the bense word ‘Monkey,’ so I only used the one word ‘Monkey’ to applaud him. 批猴處﹐只因行者頑皮﹐出人意表﹐亦思別尋一字以模擬之﹐終不 若本色猴字為妙﹐ 故只以一猴字贊之。65

This prefatory entry points out two things: first, the use of hou is commendatory; second, the usage of hou is linked to bense 本色 (authentic quality) and hence to the discussion of authenticity and the childlike mind. Bense as a concept is often applied to writing and literature. It appeared as early as the 5th century in what is considered the first book of literary criticism studies known as Wenxin diaolong 文心雕龍. Ming literatus and dramatist Xu Wei was one of the first to introduce the concept to dramatic criticism. He stated that authentic language (bense bai), the crude and unadorned language of some dramatic characters,

65

“Fanli,” Li Zhuowu pingben Xiyou ji, p. 1.

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Figure 5.2 “Lu Zhishen Expires in Zhejiang in a Trance” 魯智深浙江坐化, from Li Zhuowu xiansheng piping Shuihu zhuan, Rongyutang edition (Rpt. Shanghai guji, 1988, p. 1445).

lent reality to a play.66 Unpacking the preface, then, shows that hou as an identity marker is closely related to spontaneity. Listing hou as a prefatory entry also highlights its connection with another one-word commentary, the keyword qu, which is the subject of the prefatory entry following hou. “Monkey!” in the “Li Zhi” commentary is usually applied to two types of situations: when Monkey metamorphosizes into and playacts others and when he makes a humorous comment.67 Around three-

66 K. C. Leung, Hsu Wei as Drama Critic: An Annotated Translation of the Nan-tz’u hsü-lu (Eugene: University of Oregon Press, 1986), pp. 30–32. For the pre-Ming usage of bense, especially in poetics (shihua 詩話) and also Ming and Qing dramatic critics’ application of the term, see Li Huimian 李惠綿, Xiqu piping gainian shi kaolun 戲曲 批評概念史考論 (Taibei, Liren, 2002), pp. 79–145. 67 Zhou Zuyan ably compares Monkey’s jeering tone to that of the “gray hawk” in the “adjutant play” (canjun xi) of the Tang dynasty, thus depicting the novelization of a dramatic impulse (“Carnivalization,” p. 72). While it is valid to trace the comical roles in general to the “adjutant play,” Monkey has his closer counterpart in the more contemporary drama as a typical jing role whose partial theatrical requirement is to make jeering remarks. Wang Qi in the Xiyou zhengdao shu reads Monkey as a jing.

acting, quren, and the authenticity of incongruity 163 fourths of the hou comments are inserted when Monkey metamorphosizes and engages in playful theatricality such as when he transforms into an insects, into the enemy he is fighting, or into a human being.68 The commentator is using Monkey as a way to explore the relationship between self and social role, which is similar to how popular MingQing playwrights Tang Xianzu and Kong Shangren viewed the function of theater.69 Throughout the novel, Monkey is marked by exaggerated acting, self-theatricalization, and the tendency to probe into the limits of his own playacting.70 That is, Monkey is intrigued by the medium of theater and his acting is meta-theatrical, which means he reflects on the nature of his own impersonations. In his playacting Monkey is carelessly inattentive towards, and deliberately mingles, performative codes. For example, when a children-eating monster haunts Chen village, Monkey and Pig volunteer to transform themselves into children to be offered to the monster. The scene is yet another example of hilarious incongruity in acting. Standing right at the doorway, the fiend asked: “Which family this year is providing the sacrifice?” Smiling broadly, Pilgrim said, “Thank you for asking! Those in charge are Chen Cheng and Chen Qing.” (Clever Monkey! Qu Monkey!) . . . [T]he fiend asked once more: “What are the names of the boy and the girl?” With a laugh, Pilgrim said, “The virgin boy is called Chen Guanbao, and the virgin girl is called One Load of Gold.” “This sacrifice,” said the fiend, “happens to be an annual custom. Now that you have been offered to me, I’m going to eat you.” “I dare not resist you,” said Pilgrim. “Please feel free to enjoy yourself.” 那怪物攔住廟門問道﹕“今年祭祀的是那家﹖”行者笑吟吟的答 道﹕“承下問﹐莊頭是陳澄､陳清家。”乖猴﹐趣猴。又問﹐“童 男女﹐叫甚名字﹖”行者笑道﹐“童男陳關保﹐童女一秤金。”怪 物道﹕“這祭賽乃常年舊規﹐如今供獻﹐我當吃你。”行者道﹕不 敢抗拒﹐請自在受用。”71

68 Monkey also transforms into: several sleeping worms, Xiyou ji ziliao huibian, p. 237; a mosquito, p. 252; God Erlang and Erlang’s grandpa, p. 238; a monk, p. 250. 69 Tina Lu, Persons, Roles, and Minds: Identity in Peony Pavilion and Peach Blossom Fan (Stanford: Stanford University Press, 2001). 70 An easy way to see this is Xiyou ji ziliao huibian, which includes partial interlineal commentaries listed with only a quotation of the texts. Although the list is not complete and the locations of interlineal comments can be wrong, it shows that around three-fourths of the time a bona fide hou act is related to bian (transformation). See “Commentaries on Xiyou ji by ‘Li Zhi’,” pp. 227–315. 71 Chapter 48, pp. 641–2, 2: 371.

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Monkey’s clearheaded and articulate responses along with his calm and congenial demeanor—unexpected from a sacrificial child about to be devoured—betrays his identity as an impostor and raises the fiend’s suspicion, who decides to eat the Pig-turned-virgin girl first. While Monkey would achieve a better military position if he gets eaten and occupies the monster’s stomach, Pig enjoys feasting more than being feasted upon. At the last moment, Pig returns to his true form and the fiend escapes. “Li Zhi’s” comment “Good monkey! Qu monkey!” should be read in the context of the cult of spontaneity. Ideally, if Monkey proceeded to act according to the expected role requirements, that is, like a scared child, the unsuspecting fiend would have eaten Monkey and be captured. Such a carefully choreographed move, however, is not as qu as acting with incongruity. Conquering a monster is not the point: the journey to the West is work only for Tripitaka, for the others it is a game. Some of the best examples of Monkey’s acting with incongruity stem from his assumption of female forms—he consistently overacts what he imagines as femininity. In Chapter 34, after killing the old she-devil, Monkey takes on her form to attend a banquet at the behest of her two sons; the sons have already captured the rest of the pilgrims and plan to steam them. Monkey imitates the she-devil’s affected wiggles and her talk (那般嬌嬌滴滴﹐扭扭捏捏﹐就像那老怪的行動). His exaggerated imitation of the old she-monster, again, reaffirms his hou nature.72 In Chapter 31, Monkey mimics the Hundred Flower Princess and over performs her grief. “He blinked till the tears came down like rain, started to wail for the children, and jumped up and down and beat his breast as if in grief.” “Li Zhi” comments, “Monkey!”73 Monkey’s most illustrative meta-theatrical moment, and his most outrageous form of acting with incongruity, occurs in Chapter 42. In the chapter Monkey masquerades as the Bull Demon King in front of Red Boy, the King’s son. “Li Zhi” not only generously punctuates the interlineal commentary with “Monkey!,” but also uses the adjectival noun phrases “monkey-like” (houji yi 猴极矣 or houshen 猴甚). Prior to Monkey’s performance, Red Boy had already captured Tripitaka and Pig and sent his fleshly-eyed underlings to invite the Bull Demon King to a feast of Tripitaka’s meat. Instead of the real

72 73

Chapter 34, p. 450. Chapter 31, p. 407.

acting, quren, and the authenticity of incongruity 165 King, the messengers bring back Monkey masquerading as the King. Since Red Boy is particularly unsuspecting, the imposter Bull Demon King (Monkey) teases the Red Boy by itemizing Monkey’s famous seventy-two transformations—a fly, a flea, a bee, etc.—ending with “He [Monkey] can even change into a form like me.” Monkey’s ironic portend receives the commentary, “Extremely Monkey-like!”74 When the imperceptive Red Boy still fails to recognize Monkey, the imposter Bull Demon King regales his audience with another flabbergasting comment: that he is on a vegetarian diet. For this joke, “Li Zhi” enthusiastically comments, “Monkey! Monkey!”75 The irrational vegetarian diet of a man-eating monster finally raises Red Boy’s suspicion, who suddenly recognizes he is facing an imposter. Monkey then returns to his real form and leaves rolling with laughter. The incident between Red Boy and Monkey shows that incongruous acting, especially with a meta-theatrical element, often necessitates both an unperceptive audience on one side and the playful actor on the other. Monkey, in masquerading as the Bull Demon King, is particularly reflexive upon the act itself. Such reflexivity is then accentuated and applauded by “Li Zhi’s” one-word commentary “Monkey!” as affirming his Monkey identity. What Monkey aims at is not so much verisimilitude, but to explore the limit of his miscasting by mixing the actor’s self with his theatrical role. The role is a human-eating demon; the actor is a pilgrim-monkey who is a bona fide vegetarian. When playacting a meat lover, but announcing his intention of “doing some good deeds” (zuoshan 作善) by maintaining his vegetarian diet, Monkey inserts his actor-self into his role. Incongruity reaches its climax when Monkey has to change back into his original form, but still calls the monster spirit his “worthy child” and says it is “unreasonable” for a son to attack his father. Monkey’s acting with incongruity ironically affirms his identity as ‘Monkey.’ As the prefatory section informs us, the one-word comment “Monkey!” is closely related to the authenticity of his childlike nature. That is, for “Li Zhi” a typical hou activity is one when Monkey acts out theatrically. The resulting conclusion is that Monkey’s playful juggling of his seventy-two transformations is his identity—both the real Monkey and his playful masquerades bind together to create a spontaneous, authentic, childlike self that represents the constant blurring of

74 75

Chapter 42, p. 559. Ibid.

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boundaries between the theatrical and the real. In other words, when Monkey is acting out other roles, he is most like himself. Like the ‘Buddha’ identity applied to Lu Zhishen by the “Li Zhi” commentator, hou is another example of how commentators combined theatricality and spontaneity. Yu Chunxi 虞淳熙 ( jinshi 1583), in his preface to Yuan Hongdao’s Jietuo ji 解脫集 (Detachment collection), opens with the familiar metaphor that the world is like theater. He then goes on to compare the famed poets of previous dynasties to different theatrical roles, especially praising Bai Juyi and Su Shi for their ability to playact different roles. Returning back to the present, Yu says Yuan Hongdao self-teasingly claims to play the jing and chou roles in his poetry.76 Yuan’s statement is an acknowledgement that he is an identity juggler with an appreciation of the jing and chou roles for their manifestation of qu, humor, and spontaneity. Yuan’s own statement of identity reminds us of the authors of Shuihu zhuan and Xiyou ji who crafted major characters modeled upon the theatrical role types of jing and chou. A hallmark of theater, to quote from theater critic Richard Schechner, is its ability to offer “multiplying alternatives.”77 In Xiyou ji and Shuihu zhuan identity presented through theatricality is characterized by a play of masks multiplied through fantasy identifications, projections, and roles. More provocatively, the various commentators who approve and appreciate acting with incongruity epitomize the literati ideal of qu as well as an increasing suspicion towards, and flaunted transgression of, socially appropriate practices and modes of thought. Within the context of the glorification of playful theatricals, then, acting with incongruity attained a new meaning. It accentuated and justified the clash of the actor and the role thus helping us understand and contextualize “Li Zhi’s” tongue-twisting comment on the theatrical and the real in the epigraph. Acting with incongruity became central in bringing to the pages of early modern fiction a hearty laughter and an anti-establishment sentiment. Necessarily opposing the popularity of incongruous actors like Lu Zhishen, Li Kui, Monkey, and Pig were a group of acting characters known as jiaren or artificial persons.

Yu Chunxi, “Jietuo ji tici” (解脫集題詞), in Yuan Hongdao ji jianjiao 袁宏道集 箋校 (Shanghai: Shanghai guji, 1981), p. 1689. 77 Richard Schechner, The Future of Ritual: Writings on Culture and Performance (London: Routledge, 1993), p. 234. 76

CHAPTER SIX

ACTING, JIAREN, AND THE ARTIFICE OF CONGRUITY There is a feminine wail and a masculine wail: the masculine wail derives from the heart. One cannot control himself but give in to a loud wail to empty his sorrow. This is a masculine wail. As to crying in a low voice like a mosquito, rolling down the sleeve to cover the face, using tears to curse other people, and sniveling non-stop—this is called a feminine wail. It is mere noise; what does it have to do with crying? 夫哭亦有雄有雌，情發乎中，不能自裁，放聲一號，罄無不盡，此 雄哭也。若夫展袂掩面，聲如蚊蚋，借淚罵人，吱咽不已，此名雌 哭，徒聒人耳，哭奚為也。 Jin Shengtan, Chapter 25 interlinear commentary, Shuihu zhuan

Opposing the authentic characters discussed in the last chapter, MingQing fiction commentators found an abundance of jiaren 假人, or duplicitous persons, portrayed in fiction. In fact, David Rolston lists “finding duplicitous and hypocritical characters” as one of the more popular reading habits in late imperial China.1 The focus on contrastive characters in Ming-Qing fiction and fiction criticism understandably contributed to an abundance of duplicitous characters. Particularly, as we will discuss in Chapter 8, ‘playful theatricals’ shares the use of contrastive characters with ‘didactic theater.’ The purpose of contrasting characters in playful theatricals was not centered on morality, but on whether theater and acting was used for authentic or artificial purposes. The first part of this chapter examines how sixteenth- and seventeenth-century writers and commentators made use of jiaren and explores what constitutes a jia performance. For the authors and commentators who espoused ‘playful theatricals,’ artifice was a culturally and historically specific concept. While clashes of performative codes were celebrated as indicative of qu, the opposite—mere congruity and conformity with social propriety and expected norms—was just as easily read as signs of duplicity and artifice ( jia). The troupe of jiaren characters appearing in this chapter, ranging from moral and

1

Rolston, Traditional Chinese Fiction, p. 216.

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orthodox conformists to romantic poseurs and emotional fakers, all received harsh criticism from the authors and/or commentators who distained the actors’ command of artifice. The second part of this chapter discusses how writers and commentators gendered artifice and questioned whether women could stage playful theatricals. On Artifice Jia, or artifice, is an important concept in discourses on authenticity because early modern intellectuals defined authenticity as the opposite of artifice. As we discussed in the last chapter, Li Zhi’s catchphrase for a child-mind is “free of all falseness and purely genuine” ( juejia chunzhen 絕假純真). Yuan Hongdao’s explication of qu also attempts to differentiate an innate qu, an unlearned natural gift, from a learned, superficial qu. Indeed, a learned qu is not qu. Yuan Hongdao thus furthers Li Zhi’s efforts to demarcate the boundaries between authenticity and artifice. To be child-like is important for both Li Zhi and Yuan Hongdao in their attempt to valorize unawareness/unconsciousness and to dissociate authenticity from any hint of artifice. Li Yu points out that artifice cannot be easily distinguished from authenticity. In his fiction collection Silent Operas, he describes the artifice used by actresses of a fictional Yang village and how it muddled authenticity: [W]hen it comes to charm, actresses are in a different class altogether from the ordinary run of prostitutes. . . . Why should this be? Because in training to become actresses, these women have practiced (cao 操) and acted out ( yan 演) those warbling, dulcet tones and that delicate, willowy grace of theirs to perfection. There is no need for them to affect such things in company, for they come naturally.2

Utilizing a paradox at the very heart of authenticity, Li Yu confronts Yuan Hongdao with a contradiction in the latter’s reasoning: Yuan assumes that distinctions exist between “superficial manifestations” and the “spirit and essence,” between qu as the “gift of nature” and the “result of learning,” and between the artificial and the authentic. The innate ambiguities in the concept of authenticity, Li Yu argues,

2 Li Yu quanji, 4: 251; Silent Operas, p. 162. Modifications italicized to highlight the theatrical vocabulary.

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allows for a kind of artifice that appears authentic by being practiced and, more importantly, acted out. Li Yu goes on to comment that an actress’s manner of training is enhanced by, and with, staging. The carpet on the stage dramatizes her learned femininity to such perfection that the singing and acting of Yang village actresses is remarkably ‘authentic’ (daodi 道地).3 Moreover, Li continues, performing skills can be ‘biologically’ passed down through “the father’s semen and the mother’s blood” ( fujing muxue 父精母血).4 In Li Yu’s conceptualization of artifice, then, it becomes a ‘gene’ thereby moving performance, with its learned bodily movements and spoken tones, into the ‘biological’ realm. How to Make a Case for a Jiaren in Shuihu zhuan Shuihu zhuan features one of the most famous jiaren in all of Chinese literature—Song Jiang. Among scholars it is still debated whether the author of Shuihu intended to present Song as a jiaren or whether that characterization is a result of early modern readings. The seventeenthcentury fiction critic Jin Shengtan is the reader most associated with the characterization of Song Jiang as a jiaren. Throughout his extensive commentaries on Shuihu zhuan Jin repeatedly calls Song Jiang a jiaren and contrasts Song with ‘authentic persons’ like Li Kui.5 Andrew Plaks sides with Jin arguing that in the extant full versions of Shuihu zhuan the author, or redactor, handled Song Jiang with much irony.6 David Rolston, recognizing the influence of earlier readings, leaves the question unanswered, but holds up Jin’s commentaries as having the most profound effect on later readers in their understanding of Song.7 For Rolston, when late imperial readers started the fad to find artificiality they became a “body of suspicious readers” who tended to overread characters.8 The trend towards overreading was exacerbated by Jin’s profound disgust with Song Jiang as a character—emotionally charged readings was another popular style—throughout his extensive commentary. 3 4 5 6 7 8

Ibid. Ibid., 4: 252; Silent Operas, p. 163. See, for example, Jin Shengtan’s chapter commentaries on Chapters 25, 37, 40, 41. Plaks, The Four Masterworks of the Ming Novel, pp. 328–42. Rolston, Traditional Chinese Fiction, p. 221. Ibid., p. 217.

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In the context of theatricality, it is more important to examine how Jin Shengtan made his case for Song Jiang as a jiaren than debate about the Shuihu author’s original intent. The first way Jin characterizes Song as a jiaren is through a ‘standard’ meaning for duplicity— double-dealing or two-facedness. That is, Song presents different appearances to different people. Jin Shengtan identifies clues between the lines (shenwen qubi 深文曲筆) to reveal a discrepancy between Song’s motives and his actions/words. He reads double-dealing into Song Jiang’s refusal to become a bandit (Chapter 40), his relationship with Chao Gai (Chapters 59 and 60), and his recruitment of Liu Junyi (Chapter 67), to make his case for Song’s duplicity. The second manner in which Jin characterizes Song as a jiaren is completely unrelated to explicit forms of obvious duplicity. In this instance, Jin’s configuration of jia is defined within the context of ‘playful theatricals.’ For Jin, as for other fiction writers and critics, authenticity is manifested through clashes of performative codes, as discussed in the last chapter, while duplicity ( jia) simply refers to a person who conforms to social propriety and norms. This second way to read Song’s duplicity concerns his two most dominant characteristics—his loyalty and filial piety. Since the Shuihu author does not appear to undermine the geniuneness of Song Jiang’s loyalty and filial piety, this second method suggests Jin Shengtan may be ‘overreading’ Song’s behavior. Song Jiang’s loyalty and filial piety are given sympathetic treatment in Chapters 35–36 of Shuihu zhuan. Concerned that his son might join the bandit gang, Song’s father sends Song Jiang a letter about his illness. Song hurries home in great distress. While staying with his father Song is arrested and bids his father a tearful farewell as he leaves home in shackles. When the Liangshan bandits intercept Song and his escorts, and plead with Song to join them, he threatens suicide to show filial piety to his father. Song’s suicidal threats are rather reasonable considering that his father, aware of Song’s connection with the Liangshan band, specifically exhorted him not to join the bandits. Jin’s chapter commentary states: Now we read his biography and trace his words and actions: how come every little tidbit only verifies that he is a loyal, honest, sincere, and respectful gentleman? One chapter is not contradicted by another chapter, a paragraph not by another paragraph, a sentence not by another sentence, a word not by another word. However, even though this is the

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case, can we really affirm that Song Jiang is truly a benevolent man and filial son? The praise and blame are without a doubt outside of the text. 乃今讀其傳，跡其言行，抑何寸寸而求之，莫不宛然忠信篤敬君 子也？篇則無累于篇耳，節則無累于節耳，句則無累于句耳，字 則無累于字耳。雖然，誠如是者，豈將以宋江真遂為仁人孝子之徒 哉？. . . 是則是褒貶固在筆墨之外也.9

Jin Shengtan is asking his readers to understand how the novelist carries out the prime task of judgment, baobian 褒貶 (praise and blame). Instead of ‘reading for hidden meanings between the lines,’ Jin suggests a reading outside of the text: this kind of praise and blame achieves its persuasion through a shared cultural ideal of authenticity that distrusts consistent morality and social propriety. Jin Shengtan finds fault with Song Jiang’s filial piety using the same logic. Song must be artificial because he is too consistent, writes Jin in the commentary to Chapter 41. In this chapter Song Jiang has already joined the bandits and, concerned for the safety of his father, returns home to fetch him. Alas! Filial piety from the mouth of a thief. The author specifically uses Song Jiang to illustrate this point. That is, the reason why a thief is a thief is that he treats other people only with a ferocious heart. Those who speak of filial piety in every word they utter, but treat their parents with a ferocious heart, are even worse than a thief. . . . That is why parents are more afraid of those who speak of filial piety with every utterance than they are of a thief. 嗚呼！此口說之孝所以為強盜之孝，而作者特借宋江以 活畫之。蓋言強盜之為強盜，徒以惡心向于他人；若夫 口口說孝之人，乃以惡心向其父母，是加于強盜一等者 也。. . . 蓋為父母者之畏口口說孝之子，真有過于強盜也者.10

Jin is quibbling. He fails to even bother making a plausible argument. Although Song Jiang indeed frequently verbalizes his filial piety there is no obvious discrepancy in the text indicating Song’s heart is not filial. The validity of Jin’s comments is built on the repetition of measure words, koukou 口口 (every utterance). This all-inclusive indicator, like Jin’s use of cuncun 寸寸 (every tidbit) in the previous quotation, links consistency in speech with a ferocious heart. For Jin, congruity itself is artifice.

9 10

Shuihu zhuan huiping ben, p. 658. Ibid., p. 772.

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Jin Shengtan is no where more outspoken in defining congruity as artifice than in the commentary for Chapter 57. The purpose of Jin’s commentary is to enumerate Song Jiang’s crimes. The commentary begins with an imaginary debate with a village pedant (cunxue xiansheng 村學先生), who has “a dirt-filled stomach and pair of coal-eyes” (團泥作腹，鏤炭為眼), which make him a dupe for Song Jiang’s superficial actions and words: This has to be debated. . . . Tracing the village pedant’s argument, they feel that whenever Song Jiang captures a famous general, he releases them, toasts them. Teary-eyed, Song fervently exclaims his loyalty to his emperor, his desire to serve his country, and pleads the sincerity of his desire to surrender. He utters every word with such sincerity and ferventness. My conclusion, however, that Song Jiang is a bandit and has not the least bit of loyalty and righteousness derives precisely from this [kind of behavior]. 此決不得不与之辯。. . . 原村學先生之心，則豈非以宋江每得名將， 必親為之釋縛、擎盞，流淚縱橫，痛陳忠君報國之志，极訴寢食招 安之誠，言言刳胸臆，聲聲瀝熱血哉？乃吾所以斷宋江之為強盜， 而万万必無忠義之心者，亦正于此.11

Similar to the earlier chapter commentaries, Jin uses the repetition of measure words to emphasize the consistency of Song’s words and deeds. While the village pendant erroneously believes Song Jiang’s consistency makes him a paragon of loyalty and filial piety, for Jin it is the consistency itself that unmasks Song Jiang as hypocritical. Jin uses his recognition of congruity as artifice to make himself the opposite of his strawman, the village pedant. Although Jin Shengtan is the most famous commentator who attacked Song Jiang’s artifice, he was not the only commentator to do so. The “Li Zhi” commentator of the earlier Rongyutang edition also dislikes Song Jiang on the same grounds. That is, the “Li Zhi” commentator distrusts Song’s consistent filial piety and loyalty. “Li Zhi” writes, “Pseudomoralists should be detested, hated, killed, and sliced precisely because they too closely resemble the saints” 假道學之所以 可惡可恨可殺可剮，正為忒似 圣人模樣耳.12 The prefatory piece in the Rongyutang edition attributed to Huai Lin entitled “A Comparative Ranking of the 108 Liangshan Heroes” echoes “Li Zhi’s” claim—

11 12

Ibid., p. 1053. Rongyutang ben Shuihu zhuan, p. 96.

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“As for Song Jiang: he bows and cries when he encounters another person. He calls himself ‘a petite clerk’ or ‘a guilty person.’ He is truly a fake moralist and a real hooligan” 若夫宋江者﹐逢人便拜﹐見人 便哭﹐ 自稱曰﹕“小吏﹐小吏”﹐或招曰﹕“罪人﹐罪人”﹐的 是假道學﹐真強盜也.13 Fake Tears: Pan Jinlian in Shuihu zhuan Pan Jinlian is probably the most notoriously negative character in all of Chinese literature and represents the most extreme case of a virago. She is a combination of an adulteress, a shrew, and a femme fatale. Jin Shengtan referred to her as having a xindu (poisonous heart) in his commentaries on Shuihu zhuan. Characterizing her, Zhang Zhupo 張竹坡 (1670–1698) wrote, “Jinlian is not human” (金蓮不是人) or simply “evil” (e 惡).14 Much has been written about Jinlian, the shrew, as an emblem of female transgression.15 Here I will examine Jinlian as a jiaren in Shuihu zhuan and the contrast between her as a duplicitous person and Wu Song as an authentic one. A significant amount of narratorial and commentarial attention is devoted to Jinlian’s tears even though she is a minor character in Shuihu zhuan and appears only in Chapters 24–26. The Shuihu author shows Jinlian’s fake tears on four occasions: after she murders her husband, the next day in front of the neighbors, during the funeral procession, and in the midst of Wu Song’s inquiry after the latter returns from a business trip. “Li Zhi” of the Yuan Wuya edition singles out Jinlian’s false cries as the key to the text (文字中眼目) and suggests that readers relate them to Pan’s numerous smiles when she tries to seduce Wu Song, her brother-in-law.16 Jin Shengtan echoes “Li Zhi’s”

13

Ibid., p. 1486. Zhang Zhupo, “Piping diyi qishu Jin Ping Mei dufa” 批評第一奇書<<金瓶梅>> 讀法, in Jin Ping Mei 金瓶梅 (Jinan: Qilu shushe, 1991), p. 35. For Zhang’s other comments on Jinlian as evil, see pp. 28, 30. 15 For example, Yenna Wu, The Chinese Virago: A Literary Theme (Cambridge: Harvard University Press, 1995); Keith McMahon, Misers, Shrews, and Polygamists: Sexuality and Male-Female Relations in Eighteenth-Century Chinese Fiction (Durham, N. C.: Duke University Press, 1995); Nanfei Ding, Obscene Things: Sexual Politics in Jin Ping Mei (Durham and London: Duke University Press, 2002); and Zuyan Zhou, Androgyny in Late Ming and Early Qing Literature (Honolulu: University of Hawai’i Press, 2003), pp. 47–68. 16 Shuihu zhuan huiping ben, p. 491. 14

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commentaries by drawing the reader’s attention to Jinlian’s fake tears when he compares them to the real tears of other characters in the same chapter. In all commentaries, Jinlian is vilified not only for being an adulteress and murderer, but primarily for her display of fake emotions through false tears. Among the three chapters in which Pan Jinlian appears, Chapter 26 is of the most significance. In his chapter commentaries Jin Shengtan writes that he is so disgusted with Jinlian’s vile, poisonous heart that he almost stopped reading the novel. He advised his readers to turn to Chapter 26 (Chapter 25 for the Jin commentary edition) and “read it in a sitting” 快誦一過 so as to “wash out the abominable like a drum” 羯鼓洗穢. Why does Chapter 26 have such a cleansing effect? It is about the killing of Jinlian. In Chapter 26, a bribed magistrate ignores Wu Song’s lawsuit concerning his brother’s murder. Exasperated and frustrated, Wu Song decides to inflict his own brand of vigilante justice. The killing scene is a mixture of a sacrificial ritual, a banquet, and a court case, all of which were often evoked as popular theatrical spaces in early modern narratives. An alter table is set up, incense and candles are lit, sacrificial dishes are piled before the spirit tablet, and wine and edibles are laid out for the guests. Taking advantage of his position as the country constable Wu Song orders his soldiers to police the room like a court: they guard the front and rear doors so that no invited neighbors can leave. A neighbor skilled at calligraphy is forced to serve as the court secretary while other neighbors serve as witnesses.17 If Wu Song is a careful staging character before the killing, during the killing he becomes a spontaneous actor like Lu Zhishen and Li Kui. Early modern commentators lauded Wu Song for his authenticity. “Li Zhi” of the Rongyutang edition grants the second most common one-word commentary, “Buddha!,” to Wu Song and ranks him third on the list of the most impetuous characters.18 Jin Shengtan praises Wu Song as a heavenly character (tianren 天人); his sterling qualities, Jin claims, lie in Wu’s combination of the openness of Lu the Sagacious, the fierceness of Yang Zhi, the authenticity of Li Kui, and the straightforwardness of Ruan Qi. Despite differences in their commen-

17 I am indebted to Robert E. Hegel for pointing out the court-case like scene in the killing of Pan Jinlian. 18 Rongyutang ben Shuhu Zhuan, p. 48.

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tarial styles, Jin Shengtan and the two “Li Zhis,” of the Yuan Wuya and Rongyutang editions, all applaud Wu Song as a forthright person (kuairen 快人), especially in Chapter 29 “Wu Song, Drunk, Beats Jiang the Gate Guard Giant,” a key chapter devoted to him. Criticizing Jinlian for displaying inauthentic emotions, the author(s) and commentators of Shuihu zhuan hail Wu Song’s expression of authentic emotion as a direct contrast. Back from his county assignment and shocked by his brother’s abrupt death, Wu Song holds back his tears. Wu’s silence triggers the Yuan Wuya “Li Zhi” to comment that Wu’s distress and woe is stronger than tears, which directly evokes Jinlian’s crocodile tears. Wu Song cries only once, when he offers a sacrifice to his brother for the first time, and yet he gives it all ( fangsheng daku 放聲大哭), which is a type of wail Jin Shengtan engenders as masculine.19 In the interlineal commentary Jin Shengtan holds up Wu Song’s wail as a forthright and heroic act (kuaizai yingxiong 快哉英雄). Jin instructs his readers to recall an earlier event, when Wu Song advised Jinlian to refrain from crying when she relates his brother’s death, to create a sharp contrast between Wu’s authenticity and Jinlian’s artifice. The significance of Chapter 26, in which Wu Song kills Jinlian, then, lies in the final encounter between an authentic person and a duplicitous one wherein authenticity symbolically triumphs over artifice. As Wu Song sets the stage for killing he shifts from a careful staging character to a spontaneous one. The rapidity with which Wu Song carries out the killing indicates his eagerness for revenge. More importantly, the Rongyutang “Li Zhi” points out, it is a Buddha-like act, as he writes “Buddha!” in his interlineal commentaries inserted into the text: Wu Song yanked her over backwards by the head, planted a foot on each arm, and tore open her bodice. Quicker than it takes to tell, he plunged the knife into her breast and cut. Then, clenching the knife in his teeth, he ripped her chest open with both hands, pulled out her heart, liver, and entrails (Buddha!), and placed them on the memorial tablet. With another slash of the knife, he cut the girl’s head off (Buddha!).20 那婦人見頭勢不好，卻待要叫，被武松腦揪倒來，兩隻腳踏住他兩 隻肐膊，扯開胸脯衣裳﹔說時遲，那時快，把尖刀去胸前只一剜， 口裏銜著刀，雙手去挖開胸脯，摳出心肝五臟，佛。供養在靈前﹔ 肐查一刀，便割下那婦人頭來，佛。血流滿地。 19 20

Shuihu zhuan huiping ben, p. 492. Chapter 26, p. 361, p. 425.

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The one word commentary “Buddha!”, one of “Li Zhi’s” most important terms for evoking his celebration of spontaneity, serves several functions. Disguised as a pilgrim monk, Wu Song ranks second after the army officer-turned-monk Lu Zhishen in receiving the majority of “Li Zhi’s” one word “Buddha” commentaries. In this instance, the “Buddha” commentary injects Wu Song’s killing into the discourses over authenticity and artifice. It is important of the “Li Zhi” commentator that Wu Song’s killing derives from an uncontrollable anger with Jinlian and heartfelt, if suppressed, grief over the death of his brother. “Buddha!” is a cheer for the speediness, and the implied impetuousness, of Wu Song’s gruesome execution. The celebration of violence must be understood in this case through its connection with the valorization of spontaneity: it is not only gruesome violence, but a display of masculine spontaneity that is contrasted with Jinlian’s artificial feminine tears. When Jinlian, as the source of the fake tears, is presented as an alter sacrifice, Wu Song tears open her chest to expose the blackness of her heart to everyone. Singing Popular Songs: Pan Jinlian in Jin Ping Mei Pan Jinlian is one of the main characters in the late Ming novel Jin Ping Mei 金瓶梅 (Golden Lotus, also known as The Plum in the Golden Vase) by Lanling Xiaoxiao Sheng 蘭陵笑笑生 (The Scoffing Scholar of Lanling). In the novel, the author explores her duplicity and artifice in detail. In Shuihu zhuan the author introduces Pan Jinlian as a bondmaid. Jin Ping Mei specifies that she was sold as a child as a household entertainer where she learned to play musical instruments and sing. Lanling Xiaoxiao Sheng creates Jinlian as a woman whose specialty is “painting her brows and making up her eyes, applying powder and putting on rouge, wearing form-fitting gowns, putting on airs, and making a spectacle of herself.”21 Using her feminine wiles, Jinlian joins the Ximen household as the fifth concubine. Jinlian is the most manipulative of the household members and serves as a particularly strong contrast to Li Ping’er, the credulous sixth concubine. Building upon my earlier reading of Jinlian in Shuihu zhuan, I want to focus on one element of her characterization in Jin Ping Mei—her 21 Jin Ping Mei, p. 32; Translation from David Roy, The Plum in the Golden Vase, or, Chin P’ing Mei, vol. 1 (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1993), p. 26.

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singing of popular songs (shidiao xiaoqu 時調小曲). Reading Jinlian’s singing through theatricality throws a new light on her construction as a duplicitous character. Modern scholars often argue that the singing of popular songs in late imperial literature expresses the genuine feelings of the characters. Yenna Wu, for example, observes that despite the general condemnation of Pan Jinlian, the author sympathetically depicts her inner frustrations and helplessness through the songs she sings or writes.22 Katherine Carlitz, however, points out that drama and songs “produce incongruity so great that everything seems to be satirized.”23 My reading furthers Katherine Carlitz’s argument by connecting the singing of popular songs to performance as artifice. Ming-Qing literature is characterized by a strong self-reflexivity when performances are included in narratives, which suggests that popular songs are not meant to throw positive light on the characters as a mode of selfexpression by the author. Rather, singing popular songs is markedly performative and involves the assumption of the voice of others. Two characters in Jin Ping Mei sing popular songs more than others: Pan Jinlian and Chen Jingji; Chen Jingji is Ximen Qing’s son-in-law who has an incestuous affair with Jinlian. For Jingji, popular songs serve as a way to express his sexual desires; for Jinlian, songs allow her a range of different roles. Seventeenth-century literati who wrote biographies of courtesans they adored went to great pains to emphasize that these courtesans did not perform easily. Yu Huai 余懷 (1616–96), literatus and insider of the pleasure quarters in the late Ming, in Banqiao zaji 板橋雜記 (Miscellaneous records of the wooden bridge) wrote that famous courtesans regarded performance on the stage as shameful. They would not perform unless insistently encouraged by their literati recognizers (zhiyin 知音).24 This makes their performance rare, valuable, and therefore truly enjoyable. Yu Huai particularly praised his acquaintance Gu Mei 顧眉 (fl. 1663), a famous courtesan of the Qinhuai district, as the best 22 Wu Yenna, The Chinese Virago: A Literary Theme, p. 109. Similar comments in Patrick Hanan, “Sources of the Chin P’ing Mei,” Asia Major 10 (1963): 23–67, p. 67; K’ang-i Sun Chang, “Songs in the Chin P’ing Mei tz’u-hua,” Journal of Oriental Studies, nos. 1–2 (1980), p. 28. 23 Katherine Carlitz, The Rhetoric of Chin P’ing Mei (Bloomington: Indiana University Press, 1986), pp. 95–127, p. 117. 24 Yu Huai, Banqiao zaji 板橋雜記, annotation Li Jintang 李金堂 (Shanghai: Shanghai guji, 2000), p. 11.

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performer of southern drama. Gu, however, rarely acted.25 In a short description of his mistress and courtesan Li Xiang, Hou Fangyu 侯方域 (1618–1655), spokesman of the Revival Society, celebrated her singing and lute playing skills, but quickly added, “she does not sing lightly” (然不輕發也).26 Aiming at idolizing them and endowing them with higher claims to truth, purity, and authentic emotions, these accounts demonstrate an attempt on the literati writers’ part to dissociate the courtesans from the artifice of performance. Singing popular songs allows Jinlian to assume the personas of a vindictive virago as well as a deserted woman resigned to her ill fate. Married to Wu Da, Pan Jinlian sings vindictively about her mismatch in Chapter 1.27 When Jinlian’s lover Ximen Qing marries Meng Yulou and ceases to visit Jinlian for a while, she sings the songs of a deserted woman cursing her fickle lover.28 With a high percentage of Ming popular songs adopting the voice of a vulnerable, deserted, or resigned woman, Jinlian easily assumes this persona.29 The most extensive scene of Jinlian’s singing occurs in Chapter 38. It is also the most theatrically framed scene and involves the most ‘masking.’ Prior to Chapter 38, Li Ping’er gives birth to a son and has become Ximen Qing’s favorite. Jinlian’s barrenness throws her into a fierce competition with Li for Ximen Qing’s favors. Jinlian adopts every strategy to destroy both Li Ping’er and her son, including training her cat to attack the baby. Jinlian’s singing takes place on a snowy night after awaiting Ximen Qing’s arrival only to discover he has already settled down with Li Ping’er for the night. Accompanying herself with the lute, Jinlian sings in a loud voice hoping to be overheard. Jinlian’s song allows her to adopt alternative personas and voices in the performance of popular songs. Accusatory language, which characterized the songs she sang earlier in the novel, appears only occasionally while the songs are mostly dominated by the ‘quoted’ usage of a deserted woman who is resigned to her status as a less favored wife:

25

Ibid., pp. 29–30. Xu Fuming 徐扶明, ed., Mudan ting yanjiu ziliao kaoshi 牡丹亭研究資料考釋 (Shanghai: Shanghai guji, 1987), p. 147. Yu Huai records that like Gu Mei, Li Xiang was a famed actress in Southern Drama (Banqiao zaji, pp. 48–9). 27 Chapter 1, p. 33, 1: 28. 28 Chapter 8, pp. 135–36, 1: 156. 29 Lu Yulu 鹿憶鹿, Feng Menglong suoji min’ge yanjiu 馮夢龍所輯民歌研究 (Taibei: Xuehai, 1986), pp. 13–28. 26

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[L]anguidly I lean against the standing screen, Or force myself to lie down in my clothes. ... Too lazy to trim the precious lamp, Too listless to relight the incense burner. 悶把幃屏來靠﹐和衣強睡倒. . . . 懶把寶燈挑﹐慵將香篆燒.30

And, I hate my fickle lover for lightly abandoning me. Depressed and alone, I give way to idle annoyance 懊恨薄情輕棄﹐離愁閑自惱. 31

Jinlian’s agency in choosing such a persona is clear. By presenting Jinlian as a vicious woman and yet having her sing as if resigned and helpless, the author depicts Jinlian’s artifice. Jinlian is, as she was introduced at the beginning of the novel, a true poseur. In Jin Ping Mei singing popular songs serves a double purpose. On the one hand, since singing popular song enables Jinlian to assume the fake persona of a deserted and vulnerable woman, the author uses singing to categorize her as a jiaren. On the other hand, according to everyday encyclopedias, singing (changqu 唱曲) is a typical act of a licentious woman. These everyday encyclopedia (riyong leishu 日用類書), as scholars have pointed out, circulated widely in the late Ming providing a readily accessible and widely-read source of common knowledge for late imperial fiction writers and readers.32 Drawing upon the popular encyclopedia for indexation of yinfu 淫婦 (licentious woman) movements and physical appearance the author typecasts Jinlian as a licentious woman. Singing thus serves as an additional clue, along with Jinlian’s facial features, to her physiognomic indexing as a despicable woman.

30

Chapter 38, p. 577, 2: 394. Chapter 38, p. 579, 2: 397. Translation modified. 32 Sakade Yoshinobu 坂出祥伸, “Kaisetsu—Mindai nichiyō ruisho ni tsuite” 解説– 明代日用類書について, in Sakade Yoshinobu and Ogawa Yōichi 小川陽一, eds. Wuche bajin (Gosha bakkin) 五車拔錦, in Chugoku nichiyō ruisho shūsei 中國日 用類書集成, vols. 1–2 (Tokyo: Kyūko shoin, 1999), pp. 7–29. Shang Wei, “The Making of the Everyday World: Jin Ping Mei Cihua and Encyclopedias for Daily Use,” in Dynastic Crisis and Cultural Innovation: From the Late Ming to the Late Qing and Beyond (Cambridge: Harvard University Press, 2005), pp. 63–92. 31

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In Wuche wanbao quanshu 五車萬寶全書 (Treasury of five carts almanac), a well-known everyday encyclopedia, a poem entitled, “Ten Despicable Signs of a Woman” (Furen shijian ge 婦人十賤歌),33 include as “despicable signs” adjusting clothes for no particular reason, shaking legs while sitting or standing, and singing popular songs.34 Along with “Ten Despicable Signs” is a portrait depicting a woman with thick and luxuriant hair and arched eyebrows—exactly how readers of Jin Ping Mei see Jinlian (Fig. 6.1). Jinlian’s facial features, indexed in Chapter 29 through the physiognomist Immortal Wu’s eyes, are strikingly similar: thick and luxuriant hair around her temples, sidelong glances, a pleasing face and arched eyebrows, and a body which quivers without cause.35 This visual indexing of Jinlian functions in a way like a juanshou illustration because of its appearance early in the novel, a connection pointed out by the early Qing critic Zhang Zhupo.36 Hence, early modern readers who were familiar with popular encyclopedias would probably have understood Jinlian’s singing of popular songs as signs of a licentious woman, despite her command of performance as artifice. To understand the connection between Jinlian and the physiognomic images of yinfu, and the intended criticism of her character, we must bear in mind that images of female faces were uncommon in physiognomic texts. As Craig Clunas suggests, women’s pictures were rare because the issue of men looking upon women’s faces was a highly controversial one.37 While the faces used in Sancai tuhui 三才圖會 (The pictorial compendium of the Three Powers) are almost all men, in the section on physiognomy (“Xiangfa men” 相法門) of Wuche wanbao quanshu, only one female face is represented: a licentious woman. The inclusion of the yinfu picture, and its accompanying verse, demonstrates a desire to police licentious women by describing them in discernible codes. Drawing upon these codes, Lanling Xiaox33 Wuche wanbao quanshu (Gosha banpō zensho) 五車萬寶全書, in Chūgoku nichiyō ruisho shūsei, vols. 8–9. (Tokyo: Kyūko shoin , 2001), p. 414. 34 Wuche wanbao quanshu, p. 414, p. 416. This image and the verse also circulated in other popular encyclopedias, such as Wuche bajin, pp. 350. “眉如新月曲﹐夜夜換 新郎”, p. 351. For the relevance of faces in the riyong leishu and major novels such as Shuihu zhuan, Jin Ping Mei, and others, see Ogawa Yōichi 小川陽一, Nichiyō ruisho ni yoru minsin shōsetsu no kenkyū 日用類書による 明清小說の研究 (Tokyo: Kenbun, 1995), pp. 210–246. 35 Ibid., Chapter 29, p. 441. 36 Jin Ping Mei, Chapter 29, p. 433. 37 Clunas, Pictures and Visuality in Early Modern China, p. 89.

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Two pages from Wuche wanbao quanshu, 1614, in Chūgoku nichiyō ruisho shūsei, vols. 8–9, pp. 414–5.

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iao Sheng echoes Jin Shengtan in their shared agenda to expose the duplicity of jiaren characters. Engendering Artifice As quoted in the epigraph, Jin Shengtan distinguishes between the meaning of masculine and feminine wails. This quote comes from Jin’s interlineal commentary accompanying the scene in which Wu Song returns from his business trip to find out that his brother was murdered. By this point in the narrative, the Shuihu author has introduced two contrastive types of mourning: Wu Song’s deep mourning and Jinlian’s crocodile tears. Jin Shengtan genders Jinlian’s wail as the feminine and Wu Song’s heartfelt cry as the masculine. However, if we compare Jin Shengtan’s commentary with the main text of the novel, in which the narrator refers to fake tears as those of women ( furen ku 婦人哭), Jin is attempting to broaden artifice from a female to a feminine quality.38 Jin Shengtan’s gendering of artifice as feminine forces us to consider the multifaceted construction of gender in the Ming-Qing era. In the late Ming, gender construction was particularly complicated and involved a series of shifts in metaphors. Charlotte Furth has shown that late imperial medical constructions of women’s bodies shifted from metaphors of pollution to metaphors of weakness and inferiority.39 Recent studies of gender in late Ming literature have uncovered that the idealization of the feminine in connection to authenticity constitutes the core of the literary and aesthetic movements on authenticity and emotionality.40 As Maram Epstein summarizes: “At the core of the aesthetic movement was the development of an iconography

38

Shuihu zhuan, Chap. 25, p. 345. Charlotte Furth, “Blood, Body and Gender: Medical Images of the Female Condition in China, 1600–1850,” Chinese Science 7 (1986): 43–66; A Flourishing Yin: Gender in China’s Medical History, 960–1665 (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1999). 40 Maram Epstein, Competing Discourses, especially pp. 88–92. For changing representations of women, especially courtesans, connected with the concept of qing, see: Wai-yee Li, “The Late Ming Courtesan: Invention of a Cultural Ideal,” in Ellen Widmer and Kang-i Sun Chang, eds., Writing Women in Late Imperial China (Stanford: Stanford University Press, 1997), pp. 46–74; and Kang-i Sun Chang, The Late Ming Poet Ch’en Tzu-lung: Crisis of Love and Loyalism (New Haven: Yale University Press, 1991), pp. 9–18. 39

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of qing, a system of yin-associated values that promoted the feminine and the natural as markers of moral and spiritual authenticity (zhen) in contrast to a mechanical, even false (jia) ritualism.”41 Fostered by this movement and the unprecedented publishing boom, women, considered to be endowed with moral, ethical, and emotional authenticity, cultivated their literary selves resulting in the first great period of women’s literature in China.42 Jin Shengtan’s gendering of artifice as the cultural feminine illustrates yet another facet contrary to the idealization of women as possessive of true emotions in the late Ming. That is, women are deemed as closely connected to artifice. Scholars of murder case reports trace spontaneity and lack of self-control as conventionally masculine while women are presented as carefully self-controlled planners and plotters.43 This attitude reminds us of the perspective of the protagonist, Xu Jifang, in the seventeenth century-writer Li Yu’s story, “Nan Mengmu jiaohe sanqian” 男孟母教合三遷 (A Male Mencius’s mother raises her son properly by moving house three times).44 Xu Jifang shies away from women because “they hide the truth with powder and rouge . . . they employ artifice by binding their feet and piercing their ears” 涂脂抹粉﹐以假為真﹐一可厭也﹔纏腳鑽耳﹐矯揉造作﹐二 可厭也.45 In her analysis of Li Yu’s story, Sophie Volpp argues that female femininity is associated with artifice and male femininity with natural beauty.46 Although Xu is in many respects an antihero, he does represent a certain social attitude of the time, which genders artifice as a feminine quality.

41

Epstein, Competing Discourses, p. 7. For the late Ming boom in women’s literature and its connection with the cult of authenticity, see: Wilt Idema and Beata Grant, The Red Brush: Writing Women of Imperial China (Cambridge: Harvard University Press, 2004), pp. 6–7. For a study of elite women writers, see: Dorothy Ko, Teachers of the Inner Chambers: Women and Culture in Seventeenth-Century China (Stanford: Stanford University Press, 1994), esp. Part I. 43 Matthew Sommer, Sex, Law, and Society in Late Imperial China (Stanford: Stanford University Press, 2000) and Thomas Buoye, Manslaughter, Markets, and Moral Economy: Violent Disputes over Property Rights in Eighteenth Century China (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2000). 44 Li Yu quanji 李漁全集 (Hangzhou: Zhejiang guji, 1992), 4: 107–31. 45 Ibid., p. 110. Translation from Silent Operas, p. 103. 46 Sophie Volpp, “The Discourse on Male Marriage: Li Yu’s ‘A Male Mencius’ Mother,” Positions 2.1 (1994): 113–132, p. 119. 42

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Artifice as the cultural feminine explains why male characters who fit the character type of jiaren are often effeminate.47 Song Jiang is a case in point. Besides Song’s overly consistent moral behavior, Jin Shengtan views Song Jiang’s tears, which are abundant, as false and indicative of his duplicity and manipulation. Making fun of Song Jiang’s nickname, Timely Rain, Jin Shengtan comments that his wail is untimely because crying is a natural emotion 哭者﹐人生暢順之 情﹐非此時之所得來也.48 Song Jiang therefore cries a ‘feminine’ wail, which reminds us of Jinlian. Liu Bei in Romance of the Three Kingdoms is quite similar to Song Jiang because he also cries abundantly and is portrayed as effeminate and duplicitous. “Li Zhi” ridicules Liu Bei for crying “like one of our singsong girls today” (極似今日之妓女).49 The gendered concept of artifice is vividly illustrated by Li Yu, who deconstructs romance by creating an artificial scholar in his two novellas, “Fuyunlou” 拂雲樓 (The Cloud-Scraper) and Rou putuan 肉蒲團 (Carnal prayer mat).50 By an artificial scholar, I mean Li Yu’s parody by which he creates the scholar as a theatrical role and emphasizes their strained efforts to perform. Li Yu thus ridicules his male protagonists and renders them effeminate because of their artifice in trying to act out the male lead. Li Yu ridicules his own male characters for their inability to be a male romantic lead. Septimus, the protagonist of “Fuyunlou,” is a scholar who aspires to be a zhengsheng (male lead) in a scholar-beauty romance, but Li Yu purposely fudges the comparison for comedic effect. Septimus has all the qualifications to be a male romantic lead: good looks and exuberant literary talents. He is betrothed to a true beauty, Nenghong’s mistress, making his qualification as a male romantic lead 47 I borrow Martin Huang’s distinction of effeminacy from femininity here: ‘femininity’ refers to “qualities associated with women that, if found in a man, are to his advantage” while ‘effeminacy’ is “an attribute that diminishes a man’s manliness” (Negotiating Masculinity, p. 137). 48 Shuihu zhuan huiping ben, p. 664. 49 Qtd. Plaks, The Four Masterworks, p. 422, n. 215. 50 Translation of Shi’er lou from Patrick Hanan, The Invention of Li Yu (Cambridge: Harvard University Press, 1988), p. 78. For a summery of Western scholarship on why Li Yu is the most plausible author of Rou putuan, see: Ge Liangyan, “Rou putuan: Voyeurism, Exhibitionism, and the ‘Examination Complex’,” CLEAR 20 (1998): 127–52, p. 127, n. 2. A scholar to note here is Ota Tatsuo, who offers the additionally convincing observation about the similarities in references to theater in both Rou putuan and Li Yu’s other fiction such as “Fuyunlou.” Ōta Tatsuo 太田辰夫 and Īda Yoshirō 飯田吉郎, Chūgoku hyaki sōkan: Kenkyūhen 中国秘籍叢刊: 研究篇 (Tokyo: Kyūko, 1987), pp. 177–81.

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even stronger. However, his family breaks the betrothal in favor of a Miss Feng, who turns out to be very ugly; without a ‘beauty’ Septimus loses an element crucial for being a male dramatic lead. Similarly, in Rou putuan the main character Vesperus has the physical looks of a male lead, but is not ‘naturally’ endowed with an organ of sufficient dimensions to match his sexual ambitions. Despite their deficiencies, Vesperus and Septimus are eager to act out the male lead (zuoge zhengsheng 做個正生) in romantic dramas. Vesperus dresses “as smartly as the leading man in a play” (打扮得整 整齊齊就象戲臺 上的正生一般).51 He goes so far as to graft parts of a dog’s penis onto his own therefore acquiring the prop necessary for the sheng role he desires. Septimus’ unsuitability to play the male lead is fully exposed when he is cast as a jing early in the story. During the Dragon Boat Festival women are caught in a sudden downpour and have to walk home. The theatrical-minded male spectators imagine making several plays (倒有幾出戲文好做) by assigning two beautiful women, who happen to be Nenghong and her mistress, as the female leads, and the ugly Miss Feng and her husband as the chou and jing. Septimus, ashamed, takes care not to reveal his real identity and joins in the teasing of his own wife’s ugliness.52 After the convenient death of his wife, Septimus is determined to become a zhengsheng by seeking the hand of Nenghong’s mistress (那戲文上面的正生﹐自然要讓我做). Li Yu thus parodies the male lead role by highlighting the sense of performance and artifice in both Vesperus and Septimus. To enervate the artificial scholar, Li Yu inverts the relationship between the beauty and the scholar turning the beauty into an empowered audience member gazing upon the scholar’s strenuous performance. In the key scene, for which “Fuyunlou” is titled, Septimus visits a matchmaker living near Nenghong’s mistress. Acting out a ‘romantic poseur’ he kneels before the matchmaker to show his determination. Nenghong, having foreseen that Septimus will visit the matchmaker, hides in the Cloud-Scraper Pavilion and watches Septimus kneeling. Nenghong then takes advantage of this information and pretends to have god’s eyes (shenmu 神目).53 The relationship between the beauty

51 Rou putuan 肉蒲團 in Siwuxie huibao 思無邪匯寶 (Taibei: Taiwan daying baike, 1994), p. 214. Translation from Patrick Hanan, trans., The Carnal Prayer Mat (New York: Ballantine Books, 1990), p. 77. 52 Li Yu quanji, 4: 184. Translation from A Tower for the Summer Heat, p. 128. 53 Li Yu quanji, 4: 165.

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and the scholar becomes inverted: it is the beauty who serves as an empowered audience member gazing upon the strenuous performance by an overly eager scholar. In this new relationship, rather than the usual pattern of the male pursuing the female, the female viewer has significant power over the artificial scholar. Nenghong, like an audience member on a viewing stand, fulfills her stratagem partially through her visual position, which is symbolic of her control. In “Rou putuan,” the sense of enervation becomes even more literal. After grafting a dog’s penis onto his own, Vesperus begins his womanizing journey. First he puts on a theatrical act to seduce the ‘audience member’ Xiangyun. Knowing that his neighbor tops the list of his sensual prospects, and that he received several poems from her during their encounter at a Daoist temple, Versperus plays the artificial scholar to draw her attention: Vesperus would not have dreamed of reciting the poems without the correct preparation. He changed into his best clothes and cap, then lit an incense burner filled with the finest incense. Finally, he cleared his throat and, like a singer of Kun opera rendering a long, slow tune, enunciated the poems syllable by syllable so that she could hear them clearly.54

Afterwards, he reads out the date and the calligrapher’s name as well “like the dialogue in the middle of an aria” (當做曲子裡的介白一般).55 The irony is, however, as Vesperus continues to play the role of a theatrical hero, he falls prey to sexual women—Xiangyun and her female relatives, who feed upon his sexual virility. His significance becomes hinged to the performance of his dog’s penis—an alien ‘theatrical prop’ that qualifies him for the sheng role he so desires. Not A Qu Theatrical Does an actor’s gender make a difference in how the authors shape their theatricals and how the commentators receive them? I have found several examples of theatricals by female characters in sixteenth- and seventeenth-century narratives that qualify as qu theatricals, but that were criticized by commentators. The first example comes from Jin Ping Mei. After becoming Ximen Qing’s concubine, Pan Jinlian dresses

54 55

Ibid., pp. 331–2; The Carnal Prayer Mat, p. 175. Ibid., p. 176.

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up as a maidservant to fool the other members of the household. Her masquerade is characterized by incongruity: she does her hair in two curled knots like a maid, but then she “makes up her face until it was snow white, painted her lips bright red, put on a pair of gold lantern earrings, applied three beauty patches, adorned herself with a purple gold lame headband, and donned an outfit consisting of a jacket or scarlet brocade over a blue satin skirt,” makeup and clothing clearly incongruous with the appearance of a typical maid.56 Like the spontaneous actors from the last chapter, Jinlian exposes her masquerade through too much makeup to be ‘real.’ The author did not cast Jinlian’s theatrical in a positive light nor did fiction commentators applaud it, although her behavior seems to be quite qu. The chapter title, “Holding her boy in her arms Li Ping’er curries favor; dressing up as a maidservant Jinlian courts affection,” discloses the connection between Li Ping’er’s favor and the necessity and utilitarian purpose of Jinlian’s masquerade. The title points to Jinlian’s intention—rather than unawareness—to playact and also reveals the close relationship between the theater and the market. Jinlian dresses up (zhuang 妝) as a maidservant seeking to ‘purchase’ (shi 市) Ximen Qing’s love. Jinlian’s masquerade is designed to draw Ximen Qing’s gaze and increase his sexual desire for her. The commercial usage of playacting thereby reveals Jinlian’s artifice. Fiction commentators inserted no ‘qu’ or ‘wondrous’ comments about Jinlian’s theatrical. Instead, she is deemed to be presenting her true ‘low’ identity as a maid ( yahuan bense 丫鬟本色).57 In his interlineal commentary, Zhang Zhupo asks, “what is she thinking” (hechu luoxiang 何處落想)?58 The seventeenth-century novel Xingshi yinyuan zhuan 醒世姻緣傳 (Marriage bonds to awaken the world) features a theatrical by the shrew Zhen’ge 珍哥. Scholars have focused on the novel because of its extreme shrews. In the novel, Zhen’ge plays the dan role in a local commercial troupe before she becomes Chao Yuan’s concubine. Zhen’ge is not especially good-looking, but uses her actress-prostitute

56

Jin Ping Mei, p. 603; The Plum in the Golden Vase, 2: 449. Wen Long’s 文龍 post-chapter commentary on Chapter 40 in Huijiao huiping Jin Ping Mei 會校會評金瓶梅, eds. Liu Hui 劉輝 and Wu Gan 吳敢 (Hong Kong: Cosmos Books, 1998), p. 795. 58 Jin Ping Mei, p. 603. 57

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training in pleasing men to infatuate Chao Yuan.59 An actress, Chao Yuan’s father observes, is not fit for domestication. Zhen’ge proves Chao Yuan’s father is only too correct when she asks to go along on her husband’s hunting trip even though it means that she will mingle with strange men and ride on horseback. Zhen’ge uses her previous theater experience to support her request: she had dressed up and galloped on horseback in the theater before and feels there is no difference between riding on a horse as a performer and riding in a real hunt. When Chao Yuan suggests more feminine attire, Zhen’ge says she is to be dressed as an opera warrior (rongzhuang 戎妝) with martial attire borrowed from the troupe’s stage props. Like her performances in the theater, Zhen’ge wants to perform the woman warrior Meng Rihong 孟日紅 on a larger ‘stage.’60 The outcome is that Zhen’ge dons a brand new warrior’s costume and has as her retinue six plump servants’ wives, four robust housemaids, and ten sturdy farmer’s wives, each suitably outfitted to join in a theatrical parade of female warriors.61 The scene would probably have been labeled qu if carried out by spontaneous male characters discussed in the last chapter. An actressturned-concubine initiates a fruitless fun-seeking parade wearing a female warrior’s costume. Spectators at the parade ground, like those in Shuihu zhuan, give out applause. However, like Jinlian’s masquerade, this theatrical is also criticized. The theatricality of the parade, and the public display of a troop/troupe consisting of women headed by Zhen’ge—befitting her prior profession as an actress—is considered inappropriate for a woman who has become a concubine in a gentry household. Zhen’ge’s visibility, and her comfort with it, confirms the special danger involved in the domestication of an actress. Soon after, Chao Yuan falls ill and is haunted by a fox spirit he accidentally killed. As Daria Berg observes, each case of illness in the novel follows an

59

Xizhou Sheng 西周生, Xingshi yinyuan zhuan (Shanghai: Shanghai guji, 1981),

p. 8. 60 The heroine of Kuihua ji 葵花記, who goes to look for her husband, finds him already married to the Prime Minister’s daughter. Murdered by the Prime Minister, she is resurrected by Jiutian xuannu 九天玄女 and empowered with military knowledge, which earns her fame and recognition. She finally reunites with her husband. The play is extant. Quhai zongmu tiyao 曲海總目提要, juan 13. Chapter 1, p. 10. 61 Xingshi yinyuan zhuan, pp. 10–11.

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over-indulgence in some kind of vice by a character.62 The illness that befalls Chao Yuan reveals the author’s critique of Zhen’ge’s theatrical. We do have to keep in mind the degree of comparability as these examples are drawn from different novels. Xingshi yinyuan zhuan, for example, is more representative of orthodox values than Shuihu zhuan and Xiyou ji meaning that the author’s antitheatricalism might not be specific to gender, but merely indicative of his moral stance, which would make the author of Xingshi very similar to the moral-heroic author Mijin duzhe, who we will discuss later. For the purpose of comparability, let us examine briefly female acting characters in Xiyou ji and Shuihu zhuan. In Xiyou ji, female monsters metamorphosize with the intention of getting a piece of Tripitaka’s highly desirable and extremely nutritious meat, as do male monsters. Both male and female monsters metamorphosize with a utilitarian purpose. They perform their metamorphosis to such perfection, and with such congruity, that only the highly perceptive eyes of Monkey can see the truth. Their theatricals are derived from their usage of performance as artifice. In Shuihu zhuan, Jinlian is criticized for being a jiaren who fakes her emotions. Female heroes in the novel are few in number and seldom involved in any theatricals. They constitute part of a grand theatrical in Chapter 66, in which Song Jiang sends ten groups of heroes into the capital disguising as hunters, rice merchants, lantern sellers, policemen, and beggars as a prelude to their attack on Beijing. The female warriors, Hu Sanniang 扈三娘, Gu Dasao 顧大嫂, and Sun Erniang 孫二娘 disguise themselves along with their husbands as village couples on their way to see the lantern display. Early modern commentators applaud this theatrical extravaganza. Jin Shengtan enumerates the ten groups of actors in his interlineal commentary reminding his readers of the scale of the theatrical.63 Commentators, like an enthused audience of a grand theatrical, dot the page with ovations such as “Marvelous, marvelous.”64 While applauding the qu theatricals staged by Lu Zhishen in the last chapter, “Li Zhi” of the Rongyutang edition comments on the masquerading female warriors, “Good women do not go to the lantern display. How come Hu Sanniang, Gu Dasao, and 62

Daria Berg, Carnival in China: A Reading of the Xingshi yinyuan zhuan (Leiden: Brill, 2002), p. 64. 63 Shuihu zhuan huiping ben, pp. 1193–4. 64 Ibid.

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Sun Erniang do?” (好女不看燈﹐如何扈三娘、顧大嫂、孫二娘都 去看燈).65 Although the tongue-in-cheek tone counteracts the sharpness of his criticism, one can safely say that “Li Zhi” evaluates these masquerading women differently. Authorial and commentarial criticisms of the jiaren characters discussed in this chapter contrasts with quren discussed in the previous chapter. As for the troupe with qu, their acting is incongruous, spontaneous, and valorized as authentic and expressive of their idiosyncratic selves. In this chapter, jiaren wear a mask that is consistently and perfectly put on and/or performe with a utilitarian purpose. The engendering of artifice as the cultural feminine reminds us how potentially enmeshed the theatrical imagination was in the complicated genealogy of gender construction in early modern China. The troupe with qu, then, is masculine for their display not only of prowess, but also of spontaneity and authenticity. The interconnections between theatricality and authenticity justify clashes of performative codes as well as anti-establishment and socially ‘inappropriate’ practices, but who is there to perceive, and recognize, these interconnections? Coexistent with a cultural preoccupation with connoisseurship, viewing constitutes an important element of theatricality. In the next chapter we will discuss the intense attention to and concern with the ‘eye.’

65

Ibid., p. 1194.

CHAPTER SEVEN

VIEWING: PERCEPTIVE AND FLESHLY EYES It is necessary that the audience should use ‘jumbo eyes.’ 觀者當用巨眼. Entry #1, “Fanli,” Taohua shan1

The ‘eye’ garners significant attention in Shuihu zhuan and Xiyou ji because the eye completes recognition and realizes theatricality. By emphasizing the viewer of the performance in their reflexive presentation of embedded theatricals, the sixteenth- and seventeenth-century writers and commentators of Shuihu zhuan and Xiyou ji elaborate on and distinguish different modes of seeing and layers of audienceship. As we have discussed in Chapter 2, both the literal theater and theatrical spaces were often visualized as ‘places’ where the viewed interacts with the viewers. In our ‘prologue’ theatrical, it is the audience figure of Judge Cha who initiates a performance. The inclusion of intratextual viewers in Ming-Qing narratives establishes a distance between what is viewed and the viewer, the performance and the spectator. The full realization of the meaning of a theatrical is dependent on the presence of a viewer, which makes a theatrical a ‘viewerly’ event. The idealization of ‘perceptive eyes’ had a long tradition within the rhetorical theme of recognition in Chinese literature. Over the course of the Ming, recognition and visuality became even more closely linked with the development of a distinctive visual culture and the rise of theatrical fiction. After contextualizing the late Ming and early Qing discourses on eyes, this chapter examines how idealized vision, or the ultimate eye, is embodied and particularized in Shuihu zhuan and Xiyou ji. The dissociation of visual acuity from morality and normative social hierarchy in Shuihu and Xiyou showcases the writers’ preoccupation with using the viewing element of ‘playful theatricals’ to establish and articulate a subversive ocular order.

1 Kong Shangren 孔尚任, Taohua shan 桃花扇 (Beijing: Renmin wenxue, 1998), p. 11.

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The dynamic visual culture—theater, prints, paintings—in early modern China had a great impact on the habits of reading and writing fiction. The explosion of printed images in the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries began an age marked by a “plentitude of pictures” with their characteristics of plurality and reproducibility.2 As Martin Jay demonstrates, the plentitude of images influenced the dawn of the modern era in Europe accompanying it with “the vigorous privileging of vision.”3 It would appear that a similar phenomenon occurred in early modern China. Pictures were endowed with meanings beyond their aesthetic or visual values; they were the conveyer of visual knowledge whose iconology was crucial for social order. Perhaps the best early modern collection illustrating the attention to, and the privileging of, the visual and its attendant social functions is Sancai tuhui 三才圖會 (Pictorial compendium of the Three Powers, 1607).4 Wang Qi 王圻 ( jinshi 1565) prefaced the book with a discourse on the importance of images: I have read Han Qintai’s books in which he comments: Pictures help to establish nature and human relations, to exhaust numerous changes, and to examine both the abstruse and the subtle. He is exactly right! Indeed, pictures cannot be left out! 嘗讀韓琴臺書有云: 圖書所以成造化, 助人倫, 窮萬變, 測幽微。蓋甚 哉, 圖之不可以已也!5

Wang Qi recognizes that visual knowledge, the ability to understand the iconology of images, is crucial for maintaining social order. He emphasizes the agency of human perception in viewing images: human desire to visualize co-exists with the appearance of things, especially biological beings (chong yu niao shou 蟲魚鳥獸). Wang Qi’s belief reminds

2 Clunas, Pictures and Visuality, p. 29. For studies of visual culture in late imperial China, see: Richard Vinograd, Boundaries of the Self: Chinese Portraits, 1600–1900 (New York: Cambridge University Press, 1992); Hegel, Reading Illustrated Fiction; James Cahill, ed., The Restless Landscape: Chinese Painting of the Late Ming Period (Berkeley: University Art Museum, 1971). 3 Martin Jay, Downcast Eyes: The Denigration of Vision in Twentieth-Century French Thought (Berkeley and Los Angeles: University of California Press, 1994), pp. 66–9. Qtd. Clunas, p. 191, n. 24. 4 Wang Qi 王圻, ed., Sancai tuhui 三才圖會 (1607, rpt.; Taibei: Chengwen chubanshe, 1970). 5 Ibid., vol. 1, p. 10.

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us of the Cartesian model of knowledge acquisition that became the basis of modern Western epistemology: the intellect inspects entities modeled on retinal images.6 The prominent seventeenth-century literati Zhang Dai prefaces his edition of portraits, Ming yuyue san buxiu mingxian tuzan 明于越 三不朽名贤图赞 (Portraits and eulogies of three immortalities and moral celebrities of the Zhejiang area), with a similar claim about the edifying usage of pictures.7 The viewers will understand, benefit from, and be influenced by the spirit of virtuous people captured in images. Zhang’s privileging of viewing was linked with many others in a dominant interpretation of portraits as emblematic of moral values in the seventeenth century, when painted portraits began to be vastly produced.8 For Wang Qi, Zhang Dai, and their cohort, the establishment of images is equivalent to the establishment of words, and viewing to reading. Zhou Kongjiao 周孔教 (1548–1613), a native of Linchuan, Jiangxi, like Tang Xianzu, traces the combination of yan 言 (speech) and xiang 象 (images) to Yijing 易經 (The Book of Changes) in his preface to Sancai tuhui illustrating the conventionality of linking images and words.9 For Zhang Dai, he is able to propagate the virtues that images purportedly possess by publishing them thus linking the establishment of images (lixiang 立象) to the three constants—merits, words, and virtues.10 The privileging of vision inevitably brought with it a finely attuned categorization in modes of seeing and attention to visual framing. The viewer’s subjectivity became a highly contested domain of discussion. A variety of discourses, including random essays, fiction, drama, and 6 Richard Rorty, Philosophy and the Mirror of Nature (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1979), p. 45. 7 Ming yuyue san buxiu mingxian tuzan, Zhejiang Provincial library. For a modern reprint, see: Yuezhong sanbuxiu tuzan 越中三不朽圖贊 (Shaoxing: Shaoxing yinshuasuo, 1918). 8 Vinograd, Boundaries of the Self: Chinese Portraits, Chapter 1. 9 Zhou Kongjiao, “Sancai tuhui xu” 三才圖會序, in Sancai tuhui, vol. 1, pp. 3–5, p. 3. 10 For print culture and book illustrations, see: Hegel, Reading Illustrated Fiction. For recent books on the impact of print culture on Chinese society, see: Lucille Chia, Printing for Profit: The Commercial Publishers of Jianyang, Fujian (11th–17th Centuries) (Cambridge: Harvard University Press, 2002); Kai-wing Chow, Publishing, Culture, and Power in Early Modern China (Stanford: Stanford University Press, 2004); and Cynthia Brokaw and Kai-wing Chow, eds., Printing and Book Culture, (Berkeley: University of California Press, 2005).

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commentaries on fiction and drama direct our attention to graded modes of seeing and a hierarchy of eyes. The ‘ultimate eye’ has been in various contexts referred to as huiyan 慧眼 (enlightened eyes), juyan 巨眼 (jumbo eyes), shenyan 神眼 (god’s eyes), huoyan 火眼 (fiery eyes), daoyan 道眼 (true eyes), and zhaoyan 著眼 (perceptive eyes). The various versions of the ultimate eye all incorporate perception as a ‘site’ of recognition and creative activity. Li Yu, for example, launches into a lengthy discourse on the importance of a pair of ‘enlightened eyes’ (huiyan) after a short treatise on different styles of picture windows. If one can really possess a feeling of ‘idleness’ and a pair of enlightened eyes, then anything that passes by his eyes is a picture; any sound that enters his ears is material for poetry. For example I sit by the window and there are people passing by. It does not matter whether what I see is a maiden, who makes a picture of a beauty, or whether I see an old woman or man coming on their walking canes, they can all become essential subjects for painting by famous painters. If I see babies playing together it is a picture of a hundred sons. If I see cattle and sheep shepherded together and chickens and dogs calling to each other, as poet I can also consider them as absolutely necessary things for lyric composition. 若能實具一段閑情, 一雙慧眼, 則過目之物, 盡在畫圖, 入耳之聲, 無非 詩料。譬如我坐窗內, 人行窗外, 無論見少年女子是一幅美人圖, 即 見老嫗､白叟扶杖而來, 亦是名人畫圖中必不可無之物﹔見嬰兒群 戲是一幅百子圖, 即見牛羊並牧､雞犬交嘩, 亦是詞客文情內未嘗偶 缺之物.11

Li Yu asserts his subjectivity and possession of enlightened eyes by acting as the subject of the constantly repeated verb to see ( jian 見). The eyes are more important than what is viewed. With such enlightened eyes, picture windows serve to frame the natural scenery into the pictorial and reality into illusion. Even the most mundane pictures are transformed. Implicit in Li Yu’s configuration of the pictorial is the advantage of viewing as an act of creation. Li Yu’s version of the ‘enlightened eyes’ shares with their Buddhist counterpart an ability to transcend boundaries. The Buddhist enlightened eyes can transcend time to look into the past and the future while Li Yu’s cross

11 Li Yu quanji, 11: 177–8. An excellent article on Li Yu’s attention to visuality is Patricia Sieber, “Seeing the World through Xianqing ou’ji: Visuality, Performance, and Narrative of Modernity,” Modern Chinese Literature and Culture 12.2 (2000): 1–43.

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the boundaries between the real and the pictorial, the mundane and the poetical. Li Yu’s fiction is equally attuned to different modes of seeing as his essays. The visual structuring of an architectural space is crucial in his story collection Shi’er lou 十二樓 (Twelve structures), where lou, embracing towers, pavilions, bowers, villas, and the like, serve as structural devices to elicit and facilitate the ultimate eyes. For example, in “Fuyunlou” the romantic entrepreneur Nenghong views from the top of a pavilion. In “Xiayilou” 夏宜樓 (The Summer Pavilion), a pavilion becomes viewed when the hero is equipped with a technological eye (a telescope) and located on the top of a mountain. The top-of-amountain position is combined with the world of technology, resulting in a scientifically- and technologically-aided ‘ultimate’ ultimate viewer.12 In Li Yu’s story “Tan Chuyu” in his fiction collection Silent Operas, which we will discuss later, the physical theater serves as a distinctively visual structure for guiding the reader’s gaze upon the stage. In dramas structured as a play-within-a-play, a popular model is to differentiate modes of viewing through dramatic roles. The jing and chou roles in the outer play often misunderstand the theatrical premise of the inner play causing their comments to be muddle-headed and humorous. They are inexperienced audience members who are insensitive to deeper and allegorical meanings of the performances. They become, in the hierarchy of viewers, the imperceptive ones. Sheng and dan characters recognize the meanings of performance and rank as the perceptive viewers. In Wang Heng’s 王衡 (1561–1609) “Zhen kuilei,” for example, the retired Prime Minister Du Yan, played by the mo role, mingles with the village hooligans to watch a local puppet theater. Two consecutive scenes about Cao Cao and his son are staged. The puppeteer has a clean face when playing Cao Cao, but puts on a mask to play his son in the next scene. The village hooligans, played by the jing and chou roles, mistake the theatrical with the real and comment, “What a good looking old prime minister—who could have thought of producing a son with a painted face and mouth!” (好個標致老丞相, 生出 這樣花嘴 花臉的出來.)13 The interlineal commentator Huang Jiahui 黃嘉惠 (fl. 17th century) likens the hooligans to “short people who 12

For a translation, I use A Tower for the Summer Heat, trans. Patrick Hanan (New York: Columbia University Press, 1992), pp. 3–41. 13 “Zhen kuilei” 真傀儡, in Shen Tai 沈泰, ed., Sheng Ming zaju 盛明雜劇 (Songfentang 誦芬堂 edition, 1629, rpt. Taibei: Wenguang, 1963), juan 26, p. 6.

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watch theater” (airen guanchang 矮人觀場)—because of their inability to see over the edge of the raised stage—but lauds Du Yan for his heightened stage consciousness, which is typical of the literati in the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries. Huang states, in agreement with Du Yan’s response towards the puppet theater, “the twenty-one dynastic histories are like a big chuanqi play from the past to the present” 廿一史亦古今 一大傳奇耳.14 Scene 38 of Changsheng dian 長生殿 serves as another example of distinguishing levels of audienceship.15 Li Guinian, a pre-Tang civil war court musician turned street performer, sings about the life of Yang Guifei (Imperial Consort Yang) to vent his own frustrations. The court performance’s degradation into street side music symbolizes Li’s social dislocation and strengthens the sense of ephemerality. An understanding audience is therefore crucial for Li’s performance, and life, to achieve its signification. Li Mo, also a famed musician played by a xiaosheng 小生 (young sheng), is deeply moved and sheds tears. The passers-by, merchants and prostitutes played by the jing and chou roles, however, regard Li Guinian’s performance as pleasing to the ears, but they cannot fathom Li Mo’s sorrow. They even assume that Li’s lyrics must be similar to their local tunes.16 Like the dramatists, fiction writers and commentators share the social and cultural fascination with visuality. Ming and Qing fiction abounds in narratorial invitations to see through ‘visual textual markers’ such as zhijian 只見 or danjian 但見 (but [you, the reader] see [it]), which often precedes ekphrastic poems describing visual tableaus. For example, in Chapter 50 of Xiyou ji the narrator tells us that Monkey took a look at a demon king and saw that he was ugly and ferocious indeed.17 A poem follows the visual synopsis of what is to be described and from whose perspective. In another case the narrator describes Monkey lowering his cloud and taking a careful look. Following “He 14

Ibid. I am indebted to Robert Hegel’s article, “Dreaming the Past: Memory and Continuity Beyond the Ming Fall” in Wilt Idema, Wai-yee Li, and Ellen Widmer, eds., Trauma and Transcendence in Early Qing Literature (Cambridge: Harvard University Asia Studies Center, 2005), for calling my attention to Li Guinian’s performance and the playwright’s distinguishing of different audiences. 16 This discussion follows Hegel’s observation on the difference in the audience’s responses to Li Guinian’s performance—Hegel hypothesizes them as deriving from the characters’ different personal experiences with the civil war—but further connects their individual reactions to the theatrical roles they assume in the outer play. 17 Xiyou ji, p. 674, 2: 415. 15

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saw” is a visual tableau (仔細觀看, 但只見).18 Besides inviting the reader to look through the characters’ eyes, sometimes the narrator speaks directly to the readers: “This was quite a marvelous battle. Look at it” 你看那.19 Likewise, ‘visual filtering’ is what David Rolston lists as the first example of narrative filtering, or, point of view in fiction commentaries. Fiction commentators found it necessary to visually relate interlineal commentaries, such as “cong . . . kanchu” 從 . . . 看出 (seen from one’s perspective) and “cong . . . yannei dianchu” 從 . . . 眼內點出 (pointed out from one’s eyes).20 Wishing to flatter the potential readers of their commentaries, fiction commentators call upon the capable readers as those in possession of eyes ( youyan de 有眼的 or juyan zhe 具眼者).21 The high percentage of ekphrastic poems, facilitated by the prosimetric format, must have given Ming-Qing fiction a distinctive visual appeal for readers increasingly accustomed to images. Embedded theatricals are among the visual tableaus accentuated through ekphrastic poems and visually-related terms. In Chapter 31 of Shuihu zhuan, Wu Song disguises himself as a pilgrim monk with clothes and documents kept by his friend Zhang Qing, who killed the real monk. Wu Song worries about not looking like a monk. With Zhang Qing’s “We will fix you up and take a look” (我且与你扮一 扮看), a visual term danjian precedes the verse describing Wu Song’s disguise. Jin Shengtan comments, “A good example of playing with literature/using literature as theater” 以文為戲.22 Jin’s interlineal commentary is intended to draw the seventeenth-century readers’ attention to the theatrical relationship—a suggestion from the potential viewer for Wu Song to masquerade for him, and readers as well, to view. The social and cultural attention to viewing created additional space for meanings. We might ask: who are some of the characters endowed with ultimate eyes and what is the significance of their different modes of viewing? To answer these questions, we will begin by distinguishing different modes of seeing in Shuihu zhuan and the significance of the bandit chief Song Jiang as the possessor of ‘perceptive eyes.’

18

Ibid. p. 668, 2: 406. Ibid. p. 675, 2: 416. 20 For a longer but still inexhaustive list of terms indicative of visual filtering, see: David Rolston, “Point of View in the Writings of Traditional Chinese Fiction Critics,” CLEAR 15 (1993): 113–42. 21 Shuihu zhuan ziliao huibian, p. 173, p. 174. 22 Shuihu zhuan huiping ben, p. 582. 19

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Distinguishing Modes of Seeing Reading Shuihu zhuan is a visual process. As discussed previously, the text strings together many visual tableaux of military feats. In the novel, contrasts are absurdly exaggerated to intensify visualization. In Chapter 74 of Shuihu zhuan, for example, the thin and short Yan Qing fights with Sky-Supporting Pillar Ren Yuan. Such a visual contrast is described, textually and visually, in the illustration “Yan Qing Wrestling” in the Rongyutang edition of Shuihu zhuan (Fig. 2.8). The fight in the river between Li Kui, with his dark naked body, and Zhang Shun, with his almost naked pale body stimulates, for the readers, a hilarious visualization. Shuihu commentaries contribute significantly to the visual reading of the novel. Commentaries applauding the visuality of the text, such as hua 畫 (pictorial ), ruhua 入畫 (picturesque), ruhua 如畫 (like a picture), and other related interlineal commentaries, are used to highlight the visual aspects of the text. Hua is among the most popular of the single word commentaries in the “Li Zhi” commentaries on the Rongyutang edition of Shuihu zhuan. Chapter 9, for example, has altogether 37 cases in which a single word “hua” is inserted. Its indications vary from vivid writing to pictorial. “Li Zhi”’s marginal commentary from the Yuan Wuya edition has it, “It draws a living picture better than painters (寫出活像, 畫家所無).”23 Jin Shengtan equates the fight scene between Yang Zhi and Suo Chao in Chapter 12 of Shuihu zhuan as a painting (hua 畫) and regards it as the most magnificent painting of fire and tide (畫火畫潮之第一絕筆也).24 The old saying indicates that fire and tide are two things difficult to paint since they are not fixed entities like palaces or ships. Such interlineal commentaries add iconicity to the text while also aiming at directing the readers’ visualization of the characters and their movements. Short interlineal commentaries excel in giving the readers a snappy reminder of visualization. Combined consecutive interlineal commentaries or longer chapter commentaries aim at a consistent visual guidance on a grander scale. For example, in his discussion of the visuality of late imperial fiction, Robert Hegel points out that Jin Shengtan 23 24

Shuihu zhuan huiping ben, p. 109. Ibid., p. 273.

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frequently invited the reader to visualize throughout the violent battle between the martial hero Wu Song and the tiger.25 Take the chapter commentary on Chapter 9 of Shuihu zhuan by Jin Shengtan as another example. An intense summary of Lin Chong’s killing scene is preceded by an appeal for the readers to ‘look at’: As he fights out of the temple’s door, look at how he first spears the head keeper to the ground. Then the author spares a sentence for Lu Qian. With Lu Qian’s description not finished, the author then depicts Lin Chong spearing Fu An. After these two have fallen, Lin Chong turns to stab Lu with his tunic. Not yet done, he turned and saw the head keeper struggling to his feet. He leaves Lu Qian aside, and cuts off the keeper’s head and ties it to the end of his spear. Then he goes back, cuts Lu Qian and Fu An’s heads off and ties the three heads together by the hair. 殺出廟門時, 看他一槍先搠倒差撥, 接手便寫陸謙一句。寫陸 謙不 曾寫完, 接手卻再搠富安。兩個倒矣, 方翻身回來, 刀剜陸謙。剜陸 謙未畢, 回頭卻見差撥爬起, 便又且置陸謙, 先割差撥頭挑在槍上, 然 後回過身來, 作一頓, 割陸謙, 富安頭, 結做一處。26

Jin Shengtan’s chapter commentaries precede the text, so by inserting a guided reading that aims at exposing the visuality of the text at the beginning, he seeks to influence readers as to how to position themselves as spectators. The spectatorship of the readers is established while what is viewed, Lin Chong’s killing scene, is intensified and condensed through closely narrated actions. Shuihu commentators take their role in visual guidance a step further. Since editors/commentators took great liberties with received texts making the text in late imperial China very flexible, their double position as both the writer and commentator enabled them to write the text and to comment on what they wrote, and therefore to clarify their authorial intention with these changes. Famous for his excision of parts of Shuihu zhuan, the seventeenth-century commentator Jin Shengtan was devoted to accentuating the visuality of the text. In Chapter 63, when Hao Siwen and Xuan Zan’s group are trapped, Jin changed the original text in the 120 chapter version and had the beautiful girl warrior Ten Feet of Steel capture Hao, the notoriously ugly

25

Hegel, Reading Illustrated Fiction, pp. 322–36. Shuihu zhuan ziliao huibian, p. 269. For a discussion of this scene as representing a fast-paced narrative packed with action, see: Robert E. Hegel, “Imagined Violence: Representing Homicide in Late Imperial Crime Reports and Fiction,” Zhongguo wenzhe yanjiu jikan 中國文哲研究集刊 25 (2004): 61–89, pp. 65–7. 26

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martial hero style-named The Emperor’s Ugly Son-in-law (chou junma 丑郡馬). This constitutes Jin’s only major change of the Shuihu plot besides his truncation of the novel and insertion of Lu Junyi’s dream, concludes modern Shuihu scholar He Xin.27 Taking advantage of being both the author and commentator of his own writing, Jin explains his intention to add more visuality to the text. He enjoyed the visual image of the change, “Ten Feet of Steel snared him (Hao Siwen) with a crimson noose and dragged him from his steed.”28 Jin made full use of his role as a commentator: he first took liberties with the original text by making alterations and then favorably commented on his own revision. To highlight the change, he said, “The girl warrior is intentionally added here to contrast with the Ugly Son-in-law of the Emperor” 獨添女將, 為丑郡馬三字渲染.29 Commentaries and texts combine in evoking the reader as a spectator and distinguishing modes of seeing thereby effectively conveying both the visuality of the text and the importance of having the ultimate eye. In the episode of Lu Zhishen’s arrival at the Wutai monastery to take monastic orders, the eyes of the abbot are differentiated from the rest of the monks. Prior to the ceremony of receiving Lu into the order, the abbot consults with the elder and other monks. The description of a group of monks discussing follows the visual term, zhijian 只見 (what is seen). The elder and other monks criticize Lu for not having the makings of a monk because his eyes look like those of a thief. “Li Zhi” inserts the comment “Fleshly eyes!” to refer to the imperceptiveness of the monks. By using zhijian the author invites the readers to visualize a group of monks talking about Lu while the “Li Zhi” commentary highlights their lowly position in the ocular hierarchy. With “Let me have a look,” the abbot performs a highly theatrical act of viewing: with a stick of incense he sits cross-legged on a Buddhist chair. Muttering an incantation he goes into a trance as his method of viewing beyond the mere physical reality of Lu Zhishen’s form. Afterward, the abbot informs his underlings that they can go ahead with the ordination because Lu, despite his savage appearance, represents a star in Heaven and is destined to achieve sainthood.30 The

27 28 29 30

Shuihu yanjiu 水滸研究 (Shanghai: Gudian wenxue, 1957), p. 78. Shuihu zhuan huiping ben, Chapter 63, p. 1169, The Water Margin, p. 1043. Shuihu zhuan huiping ben, p. 1169. Rongyutang ben Shuihu zhuan, p. 56.

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method of portraying the same scene from multiple juxtaposed perspectives is also found in Xiyou ji, as discussed below. This ceremony of Lu Zhishen taking monastic orders demonstrates that in late imperial fiction where there is a description of a scene there are also descriptions of the intratextual viewers. Nearly six hundred monks assemble in the preaching hall, who, draped in their capes, separate into two groups after placing their palms of their hands together in an obeisance to the abbot sitting on his dais.31 The difference of perceptive abilities of the abbot and the monks is revealed by their physical position. The abbot, sitting on his dais, is both the supervisor of the ceremony and the recognizer of Lu’s Buddha nature. The “Li Zhi” commentaries accentuate this difference by applauding the abbot as “having eyes” ( juyan 具眼),32 and laments that the world is populated with the blind (如今世上都是瞎子), who are not perceptive enough to recognize the Buddha-nature of Lu Zhishen. The six hundred monks’ eyes at the Wutai monastery are referred to as mere “fleshly eyes” (rouyan) that only perceive the superficial discrepancies between Lu and the requirements of a monastic life. “Li Zhi” positions himself as an ultimate eye whose recognition/connoisseurship goes beyond institutionalized codes and normative appearances. This heightened value of refined discrimination reveals a link between Shuihu zhuan with literature on connoisseurship widely circulating in the late Ming, which describes the creation and consumption of luxury things and establishes the position of a discriminating appreciator. As Craig Clunas argues, the Ming discourse on things function as an expression of social status distinctions; through ‘things’ the elite were able to maintain a cultural superiority over the nouveau riches.33 Although heroes are not ‘things,’ the reflexive guidance on how to recognize heroes renders the novel something like a ‘Manual for Recognizing Heroes.’ For example, “Li Zhi” in the Yuan Wuya edition of Shuihu zhuan praises Wu Song for fighting for his true recognizer. “A gentleman dies for people who recognize him” (士为知己 者死), “Li Zhi” begins his comments with the famous term and ends

31

Ibid., p. 65. Ibid., p. 94. 33 Craig Clunas, Superfluous Things: Material Culture and Social Status in Early Modern China (Honolulu: University of Hawai‘i Press, 2004). See also: Wai-yee Li, “The Collector, the Connoisseur, and Late-Ming Sensibility,” T’oung Pao 81.4–5 (1995): 269–302. 32

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with an indignant exclamation of how the unsophisticated (buzhizhe 不知者) misunderstand Wu Song’s motives.34 Counterposed to the unsophisticated other, “Li Zhi” positions himself as the connoisseur. The positioning of the authors and commentators as the extratextual connoisseurs and the inclusion of intratextual hero-worshippers, defined earlier, elucidates a dual connoisseurship at work. By ‘dual connoisseurship,’ then, I mean how literati authors and commentators positioned themselves at the extratextual level as connoisseurs of martial heroes to parallel the intratextual hero-worshippers. From the way literati commentators comment on the book, what characters they criticized, what actions they applauded, and what portions of the text they concentrate on, we can see the commentators self-positioning themselves as discriminating connoisseurs. Viewers, then, are particularly important characters, the distinguishing of whom are of great narrative significance for the literati authors and commentators. As we have discussed, visualizing a theatrical space includes underscoring the viewing audience. The emphasis on the viewers coexists with distinctions in the hierarchy of perception. In another typical scene involving an extravaganza of heavy weaponry, Lu the Sagacious demonstrates his strength and martial skills by swinging his staff for a bunch of local hooligans whom he befriends. The knaves, worshipping Lu’s physical prowess, feast him everyday in return for his performances. One day, when Lu is effortlessly swinging his heavy staff about, the usual audience cheers and applauds. An unexpected viewer appears at a gap in the compound wall and gives Lu’s performance an enthusiastic ovation. It turns out to be Lin Chong, the arms instructor of the imperial guards. The audience at this point is divided between the common men and Lin Chong. The knaves merely witness his martial prowess while a potential friendship develops between Lin Chong and Lu Zhishen, two major Shuihu heroes. In this case, the chapter illustration also contributes to the distinguishing of audiences and their modes of seeing. The illustration, titled “Meeting at the vegetable garden” (Fig. 2.14), shows the group of viewers through their physical location and also their size. It highlights Lin Chong as the dominant viewing figure by equating him to Lu Zhishen in size while local hooligans in the audience are much smaller. The scenario and the illustration both accentuate the

34

Shuihu zhuan ziliao huibian, p. 198.

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viewing/viewed dynamics in heroic bonding and the importance of a discerning viewer. The gap in the compound wall, like Li Yu’s picture windows, frames a demonstration of heavy weaponry by Lu Zhishen. Only because Lin Chong is a qualified viewer does he detect a fellow hero with whom he develops a deep friendship. Song Jiang as the Ultimate Eye The attention to distinguishing modes of seeing brings to the foreground the narrative function of the key viewer of this chapter, the bandit chief Song Jiang, whose qualifications for being the leader of the heroes has generally puzzled readers of Shuihu.35 The novel has virtually no description of Song Jiang’s martial skills. Physically short and swarthy, he is the opposite of attractive.36 He is characterized as chivalrous, generous, and filial, and earns the nickname “the Filial and Gallant Dark Third Master.” However, Song Jiang’s narrative function is closely related to an understanding of the theatrical novel: he becomes the leader of the Liangshan band because of his value as a discerning audience member who makes heroic performances possible. Song Jiang’s pair of perceptive eyes plays an important role in the theatricalization of heroism. I use ‘perceptive eyes’ (zhaoyan 著眼) to describe Song Jiang’s viewing following the interlineal commentator of the Yuan Wuya edition of Shuihu zhuan, who comments, “Only he can perceive them at a glance” (偏他出來便會著眼).37 This commentary is made when describing Song’s second encounter with Wu Song, one of the major performers of heroism. At the time, Wu Song is drunk and falls captive in the Kong manor even though he has assumed the appearance of a monk.38 Despite Wu Song’s down-and-out appearance, Song Jiang just glances and immediately recognizes him as being a hero (haohan 好漢). Song Jiang serves as the viewing agent through whom many heroes, themselves Performers of Heroism, make their début appearance in the novel. The three-word prefix, “Song Jiang sees” (Song Jiang kan

35 For example, Jin Shengtan shows his strong contempt over Song Jiang throughout his commentaries. 36 Chapter 18, p. 196, p. 207. 37 Shuihu zhuan huiping ben, p. 593. 38 Chapter 32, p. 428, pp. 496–49.

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宋江看), is a significant narrative marker introducing Performers of Heroism from the perspective of an ultimate eye. For example, in Chapters 36 and 37, fellow Shuihu heroes such as Li Li, Li Jun, and Lei Heng, are introduced through Song Jiang’s eyes, with a similar sentence structure starting with “When Song Jiang looked at that man, how was he dressed? What is seen is:” (宋江看那人時, 怎生打扮? 但見) followed by verses of various lengths describing the martial hero. Often the encounters involve Song’s appreciation of the latter’s masculine physique. Song Jiang’s encounters with heroes are marked by the viewing/ viewed dynamic. One form of recognition by Song Jiang is through viewing a sparring match between two heroes and justifying their herostatus through their equivalent martial abilities, as in the case of Zhang Shun.39 In another scene Guo Sheng and Lü Fang are enemies fighting over turf. Their antagonism offers a way for the heroes to compete with each other and provides the viewers of their performance something to be viewed. More than two hundred underlings watch their fight, but the more authoritative eyes of Song Jiang and Hua Rong also see the action as they pass by on their way to Liangshan Marsh. The fight takes place on a broad post road running between two identical mountains called Twin Mountains. Prefaced by the visual filtering phrase “zhijian,” what follows is a description of the staged performance accompanied by the waving of red and white banners on both sides and the beating of drums and gongs. The description of the instruments that accompany the two heroes’ fight as “fanfare drum beats” (huaqiang gulei 花腔鼓擂) produces an even stronger theatrical flavor: There was no further parley between the young men. Lances in hand they galloped forward and fought on the broad road, with neither the victor. Hua Rong and Song Jiang watched in admiration from their horses. It was really an excellent fight! . . . Lances in hand the two heroic men fought over thirty rounds on the broad road with neither the victor. Hua Rong and Song Jiang applauded on their horses. 那兩個壯士, 更不打話, 各挺手中畫戟, 縱坐下馬, 兩個就中間大闊路 上交鋒, 比試胜敗。花榮和宋江見了, 勒住馬看時, 果然是一對好廝 殺. . . . 當時兩個壯士, 各使方天畫戟, 斗到三十余合, 不分胜敗。 花榮 和宋江兩個在馬上看了喝采。40

39 40

Chapter 38, pp. 522–3. Chapter 35, p. 471, pp. 345–6. Translation modified and completed.

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Visual tableaus through three long poems are inserted in this scene, constituting half of the narrative, to highlight the visual aspect. The three poems describe the appearance of the two fighters and their fighting from the point of view of Song Jiang and Hua Rong. In other words, readers are guided by what Song Jiang and Hua Rong see. This point of view is important, as I will discuss below. This scene reaffirms the distinction among the eyes by endowing ‘applauding’ with great narrative significance. Applauding is an action that explains appreciation and indicates the effectiveness of perception. It is therefore closely connected to perceptualism, that is, heightened attention to perception, perspective, and viewing, and functions to distinguish between Song Jiang and Hua Rong and the two hundred soldiers who also watch the fight. By fighting, and yet tying, both Guo Sheng and Lü Fang display their hero-status through their martial skills.41 By knowing, and applauding, Song Jiang and Hua Rong give the best ‘viewerly’ response in the active, or even theatrical, display of their discernment of heroic qualities. Their crucially ‘loud’ appreciation contrasts with the quietness among those who do not know and do not appreciate. Jin Shengtan accentuates the allegorical meanings of applauding in his interlineal commentaries: Earlier, applauding was mentioned twice and has deep allegorical meaning. Why? Because when two lances meet and are equal in strength, one can know the excellence of both lances. One can know the excellence of both lances; however, only Song Jiang knows, and Hua Rong knows, and the other two hundred and some do not know. Because the two hundred and some do not know, only Song Jiang and Hua Rong applaud on their horses while the other two hundred plus, despite their open eyes, did not utter a sound! 前言兩番喝采, 寓意深隱者, 何也? 蓋兩戟相交, 不相上下, 則兩戟之 妙, 可得而知也。兩戟之妙可得而知, 然而宋江知, 花榮知者, 二百余 人不得知。二百余人不得知, 則止有宋江､花榮馬上喝采, 而二百余 人瞠目不出一聲矣。42

This rather long interlineal commentary, with the deliberate repetition of ‘seeing’ and ‘knowing,’ embodies the common discourse of perceptualism.

41 For more examples of the identification of heroes through the similarity of martial performance, see Chapter 3. 42 Shuihu zhuan huiping ben, p. 643.

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After Song Jiang becomes the leader of the Liangshan band viewing and applauding are systemized. During the first major military attack by the government, Song Jiang leads, and more importantly, views and applauds the great martial performances of his underlings. For example, after seeing the first-rate iron lance skills of Ou Peng, Song Jiang applauds.43 Song’s admiration of heroes even includes those in the enemy camp. During Song Jiang’s attack on Dongchang County, he looks at his enemy’s battle formation and sees Zhang Qing, who is the most gallant warrior in the enemy troop. The notation of Song Jiang seeing is important narratorially because it foregrounds his point of view from which an inserted verse describes Zhang Qing’s physique and his martial performance. After describing what is viewed, the narrator returns to the viewer Song Jiang, who sees Zhang Qing and applauds. Because the viewer and the viewed are both crucial elements in a scene, the narrative does not end until the final inclusion of the viewer’s response.44 Surely this highly visual appreciation leads to gallant fraternity. After capturing Zhang Qing, Song Jiang appeases those previously injured by Zhang in the battle and makes him one of his men. Similarly, after viewing and applauding Guan Sheng’s martial performance in the enemy troop, Song Jiang offers a seat to Guan after his capture by the Liangshan band.45 Similar to Li Yu’s exaggeration of the power of the ultimate eye, the author of Shuihu zhuan presents Song Jiang’s perceptiveness as ‘therapeutic’ for performers of heroism who are desperate for recognition. The encounter between Song Jiang and Wu Song is a most dramatic and literal example illustrating this function of the ultimate eye. Song Jiang arrives at Chai Jin’s residence, where Wu Song has been staying and has been sick: Song Jiang was eight-tenths drunk, and he staggered along, not looking where he walked. A big fellow (Wu Song), chilled by a malarial attack, was on the veranda huddled over some burning embers on a shovel. Song Jiang, head high, stepped on the handle and bounced the embers into the man’s face, startling him so that he broke into a sweat. Angrily he rose and grasped Song Jiang by the front of his tunic. He pulled back his fist to hit Song Jiang.46

43 44 45 46

Chapter 48, p. 675. Chapter 70, p. 964. Chapter 64. Chapter 22, p. 253, p. 346.

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Wu Song’s malaria serves several functions: first, because he is ill, Wu Song’s appearance is far from chivalric, which underlines the penetration of Song Jiang’s eye. Secondly, to have Wu Song literally sick reveals the vulnerability of these generally tough heroes and foreshadows Song Jiang’s existence as a therapeutic cure. The viewer/viewed relationship is further illustrated under lamplight, like a theater spotlight. In the banquet that follows the encounter between Wu Song and Song Jiang, Song Jiang looks at Wu Song’s physique: “In the lamplight Song Jiang noted what a fine figure of a man Wu Song was and his heart brimmed with pleasure” (宋江在燈下 看 了武松這表人物, 心中歡喜).47 “In the lamplight” (zai dengxia) caught the attention of the visually oriented commentator, Jin Shengtan, who elaborated on Song Jiang’s viewing in jerky parallel sentences: To gaze at a beauty in the lamplight is an outstanding line of all time. The replacement of a beauty with a haohan in this case forms another magnificent line. When a beauty is seen in the lamplight, she gains extra delicacy; when a haohan is seen in the lamplight, he gains extra prowess. So the description of a swordsman often involves the lamplight. 燈下看美人, 千秋絕調語。此卻換成燈下看好漢, 又是千秋絕調語 也。燈下看美人, 加一倍嬝嬝﹔燈下看好漢, 加一倍凜凜。所以寫劍 俠者, 都在燈下。48

That swordsmen are generally described in lamplight is certainly not true. Typical of Jin Shengtan’s irony and joking manner, he accentuates the viewing/viewed relationship between Song Jiang and Wu Song, and Song’s distinctive attention to viewing and his role as a viewer and connoisseur. The significance of the ultimate eyes is underscored through the metaphorical recovery of Wu Song. Wu Song’s malaria is cured by the shock he received meeting Song Jiang. But this is merely narrative expediency: right after Wu Song’s pitiful appearance in a state of illness, we see what Song Jiang sees under the lamplight, a patient now free from symptoms. After Song Jiang takes him in, keeps him in his company, and drinks with him everyday, Wu Song recovers completely. Early modern commentators of Shuihu zhuan understood

47 48

Chapter 22, p. 253, p. 348. Shuihu zhuan huiping ben, p. 416.

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the narrative expediency as an emphasis on the therapeutic effect of an understanding friend. The commentator “Li Zhi” of the Yuan Wuya edition of Shuihu zhuan observes, “This shows that an understanding friend is the best doctor and most superb medicine” (可見知己 友朋, 真是高醫妙藥).49 Jin Shengtan, despite his general dislike for Song Jiang, comments, “What thing is this petite clerk? He can make one change disposition” (何物小吏, 使人變化氣質?)50 Shuihu zhuan distinguishes Song Jiang from Chai Jin, the landed gentry member famous for befriending martial heroes. The illustration of the fight between Lin Chong and Teacher Hong, for example, directs attention to Chai Jin the viewer (Fig. 2.15). Both Chao Gai and Chai Jin have a large manor where martial heroes can come, stay, and perform their skills in front of them. Chai Jin’s relationship with Wu Song serves as a foil to Song Jiang’s absolute connoisseurship of the latter. When Wu Song first comes to Chai Jin’s mansion, Chai Jin treats him favorably. However, Chai Jin listens to the complaints from his vassals and neglects Wu Song because the latter is very disagreeable. Song Jiang’s superior discernment and perceptivity render the performance of heroism significant and help establish him as leader. Fleshly Eyes The Fantastic as Modes of Perception Reminiscent of the interesting spectacles put forward through the coexistence of visually contrastive characters in Shuihu zhuan, the physical bodies of the crew of pilgrims—a pale-faced fat monk and three ugly monks—in Xiyou ji amuse monsters who crowd the road to the West.51 A reader of Xiyou ji in the seventeenth century describing the effect of Xiyou ji upon his visual imagination said, “When I read about [Sun Wukong] raising an uproar in Heaven and splitting the Earth, tricking ghosts and killing monsters . . . I fix my eyes and focus my attention, lift up my beard and stick out my tongue 讀至鬧天赫地, 弄鬼屠妖 . . . 便佇目凝神, 掀髯吐舌.”52 This image of a highly devoted

49

Ibid., 417. Ibid. 51 This description is from the perspective of Red Boy in Chapter 40, p. 531. 52 Ding Xigen 丁錫根, ed., Zhongguo lidai xiaoshuo xuba ji 中國歷代小說序跋集 (Beijing: Renmin wenxue, 1996), p. 1342. 50

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reader stricken by the awesome visuality of Xiyou ji might be comical, but it illustrates the visual focus of early modern theatrical fiction. This idealized reader is, therefore, an insider in the savviest group of readers in early modern China who, although appearing comical, represent the ‘cutting edge’ of readerly response. Viewing achieves particular significance in Xiyou ji because the fantastic therein is constructed as essentially a mode of perception, a theater that draws in the viewer as an active participant in its realization. In theatricals involving masquerading demons the omniscient narrator always clarifies in the beginning that it is a demon performing the masquerade—sometimes even the demon states his/her intention to play a masquerade to trick the pilgrims—but the key point is not who is behind the masquerade. Masquerades in this context are metatheatrical by turning the readers’ attention to the masquerader, but also by focusing on viewers and their modes of seeing. As Wang Qi states, what is viewed depends upon who is viewing, and the same image becomes differently perceived by fleshly eyes (rouyan 肉眼) or true eyes (daoyan 道眼). “Flower-like features and moon-like faces through human eyes are flower-like features and moon-like faces, but a skeleton and white bones in the perceptive eyes of the Way (究竟此一月貌花容者, 肉眼視之, 則月貌花容﹔ 而道眼觀之, 則骷 髏白骨).53 Xiyou ji draws particular attention to viewing by setting it up as an action with preceding ‘performatives.’ That is, characters declare their intent to view right before, or simultaneously with, the actual viewing. The announcement serves as the ‘performative’ because the utterance of such a statement is as crucial as its content.54 Many performative statements, as Austin observes, are contractual or declaratory utterances.55 In theater, we often find these type of statements. For example, in the chuanqi “Baojian ji” 寶劍記 (The tale of the precious sword) attributed to Li Kaixian, the mo role says, “You sing a song and I will listen.” The jing answers, “I will sing and you listen.”56 The performatives of viewing abound in Xiyou ji. In a description such as the following: “Pilgrim said, ‘Let me have a look.’ Dear Great

53

Xiyou zhengdao shu, p. 228. John Austin, How to Do Things With Words (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1962), p. 7. 55 Ibid., pp. 21–22. 56 Fu, ed., Shuihu xiqu ji, vol. 2, p. 90. 54

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Sage! He somersaulted at once into the air and fixed his gaze on the water. He saw . . .” (行者道： “等我看看。” 好大圣, 縱筋斗云, 跳在 空中, 定睛觀看, 但見那).57 The announcement is performative in an Austinian sense of the term. Monkey’s imperative announcement, or a variant like “Let Old Monkey go and look” (等老孫看看去來) to the other pilgrims, tells the reader, literally, that the purpose of Monkey’s leaving is ‘viewing.’ Narratorially, the imperative serves two functions: first, the narrator prepares the implied readers for a visual tableau to come; second, the performative has the reiterative effect of emphasizing the perspective from which a thing is to be seen thus indicating the trustworthiness of the description. After Monkey’s declaration of intent, the narrator invites the reader to visualize Monkey viewing. The lengthy discourse thus underscores kan 看, or ‘to see,’ as an important action. Different modes of seeing constitute part of the cosmological hierarchy in Xiyou ji. Deities have enlightened eyes for viewing from afar (huiyan yaoguan 慧眼遥观) and human beings and minor monsters are only of ‘fleshly eyes and mortal stock’ (rouyan fantai 肉眼凡胎). The terms for different eyes are drawn readily from Buddhism, which distinguishes eyes or vision into five kinds: fleshly eyes, enlightened eyes, deva eyes (tianyan 天眼), dharma eyes ( fayan 法眼) and Buddha eyes ( foyan 佛眼). The author(s) of Xiyou ji uses the four pilgrims, each with their different levels of perception, not only as intratextual viewers, but also as a standardized method to distinguish modes of seeing. A demon is introduced to the reader as an assumer of a masquerade and then described multiple times from the perspectives of the sophisticated viewer, Monkey, and the naïve viewers, Tripitaka, Pig, and Sha Monk. The ‘stacking’ of perspectives illustrates the author’s eagerness to connect to a readership that was increasingly attuned to distinguishing modes of seeing. Several of the most well-known chapters in Xiyou ji involving Cadaver Demon and her various masquerades best illustrate this pattern. Cadaver Demon begins her masquerade with an announcement, “let me trick them a bit and see what happens,” as if performing in theater. The encounters between the demon and the pilgrims are formulaic: the narrator tells the reader that the Cadaver Demon masquerades as a young girl and then describes the young

57

Xiyou ji, Chapter 47, p. 628, 2: 355.

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girl from Tripitaka’s perspective in a verse. Thereafter, Pig volunteers to do the viewing with announcement “Let Old Hog go take a look” reminding the readers of the naïve character from whose perspective another pictura poesis is inserted. Both encounters end with the narrator commenting on the inadequacy of their eyes, “This was clearly a fiend, but he could not recognize her!” When Monkey opens wide his ‘fiery eyes with diamond pupils’ to take a look, he recognizes right away that the girl is a monster. The action of viewing itself is rendered into a scene wherein the narrator calls the implied readers to look at Monkey looking at the monster. In the second round, when Cadaver Demon changes into an old woman, Monkey precedes his viewing with “Let old Monkey go have a look.” The reader is again called upon to observe Monkey striding forward to look at the monster and to recognize the masquerade.58 The Fleshly-Eyed Master The construction of the fantastic as a mode of perception draws our attention to two contrastive types of eyes belonging to Tripitaka and Monkey: the fleshly eyes and the fiery eyes. Although Shuihu zhuan and Xiyou ji similarly evoke visual reading, these two theatrical novels differ significantly in the configuration of the model audience. While the group leader Song Jiang possesses the ultimate eyes, the master of the pilgrimage crew Tripitaka has fleshly eyes. Through the fleshlyeyed master and fiery-eyed disciple, Xiyou ji, with cross-references to perceptualism, offers an example of an inverted ocular order rather than the theatrical balance achieved in Shuihu zhuan. Commenting on Tripitaka’s vision, Anthony Yu writes, Tripitaka’s frail and fallible character is deliberately magnified by the author in order to stress his absolute need for his supernatural companions and most especially, for the protective guidance of Sun Wu-k’ung [Sun Wukong]. For this reason, both the narrator and Sun on several occasions have emphasized the fact that the master pilgrim is of ‘fleshly eyes and mortal stock.’59

While Tripitaka’s imperceptiveness is related to his human identity, the rule of the eyes—deities and major monsters having perceptive

58 59

Chapter 27, p. 354, 2: 25. Yu, The Journey to the West, 1: 44.

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eyes and humans and minor monsters being of ‘fleshly eyes and mortal stock’—is not strictly observed. The Pig does not have perceptive eyes despite being a major monster prior to his conversion. His imperceptiveness is often comical giving Monkey an opportunity to observe him without being noticed (e.g. Chapter 32). Sha Monk is not able to perceive monsters either, although he and the Pig are more perceptive than Tripitaka. What Yu does not mention is the narrative and commentarial attention to viewing indicating a strong moral criticism of Tripitaka. Despite Tripitaka’s intention to be a good monk throughout the journey, following the rules and regulations demanded of his order, his ‘consistent’ goodness cannot help being disrupted by his imperceptiveness. This moral criticism is manifested in several areas in the novel: in direct comments by the authoritative narrator, in plots incorporating explicit criticism, and in critical commentaries by the early modern commentators. An analogy with imperceptive characters from literature of the same period also gives us a context for this criticism. The authoritative narrator comments harshly on Tripitaka’s inability to perceive masquerading demons. In Chapter 40, for example, the embedded theatrical starts with the narrator stating that Red Boy, a monster, is disguised as a naked child hanging from a tree calling for help. The surface disguise is reiterated from Tripitaka’s perspective, “As he [Tripitaka] looked up, the elder found that [the cries] came from a little child, completely naked, who was suspended from the top of a tree.” The narrator immediately comments on Tripitaka’s failure to see through the masquerade, “Alas! This is clearly a monster that has taken on this transformation, but the master is only of fleshly eyes and mortal stock and cannot recognize it” 噫﹗分明是個妖精變化得這等, 那師父 卻是個肉眼凡胎, 不能相識.60 The interjection word “Alas” ( yi 噫) displays a strong sense of frustration. Sandwiching Tripitaka’s viewing between the narrators’ statements, the author emphasizes his imperceptivity. Almost the exact same wording appears in Chapter 80, “The fair girl, nursing the yang, seeks a mate; Ming Monster, guarding his master, recognizes a monster” (奼女育陽求配偶 心猿護主 識妖邪), which also centers upon contrastive ways of seeing.61 The

60 Chapter 40, pp. 533–4. This narrator’s commentary is deleted in Xiyou zhengdao shu; this sentence is also skipped in Journey to the West. 61 Lower case is used in the chapter title following Anthony Yu’s translation.

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pilgrims are resting in a dark pine forest while Monkey goes off to beg for a meal. The narrator describes the impending arrival of a monster through the perceptive eyes of Monkey, who watches out for the rest of the crew from far away. Seeing a mass of black fumes boiling up from the pine forest, Monkey recognizes that something “perverse” has come to the forest. After the situation is clarified through the trustworthy Monkey, the narrator goes on to Tripitaka’s viewing. With “Let me take a look” (待我看看), Tripitaka “goes near and looks, and what he sees” (近前視之, 只見) is a girl tied to a tree trunk. Framing what is viewed through the unreliable viewer Tripitaka, the narrator explicates further upon Tripitaka’s imperceptiveness, saying, “Alas! She was clearly a monster, but the elder, being of fleshly eyes and mortal stock, could not recognize her.”62 Besides the narrator’s direct comments, authorial criticism of Tripitaka’s imperceptiveness is most articulated in Chapter 27 when Tripitaka turns into a tiger. Prior to this episode, Tripitaka drives Monkey away for killing demon-turned-humans. Without the protection of Monkey, a masquerading Yellow Robe Fiend accuses Tripitaka of being a tiger masquerading as a monk. To prove his claim Yellow Robe Fiend uses a special spell on Tripitaka, which transforms him into a tiger in front of the whole court of ‘fleshly eyes and mortal stock’ at the Precious Image Kingdom. Until Monkey arrives to counter the spell, Tripitaka is totally helpless: “Under the demon’s spell, Tripitaka could not move, and although he was clear in his mind, he was unable to open his mouth or eyes.”63 The forced transformation serves several functions. First, Tripitaka’s imperceptiveness in its most exaggerated form surfaces because as a tiger he can no longer see. Second, his “revolting shape” as a tiger serves as an ironic reminder of his consistent goodness. Monkey teases Tripitaka, “Master, you are a good monk. How did you manage to end up with a fearsome look like that?” thus ridiculing Tripitaka’s superficial attempts to be a good monk. Early modern commentators on Xiyou ji criticized Tripitaka’s fleshly eyes and moral position. “Li Zhi” in Li Zhuowu xiansheng piping Xiyou ji observes that Tripitaka is illustrative of the world’s lack of true recognition. “Deeming the meritorious as guilty and the virtuous as malicious happens constantly in the world. It is not only Pilgrim [Monkey]

62 63

Chapter 81, p. 1077, 4: 74–75. Chapter 30, p. 412.

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who is wronged and Tripitaka who is muddle-headed. I sigh about this three times” 世上以功為罪, 以德為讎, 比比而是, 不但行者一個受 屈, 三藏一人 糊塗已也, 可為三嘆.64 Wang Qi, conflating the theatrical with the real, and the enforced transformation with the real identity, says that the way Tripitaka wrongs Monkey represents the nature of a tiger—his banishing Monkey earlier at White Tiger Mount is also a sign of his tiger nature—and hence it is no wonder that he turns into one.65 In the chapter commentary for Chapter 30, “Li Zhi” speaks from a ‘quoted’ voice of “someone”: “Someone jokingly says, ‘a monk changing into a tiger is like his begging alms; what’s strange about that?’ What a sidesplitter” (或戲曰: 變老虎是和尚衣缽, 有甚奇處﹖ 為之絕倒).66 Both commentators’ deliberate kneading of Tripitaka’s two identities abounds in ironies and deconstructs Tripitaka’s identity as a ‘good monk.’ Criticism of Tripitaka is even harsher and more explicit if we compare him to other fictional characters who are imperceptive viewers of the same period. Imperceptiveness is often a sign of moral turpitude and indicates a strong authorial criticism. Among sixteenth- and seventeenth-century Chinese narratives, Jin Ping Mei probably has the most insertions of characters’ watching theater. In the household of the nouveaux riche Ximen Qing plays are put on for a variety of occasions. The irony is, as Carlitz observes, that characters watch plays that comment on their own behavior either by contrast or by similarity.67 Ximen Qing, representing an imperceptive viewer, does not understand the admonitions of the plays. Distinguishing the characters through their ability to view, the author of Jin Ping Mei brings the readers’ attention to what is performed but, more importantly, to Ximen Qing’s imperceptivity that manifests his moral turpitude and contributes to his eventual downfall. A contemporary play “Yuan Shi yiquan” 袁氏義犬 (The faithful dog of the Yuan household) by Chen Yujiao 陳與郊 (1543–1610, jinshi 1574) centers upon the sharp criticism of an imperceptive character,

64

Chapter 27, p. 359. Xiyou Zhengdao shu, p. 249. 66 Chapter 30, p. 398. 67 For a detailed list of the plays performed in Jin Ping Mei and their foreshadowing function, see: Katherine Carlitz, The Rhetoric of Chin P’ing Mei (Bloomington: Indiana University Press, 1986), chapters 5–6. 65

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Di Lingqing 狄靈慶.68 The play begins with Di, a respectful and filial student of Yuan Can, watching a play at Yuan’s mansion. The play is “Mei naihe kudao Chang’an jie” 沒奈何哭倒長安街 (Utterly Hopeless wails on Chang’an Street) (entitled “Mr. Gourd” in “Yuan Shi yiquan”) by the author’s contemporary Wang Heng, who wrote “The Real Puppet” discussed earlier.69 “Mr. Gourd” is about Buddha Tathāgata masquerading as a Mr. Gourd warning against the lack of humanity. Act 1 of “Yuan Shi yiquan” incorporates “Mr. Gourd” almost verbatim thus constituting almost half of the length of the five-act play.70 The distinctive ‘disproportion’ among the acts, allowed by the new and free genre of zaju in the late Ming and early Qing, accentuates watching the play as an important event. This play-within-the play is further highlighted in the juanshou illustration (Fig. 2.4). The focus on watching the play draws our attention to Di Lingqing’s imperceptivity as an audience member. “Mr. Gourd” serves as a foreshadowing of the plot and a commentary on Di Lingqing’s deeds later in the play. When Yuan gets in trouble and his entire family faces execution, Di refuses to help protect the only remaining male infant and delivers the helpless baby to Yuan’s enemy. The play ends with Di being severe punished, disemboweled and his tongue ripped out, in the underworld court for his ungrateful and cruel act. The moral significance of Di Lingqing’s watching “Mr. Gourd” is similar to the narratorial meaning of Ximen Qing watching theater. It is Di’s imperceptiveness, as well as moral baseness, that leads to his final punishment in the underworld court. The Xiyou ji author(s) criticized the master as imperceptive, but endowed the disciple, Monkey, with a pair of ultimate eyes described as ‘fiery eyes with diamond pupils.’ Monkey’s eyes are referred to more than twenty times throughout the novel becoming not simply part of Monkey’s physical features but an identifier of his mode of seeing.71 Created when he was locked in Lord Lao Zi’s furnace, Monkey’s ‘fiery

68 “Yuan Shi yiquan” 袁氏義犬, in Sheng Ming zaju 盛明雜劇 (Songfentang 誦芬 堂 edition, 1629, rpt.; Taibei: Wenguang, 1963), yiji 一集, juan 11. 69 Xu Zifang, Ming zaju yanjiu, pp. 249–50. See also: Sun Kandi, Xiqu xiaoshuo shulu jieti 戲曲小說書目解題 (Beijing: Renmin wenxue, 1990), p. 291. This play is difficult to find; one Wanli edition is in the Naikaku bunko. The play also appears in Zaju sanzhong hekan of the Tianqi period. 70 According to Xu Zifang, all of the arias of “Mei Naihe” are used and only a small portion of the speeches are omitted in “Yuan Shi yiquan.” Ming zaju yanjiu, p. 250. 71 Xiyou ji, Chapter 7, p. 81.

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eyes’ guarantee the true perception of a capable observer who can ‘see though’ (rentou 認透) masquerades. It is Monkey’s discrimination, in addition to his martial skills, that enables him to be the pilgrims’ most powerful defender. There is a clear identification of the literati authors with Monkey in the latter’s play with spectatorship. When Monkey intends to make a scene, he utilizes his ability to split his self so that he can be the viewer of his own metamorphosis. His play with theatricality and his control of viewing is similar to the boasts of late Ming and early Qing literati. For example, in Chapter 25, knowing that he would be thrown into a sizzling pot of oil, Monkey changes a nearby stone lion into a substitute self. His real spirit rises into the clouds and looks down, like an audience member on a viewing stand, at the scene he has created: the stone-lion-changed-into-Monkey takes twenty men to carry and when dropped into the pot destroys it and splashes oil everywhere. “Li Zhi” comments on this as a hou (monkey-like) act, referring to Monkey’s double identity as both a playful performer and viewer.72 This sense of self-observation particularly reminds one of Li Yu’s enthusiasms for looking at his own statue looking at his garden.73 Monkey’s lament over Tripitaka’s imperceptivity and his distinction among different levels of perceptivity reiterates that of the authoritative narrator. For example, in Chapter 40, Monkey informs the other pilgrims, “I, old Monkey, with this pair of fiery eyes and diamond pupils can distinguish (rende 認得) good and evil. Just now, that child hanging in the tree called up a wind. I could tell he was a monsterspirit, but you didn’t know, nor did Master.”74 In Chapter 81, Monkey distinguishes his perceptivity from the other pilgrims using a similar structure of comparison, “That girl who was tied up the black pine forest the other day—these fiery eyes and diamond pupils of old Monkey have long seen through (rentou 認透) her. All of you mistook her as a good person” (renzuo haoren 認做好人).75 Tripitaka’s imperceptiveness is doubled: because of his inability to recognize the masquerading demons, taking their surface identities to be real, he fails to recognize and appreciate Monkey’s loyalty and utilize his fiery eyes to the advantage of the pilgrims. The imbal72 73 74 75

Chapter 25, p. 332. Xianqing ouji in Li Yu quanji, vol. 11, p. 171. Chapter 40, p. 537, 2: 242. Translation modified. Chapter 81, p. 1097, 4: 102.

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ance of perceptivity among the pilgrims is worsened by their monster opponents’ recognition of Monkey’s ultimate eye. Cadaver Demon, for example, applauds “Marvelous Monkey King! What perception” (好個 猴王, 著實有眼) after seeing that Monkey recognizes his transformation.76 Applauding is an action laden with meaning for its manifestation of effective viewing, as we have discussed in Shuihu zhuan. In Xiyou ji, applause is given to the monsters. In the prologues to the first and second parts of Taohua shan, the Master of Ceremonies played by the fumo role introduces himself as both an audience member and in charge of introducing the play (kaichang 開場). He claims he was invited to play the fumo role because he experienced the Ming-Qing transition and was in the audience of the play in the Garden of Great Serenity the previous day. His double role reveals, again, the openness of theater and the conflation of the theatrical and the real. The poem in the epigraph also emphasizes his qualifications as a spectator: his special position as a two-time spectator both of the Ming-Qing transition and Taohua shan gives him a pair of sharp eyes necessary as a model audience figure. Clarifying his role as the model audience figure, the Master of Ceremony speaks about his reaction to the play, “I was stirred so deeply that I laughed and wept, raged and cursed by turns,”77 thus prescribing a strong emotional response for the skilled viewer who really sees the true meaning of Taohua shan. We have discussed the similarities and differences between Shuihu zhuan and Xiyou ji in staging. In both novels journeys are constituted of theatrical spaces emphasizing viewing as an important element of theatricality. Both show a clear dissociation of visual acuity from moral standards. In Shuhu, the bandit leader Song Jiang possesses the ultimate eye and functions as a superb intratexual connoisseur. The Xiyou ji authors are more ‘theater anarchists’ not only because the novel seems to include endless theatricals and acts of appropriation, as we discussed in Chapter 4, but also because of an inverted ocular order by the fleshly-eyed master and the fiery-eyed disciple. Viewing, along with staging and acting, offers yet another site for writers of

76

Chapter 27, pp. 355–6, 2: 27. Taohua shan, pp. 1-2. Translation from Chen Shih-hsiang and Harold Acton, trans., The Peach Blossom Fan (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1976), p. 2. 77

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‘playful theatricals’ to parody, subvert, and deconstruct the normative social order. This chapter on viewing ends my discussion of the ‘playful theatricals’ in Shuihu zhuan and Xiyou ji. In the next chapter we shall compare two fictional collections of the seventeenth century whose similar titles and references to theater offer a good opportunity to examine a drastically different theater trope from ‘playful theatricals.’

PART III

DIDACTIC THEATER VERSUS PLAYFUL THEATRICALS

CHAPTER EIGHT

TROPES OF THEATER IN ZHISHANG CHUNTAI AND WUSHENG XI We have examined ‘playful theatricals’ in the two theatrical novels, Shuihu zhuan and Xiyou ji, and their commentaries along with a variety of other genres such as metatheatrical plays and short stories. In these works, ‘playful theatricals’ is the dominant method for engaging with the ephemeral and for celebrating flexibilities in identities, roles, and persons implicitly and for explicitly questioning all moral and orthodox fixities. Conflating the theatrical and the real, staging performances, and juggling theatrical roles, persons, and identities contest orthodoxies by challenging and appropriating sites of control and authority. ‘Playful theatricals’ have been the primary avenue for my examination of theater’s role in identity making in early modern fiction, particularly in the two theatrical novels, Shuihu zhuan and Xiyou ji. To better understand the subversiveness of ‘playful theatricals,’ this chapter compares ‘didactic theater’ with ‘playful theatricals’ through a study of two seventeenth-century fiction collections, Zhishang chuntai 紙上春臺 (Theater on paper) and Wusheng xi 無聲戲 (Silent operas). They have similar titles and both reference theater as a source for their fictional structuring and critical vocabulary. These two texts have so many similarities that they almost form matched stories. Drastically different, however, is their conceptualization of the purposes of theatrical tropes in fiction. The characters and themes in Zhishang chuntai are built upon moral absolutes and a clear line of demarcation between theater and real life that produces characters with unambiguous moral identities. Despite the reference to theater in the title of Zhishang chuntai, then, the author’s stories are atheatrical and frequently antitheatrical. Identity transformation, masquerade, and playacting are carefully avoided in Zhishang chuntai because they suggest the kind of moral relativity that threatens the creation of an articulate moral identity. In Wusheng xi, by contrast, Li Yu uses the trope of theater to evoke ‘playful theatricals’ that aestheticize the idea of ‘play’ and deny moral fixities by celebrating the flexibility of different roles, identities, and persons.

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chapter eight Moral Contrasts: “Changing Bridal Gowns”

Amidst the confusions and anxieties of the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries, fiction writers sought to carve out for themselves an appropriate social role. Some fiction writers such as Zhou Ji 周楫 (fl. 17th century) believed that they could contribute to the regeneration of the Neo-Confucian order through didactic stories that would reform their readers’ thinking and behavior to match idealized forms of NeoConfucian morality. Out of the desire to revive Neo-Confucian morality through didactic fiction emerged a group of “moral-heroic writers,” who pursued, to borrow Patrick Hanan’s phrase, “a fiction of duty and moral heroism.”1 In this body of fiction, the narrator possesses a Neo-Confucian exhortatory voice that celebrates good and condemns evil accordingly. Xiaoxiang Mijin Duzhe 蕭湘迷津渡者 (literally: the one who crossed the confusing fords in the Xiao and Xiang Rivers) [hereafter shortened to Mijin Duzhe]), author of Theater on Paper, belongs to this group of moral-heroic writers. Judging from his pseudonym, Mijin Duzhe believed that he was living in morally ambiguous times and sought to guide others with his Neo-Confucian moral compass. Despite the suggestion of enlightened moral superiority in his pseudonym, modern scholars have largely overlooked Mijin Duzhe. All that is known is that he probably came from Hunan and that he penned a number of novellas with a strong moral content. Chinese bibliographers such as Ouyang Jian who have focused almost exclusively on how Mijin Duzhe entitled his fiction collections have almost been the only scholars to conduct research on him.2 Of Mijin Duzhe’s works still extant, “Huan jiayi” 換嫁衣 (Changing bridal gowns) and “Yi xiupu” 移绣谱 (The shifted embroidery) are from Zhishang chuntai and “Mei chanjuan” 媚嬋娟 (La belle) from the collection Bi liyuan 筆梨園 (Theater by brush), all six-chapter ver-

1 Patrick Hanan, The Chinese Vernacular Story (Cambridge: Harvard University Press, 1981), chapters 4–7, p. 164. On didactic fiction in this vein, see: Patrick Hanan, “The Fiction of Moral Duty: The Vernacular Story in the 1640s,” in Robert Hegel and Richard Hessney, eds. Expressions of Self in Chinese Literature (New York: Columbia University Press, 1985), pp. 189–214. 2 Ouyang Jian 歐陽健, et al., eds., Zhongguo tongsu xiaoshuo zongmu tiyao 中國通 俗小說 總目提要 (Beijing: Zhongguo wenlian, 1990), p. 346.

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nacular novellas.3 The title page of “Huan jiayi” lists the story as “the first play of the third play Jinxiu yi (The embroidered shirt) in Zhishang chuantai” (紙上春台第三戲錦繡衣第一戲換嫁衣).4 “Mei chanjuan” 媚嬋娟 (La belle) is referred to on the story’s title page as “the second play” (di’erxi 第二戲) of Bi liyuan.5 Mijin Duzhe also authored another vernacular fiction collection, Doushi huan 都是幻 (All is illusory), which includes two novellas, each six chapters in length, in the late Ming-early Qing style of scholar-beauty romances.6 Although we lack precise dates for the publication of Mijin Duzhe’s works, internal evidence and style of writing suggests a probable publication date in the late Ming or early Qing period.7 Writers with elegant sobriquets, as was common with other late Ming-early Qing novels, wrote commentaries on Mijin Duzhe’s works. For example, both Zuihua Yishi 醉花驛使 (The Post Rider for Drunken Courtesans) and Rechang Qiaosou 熱腸樵叟 (Passionate Wood Cutter) commented on Zhishang chuntai. If the extant collections were merely part of a much larger collection, as their numbers indicate, Mijin Duzhe was truly a very productive writer in either the late Ming or early Qing. Mijin Duzhe’s moralistic purpose is openly revealed in the prefatory verse of “Huan jiayi,” which links the author’s didactic intention to the epochal feelings of the ephemeral: Scene of revelry past, haunted by ghosts today. In vain people experience the hustle of the human world. Only tales of loyalty, virtue, chastity, and righteousness are eternal. 昔年歌舞地, 今日鬼孤眠。 翻雲覆雨總徒然。 唯有忠賢節義古今傳.8

Judging from the pseudonyms of the author and commentators, if they are not the same person, and the narratorial persona, we can

3 All these works are collected in Ming Qing xijian xiaoshuo congkan 明清稀見小 說叢刊 (Ji’nan: Qilu shushe, 1996). “Huan jiayi,” pp. 703–41; “Yi xiupu,” pp. 742–87; “Mei chanjuan,” under the tile Bi liyuan, pp. 791–823. 4 “Huan jiayi” held in the library of Zhongguo shekeyuan wenxue yanjiusuo 中國社科院文學 研究所 library; also see “Notes on Publication,” in Ming Qing xijian xiaoshuo, p. 3. 5 Bi liyuan in Ming Qing xijian xiaoshuo, p. 793. 6 Doushi huan in Zhongguo gudai zhenxiben xiaoshuo congshu 中國古代珍稀本小 說叢書 (Shenyang: Chunfeng wenyi chubanshe, 1997), vol. 7, pp. 1–115. 7 Ouyang, Zhongguo tongsu xiaoshuo, p. 346. 8 “Huan jiayi,” p. 705.

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safely assume that all three aim to be heralds of a revived moral order. Writing morality tales is one of Mijin Duzhe’s ways to deal with the transience of time because he believes in the eternal qualities of moral values and their immunity from historical and social changes. Mijin Duzhe’s frequent references to theater as both a source of his fictional structuring and critical vocabulary make him an important writer for this study. For example, in Chapter Four of both “Huan jiayi” and “Mei chanjuan” Mijin Duzhe concludes with the simulated storyteller’s phrase, “Wait to watch the performance of the next scene” (且看下回演出).9 The commentaries to Chapters One and Six of “Yi xiupu” and Chapter One of “Mei chanjuan” refer to their theatrical elements calling them “a good play” ( yiben jiaxi 一本佳戲).10 In Chapter Five of “Mei chanjuan,” the marginal commentary describes the chapter as “an act” ( yichu 一齣).11 Suggestive as such commentaries may be, Mijin Duzhe’s theatrical structuring of his stories is more significant. “Huan jiayi,” the first of the two extant stories in Zhishang chuntai, centers on a dramatic contrast between the two Hua brothers: the elder brother, Yuren 玉人 (literally: a person made of jade), is a man of virtue; the second brother, Xiaoren 笑人 (literally: the laughing stock), is lusty, greedy, and angry. The dramatic tension begins when Yuren receives a handsome sum to help his friend and classmate, who is a border area military official. Yuren entrusts Xiaoren with the funds and his wife Wenzi while he goes off to help his friend. Tempted by the cash, Xiaoren uses it to open a hotel where he and his hooligan friend Wu Xincheng fleece their customers. Unfortunately for Xiaoren, a scholar who he had bamboozled passed the civil service examination and became, fortuitously, a student of the magistrate of Xiaoren’s county. Beaten for his actions, Xiaoren is forced to give up both the hotel and his ill-gotten gains to bribe himself out of future beatings. Facing penury, Xiaoren schemes to sell Wenzi. His plan is to convince Wenzi that Xiaoren is dead and then have the potential buyer snatch the women in mourning dress. Wenzi learns of the trap and convinces Xiaoren’s wife to wear the mourning dress. Instead of Wenzi, the buyer kidnaps Xiaoren’s wife!

9

Ming Qing xijian xiaoshuo, pp. 728, 871. Ibid., pp. 749, 786, 798. 11 Bi liyuan in Guben xiaoshuo jicheng 古本小説集成 (Shanghai: Shanghai guji, 1990), vol. 426, pp. 1–114, p. 91. 10

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When Yuren returns home with newfound wealth and influence, he forgives Xiaoren and reunites him with his kidnapped wife. In Chapter One, Mijin Duzhe introduces four characters who are representative of the theatrical role types of sheng, dan, jing, and chou. The characters’ names and the narrator’s description of them reveal they share the personalities and moral traits of their respective theatrical roles. In the opening “theatrical scene” (kaichang 開場), as the commentator refers to the beginning of the story, the narrator introduces Xiaoren who assumes the jing role.12 Opposite of Xiaoren is Yuren, who represents the sheng role in this theater on paper with his jade-like beauty, and the virtuous and beautiful Wenzi 文姿 (literally: elegant stance), who serves as the dan figure. Wu Xincheng 乌心诚 (literally: lacking sincerity), Xiaoren’s mischievous friend, is the chou character. The moral attributes of the characters, compatible with their role assignments, are articulated and iterated as the story develops. The characterization throughout the story is extremely flat: the male and female leads, sheng and dan, are the morally righteous characters while the villain and the clown, jing and chou, serve as their counterparts. The flatness is deliberate. Flatness in characterization contributes to the effect of moral contrast while rounder characterization could lead to ambiguity and disorder. The commentator applauds Mijin Duzhe for his use of flat characterization; Yuren, he comments, is indeed the world’s most virtuous person because he is impeccable in every way (處處不玷, 在在無瑕 . . . 其天下之善士乎).13 The authors and commentators who espouse ‘playful theatricals,’ as we have discussed in Chapter 6, would interpret such flat characters as artificial. For Mijin Duzhe, a hierarchical moral order is conveyed through his structured storytelling and ordered narrative. At the beginning of the story, the narrator launches into a diatribe against the four traditional vices: wine, lust, wealth, and anger ( jiu se cai qi 酒色財氣). Mijin Duzhe’s prologue is similar to Feng Menglong’s in “Jiang Xingge chonghui zhenzhu shan” 蔣興哥重會珍珠衫 (The Pearl Shirt reencountered).14 While Feng Menglong’s diatribe is ironic, the contrasting characters of the two brothers demonstrate Mijin Duzhe’s genuine attack on lust, riches, and anger. 12

Ibid., p. 710. Ibid., p. 740. 14 Feng Menglong, ed., Yushi mingyan 喻世明言 (Beijing: Renmin wenxue, 1958), pp. 1–39, p. 1. 13

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Mijin Duzhe’s differentiation of se (lust) from qing (romantic sentiment) is part and parcel of his moral teaching and worldview. To ensure an unambiguous reception of his didactic message, Mijin Duzhe believed that words and their meanings must be rectified. One method to rectify people’s understanding of lust and romantic sentiment is to distinguish them by contrasting the Hua brothers.15 Yuren understands the proper expression of qing. For him qing has its role, but it must be carefully modulated. Mijin Duzhe quite graphically describes the honeymoon bedroom scene between Yuren and Wenzi, and their later ménage à trois with the new concubine, but their sexual encounters are followed by Yuren’s tearful and sentimental departure from his wife when he leaves to help his friend. Yuren and Wenzi’s mutual emotions only underscore Yuren’s determination to fulfill his proper Neo-Confucian responsibility as a husband and Wenzi’s self-effacing sacrifice for her husband’s career. That is, the sheng and dan figures emblematize a Neo-Confucian sense of duty and honor that requires placing careful limits on emotions. Yuren’s expression of proper romantic sentiment is the complete opposite of his brother’s lust towards women. Yuren, in contrast to his brother’s double-dealing, treasures loyalty and friendship over beautiful women. For example, while visiting a friend Yuren’s good looks attract a gorgeous concubine surnamed Gong. She tries to seduce Yuren, but he rejects her advances by asserting his moral rectitude. It just so happens that his friend overhears their conversation and, as a token of gratitude for Yuren’s loyalty, gifts Yuren the concubine, who soon bears him a son. As the chapter makes clear, the concubine is a direct reward for his strict morals. Xiaoren, on the other hand, is consumed by lust. Xiaoren deliberately leaves his wife in the countryside while he plays around with women in town. The narrator explains that even when the hotel is prospering and Xiaoren could use her help in managing it, he prefers to dally with other women. Xiaoren’s uncontrolled lust even leads him to cuckold Wu Xincheng and, with heaven’s wrath, he is caught in the act.

15 The conceptualization and adaptation of qing beginning in the late Ming is important in the shaping of fiction and has received much scholarly attention, e.g. Martin W. Huang, Desire and Fictional Narrative in Late Imperial China (Cambridge: Harvard University Press, 2001); Maram Epstein, Competing Discourses: Orthodoxy, Authenticity, and Engenderd Meanings in Late Imperial Chinese Fiction (Cambridge: Harvard University Press, 2001).

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The moral contrast between the two brothers and their respective stances towards emotion and lust is the commentator’s main concern. At the beginning of the story, the commentator applauds Mijin Duzhe for prescribing the correct form of qing: The form of ardent love described herein is like glue and varnish, but it foreshadows separation—this is the most correct form of love. Giving up love is portrayed like a lotus root being cut, but still being connected—it forms a ripple in passionate love and is the most righteous form of emotion. 形容切愛處, 幾如似漆投膠, 為割愛處作波瀾, 情中之正也。形容割 愛處, 恍如以絲聯藕, 為切愛處作蕩漾, 正中之情也.16

The commentator’s appreciation of Mijin Duzhe’s use of qing receives positive and approving statements throughout the interlineal and chapter commentaries, which serve to earnestly guide the reader’s interpretation to ensure they fully understand the story’s meaning. According to the commentator, the most correct form of qing is defined through the juxtaposition of events—foreshadowed and reflected upon as narrative ‘ripples’—and, because qing is necessarily controlled and contained, it leaves space for separation and departure. The commentator thus describes Mijin Duzhe’s participation in the conceptualization and adaptation of qing, the late Ming and early Qing era zeitgeist, demonstrating that Mijin Duzhe’s treatment of sense and sensibility is markedly different from the late Ming idolization of qing as the sole raison d’etre for life. In “Changing Bridal Gowns” there is unambiguous contrast in Yuren and Xiaoren’s attitudes towards wealth. Xiaoren, on the one hand, joins forces with Wu Xincheng to blackmail his hotel customers and later tries to sell his sister-in-law, Wenzi, for eighty taels of silver. Yuren, on the other hand, refuses the money offered him by an unfaithful servant of his friend. The retribution against Xiaoren and the reward for Yuren are precise and prompt. In the same chapter, Yuren’s friend gives him the same amount of money that had been offered by the servant. Xiaoren, however, always loses his ill-gotten gains. When Xiaoren realizes he has accidentally sold his own wife, he pursues the purchaser only to lose the bride price of eighty taels along the way.

16

“Huan jiayi,” p. 710.

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In terms of temperament, Yuren and Xiaoren are also polar opposites. Yuren is even tempered. After learning of Xiaoren’s shenanigans in the hotel and complicity in trying to sell his wife, Yuren merely gives Xiaoren the silent treatment. Yuren is also quick to forgive Xiaoren his trespasses when he recognizes the latter’s sincere repentance. Xiaoren impetuously allows his anger to get the better of him: at the beginning of Chapter 2 he glowers at the hotel guests and shakes his fist at them (zhangquan numu 張拳怒目), but at the end of the chapter he is bitterly and sorrowfully crying ( jiaoku ming’ai 叫苦鳴哀) in the courtroom. These two types of anger are juxtaposed by the commentator using the technique of ‘dotting and connecting,’ which was a common technique used in early modern fiction criticism.17 Mijin Duzhe’s message about temperament is unequivocal: bullying inevitably leads to sorrow and bitterness. The retribution visited upon Xiaoren serves several functions. Not only does it show that divine retribution is harsh, but also represents a particular type referred to as “mute anger” ( yaqi 啞氣) by the commentator.18 For the readers, Xiaoren’s extreme frustration adds some humor to this otherwise straight-faced moral tale. Such comical touches are similar to drama in that the jing and chou role types are the major sources of humor. For example, Mijin Duzhe vividly describes Xiaoren’s frustration and anger after realizing he sold his own wife: Angry, sad, and exhausted, his cold sweat came down like rain. Seeing a riverside temple, he collapsed in its doorway. After waking up, he beat his chest and cried out, “O grievance.” After a long lament, he slowly got up and dragged himself him home in low spirits. 又氣又苦, 又一身無力, 冷汗如雨, 見一所小廟在河邊, 就一交暈倒在 廟門前。半時方醒, 醒來時, 手敲心, 口叫屈, 眼垂淚, 痛切了半晌, 慢 慢兒掙將起來, 垂頭喪氣的踱了回來.

Xiaoren’s grief is intensified when he discovers he lost the bride money. The moment is a vivid illustration of Mijin Duzhe’s biting satire: His mouth dropped open and he was unable to shut it. At that moment, he would rather have died than lived. Frustrated, he gave his hair a good yank. 開了口, 竟合不上, 真是死不得, 活不成。把自家的頭髮恨恨地扯了 一回.19 17 18 19

Ibid., p. 716. Ibid., p. 728. Ibid., p. 726.

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The contrast between Yuren and Xiaoren reaches its climax at the end of Chapter Four, when Xiaoren, who has lost both his wife and his hotel, becomes the viewer of Yuren’s success. Yuren triumphantly returns home with a beautiful concubine, a fat son, and a luggage train, which are all indicative of his great success. Under their shared roof, Yuren’s family is happily reunited while Xiaoren’s lies in tatters. Mijin Duzhe’s exhortatory moral message is conveyed through the rewards and punishments the two Hua brothers receive. [Xiaoren] peeped through the doorway and saw that a beautiful woman sat to his Big Brother’s right. The woman was even more beautiful than sister-in-law. She had a baby in her arms. The baby was more handsome than his own. Then he saw two servants carrying luggage [into the house] in an endless stream.20

Envy, gloom, and self-pity overtake Xiaoren. Sharing the common assumption in late Ming morality books that wealth stems from virtuous conduct, Mijin Duzhe uses the amount of luggage possessed by the two brothers to represent their moral worth. Such material representations of morality may seem parodic, but Mijin Duzhe is too straightforward in his didactic purpose to be sarcastic. Mijin Duzhe’s conception of the Neo-Confucian moral order is syncretically blended with the idea of Buddhist retribution.21 The moral righteousness of sheng and dan are rewarded while the immoral behavior of jing and chou are punished, both with immediacy and exacting precision. The four characters receive their just desserts according to their merits and demerits. Xiaoren’s bamboozling of the scholar is almost immediately repaid by the scholar’s success in the examinations and his appointment to Xiaoren’s county. The scholar wastes little time in orchestrating Xiaoren’s destitution. The morally righteous Yuren lives happily with his wife and concubine. His son is also successful in the civil service examinations. Wenzi, despite her virtue, is unable to produce a male heir, which is Heaven’s retribution for tricking Xiaoren’s wife into changing gowns. Her failure, however, does not affect Yuren who, through the loyalty he shows his friend, receives a

20

Ibid., p. 728. For an overview of popular syncretic Neo-Confucianism during the late Ming period, see: Kai-wing Chow, The Rise of Confucian Ritualism in Late Imperial China: Ethics, Classics, and Lineage Discourse (Stanford: Stanford University Press, 1994), pp. 21–31; and, Evelyn Rawski, “Economic and Social Foundations of Late Imperial China,” in David Johnson, et al., eds., Popular Culture in Late Imperial China (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1985), 3–34, pp. 13–16. 21

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beautiful concubine who produces a male heir. Some of Yuren’s good karma even rubs off on Xiaoren who is reunited with his wife. Xiaoren, after all, is Yuren’s brother and is entitled to receive some of his brother’s luck (xiangxiong zhi fu 享兄之福). Wu Xincheng, the only irredeemable character, accidentally eats poisonous food. This tabulating of retribution, then, is consistent with the ledgers of merit and demerit (gongguo ge 功過格) widely circulating and wildly popular among all levels of scholars and officials during the late Ming and early Qing periods.22 Despite the common charge that the idea of retribution in these ledgers was heretical,23 Mijin Duzhe, like many of his contemporaries, found retribution compatible with Neo-Confucian self-cultivation. In both Neo-Confucianism and Buddhism controlling one’s behavior is necessary and a person is responsible for his or her actions. The moral message conveyed through “Huan jiayi” is distinctively Neo-Confucian. Mijin Duzhe’s story concerns familial harmony (xiao), kindheartedness (ren), and loyalty (zhong), but he injects his ideal NeoConfucian order with the Buddhist concept of heavenly punishments and rewards. This hybrid method helps establish moral certainty, at least in the fictional realm, when such was a luxury in reality. In addition to moral retribution, Mijin Duzhe also uses other methods to affirm the moral order and present articulate identities. The most relevant other method to this study is his demarcation between theater and real life.24 Contrasting the Theatrical with the Real: “The Shifted Embroidery” The contrastive characters in “Yi xiupu,” as in “Huan jiayi,” are siblings—Fengniang and Yanniang, the Pang sisters. The elder sister, Fengniang, who marries into a Lin family, loves and takes good care of her baby girls despite a local belief that too many daughters reduces the likelihood of conceiving a boy. The younger daughter, Yanniang, who

22 Cynthia Brokaw, The Ledgers of Merit and Demerit: Social Change and Moral Order in Late Imperial China (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1991), p. 4. 23 For debates on the ledgers, see: Ibid., pp. 121–128. 24 For the orthodox attitude towards theater, see: William Dolby, A History of Chinese Drama, pp. 106–109.

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marries into a Gong family, ruthlessly drowns her first three girls and abandons a fourth in her superstitious quest for a son. Fengniang, like a good Confucian woman, procures a concubine for her husband who produces a son named Lin Ding; the seething jealousy of Yanniang keeps her from considering this possibility, but she eventually bears a son named Gong Bang. The dichotomy of humanity and inhumanity is clearly shown through the two sisters: Fengniang understands Confucian propriety (li 禮) and brings prosperity to her husbands’ family while Yanniang embodies the extremes of ruthlessness, selfishness, and irrationality. “Yi xiupu” offers a second pair of contrastive characters in the two similarly aged cousins Lin Ding and Gong Bang. They are important reflectors of their mothers. While Fengniang properly educates Lin Ding by hiring a strict teacher, Yanniang indulgently fires a responsible teacher in favor of an easy one, who is also a cheat and a liar. As a result of Fengniang’s farsightedness Lin Ding becomes a successful official while because of Yanniang’s shortsightedness Gong Bang becomes a thief stealing from the family coffers. Gong Bang finally gambles away the family property and runs off to join a traveling theater troupe as an actor. More importantly, Mijin Duzhe contrasts theatrical space (xiwen chang) with real life through Lin Ding and Gong Bang. The demarcation of theater and real life is crucial for the contrast between the moral and immoral and the conveyance of an unambiguous moral message. Lin Ding becomes an official through the civil service examinations, but Gong Bang pursues fame by becoming an official on-stage. In traditional Chinese society, Lin Ding’s success is honorable and expected for a gentry family’s son, but Gong Bang’s on-stage glamour as an actor is a shameful signifier of his slide down the social ladder. Professional actors, along with boat people, butchers, prostitutes, servants, and so on, were placed outside the official Confucian class hierarchy and were thus prohibited from a number of social activities, including taking the civil service examinations. Professional actors, despite their ability and talent, lacked social mobility.25

25 Tan Fan 譚帆, Youling shi 優伶史 (Shanghai: Shanghai wenyi chubanshe, 1995); Shen Jing, “Role Types in The Paired Fish, a Chuanqi Play,” Asian Theatre Journal 20.2 (2003): 226–36, pp. 229–30.

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The fates of Lin Ding and Bang Gong are first compared in a foreshadowing scene. On Gong Bang’s first birthday, a zhuazhou 抓周 ceremony is held during which various emblems are placed on the floor around the two cousins so that their elders can divine their future by what the infants choose. Relatives and friends are invited to view the ceremony and enjoy a banquet. Two red carpets are laid on the floor. Dressed luxuriously, Gong Bang is put in the middle of the red carpet and surrounded with objects loaded with symbolic meaning. Family and friends serve as the audience. The audience eagerly watches and interprets the actions of the two babies who become unconscious performers. The everyday theatrical of the zhuazhou ceremony transforms the red carpet into a theatrical space. In fact, in late imperial China private troupes often performed on flat ground in a courtyard or hall with a space marked out and covered with a red felt carpet to serve as the stage. The stage is thus often referred to as the red or felt carpet (quyu 氍毹). 26 The objects on the red carpet during the zhuazhou ceremony serve as the stage setting. An ut pictura poesis describes the red carpets, especially the objects and their locations, whose geography is believed to have the power to map the boys’ future. Among the meaningful objects, there are: A gray gauze hat at the top beside a pair of black boots; A red round-collared garment at the bottom along with an official’s belt. 上面烏紗帽, 並著皂靴; 下面紅圓領, 相依寶帶.27

Through the eyes of the spectators we see Gong Bang crawl to the top of the red carpet and grab the gray gauze hat. Instead of stopping, Gong Bang then pulls at the round-collared garment and pokes at the official’s belt. After a while he turns around and crawls upward again only to raise the little black boots to his face. The crowd erupts with a standing ovation for the precocious child who has selected a whole set

26 For a general introduction to the stage, see: Zhou Yibai, Zhongguo juchang shi 中國劇場史 (Changsha: Shangwu yinshuguan, 1940). This Republican-era book is also reprinted in Zhou Yibai xiaoshuo xiqu lunji 周贻白小說戲曲論集, ed. Shen Xieyuan 沈燮元 (Jinan: Qilu shushe, 1986), pp. 465–544. For a discussion of theater in the Ming dynasty, see: Wang Anqi 王安祈, Mingdai chuanqi zhi juchang ji qi yishu 明代傳奇之劇場及其藝術 (Taibei: Taiwan xuesheng shuju, 1986); William Dolby, A History of Chinese Drama, pp. 102–104. 27 “Yi xiupu,” p. 751.

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of official’s clothing from the different areas of the carpet. During his turn, Lin Ding picks up things that are seemingly of lesser significance, but distinctively scholarly—a brush, an ink stone, and a seal—leaving the viewers quite unsatisfied. In his first theatrical scene, the young Gong Bang acts as if he was born to be a performer. While foreshadowing is often fairly straightforward in late imperial fiction, Gong Bang’s future ‘officialdom’ is ironically presented with qualification and nuance. We can foresee, deducing from the lenient mother and the lackadaisical teacher, that Gong Bang will not become an official through the examination system. Theater will have to serve as an alternative world, which verifies and yet negates Gong Bang’s promised official career. Gong Bang has other traits that push him towards an acting career. The narrator relays that Gong Bang bizarrely gets headaches when he reads, but with arias he “is proficient as soon as he reads it” ( yidu bian shu 一讀便熟). He not only has a talent for theater, but also is enthusiastic about it. He loves the chief jing role for on-stage glamour, which is a reflection of changes in Ming theater practices. While in the Song (960–1279) and Yuan (1271–1368) periods the jing and chou were both comical roles, in the Ming the dominant characteristic of the chief jing role was forcefulness. The chief jing in a play could be either noble warriors or powerful villains. Tall and husky, Gong Bang has the physique for acting the chief jing role. He is therefore good at performing as an official on-stage. Gong Bang expresses his favor for the jing role as follows: Whenever the chief jing goes onstage he is either a prime minister or a general, either a grand minister or a grand supervisor. He has such a domineering air and he can beat, scold, or kill people. When it is time for the male lead to be an official, the final drums and gongs have already sounded. 大淨一上戲臺, 不是丞相, 便是將軍; 不是大臣, 定是大監, 作威 作福, 打人罵人殺人, 著實有勢, 到得正生做官, 便煞鑼鼓了.28

Gong Bang’s statement echoes the Ming literati who claimed that theater was an alternative profession to scholar-officialdom. Playwright Tang Xianzu wrote poems about his ‘alternative officialdom’ in directing theater and argued that theatrical success trumped all other forms. 28 Ibid., p. 738. Dolby, A History of Chinese Drama, pp. 105–6. Shen, “Role Types in The Paired Fish.”

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In his poem “Zuo zilan xiyi” 作紫襴戲衣 (Making official’s costumes) he wrote, “Theater is as good as officialdom (俳場得似官場好).29 Similarly, essayist Zhang Dai mentioned theater as an important element of his self-identity in his “Epitaph for Myself.”30 Throughout “Yi xiupu” Mijin Duzhe is intent upon illustrating the differences between an official onstage and a real official. In Chapter 6, an accusation that Gong Bang is reneging on a debt leads to his being flogged in front of an audience in a courtroom. The chapter’s prologue poem states, “The official’s hat on the stage is useless now; [Gong Bang] is beaten by a real official” (戲場紗帽今無用, 卻被真官打弄).31 Grand and formidable onstage, Gong Bang cries pathetically (ku ai’ai 哭哀哀) after being whipped. The juxtaposition of the theatrical and the real is also achieved through the encounter between Lin Ding and Gong Bang after Lin succeeds in the examinations. Gong Bang’s troupe happens to be summoned to perform as part of the audience for new officials. The performer/viewer relationship does not lead to recognition, but merely reinforces the difference in social position between the two cousins. Through his influence as a real official Lin Ding eventually ‘rescues’ Gong Bang from his miserable and lowly life as an actor. There is a double edge to the trope of theater that Mijin Duzhe evokes through his fiction. Mijin Duzhe entitled his fiction with references to theater because he viewed theater as a domain where literary representations could be guided by Neo-Confucian ideology more securely than in sixteenth and seventeenth-century fiction. Repertoires for popular theater such as temple performances during the MingQing period used major characters and themes such as chaste widows, filial sons, loyal officials, and civil examination successes to police and enforce social morality.32 On the other hand, theater is inherently an illusory art built upon playacting. Playacting thus suggests the possibility of identity confusion, which would undermine Mijin Duzhe’s didactic purpose and subvert his moral message because the ability to

29 Tang Xianzu, Tang Xianzu shiwen ji, juan 19, p. 768. Also collected in Zhao, ed., Lidai yongju shige xuanzhu, pp. 137–38. 30 Tao’an mengyi, p. 123. 31 “Yi xiupu,” p. 779. 32 Tanaka Issei 田仲一成, Min Shin no gikyoku: kōnan sōzoku shakai no hyōshō 明清の戯曲: 江南宗族社会の表象 (Tokyo: Sōbunsha 創文社, 2000), chapter 6, “Shasai engeki ni okeru shuzoku no gikyoku senkō 社祭演劇における宗族の戯曲 選好,” pp. 206–30.

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shift identities would suggest the relativity of morals. It would not be clear to the reader which ‘identity’ was being eulogized or punished. In his own work, then, it was important for Mijin Duzhe to set a clear boundary between theater and real life. Therefore Gong Bang, the theatrical official, must be beaten by one in real life. In contrast to Mijin Duzhe’s moralistic tale of Gong Bang and Lin Ding, the playful writer Li Yu crafted a morally ambiguous fictional character whose identity shifted between scholar, official, and professional actor. Silent Operas Unlike the unambiguous moral order established in Zhishang chuntai, most novels of the late Ming and early Qing periods, like society at large, were rife with paradoxes, tensions, and ambiguities. Meanings were unpredictable and consciously destabilized.33 The literary field is best described as constituted of the extreme contrasts of straight-faced moralism and unmerciful sarcasm with many in-betweens along the spectrum. The two most dominant poseurs among early modern fiction writers and commentators were the didactic teacher or the hilarious entertainer.34 The already contentious literary field was made more so by the extensive usage of irony and parody from authors who used fiction as a venue to express an obvious disaffection with the NeoConfucian order and deliberately and freely shifted among contrastive personalities. In such a literary context, Mijin Duzhe had to categorize his moral stories in Zhishang chuntai as “new fiction” (xin xiaoshuo 新小說), foreshadowing the early twentieth-century use of the phrase. Mijin Duzhe’s intention, like Liang Qichao’s two centuries later, was to make fiction a servant to the social needs of the time, but his social enterprise was the reinvigoration of Neo-Confucian morality. As we have discussed, both Shuihu zhuan and Xiyou ji espouse ‘playful theatricals’ that break down moral fixities. To compare ‘playful theatricals’ with ‘didactic theater’ in Zhishang chuntai, I examine “In the theater Tan Chuyu conveys his feelings, Liu Miaogu dies for her chastity after an aria” 譚楚玉戲裡傳情, 劉藐姑曲終死節 (hereafter

33

Robert Hegel, “Unpredictability and Meaning in Ming-Qing Literati Novels,” in Eva Hung, ed., Paradoxes of Traditional Chinese Literature (Hong Kong: Chinese University Press, 1994), pp. 147–66. 34 Hanan, The Chinese Vernacular Story, p. 164.

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referred to as “Tan Chuyu”). Li Yu, the best-selling author of the seventeenth century, wrote “Tan Chuyu” and included it in his Wusheng xi, er ji 無聲戲, 二集 (Silent Operas, Second Collection).35 The main plot of “Tan Chuyu” is a romance between Tan Chuyu and Liu Miaogu set in Yangcunwu, a village in Zhejiang, where people make their living from acting. The scholar Tan Chuyu is attracted to Miaogu, an actress who inherited her family profession unwillingly. For the love of Miaogu, Chuyu ignores the lowly status of actors and joins the troupe, which is run by Jiangxian, Miaogu’s mother. Chuyu becomes a talented actor and gradually shifts from jing to sheng roles so that he can perform as lovers with the dan Miaogu. Their alternative theater life is ended, however, when Jiangxian marries Miaogu to a landlord. In desperation, Miaogu gives her final performance by acting out Jingchai ji 荊釵記 (The thorn hairpin). While acting in the play, Miaogu throws herself into the river to drown herself. The despondent Chuyu immediately follows her into the water. The couple is reunited after they are saved by an official-turned-fisherman surnamed Mo. Chuyu later achieves success in the civil service examinations, but the couple, influenced by their theater experiences and Fisherman Mo, comes to appreciate life’s ephemerality and become hermits. The similarities between Mijin Duzhe’s and Li Yu’s works are striking. Like Mijin Duzhe, Li Yu consciously refers to his fiction using the vocabulary of theater and constantly reminds the readers of his usage of theatricality. Li Yu’s Silent Operas (Wusheng xi 無聲戲), published around 1656, contains twelve stories, and was followed by Silent Operas, Second Collection, which includes another six. Li Yu’s fiction often draws the readers’ attention to literary, visual, or theatrical framing in his works. There are also stylistic similarities between Mijin Duzhe’s and Li Yu’s works including built-in commentaries. Both also reference theater as a source for fictional structuring and critical vocabulary. In the Chapter 2 commentary of Li Yu’s Rou putuan the protagonist is referred to as “the male lead of a play” (一本戲文的 正生) and a minor character as “a supporting theatrical role” (末腳).36

35 Li Yu quanji, vol. 4, pp. 251–280. The translation by Patrick Hanan is entitled, “An Actress Scorns Wealth and Honor to Preserve Her Chastity” in Silent Operas. 36 Li Yu, Rou putuan, in Siwuxie huibao 思無邪匯寶 series (Taibei: Taiwan daying baike, 1994). For a summary of Western scholarship on why Li Yu is the most plausible author of Rou putuan, see: Ge Liangyan, “Rou putuan,” p. 127, n. 2. A scholar

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Chapter 18 of Rou putuan ends with the narrator reminding readers of the narrative digression away from the male lead, “Although the next two chapters are about other things, the male lead will come back onstage again after several acts of the play” (下面兩回另敘 別事、少不得兩齣戲文之後、又是正生 上臺也). In another story the narrator requests the implied readers “rinse your honored eyes and watch the performance of this act of silent opera” (各洗尊眸, 看 演這齣無聲戲), again reminding us of the title of his previous fiction collections.37 “Tan Chuyu,” in particular, is so similar to “Huan jiayi” that they almost form a pair of matched stories. Like Gong Bang, the male protagonist of “Tan Chuyu” is also a gentry son who becomes a professional actor. “Tan Chuyu” also uses contrastive characters as a rhetorical device to convey the author’s message. The similarities between the two stories even extend to minute details, as if the two authors are dialoguing with each other. Both Gong Bang and Tan Chuyu join their professional troupes as the chief jing. They even have the same motivation—they are attracted to the chief jing role for its onstage glamour; however, for Chuyu the claim is merely part of a strategy to change roles to be closer to Miaogu. Despite their similarities, Li Yu rejected the didactic purposes of theater and espoused theater as an arena of exuberant playful energies and authentic personal expression. Through the protagonist Tan Chuyu, Li Yu explores and blurs the boundaries between the virtual world of theater and the actual world, aestheticizes the idea of ‘play,’ and presents identity as artificial, performative, and relational. Li Yu defines Chuyu’s endeavor as authentic and of a literati nature. The literati/professional, authentic/artificial dichotomies are further clarified through the contrastive characters of the young actress Miaogu and her mercenary mother. Since Li Yu’s life and works have been well studied and are readily available, I will limit myself to only the most relevant contexts.

to note here is Ota Tatsuo, who makes the additionally convincing observation that there are great similiarities in the theater references in both Rou putuan and Li Yu’s other fiction such as “Fuyunlou.” Ōta Tatsuo 太田辰夫 and Īda Yoshirō 飯田吉郎, Chūgoku hyaki sōkan: Kenkyūhen 中国秘籍叢刊: 研究篇 (Tokyo: Kyūko, 1987), pp. 177–81. 37 Li Yu quanji, 4: 176.

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Chuyu: Conflating the Theatrical and the Real As a fiction writer, dramatist, and theater connoisseur, Li Yu was particularly interested in theater as a trope for exploring identity in his fiction. In the preface to Wusheng xi, Li Yu proclaims that his fiction should be viewed as both xi and chunqiu 春秋 (history).38 While chunqiu is known for its strict facticity, succinct style, and moral concerns, the ambiguous word xi, serving as chunqiu’s opposite, can mean theater, fictionality, playfulness, visual language, and moral ambiguity. Actualizing this claim, Li Yu produced stories that celebrate the blending of real life and theater and that experiment with the ‘not entirely impossible.’ For example, in “Nan Mengmu jiaohe sanqian” 男孟母教合三遷 (A Male Mencius’s mother raises her son properly by changing houses three times” it is a man who performs the role of an ideal Confucian wife and mother.39 Like the underworld judge in “The Crazy Drummer,” Li Yu is the director of his theatricalized fictional world: his characters are often actors, literally or metaphorically, ‘acting out’ (zuochu 做出) or ‘enacting’ ( yan 演) roles transgressively. Through these characters Li Yu aims to illustrate the artificiality of social identities. Li Yu viewed fiction and theater as two closely related forms of writing. He often produced plays sharing the same plots as his fiction. In the table of contents of Wusheng xi, he added a note to some of the titles that a play would be produced using the plots of the stories. For example, “Tan Chuyu” was remade into a thirty-two-act drama, Bimuyu 比目魚 (The Sole Mate), shortly after the fictional version was published.40 Besides three other stories that Li Yu himself dramatized, one can also find traces of the dramatization of Li Yu’s fiction in plays by Zhu Suchen 朱素臣 (fl. 17th century) and others during the early

38

Wusheng xi, p. 1. “Nan Mengmu jiaohe sanqian” in Li Yu quanji, vol. 4, pp. 107–31. 40 Interestingly, two later renditions of “Tan Chuyu” also refer to theater in their titles or in the titles of the fiction collections in which they appear. One rendition appears as a seven-chapter vernacular novella named Xizhongxi 戲中戲 (A play within the play), published by Xiaohua xuan 嘯花軒 (The House of Whistling Flowers), a house that flourished in the Kangxi period (1661–1722) and specialized in scholar-beauty romances. The other is a late Qing exhortatory tale named “Bimuyu” by Liu Xingsan 劉省三 and published in his collection of stories named Ji chuntai 躋春 臺 (Ascending the stage). 39

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Qing period.41 Li Yu, rather sore when other people plagiarized his stationary paper designs, was quite pleased with Zhu Suchen’s work going so far as to edit and comment favorably on one of Zhu’s plays.42 Li Yu’s practice of writing plays drawn from fiction results in the insertion of ‘narrative scenes’ in his drama; characters are assigned to narrate the plot and even make narratorial comments.43 Li Yu’s general practice of basing his dramas on pre-existing fictional works probably had a commercial purpose, but it is also a gesture of ‘viewing literature as theater’ (yi wen wei xi 以文為戲), to use the seventeenth-century literary critic Jin Shengtan’s term.44 Li Yu’s fiction is already highly dramatized and conducive to theatricalization. The plots often revolve around miraculous reunions, slapstick moments, and comical confusions. Marvel (qi), which is Li Yu’s ideal of superb literary creation, is based on the possibilities offered by the discrepancy between roles/persons/identities. For a master of literary genres and forms of writing, Li Yu probably wrote fiction with future dramatization in mind.45 The male protagonist Chuyu exemplifies Li Yu’s ideal of xi as marvel-creating ‘playful theatricals.’ Acting upon love at first sight, Chuyu lowers himself socially from a scholar into a professional actor just for an opportunity to be close to Miaogu. Chuyu’s use of theater as an arena of amorous pursuits follows his literary predecessor, Tang Yin, who masqueraded as a domestic servant to woo a maid, a reference mentioned in the marginal commentary.46 Chuyu’s gesture is as equally 41 Abe Yasuki 阿部泰記, “Shu Soshin ni yoru Ri Ryoo no Dorama ka 朱素臣によ る李漁の ドラマ 化” (The dramatization of Li Yu according to Zhu Suchen), Yamaguchi daigaku bungakukai shi 山口大学文学会誌 38.1 (1988): 23–38. 42 Zhu Suchen, “Qinlou yue” 秦樓月, in Li Yu quanji, vol. 11, pp. 1–121. 43 For narrative scenes in which a character “recounts, explains, or reflects upon the action” in Li Yu’s plays, see: Patrick Hanan, The Invention of Li Yu (Cambridge: Harvard University Press, 1988), p. 138. 44 Shuihu zhuan huiping ben, p. 582. 45 As Abe Yasuki points out, Li Yu’s fiction, tailored for potential theatricalization, is easily adapted to dramatic forms because of its usage of miraculous reunion and slapstick mistakes (“The Dramatization of Li Yu According to Zhu Suchen”). 46 “Tan Chuyu,” p. 256. Tang is a popular character in both fiction and drama. Feng Menglong, Jingshi tongyan 警世通言 (rpt. Beijing: Renmin wenxue, 1956), juan 26. Meng Chenshun 孟稱舜 (ca. 1600–1684) wrote a variety play entitled Huaqian yixiao 花前一笑 (A smile in front of the flower), Zhuo Renyue 卓人月 (fl. 1644) wrote Huafang yuan 畫舫緣 (Fated love on the painted boat) ( Jushuo, juan 3), and Zhu Suchen wrote Wenxing xian 文星現 (The celestial star of literature’s appearance). Quhai zongmu tiyao regards Meng Chenshun as the author of Huafang yuan. Tan Zhengbi, ed., Sanyan liangpai ziliao (Shanghai: Shanghai guji, 1980), pp. 324–35.

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transgressive as Tang Yin’s because of the social stigma attached to professional acting—both are glorified for being romantic souls and disregarding class boundaries. After joining the troupe Chuyu plays with theater and theatrical roles rather than taking it seriously. He insists on wearing the scholar’s hat for his jing role during rehearsals. His transgression of the dress code meets fervent opposition from his fellow acting students, but serves as an incomplete metamorphosis as discussed in Chapter 5. Furthermore, Chuyu makes the successful transition from his original role of jing to sheng thus proving Wang Qi’s contention quoted earlier that a jing could be a sheng. Typical of Li Yu’s sarcasm, the troupe’s sheng role does not even qualify to be a chou. Chuyu, however, has the abilities to be male lead, but he is only a jing. This contradiction is most obvious in Bimuyu through the existence of two separate roles in the inner and outer play. That is, the chou of the play is assigned the sheng role in the professional troupe, while Chuyu, the sheng of the play, acts the jing of the troupe. Since Jing Shen has given us a vivid analysis of Li Yu’s exploration of the artificiality of role types in Bimuyu, where basic plotlines are unchanged from “Tan Chuyu,” I will center my focus on the conflation of the theatrical and the real that characterizes Chuyu’s actions.47 Conflating theater and real life consists of two elements—blending real life into theater and blending theater into real life. By the former I mean playacting in real life designed to achieve flexibilities otherwise not available; the latter is living life in the theater and performing with real emotions. Playacting in real life allows Chuyu to engage in behaviors otherwise socially proscribed. Since professional troupes prohibit romantic attachments between actors, Chuyu and Miaogu express their love in real life by reciting lines from a play: [While everyone in the troupe] was reciting, Chuyu kept his eyes on Miaogu and spoke to her, as if practicing their parts: “O Mistress, Mistress, most intelligent creature as thou art, how canst thou not be aware of my purpose in coming?” Miaogu replied, also as if reciting: “Man is not made of wood or stone, so how can he be unaware? It grieveth me that I cannot speak my love!”48

47 48

Shen, “Role Types in The Paired Fish.” “Tan Chuyu,” p. 257; Silent Operas, p. 170.

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The mask of playacting is easily assumed: Chuyu and Miaogu merely ‘sprinkle in’ (lüe dai xie 略帶些) a few classical language expressions. Since none of the other members of the troupe understand classical Chinese, Chuyu and Miaogu are able to express their real personal affection in a public setting through playacting. Theater itself blends into their real lives as this classical language dialogue is mixed into the vernacular narrative. Through such hybridized usage of language Li Yu presents the real world as intertwined with theater—the difference between real life and theater is merely one of language registers. Towards the end of the story, Chuyu playacts in real life through a meeting between Miaogu and her mother that becomes a theatrical finale of reunion (tuanyuan xi 團圓戲). Chuyu and Miaogu are on their way to their official post, but take a detour through Miaogu’s hometown where Jiangxian’s troupe happens to be performing. Miaogu is eager for an immediate, private reunion, but Chuyu lays out his plan using dramatic terms, “If we see her now, the finale will be very dull indeed. We’ll have to do thus-and-thus to act out the scene more dramatically” (若還要遽然与他相見, 這出 就做得冷靜了。須 要如此如此, 這般這般, 才做得有些熱鬧).49 Chuyu’s scheme successfully brings the reunion onstage as well as tests Jiangxian’s love for her daughter. In the midst of one of Jiangxian’s performances, Miaogu appears from the audience and addresses her as Mother. The eager crowd presses forward to get a good look at the young woman whom they thought was dead. To increase the expectation of this enthusiastic audience, Chuyu suggests that Miaogu step off the official boat with him dressed in their finest clothes—a crimson collar, phoenix hood, and cloud mantilla under bright-blue parasols and accompanied by servants and maids.50 Chuyu relates his story in a “loud, ringing voice,” as if performing the sheng role again. The storyline of a scholar who makes his re-appearance as an official by acting as one onstage can also be found in “Zhang Tingxiu taosheng jiufu” 張廷秀逃生救父 (Zhang Tingxiu escapes from death and saves his father) in Xingshi hengyan 醒世恆言 (Lasting words to admonish the world, 1627).51 The hero, Zhang Tingxiu, is the favored adopted son of a gentry member surnamed Wang. Libeled and persecuted by 49

Li Yu quanji, vol. 4, p. 275. Translation modified to highlight the phrase zuode. Ibid. 51 Feng Menglong, Xingshi hengyan 醒世恆言 (rpt. Beijing: Remin wenxue, 1956), pp. 413–68. 50

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Wang’s jealous son-in-law, Zhang experiences numerous hardships, including acting in a Nanjing troupe, before he becomes an official through the civil service examinations. After attaining success, Zhang returns to the Wang family and introduces himself as an actor. Zhang performs an official onstage to entertain them. The family quickly realizes that Zhang has really become an official because he continues to wear an official’s hat and clothes even after the performance without fearing the legal consequences. What is interesting in both stories is the thin boundary between theater and real life. The official’s hat and clothes are presented as virtually the same as theater costumes. The formal clothes that Chuyu and Miaogu wear are real official clothes, and yet from its clichéd description they remind one of costumes. Chuyu and Miaogu put them on before they enter the stage just like performers change into costumes. Zhang Tingxie’s theatrical costume becomes real clothing for him after the performance is over. Chuyu’s real life success and status are at the forefront of theatrical grandeur—foreshadowing his renunciation of officialdom deriving from his understanding of the illusory nature of both theater and real life. The enthusiastic audience in “Tan Chuyu” welcomes the scene of Chuyu’s and Miaogu’s reemergence partially because they simply reenact a theatrical dénouement that the audience is already familiar with. A real official playing an official onstage conflates the theatrical and the real, and is especially dangerous if we compare this element to the deliberate demarcation of the theater and the real in Zhishang chuntai. In the latter, Mijin Duzhe creates a scene in which the ‘real’ official beats the actor/theatrical official in court thus clarifying the difference between theater and real life. Mijin Duzhe condemns Gong Bang’s social slide from a member of the gentry to a professional actor while Li Yu celebrates Chuyu’s participation in theater and play with theatricality. While taking pleasure in playacting in real life, Chuyu utilizes theater as a vehicle for authentic personal expression. He excels in his performance as a sheng because his feelings for Miaogu, his matching dan, come from the very depth of his being. Li Yu prides himself on creating this aspect of conflation. As Li Yu claims, instead of the usual pattern of making theater out of real life” (從實事之中演出戲文) he wanted to make “real life out of theater” (戲文之中演出實事).52 By 52

Li Yu quanji, vol. 4, p. 279.

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shishi 實事 he means a fictional reality that offers the off-stage background for the inner play. The commentator applauds Chuyu’s genius in turning to theater as a superb domain for alternative living: Acting as husband and wife on-stage allows tens of thousands of people to see this romantic relationship. We can say that they have the best of all romances. Compared to that of pillow and bed, their performed love is more wonderfully interesting (qu). Tan Chuyu is an understanding person. 場上做夫妻, 使千萬人共見, 可謂佔盡風流, 較枕席之間, 更饒佳趣.譚 楚玉真是解人.53

The claim that theater is superior to real life, common in the late Ming and early Qing, is more than a typical way to air the commentator’s frustration with reality. The commentator particularly praises Chuyu for his usage of theatricality. Understandably, onstage performances are more visible than reality. Chuyu is a superb manager of theater and its spectacular effects. Moreover, to insert playacting, role-shifting, and other theatrical actions in the theater-like life is a manifestation of qu (gusto), an important keyword in the cult of authenticity, which was systematically linked to theatricality as discussed in Chapter 5. A Literatus Must Perform Literati Xi Li Yu uses Chuyu’s dual identities as a scholar and professional actor to not only emphasize the playful usage of theatricality, but also to celebrate literati involvement with professional theatrical activities. In one of Chuyu’s monologues in Bimuyu, he says, “a literatus must perform literati xi” (文人須演文人戲). For Chuyu, the scholar/actor, to perform wenren xi 文人戲 (literati xi) serves as a way to assert and sustain his identity as a literatus while working in the professional troupe, which is a reflection of Li Yu’s own identity as an amateur literatus, but professional writer. The exploration of two identities— the literati and the professional—was of personal interest to Li Yu. In the late Ming, the idealization of amateurism, a dominant feature of intellectual life in late imperial China, increased in some areas such as painting.54 When Li Yu failed in the increasingly competitive civil

53

Ibid., p. 257. Craig Clunas observes an increased differentiation between an artisan and a scholar-amateur’s artistic practices in times of a plentitude of pictures. Craig Clunas, 54

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service examinations he had to find a living outside the traditional role of the literati as a scholar/bureaucrat/teacher. He turned toward the commercial reading market and became one of the first successful professional writers to make the transition. As a literatus who involved himself in popular literature, Li Yu was particularly interested in the dichotomy between elegance ( ya 雅) and vulgarity (su 俗).55 Li Yu states in his Xianqing ouji 閑情偶寄 (Casual expressions of idle feeling, 1671) that he writes “as a Confucian scholar, not technician” (予系儒生, 並非術士).56 Rather than a simple denigration of one identity and an elevation of the other, however, he advocates a masterful mingling of the two. Since theater is an art for different levels of audiences, both literate and illiterate, Li Yu writes, it is vital to produce the exact degree of elegance and vulgarity.57 One should not be too vulgar because then the writings do not qualify as literati writing (wenren zhi bi 文人之筆). Tang Xianzu’s Mudan ting, for Li Yu, ranks at the top for his superb control of the exact degree of elegance and vulgarity. Li Yu clarifies the literati nature of Chuyu’s theatrical involvement by incorporating a literati god, Lord Yan, in addition to the patron god of theater, Erlang, into the story. This insertion is Li Yu’s selfconscious creation. The long critique at the end of the story, probably by the eccentric poet and Li Yu’s friend Du Jun 杜濬, or even by Li Yu himself under the pseudonym Libationer of Slumberland (Shuixiang jijiu 睡鄉祭酒), notes the insertion of Lord Yan as the fifth extraordinary feature of the story to contradict the generic conventions of fiction writing: Five: since cults are established by the gods, Erlang, as the patron of the acting profession, ought to have been called upon to play the celestial

Pictures and Visuality in Early Modern China (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1997), p. 29. 55 Joseph Levenson, Confucian China and Its Modern Fate: A Trilogy (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1968), Part One, Chapter II, “The Amateur Ideal in Ming and Early Ch’ing Society: Evidence from Painting,” pp. 15–44. For a general introduction to the highbrow/lowbrow distinction in the Ming-Qing period, see: Catherine Swatek, Peony Pavilion Onstage: Four Centuries in the Career of a Chinese Drama (Ann Arbor: Center for Chinese Studies, The University of Michigan, 2002), pp. 193–99. For an analysis of how literati writers such as Tang Xianzu dealt with the ya and su paradox in Mudan ting, see Peony Pavilion Onstage, pp. 177–83. 56 Xianqing ouji in Li Yu quanji, vol. 11, p. 309. See also Lee Wai-yee, “The Collector, The Connoisseur, and Late-Ming Sensibility,” T’oung Pao 81.4–5 (1995): 269–302. 57 Xianqing ouji, pp. 56–7.

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matchmaker; instead he is left out, and it is Lord Yan, with no connection to acting, who takes his place.58

The insertion of Lord Yan is not as peculiar as the commentator suggests. As a river deity it is only natural for Lord Yan to assist the lovers when they drown themselves in the river. The commentary is therefore deliberately misleading to serve as a reminder and reiteration of Chuyu’s literati identity. Chuyu’s play with theater and transgression of class and status barriers carries the mark of a literatus. Lord Yan, a Song or Yuan official deified as the god in charge of calming storms and ennobled as the Marquis Pacifier-of-Waves, is hence a literati god who helps Chuyu and Miaogu. It is in Lord Yan’s temple that Chuyu, the scholar-performer, carries out his marital vows with Miaogu. Lord Yan, as a god of the literati, is presented to enable the readers to understand the meaning of true emotion and hence be sympathetic with and protective of the romantic scholar Chuyu. Erlang, as the patron god of the acting profession, is presented as the establisher of strict rules who clearly defines the boundaries between theater and real life. Although on-stage the sheng and dan roles are often required to act out romantic feelings for each other, the merest hint of an affair off-stage is enough to offend Erlang and bring bad luck to the whole troupe.59 In other words, the patron god of acting dictates that theater should be a separate domain from real life. Li Yu draws his readers’ attention, through his listing of marvels (qi), to his distinction between theater in a professional sense and the literati’s participation in theater. He again clarifies that Chuyu is different from typical professional performers. Contrastive Characters—Miaogu and Jiangxian Like Mijin Duzhe in Zhishang chuntai, in “Tan Chuyu” Li Yu creates two contrastive characters that are also closely related: Jiangxian the mother and Miaogu the daughter. Their blood relationship emphasizes their differences, which again is similar to Xiaoren and Yuren, Lin Ding and Gong Bang in Zhishang chuntai. The generic feature of vernacular stories, including a short prologue story on either opposing characters, as in this story, or on similar events or characters in the

58 59

Silent Operas, p. 201. Italics mine. Li Yu quanji, vol. 4, p. 259.

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main story, underscores Jiangxian’s role as a counterpoint to Miaogu. The narrator claims that whereas other stories relate an anecdote as a prologue to the story proper, this one uses the mother to contrast with the daughter—naturally proceeding from the dunghill to tell of magic mushrooms (只消借母形子, 就從糞土中, 說到靈芝上去). The focus of the contrast between the daughter and mother, the “magic mushroom” and “the dunghill,” is not so much centered on their morality, as in Zhishang chuntai, but on whether they view theater as authentic expression or artifice. Miaogu is an authentic character who utilizes theater as a vehicle for personal expression. She insists on living theater as part of her real life: since she is assigned to be Chuyu’s wife on-stage, she should remain truthful to her theatrical persona in real life. Miaogu ultimately recognizes Chuyu as a true romantic and through this recognition she is elevated from a professional actress to a scholar’s zhiyin (recognizer). Although Miaogu represents the literati ideal of true expression onstage, she remains a professional actress in social status. To transform Miaogu from a professional actress into a literatus, death becomes the only narrative solution. When social reality intrudes upon her theatrical life—Miaogu is sold to become a rich man’s concubine—she literally drowns herself while performing the act of “clasping a rock and plunging into the river” from a stage next to a river. The play in the story, Jingchai ji 荊釵記 (The thorn hairpin), touches upon her own very real anguish to produce a spellbinding performance consumed with excruciating emotions. The actor and character, real life and theater, blend into one; and the audience, all crying, become spectators of the actress’ real life personal sorrow. Li Yu elaborates on the progression of playacting in Miaogu’s performance. For the first few scenes of Jingchai ji Miaogu is still merely playing the character so that while her performance is superb, it does not captivate the audience. When she reaches a later scene touching upon her own anguish she “unconsciously bared her heart and soul,” to the audience and entrances them.60 In the final scene, “Clasping a Rock and Plunging into the River,” the actor takes over the character completely. While in the original play the heroine Yulian only expresses her anguish privately, Miaogu improvises a curse-filled denunciation of the rich man sitting in the front row who purchased her. “Miaogu

60

Ibid., p. 266; Silent Operas, p. 182.

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stood facing him, and every time she spoke the words ‘False-hearted rogue’ she pointed at him, and every time she said ‘Damned Villain’ she stared him in the eye.”61 With the power of the familiar plot of the play, the audience understands, through analogy, the love between Chuyu and Miaogu and the injustice that the rich man has committed. In the commentary, Miaogu’s cursing scene is compared to the classic cursing scene of Mi Heng against Cao Cao,62 in which improvisation is an important part in acting out the scene. This comparison is also significant because the proud and idiosyncratic Mi Heng, with a rich literary talent, is a quintessential representative of the literati. The blending of real life into theater reaches its climax when Miaogu steps from the stage and performs the real ‘drowning’ act: The temple lay opposite a broad stream, and the stage had been erected outside the temple gate, with its back resting on the bank and its front extending out over the water. Clasping the rock, Miaogu went straight to the front of the stage, from which, as she concluded her song, she gave a mighty leap—right into the river.63

Through the interwoven staging of a play and a real life theatrical, Miaogu’s drowning overlays Yulian’s drowning scene from Jingchai ji and as a result Miaogu acts out a real play (做出一本真戲). In this scene, Li Yu is presenting the differences between theater and real life as thinly as possible. After all, the distinction between the theatrical drowning and real one lies only in which direction Miaogu leaps. The rock, with which Miaogu performs the real drowning, remains ambiguous. Is it a prop or a real rock? This real drowning ‘act’ in the river symbolizes Miaogu’s utilization of theater to end her real life as a professional actress. Miaogu, thereafter, begins a new life outside the theater when Chuyu resumes his study and eventually passes the civil service examinations. Miaogu’s drowning signifies her complete transformation: the professional actress drowns and an official’s wife is born. Jiangxian, by contrast, views theater only as artifice. She excels in theater because of her mastery of acting as a skill. She can play both the heroine and the hero and immediately after puts on a painted face 61

Ibid., Silent Operas, p. 183. This comparison is in the marginal commentary of “Tan Chuyu” (Li Yu quanji, vol. 4, p. 157) and appears again in Wang Duanshu’s commentary to Bimuyu (Li Yu quanji, vol. 4, p. 107). 63 Li Yu quanji, vol. 4, p. 267; Silent Operas, p. 184. 62

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to play the jing or chou role. In real life Jiangxian puts on an appearance of true emotions like playing a role in romances for commercial use. Men fall for her, but she is not picky with whom she goes to bed with, provided her patrons pay a large sum of money. She informs her daughter that in order to make a living through performance and prostitution a professional actress cannot afford true emotions. For Jiangxian xi is inauthentic.64 She reminds us of Li Xiangjun’s mother from the most famous historical play of the seventeenth century, Taohua shan 桃花扇 (The peach blossom fan). In Taohua shan, just before the young courtesan learns to sing lyrics that pay homage to qing, her foster mother, Li Zhenli, warns her against being too prodigious with her emotions.65 The emotions performed are not naturally expressed, but learned and staged with a utilitarian purpose. Despite all her mercenary deeds, Jiangxian is redeemed by one authentic performance; she plays the sheng in Jingchai ji on the very stage where Miaogu drowned herself. This is part of Chuyu’s scheme so that they can test whether Jiangxian has the slightest feeling for her daughter. Deeply mournful over her daughter’s death, Jiangxian substitutes the script, in which a husband mourns a wife, into that of a mother mourning a child. Miaogu hiding in her boat berthing on the river bank recognizes her mother’s true feelings. Mother and daughter are reunited. What is ironic about Jiangxian’s versatility onstage is that although she is capable of playing different roles, she is incapable of forsaking the acting profession itself. Jiangxian leaves her troupe because it is inappropriate for the mother-in-law of an official to act on stage, but soon becomes sick and has to resume acting to stay healthy. As early as the beginning of this story, the theater connoisseur/omniscient narrator says professional actors and actresses are predestined for their trade. Echoing the social regulation that prohibited performers from following other careers, Li Yu turns to the eight characters of the time of Jiangxian’s birth to explain the idea that she has been destined for an actress’s career. Miaogu again serves to contrast Jiangxian. After Miaogu quits the theater, she takes up weaving so that her husband can concentrate on studying. Although Miaogu has never woven in her

64

Silent Operas, p. 180. Kong Shangren 孔尚任, Taohua shan 桃花扇 (Beijing: Renmin wenxue, 1998), Scene 2, p. 18. 65

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life, she learns immediately because of her quick intelligence thereby befitting her new role as the wife of a student. This chapter has examined Li Yu’s and Mijin Duzhe’s different usages of theater. For Li Yu, xi should best be interpreted as ‘playful theatricals’ serving as both an arena of exuberant playful energies and yet authentic personal expression. The clear demarcation between theater and real life, and the unambiguous division of the moral and immoral, we usually see in ‘didactic theater’ are broken down and replaced by the blending of theater and real life. In Li Yu’s style of theatrical fiction the artificiality and flexibilities of roles, persons, and identities in theater are also highlighted. This particular fascination with and imagination of theater links “Tan Chuyu” to Shuihu zhuan and Xiyou ji in producing fictional characters who are free to perform or playact different roles in all these works. The valorization of play with theater studied in this text reflects the literati’s imagination of theatricality rather than the social practices of professional theater. Performance manuals for professional actors, like the one written by the eighteenth century actor Huang Fanchuo 黄幡绰, focus on the strict technicalities of acting—training for the theater is not ‘playful.’66 For Li Yu, and the early modern writers and commentators of Shuihu zhuan and Xiyou ji, to espouse ‘playful theatricals’ was not simply a venue for airing the frustration felt by the Ming-Qing literati, but also an active method for making meanings and asserting identities in the turbulent social, cultural, and political context of the late Ming and early Qing periods. It is, therefore, a distinctive gesture of the literati.

66 Huang Fanchuo, Liyuan yuan 梨園原 in Zhongguo gudian xiqu lunzhu jicheng, vol. 9 (Beijing: Zhongguo xiju chubanshe, 1959).

EPILOGUE The world is a playhouse, history is a play, and human beings are actors. . . . There is no one but actors, nothing but a play, and nowhere but a stage. . . . the fact that I am commentating on Sanguo is but to add one act to the play. 天地一戲場也, 古今一戲文也, 人生一戲子也. . . . 無一人非戲 子, 無一 事非戲文, 無一處非戲場. . . . 即我批評三國, 亦戲內增一出云. “Zhong Xing,” Zhong Bojing xiansheng piping Sanguo zhi 鐘伯敬先生 批評三國誌 (Romance of the Three Kingdoms commented on by Mr. Zhong Bojing)1 To stage theater inside fictional narratives has the effect of allegorization, which is even better than xiaoshuo from the Tang dynasty. 戲中作戲﹐ 語寓言勝看唐人小說。 Shen Shijun 沈士俊 (fl. 17th century)2

On the sixteenth of the eighth month of 1629, Zhang Dai was on his way from Zhenjiang to Yanzhou. When his boat passed by the famous Golden Hill Monastery it was already into the second of the night watches. Fascinated by the scenery, Zhang stopped the boat, walked up to the monastery, and entered the main hall. Capitalizing on the eerily quiet surroundings, Zhang Dai ordered his servants to bring stage props from the boat and light the main hall. The plays he put on were about battles at Golden Hill and along the Yangtze River. Zhang’s gongs and drums made a deafening sound awakening the residing monks who were left with no choice but to watch the performance. This experience was recorded under the title “Jinshan yexi” 金山夜戲 (A night performance at Golden Hill) in Tao’an mengyi.3

1 Commentary by “Zhong Xing” in Zhong Bojing xiansheng piping Sanguo zhi 鐘伯 敬先生 批評三國誌 (Beijing: Zhongguo guangbo dianshi, 1992), p. 1258. 2 Sheng Ming zaju, erji, juan 10, p. 5. I translate the first xi in xizhong zuoxi 戲中 作戲 as “fictional narratives” because of its broadened usage in early modern China (see “Introduction”). 3 “Jinshan yexi”, in Zhang Dai, Tao’an mengyi, p. 6. Translation from Yang Ye, trans., Vignettes from the Late Ming (Seattle: University of Washington Press, 1999), pp. 87–8, modified.

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Although the essay is named “A Night Performance,” the performance is not the narrative focus and is described in only one sentence. What made the night performance at the Golden Mountain notable, and therefore worth remembering, is its theatrical framing. Zhang is most pleased with his manipulation of sound and silence, light and darkness, illusion and reality. The theatrical framing is built upon the mingling of the play with reality in that Zhang puts on a theatrical where the play takes place—on the Golden Hill on the shore of the Yangtze. The staging and viewing of theater constitute key sites for Zhang Dai’s narrativization of his manipulation. He describes how his audience reacted to this ‘outburst’ of theater: An old monk used the back of his hand to rub at the crust in his eyes, opened his mouth wide, and started laughing, sneezing, and yawning at the same time. After a while he fixed his eyes on us trying to figure out who we were and when and why we had come, but dared not ask any questions.

Through the performance, the conflation of the theatrical and the real takes on an uncanny appearance. When the play ends, the performance seems to go on. A monk, who was in the audience, follows them to the foot of the hill and gazes after them for a long time. Zhang Dai, with heartfelt amusement, guesses that the monk is wondering whether they are human beings, demons, or ghosts. Zhang’s essay is full of self-congratulations about his spontaneous production of a spectacle and his successful mingling of the illusory and the real. The mystic mixture of dream and theater, and his capricious play with theatrical spectacle and reality, rendered the event memorable for Zhang Dai, a sensibility shared by his fellow literati of the late Ming. Exiting the Stage As quoted in the epigraph, a Hangzhou native and one of the commentators on Shengming zaju Shen Shijun claims that embedded theatricals in fictional narratives are pregnant with meaning. Xi is both entertaining and yet potentially confusing for a modern reader. We are, in a way, like the awakened old monk, laughing and wondering. This study has attempted to understand the early modern sensibility of xi and shown how xi offers writers and readers a venue to explore the

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increasing diversification of identity. The sixteenth and seventeenth centuries were a period when selfhood was distinctively theatrical and consciously dramatized. Xi, befitting the ontological positions of late Ming and early Qing fiction writers and commentators, is materialized in performance, masquerades, metamorphoses, and other theatrical forms; it also highlights the dynamics of the viewer/viewed relationship in the theatrical novel. The conceptualization of and obsession with theatricality in sixteenth- and seventeenth-century China reminds us of our own era. Theatricality and related vocabulary are adapted to analyzing gender, ethnicity, and identity/selfhood in the current theories of sociology, anthropology, psychology, etc.4 They are used widely but often ambiguously in recent theoretical formulations because they are loaded with a variety of quotidian and critical meanings. They can be, as Thomas Postlewait and Tracy Davis describe, “a sign empty of meaning; it is the meaning of all signs.”5 While some critics are wary of the wide and often ‘slippery’ usages of these terms,6 the prevalent usages of theater tell us as much about our ontological existence and perception of modern society as the individual fields to which theater vocabulary is applied, just like the trope of xi reveals living and exploring the self in sixteenth- and seventeenth-century China. Throughout this study I have presented the early modern Chinese concept of theatricality and analyzed early modern fiction in its original theoretical context. Our own fascination with and conceptualization of theatricality, however, provides this study with a more contemporary relevance. Trained in the West as a scholar of traditional Chinese fiction and comparative literature, the recent explosion of interest in theater and theatricality, as well as the sidesplitting theatricals in my

4 For an informative article on the shared metaphor of ‘theater’ among four theoreticians, Victor Turner, Richard Schechner, Peggy Phelan, and Erving Goffman, see: Bert O. States, “Performance as Metaphor,” Theatre Journal 48.1 (1996) 1–26. For a fairly exhaustive list of modern interpretations of theatrical practices, see: Martin Puchner, “The Theater in Modernist Thought,” New Literary History 33.3 (2002): 521– 532. For theater-oriented theories, or what Martin Puchner refers to as “the theatrical turn of theory” (p. 530), see: Richard Schechner, Performance Theory, rev. ed. (London and New York: Routledge, 2003). 5 Tracy Davis and Thomas Postlewait, Theatricality (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2003), p. 1. 6 States, “Performance as Metaphor,” p. 1.

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favorite Ming-Qing novels, triggered my examination of the novel and theatrical imagination in early modern China. Two elements that are most unique in the exploration of xi in early modern China have received the most analytical attention in this study. The first is theatrical bonding. Early modern Chinese are similar to contemporary theoreticians in addressing the nature of theatricality as relationship,7 but late imperial Chinese put a much stronger emphasis on its resulting social bonding. In early modern China theatrical relationships works best when initiated by an actor declaring his intention to act and a perceptive audience fulfilling the actor’s intention. It is through theatrical bonding that Chinese writers handle the dominant literary theme, and a permanent ontological question, of recognition. The second is the close relationship between theatricality and the cult of authenticity. To emphasize the importance of xi, early modern Chinese novelists and fiction critics readily associated it with the powerful movement of authenticity. Authenticity and theatricality were not contradictory, but closely connected concepts. In a short paragraph in the epigraph, the commentator “Zhong Xing” offers us his paradigms of theatricality: actors (xizi 戲子), plots (xiwen 戲文), and stages (xichang 戲場); and its characteristics: ephemerality, openness, staginess. Saluting “Zhong Xing,” who considers his own commentary on Sanguo zhi yanyi as an additional act to the novel’s innate theatricals, I view this study of the early modern theatrical imagination as merely another play added to the playful theatricals of sixteenth- and seventeenth-century China. I shall, like the pint-sized scholar-actor in Wang Shizhen’s story “Zhang gongshi,” exit the stage, or, xiachang 下場, with the following jiju 集句 (collage of verse) poem summarizing the epitome of playful theatricals and their ontological significance for living and writing in sixteenth- and seventeenth-century China: Brushing my eyebrows and beard I act in theater—Kong Shangren8 This body destined to wander along rivers and lakes. Qian Qianyi9

7 For example, see: Janelle Reinelt, “The Politics of Discourse: Performativity meets Theatricality,” SubStance 31 (2002): 201–15, p. 207, and Gay McAuley, Space in Performance: Making Meaning in the Theatre (Ann Arbor: University of Michigan Press, 1999). 8 Taohua shan, p. 84; The Peach Blossom Fan, p. 89, modified. 9 In Mao Xiaotong 毛效同, Tang Xianzu yanjiu ziliao huibian 湯顯祖研究資 料彙編 (Shanghai: Shanghai guji, 1986), p. 1308.

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Behold: Theater is as good as officialdom, Tang Xianzu10 My audience from Chu knows my tune best. Du Jun11 須眉扮作戲中人, 孔尚任 可是湖湘流落身。錢謙益 俳場得似官場好, 湯顯祖 座中楚客最知音。杜濬

10 Tang Xianzu shiwen ji 湯顯祖詩文集, juan 19; also collected in Zhao, Lidai yongju shige, p. 138. 11 Bianyatang shiji 變雅堂詩集, juan 5; qtd. Zhao, Lidai yongju shige, p. 272.

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INDEX acting 154, 233–4, 236–43 artifice, as 167–90 authentic, as 139–66 element of theatricality, as 7, 75 in Shuihu zhuan see performers of heroism in Xiyou ji 128–36 ‘unwitting’ (wuxin 無心) 154 with incongruity 8, 69–73, 140–5, 157–66 see also playacting appropriation definition of 111 of courtroom 41, 66–9, 114–7 of official ceremonies 117–20 of rituals 112–3 artifice 8, 167–9 and artificial persons (jiaren 假人) 167, 169–82 and authenticity 168–71 as the cultural feminine 182–6 authenticity 2, 132–3, 174–6, 190, 243 and artifice (jia) 168–71 and “Monkey!” 161–2, 165 and theatricality 8, 145–55, 254 and zhenren 真人 (genuine persons) 145, 148, 150, 155, 174–6 current scholarship on 145–6, 182–3 in clashes of performative codes 8, 139, 167, 170, 190 see also qu Banqiao zaji 板橋雜記 177–8 Bantly, Francisca 121–2 “Baojian ji” 寶劍記 209 bense 本色 (authentic quality) 161–2, 187 Bhabha, Homi 109, 116, 133 Bi liyuan 筆梨園 2, 222–4 Bimuyu 比目魚 18, 238, 240, 243, 247 Bingshan ji 冰山記 21 Bodhisattva 125, 130–2, 135 Boxiao ji 博笑記 17 Buddha-nature 158–9, 201 Bull Demon King 164–5 Cadaver Demon 126, 210–1, 217 Campany, Rob 122, 129n47, 137 Cao Cao 63–75, 195, 247

Carnal Prayer Mat see Li Yu, works, Rou putuan Carroll, Lewis 73 Chai Jin as connoisseur of heroism 56, 91, 94–5, 208 “Changing Bridal Gowns” see “Huan jiayi” Changsheng dian 長生殿 23, 24, 196 Chao Gai 91, 94, 208 Chen Yujiao 陳與郊 214 Chibei outan 池北偶談 31 childlike characters 152–3 see also authenticity, impetuous characters Chow, Kai-wing 16, 113, 193, 229 Chu Renhuo 褚人獲 13 chuntai 春台 (spring platform) 2 Clunas, Craig 180, 192, 201, 243 connoisseurs of heroism see Shuihu zhuan, character types costumes 60, 118n23, 134–5, 141–2, 242 and religion 123, 127 “Crazy Drummer, The” see “Kuang gushi” “Dangui tianhe” 丹桂鈿合 44, 49 Davis, Tracy 253 Debord, Guy 89 didactic theater 9, 167, 221–35, 249 disguise 124–25, 131, 136, 176, 189, 197, 212 see also masquerade Dongpo zhilin 東坡志林 16 Doushi huan 都是幻 223 Du Jin 杜堇 57–8, 97–8 Du Jun 杜濬 25, 244, 255 Du Mu 杜牧 15 duplicity see artifice Epstein, Maram 146–7, 148n23–4, 182–3, 226n15 everyday encyclopedia see riyong leish eyes 8, 131, 185, 189, 191–7 fleshly eyes 8, 201, 209, 210–7 in Shuihu zhuan 198–208 hierarchy of eyes 193–4 see also viewing, visuality

272

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Fan Zhongyan 范仲淹 83 fantastic as mode of perception 208–11 Faurot, Jeannette 61n40, 64 feminine wail 167, 173–4, 182–4 see also artifice fiction on contemporary events see shishi xiaoshu flesh puppet 117n21, 118n23, 119 forthright persons (kuairen 快人) 90n, 175 Fujian shulin 福建書林 54 Furth, Charlotte 182 “Fuyunlou” 拂雲樓 see Li Yu, works Gao Wenxiu 高文秀 90, 93, 96 Gong Dingzi 龔鼎孳 25–6 Gu Mei 顧眉 177–8 Guanyin see Bodhisattva Handan ji 邯鄲記 26–7 Hao Siwen 199, 200 Hehua dang 荷花蕩 2, 42, 45 Hegel, Robert E 20n35, 23n48, 30n64, 142, 196n16, 198–9 on illustrations 35n3, 49, 54, 57–8, 60n39, 61n41, 192n2 heroism atheatrical approaches 81–2 connoisseurs of see Shuihu zhuan, character types performers of see Shuihu zhuan, character types theatricalization of 80, 86–90 Hong Sheng 洪昇 24–5, 64 Hou Fangyu 侯方域 24, 178 Hou Han shu 後漢書 63–4, 70 Hsia, C. T. 84 Hsiao, Li-ling 5–6 Huai Lin 懷林 90n40, 116, 149, 172–3 “Huan jiayi” 換嫁衣 222–30 Huang Fanchuo 黄幡绰 249 Huang Jiahui 黃嘉惠 195 Huang, Martin 91n45, 99n60, 184n47 Huineng 160 human nature (zixing 自性) 1, 158 humor (huaji 滑稽) 70 illustrations 4, 6–7 theatrical structuring in 35–61 imperceptiveness 200 moral connotations of 211–6 impetuous characters 92, 153–4, 174 see also genuine persons, forthright persons, tianren

interlineal commentaries 4–5, 9, 118–9, 152 “Buddha!” 157–61 “Monkey!” 161–66 one-word 155–6 on authenticity 147 visual guidance in 198–9 see also Jin Shengtan, “Li Zhi” commentator, Wang Qi Jay, Martin 192 Ji chuntai 躋春臺 238n40 jia (duplicity and artifice) see artifice Jianghua meng 江花夢 23 jiaren 假人 (duplicitous persons) 167–90 Jin Ping Mei 金瓶梅 173, 176–82 Jin Shengtan 金聖嘆 5, 18, 84, 100, 143, 152, 157, 159 adoption of theater vocabulary 3–4 appreciation of authenticity 89–90n40, 149–50, 153 appreciation of theatricality 18, 140, 143, 157, 159, 189, 197–9 criticism of artifice 167, 169, 173–5, 182–4 identification with martial heroes 83–4 on hero connoisseurship 205–8 on repetition 129 on Song Jiang 169–72, 203n35 Journey to the West see Xiyou ji journey 96–7, 121, 122n31, 123, 150 as theatrical space 124–8, 136–7, 151, 164 Juanxiang guben Xiyou zhengdao shu 鐫像古本西遊證道書 see Xiyou zhengdao shu Kirby, Farrell 94 Kong Shangren 孔尚任 163, 191, 254 on theater as ephemeral 13, 21, 24–5, 33 “Kuang gushi” 狂鼓史 7, 36, 41, 61–75, 114–5, 130, 143 Lanling Xiaoxiao Sheng 蘭陵笑笑生 176 ledgers of merit and demerit 230 Li Bai 82 Li Kui acting with incongruity 143, 145 as embodiment of authenticity 149–54, 169, 174 as performer of heroism 7, 87–93, 95, 104–5, 198

index in Shuihu plays 93, 140 “Li Zhi” commentator on 83 and Song Jiang 95, 99–102 plays the magistrate 66–7, 114–7 Li Qiancheng 121 Li Yu 李漁 66, 115, 194–5 on artifice 168–9, 183–6 on the courtroom as theatrical space 66, 115 on the lure of xi 17–8 on viewing 194–5, 216 works “Fuyunlou,” 184–6; Rou putuan, 184–6, 236–7; Shi’er lou, 195; “Tan Chuyu,” 143, 195, 235–6, 237–49; “Xiayilou,” 195; Wusheng xi, 2, 8–9, 66, 115, 221, 236–7 Li Zhi 李贄 145–6, 148–9, 152, 168 “Li Zhi” commentator 189–90 applause of authenticity 116, 148, 150, 153, 174–6, 216 authorship of 30, 156 criticism of artifice 172–3, 184 criticism of Tripitaka 214 identification with martial heroes 83 on recognition 89, 208, 213 on theatricality 5, 18, 89, 116 on viewing 198–202 see also interlineal commentaries Li Zhuowu piping Pipa ji 李卓吾批評琵 琶記 139 Li Zhuowu xiansheng piping Xiyou ji 李 卓吾先生批評西遊記 see Xiyou ji Li Zhuowu xiansheng piping zhongyi Shuihu zhuan 李卓吾先生批評忠義 水滸傳 see under Shuihu zhuan, Rongyutang edition Li, Wai-yee 147n21, 155, 182n40, 201n33 Lin Chong as viewer 54–5, 93, 202–3 as performer 54, 56, 58–9, 87, 95, 199, 208 literati self-identification with performers of heroism 83–4 with connoisseurs of heroism 202 Liu Shao 劉卲 91 Liu Yinbo 129n47 Liu, James 81, 84, 147 liyuan 梨園 (pear garden) 2 Lu Junyi 58–9, 98, 100, 200 Lü Tiancheng 呂天成 17, 85 Lü Xiong 呂熊 18–9 Lu, Tina 4n6, 63n42, 163n69 Lu Zhishen

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and Lin Chong 54–5, 202–3 and theatrical role type 145 as ‘Buddha’ 156–61 as a genuine person 147, 150–1, 153, 174 as a performer of heroism 7, 54, 67, 87–94 as an incongruous actor 140–3 in illustrations 144, 162 Jin Shengtan on 143 literati self-identification with 83 Luo Liqun 82, 91, 99 Mao Xiang 冒襄 28–9 Mao Zonggang 毛宗崗 1, 2, 9 masculine wail 167 masquerade 187–8 commentators’ applause of 18–9 in Shuihu zhuan 150, 197 in Xiyou ji 125–6, 128–9, 130–3, 135, 164–5 involving incongruity 139, 164–5 perception of 209–16 “Mei chanjuan” 媚嬋娟 222–4 metamorphosis 3, 133, 145, 253 Mi Heng 61–74, 247 Mijin Duzhe 迷津渡者 8–9, 222–236, 242 see also Zhishang chuntai, “Huan jiayi,” “Yi xiupu” Miller, Hillis 58 mimicry 118, 136–7 definition and significance 109–10, 128–30 of Guanyin 132–3 of magistrate 116–7 Ming yuyue san buxiu mingxian tuzan 明于越三不朽名贤图赞 193 misogyny see Shuihu zhuan Monkey and theatrical role type 109, 145 as a bogus immortal (yaoxian 妖仙) 133–6 as a child-like character 152 as a stage-setting character 112–3, 124, 161 as a viewer with fiery eyes 8, 194, 196–7, 211, 209–213, 215–7 as an incongruous actor 144, 147, 162–6 obsession with playacting 151, 154 play with spectatorship 216 “Monkey!” see interlineal commentary Mudan ting 牡丹亭 22, 86, 98, 115, 244

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Nan wanghou 男王后 19 “Nü zhuangyuan” 女狀元 44, 50 Nüxian waishi 女仙外史 18 obsession (pi 癖) 6, 17, 151–2, 154 One-word commentaries see interlineal commentaries Outlaws of the Marsh see Shuihu zhuan Ouyang Jian 2n4, 222 Palace of Eternal Youth, The see Changsheng dian Pan Jinlian 92n47, 102–3, 173–82, 186–7 Pan Qiaoyun 102–3 Pan Zhiheng 潘之恒 154 ‘perceptive eyes’ (zhaoyan 著眼) 191, 193–4, Song Jiang as possessor of 8, 197, 203–8 perceptual dynamics in early modern formation of xi 3, 111, 119–20, 128 in illustrations 35 in Shuihu heroism 90–3, 95 see also viewing, viewer/viewed relationship performers of heroism see Shuihu zhuan, character types Pig and theatrical role type 109, 125, 145 as a genuine person 147, 150, 151 as a naïve viewer 210–2 as an actor 112–3, 163–4 clowning of 145 Plaks, Andrew 30n64, 121, 122n32, 158, 169 play within the play (xilixi 戲裡戲, xizhongxi 戲中戲) 40, 66, 68–70, 74, 215 “Xilixi” 戲裡戲 2 Xizhongxi 戲中戲 238n40 playacting bride 140–3, 150 magistrate 66–7, 114–7, 153 official 241–2 see also acting playful theatricals acting in 69, 139–40, 166 and women 186–90 definition 7–9, 76 versus ‘contained’ theatricals 105–6 versus ‘didactic theater’ 167, 221, 235–6, 239–40, 249 viewing in 217–8

see also xi and theatricals “Playing the Magistrate” see “Qiao zuoya” poetry about plays see yongju shi popular songs (shidiao xiaoqu 時調小曲) 176–80 Postlewait, Thomas 253 props (chuanguan 穿關) 141–2 Pu Songling 蒲松齡 31–2, 91 Qi Biaojia 祁彪佳 65, 86, 140 Qi Zhijia 祁豸佳 151 Qian Qianyi 錢謙益 254 “Qiao zuoya” 喬坐衙 116 qing 情 (emotionality) 22, 248 and artifice 168, 173–5, 184, 189 and authenticity 145–7, 154–5, 182–3, 240, 245 and theatrical bonding 6, 80, 98–104 in ‘didactic theater’ 226–7 see also obsession Qiu Ying 仇英 38, 40 qu 趣 (gusto) 243 translation 147 qu-style playacting 149–55 see also acting with incongruity quren (qu persons) 139–66, 190 Qupin 曲品 17 quyu 氍毹 38, 40–2, 44, 49, 60, 232 “Real Puppet, The” see “Zhen kuilei” Rechang Qiaosou 熱腸樵叟 223 recognition 2, 7–8, 234, 246, 254 as literary theme 85 theatrical definition of, 85–6; in Shuihu zhuan, 79–108; in Xiyou ji: 217; by Song Jiang 203–8 and visuality 191–4 Red Boy Monster 126, 129–33, 164–6, 212 repetition 129–31 ritual 16 , 24, 126, 160–1 appropriation of funeral 112–3 of amnesty 105–6 of killing 103–4 ritualism 113, 183 riyong leishu 日用類書 179–80 Rolston, David 5n7, 80n2, 158, 167, 169, 197 Rongyutang 容与堂 5 see also Shuihu zhuan, Rongyutang edition Rou putuan 肉蒲團 see Li Yu, works Ruhlmann, Robert 91n46

index Sancai tuhui 三才圖會 180, 192–3 Sanguozhi yanyi 三國志演義 1, 9, 92 self-theatricalization 31–3, 163 Sha Monk 210, 212 Shao, Ping 121 Shen Jing 沈璟 17, 90 Shen, Jing 4, 231n25, 240 Shen Shijun 沈士俊 251–2 Shen Tai 沈泰 18 Shen, Grant Guangren 5 Sheng Ming zaju 盛明雜劇 18 illustrations in 40–4, 47, 49–52 Shiji 史記 70 Shuihu zhuan 水滸傳 amnesty in 81, 104–7 and connoisseur literature 201 character types performers of heroism, 7, 80, 90–9, 104–5, 137, 152–3, 157, 203–4, 206; connoisseurs of heroism, 7, 80, 91–105, 109; Luo Liqun on, 91 illustrations of 42, 44, 47, 48, 50, 53–7, 59, 142, 144, 162 Li Xuanbo edition 50, 52, 54, 97 misogyny in 84, 99, 101 playacting in 90, 114–7, 140–5 recognition in see recognition, theatrical Rongyutang edition 5, 48, 50, 52–4, 140, 150, 156–61, 172, 174–5; illustrations of: 142, 144, 162, 198 Shuihu plays 90, 96, 140, 209 spectacles in 7, 84, 89–90, 92–4, 142 see also the theatrical novel, “Li Zhi” commentator Shuihu quantu 水滸全圖 56–7, 59, 97 Shuihu zhizhuan pinglin 水滸志傳評林 54, 56 “Shifted Embroidery, The” see “Yi xiupu” shishi xiaoshuo 時事小說 20–1 Shuo Tang quanzhuan 說唐全傳 142 Silent Operas see Li Yu, works, Wusheng xi singing (changqu 唱曲) 176–80 Song Jiang 7, 8, 83, 91, 92 and Li Kui 100–2 and Wu Song 206–8 as jiaren 169–73, 184, 189 see also connoisseurs of heroism, ‘perceptive eyes’ Song Wan 宋琬 27 spectatorship see viewing spontaneity see authenticity

275

staging as acts of appropriation 66–9, 122, 125, 128; definition: 109; scenarios: 110–20 as acts of recognition 79–107 as theatrical element 7, 217, 247, 252 by Monkey 127–8, 130–1, 133, 161 by Wu Song 174–5 in illustrations 36–61 restaging 128–30 Su Shi 蘇軾 15–6, 166 Sui Tang yanyi 隋唐演義 13, 44, 48 Tang Xianzu 湯顯祖 “Handan ji” 邯鄲記 26 on theater and dreams 22–3 on theater 17, 163, 233–4, 255 Tanhua ji 曇花記 24 Tao’an mengyi 陶庵夢憶 21, 23n, 251 Taohua shan 桃花扇 24, 191, 217, 248 Tathāgata 129–30, 132–33, 135–36, 215 Theater on Paper see Zhishang chuntai theatrical, the theatrical bonding 91, 98–106, 254 theatrical continuum 110, 119 theatrical events and relationships 4 theatrical recognition 85–90, 98, 107 theatrical space 174, 231–2; in illustrations: 36–7, 44, 60–1; courtroom as: 66, 68–9, 115; temple as: 112; journey as: 124, 137 theatrical novel, the 35–6, 76, 203, 211, 221, 253 definition of 3–4 theatricality see the theatrical and xi theatricals bi 比 (competing) 125 court case 114–7, 174 nao 鬧 (raising a ruckus) 1, 67, 94, 124–5, 157 shi 試 (testing) 125–26, 128–9, 241, 248 social ceremony 117–20 transformation 126, 130, 212–14; incomplete: 139, 144–45; by Monkey: 163n70, 164–6 xi 戲 (tricking) 125–6 see also mimicry, playacting, ritual, masquerade theatrum mundi 31–2 tianren 天人 (heavenly character) 89n, 174 see also forthright persons, authenticity, genuine persons

276

index

“Tongjia hui” 同甲會 40–3, 66 “Tongxin shuo” 童心說 145–6, 148 Trilling, Lionel 146 Tripitaka 109, 112 and fleshly eyes 8, 210–16 see also imperceptiveness Tu Long 屠隆 24, 123 viewing and modes of seeing 191–203, 209–11 as performative 209–10 viewer/viewed relationship 3–4, 35–6, 79, 95–6 visual containment 105–7 vocabulary 94 see also perceptive eyes, perceptual dynamics, eyes visuality 140, 191, 195–8, 208–9 in Shuihu zhuan 83, 89, 100, 198–201 see also viewing violence 84, 93–6, 151n, 175–6 Wang Anqi 38n8, 40, 42n21, 232n26 Wang Jide 王驥德 15n10, 18–9, 52n26, 65 Wang Qi 汪淇 adoption of theater vocabulary 2, 109, 120–1, 125–6, 136 applause of authenticity 150–2 as publisher 21 criticism of Tripitaka 214 on identity flexibility 134, 120–1, 240 on theatricals 5, 125–6, 129–30 on viewing 209 Wang Qi 王圻 192–3 Wang Shizhen 王士禎 31, 254 Wang Shizhen 王世貞 19 Wang Wei 王炜 19 Wang, C. H. 81 Water Margin see Shuihu zhuan wenxia 文侠 (civilian heroes) 91 Wu Shuanglian 13, 16 Wu Song and Song Jiang 201–8 as performer of heroism 153, 198–9 as genuine person 157, 173–6, 182 masquerade by 197 Wu zazu 五雜俎 23 Wuche wanbao quanshu 五車萬寶全書 180–1 Wusheng xi 無聲戲 see Li Yu, works wuxia 武侠 (martial heroes) 91

xi 戲 and Buddhism 122–23 as acts of appropriation 7, 109–11, as ephemeral 1, 19–29, 35, 119, 196, 221, 223, 254 as playful 13–9 and gender 186–90 as plot/event/structure 3 definition 3 wenren xi 文人戲 (literati xi) 243 see also perceptual dynamics, playful theatricals, the theatrical, theatricals Xianqing ouji 閑情偶寄 216, 244 Xiaohua xuan 嘯花軒 238n40 Xiaoxiang Mijin Duzhe 蕭湘迷津渡者 see Mijin duzhe Xie Zhaozhe 谢肇浙 23 Xihu erji 西湖二集 123, 127 Xingshi hengyan 醒世恆言 241 Xingshi yinyuan zhuan 醒世姻緣傳 187–89 Xiyou ji 西遊記 cosmic order 128–33 see also Monkey as bogus immortal current interpretations of 121–2 Li Zhuowu xiansheng piping Xiyou ji 李卓吾先生批評西遊記 5, 112n7, 150, 155–6, 161–6 theatricals in 112–13, 124–36 Xiyou zhengdao shu 西遊記證道書 2, 5, 109, 120–1 see also Wang Qi see also appropriation, acting with incongruity, Monkey, Pig, Tripitaka Xu Wei 徐渭 7, 44, 161–2, “Kuang gushi” 7, 36, 61–75, 114–5, 124, 130, 143 Xuan Zan 199 Yan Qing 48, 97, 99–100, 153, 198 “Yan Danzi” 燕丹子 82 Yang Zhi martial skills of 87–8, 91, 174 visual representation of 52–4, 198 Ye Zhou 葉晝 156 Yellow Brows Demon 132–3 yi wen wei xi 以文為戲 (viewing literature as theater) 18, 239 “Yi xiupu” 移绣谱 222–4, 230–5 yinfu 淫婦 (licentious woman) 179–80 yongju shi 詠劇詩 14, 25–9 Yu Chunxi 虞淳熙 166 Yu Huai 余懷 117–8 Yu, Anthony 121–2, 211

index Yuan Hongdao 袁宏道 146, 148–9, 152, 159–60, 166, 168 “Yuan Shi yiquan” 袁氏義犬 42–3, 214–5 Yuan Yuling 袁于令 128 Zhang Dai 張岱 21, 23, 151–2, 193, 234 and “Jinshan yexi” 金山夜戲 251–2 “Zhang Tingxiu taosheng jiufu” 張廷秀 逃生救父 241–2 Zhang Yuanzheng 張元徵 18 Zhang Zhupo 張竹坡 173, 180, 187 Zhao Shanlin 14n5, 17, 25

277

Zhao Shilin 趙士麟 23 “Zhen kuilei” 真傀儡 41, 49, 52, 66, 117–20, 143, 195–6 Zhen’ge 珍哥 187–9 Zhengzi tong 正字通 15 Zhishang chuntai 紙上春臺 221–4, 235, 242, 245–6 Zhong Xing 鐘惺 26–7, 251, 254 Zhou Ji 周楫 222 Zhu Suchen 朱素臣 238–9 Zhuxuezhai 鑄雪齋 31–3 Zuihua Yishi 醉花驛使 223