← Back to 漢書

卷五十七下 司馬相如傳

Volume 57b: Sima Xiangru

Chapter 67 of 漢書 ✓ Translated
← Previous Chapter
Chapter 67
Next Chapter →
1
Sima Xiangru (Part Two).
2
使
Xiangru had served as a gentleman attendant for several years when Tang Meng was dispatched to push the frontier toward Yelang and the Bozhong region. Tang called up a thousand officers and troops from Ba and Shu, and the commanderies raised more than ten thousand additional laborers for transport and supply. Invoking the statutes used in wartime mobilization, he put their leaders to death. The people of Ba and Shu were thrown into panic. When the emperor learned of the unrest, he sent Xiangru to reprimand Tang Meng and his associates and to make clear to the people of Ba and Shu that none of this had been the sovereign's will. The proclamation read:
3
When the beacon fires go up along the frontier, the garrison men snatch up their bows, shoulder their arms, and run until they are drenched in sweat, each terrified of falling behind. They throw themselves against naked steel and whistling arrows without a thought for retreat, burning to strike as if settling a blood feud of their own. Surely they do not love death and despise life; they are ordinary subjects under the same throne as the people of Ba and Shu. They think ahead, rush to the nation's hour of need, and take honor in doing everything a loyal minister ought to do. That is why they receive investiture with split tallies, titles tied to ritual jade, rank as full marquises, and mansions in the noble quarter east of the palace. In the end they leave a glorious name to posterity and pass estates down to their children; their service is marked by deep loyalty, their posts by security and ease; their reputation never fades and their achievements are not forgotten. That is why the best men gladly give their lives on the battlefield and let their blood soak the weeds without a second thought. Yet you are sent south on imperial business with tribute and labor in train, and you turn to suicide or bolt and end on the executioner's block. You die disgraced, earn the epithet of utter folly, humiliate your parents, and become a laughingstock to the empire. How vast is the distance between such conduct and theirs! Nor is the blame theirs alone: elders failed to teach them early, juniors were not kept under firm guidance; shame and decency thinned out until the custom no longer bred integrity. When such people are put to the sword, they have only themselves to blame.
4
使使
The throne deplores officials who behaved as they did and pities ignorant folk who reacted so rashly. Hence a reliable envoy has been sent to explain why levies were ordered, to spell out how disloyalty leads to death, and to call village elders to account for failing to teach their people. It is planting season, and the court regrets the burden on the people. Envoys have already toured the nearer counties, but those in remote valleys and hills may not have heard. When this edict reaches you, relay it at once along every county and post road so that every household understands the emperor's purpose. Do not treat it lightly.
5
西 便 使 使西 使 使西西
Xiangru returned and made his report. Tang Meng had already pushed through to Yelang and was extending the southwest road, drafting tens of thousands of laborers from Ba, Shu, and Guanghan. Work dragged on for two years without finishing the route. Casualties mounted among the troops, and costs ran into the hundreds of millions. Shu locals and influential men at court repeatedly argued that the project was a waste. The chiefs of Qiong and Zuo learned that the southern tribes had submitted to Han and been showered with gifts; most of them now wanted to enter the register as tributaries, asked for imperial magistrates, and sought the same status as the southern peoples. The emperor asked Xiangru for his view. He replied: "The tribes of Qiong, Zuo, Ran, and Mang border the interior; their routes are easier than Yelang's. They were once organized as commanderies in earlier dynasties and only lapsed when the Han arose. If we reopen ties and place magistrates among them, we will gain more for less trouble than we have had in the far south. The emperor agreed and appointed Xiangru a general of the gentlemen, giving him the credenza and dispatching him as chief envoy. His deputies Wang Ranyu, Hu Qiguo, and Lü Yueren raced ahead on four-horse relay carriages, while local officials from Ba and Shu carried gifts to win over the southwestern tribes. At their arrival in Shu the governor led his staff in a suburban welcome; the county magistrate marched ahead shouldering bow and bolts. The Shu people took it as a mark of singular favor. Zhuo Wangsun and the leading families of Linqiong then sent cattle and wine through Xiangru's attendants to join the celebration. Zhuo Wangsun sighed that he had waited too long to gain Sima Changqing as a son-in-law; he now settled a lavish marriage portion on his daughter, equal to what he gave his sons. On mission Xiangru brought the southwest under control: the rulers of Qiong, Zuo, Zai, Mang, and Siyu all asked to submit as tributaries. Frontier barriers came down and the line of outposts stretched west to the Mo and Ruoshui rivers and south to Zangke as the outer perimeter. Roads pierced Mount Ling, bridges spanned the Sun River, and traffic linked Qiong and Zuo. When he reported back, the emperor was delighted.
6
使西 使
While Xiangru was away, Shu notables kept saying that the southwest road served no purpose, and senior ministers at court agreed. He wanted to argue the case but dared not, having himself sponsored the scheme. Instead he drafted a dialogue, putting the objections in the mouths of Shu elders and answering them in his own voice, both to sway the throne and to spell out what his mission had meant so that every household would grasp the emperor's purpose. The piece begins:
7
使西
Seventy-eight years have passed since the Han rose; through six sovereigns virtue has deepened, military glory towers like clouds, and imperial kindness spreads wide until every living thing shares in it and the influence reaches beyond the borders. He therefore sent armies west along the rivers; wherever their influence reached, resistance collapsed. Ran came to court, Mang followed in train, Zuo was secured, Qiong preserved, Siyu overrun, Bao and Pu brought to heel; the expedition wheeled its chariots homeward, turned east toward the capital for its report, and halted at Chengdu.
8
西使 西
Twenty-seven elders, officials, and gentry in full dress presented themselves with grave formality. When he had finished speaking, they stepped forward: "We have always understood that the Son of Heaven's policy toward barbarians is to keep them on a loose tether without cutting them off. Yet you have drafted three commanderies, opened the road to Yelang, and three years on the work is still unfinished. The troops are exhausted and the people can barely feed themselves; now you would yoke them to the tribes of the west. Popular strength is spent; we doubt the task can ever be completed. That would be the envoys' legacy as well, and we tremble for your advisors. Besides, Qiong, Zuo, and the western Bo have stood beside China for ages beyond counting. The humane ruler does not win them by kindness alone; the strong state does not swallow them by force alone—and we suspect neither course will really work! To strip our settled farmers for the sake of barbarians, to waste what we depend on to serve a useless venture—we are plain folk, perhaps, but we cannot see the sense of it.
9
使
The envoy replied: "How can you speak so? If your words were true, Shu would never have adopted Han costume nor Ba Han manners—and I would still shrink from such talk. The matter is too large for casual observers to judge. My mission left no time; I could not hear you out in every particular. Let me sketch the main lines for you:
10
"Extraordinary times call for extraordinary men; Extraordinary enterprises yield extraordinary achievements. What common people call strange is simply what they have never seen before. Hence the saying: at the first stirrings of a great venture the people are afraid; when it succeeds, the realm rests easy.
11
骿
"In ancient times the flood surged until it drowned the land; people climbed hills and fled from place to place, never finding peace. The Xia founders mourned that suffering: they dammed the headwaters, cut channels through the Yangtze and Yellow rivers, drained the drowned lowlands, and sent the waters east to the sea until the world knew lasting calm. Do you imagine the burden fell on the common people alone? The ruler's mind labored over every plan while his body did the heaviest work—his shins and soles hardened with callus, his skin bare of down—so that his glory still lights the ages and his name rings down to us.
12
使 使耀
"And when a true king takes the throne, does he mean to stay petty and cramped, shackled by precedent and slave to gossip, merely repeating old formulas to win easy applause? No—he must voice great policies and bold counsel, found institutions that will last, and lay down models for endless generations. He therefore rides forth on a course broad enough to embrace all under heaven and sets his sights as high as the sky and as deep as the earth. Does not the Odes say, "Under the whole sky every scrap of soil belongs to the king; along every shore of the realm every man is the king's subject. Within the six directions and beyond the eight outer regions, if any creature fails to feel the royal bounty, a worthy ruler counts it his shame. Inside the frontiers every belted official already shares in the blessing; none is left out. Yet beyond lie tribes of strange dress and alien speech, lands cut off by distance where neither cart nor boat can pass and few travelers go, places never touched by law or rite. Leave them outside and they raid the frontier; fold them in and murder and revolt multiply—subjects kill their lords, high and low are reversed, the innocent are cut down, children are dragged off as slaves, roped together and sobbing. They turn their faces toward China and cry, "We hear that the Middle Kingdom is ruled by perfect humanity, that virtue floods every corner until nothing lacks its place—why then are we alone cast off? They strain on tiptoe toward us like parched fields waiting for rain; the plowman weeps for them—how could the sage on high hold back? That is why armies went north against the Xiongnu and envoys raced south to rebuke the Yue. On every side peoples incline toward our virtue; chiefs of two quarters swarm upstream like spawning fish, and those begging for investiture are counted by the hundred thousand. Hence the passes on the Mo and Ruo were shut, Zangke was ringed with outposts, Mount Ling was cut through, the Sun River bridged, opening a highway of moral sway and stretching the net of benevolence and duty—intending to spread grace far and wide, to bind the distant in peace, to leave no far corner closed, to bring twilight peoples into the light, to stack weapons here and end campaigns there. Near and far become one fabric, inner and outer alike secure—is that not the true peace? Snatching people from the flood, displaying the sovereign's perfect virtue, reversing the rot of a declining age, and taking up the broken work of the Zhou—these are the throne's pressing duties. Even if the people grow tired, how can such work simply stop?
13
No true king has ever begun in comfort and ended in idleness; he always starts in care and finishes in repose. That is where the mandate of heaven shows itself. He will soon add the great feng on Mount Tai and the shan on Liangfu, ring the ritual bells, raise the hymns of praise, rival the Five Thearchs above and the Three August Ones below. Spectators have not yet grasped his purpose, listeners have not caught the music—it is as though the great roc were already wheeling in the empyrean while the fowler squints into the reeds. How sad!
14
The elders stood dumbstruck, their prepared speeches forgotten. Sighing, they said as one: "So this is Han virtue—we have heard what we needed to hear. Even if the people must toil, let us go first. They shuffled, empty of further argument, and withdrew in confusion.
15
使
Later a memorial accused Xiangru of taking bribes on mission, and he was dismissed. A little over a year later he was recalled to serve again as a gentleman attendant.
16
Xiangru stammered yet excelled at literary composition. He suffered chronically from diabetes. His marriage to the Zhuo family left him wealthy. Hence he seldom took part in high policy, often pleaded illness, lived quietly at home, and showed no ambition for office or title. He once accompanied the emperor on a hunt at the Changyang park. The emperor had taken to killing bears and boars with his own hands and racing after game; Xiangru therefore presented a written remonstrance. It read:
17
輿
Your servant has heard that creatures of one kind may differ in gifts: hence men praise Wuhuo for strength, Qingji for speed, Ben and Yu for valor. In my ignorance I believe that if this is true of men, it is true of beasts as well. Yet Your Majesty loves to climb dangerous ground and shoot savage game. Should some powerful beast bolt from cover in a spot where the chariot cannot save you, the dust of your escort would be thrown into peril: the carriage could not wheel about in time, guards could not react in time—even Wuhuo's strength or Peng Meng's archery would be useless, and every dead trunk becomes a weapon against you. It would be like barbarians springing up beneath the royal axle—could anything be more deadly? Even if no disaster came, such sport is unworthy of the Son of Heaven.
18
Even when the avenue is cleared and you gallop down the highway, accidents of rein and bit still happen. How much worse to plunge through tall grass and race over open wastes, with the thrill of the kill ahead and no guard against ambush—the danger then is beyond reckoning! To treat the safety of the imperial equipage lightly and seek pleasure on a road where ruin needs only one chance in ten thousand—your servant respectfully urges that Your Majesty should not choose this.
19
The clear-sighted foresee trouble before it appears; the wise step aside before danger takes shape—most disasters nest in what is small and silent until they burst forth where no one was watching. Hence the proverb: a family rich enough to count its wealth in gold does not lounge under the exposed edge of a high roof. Small as the adage is, it speaks to a great truth. I beg Your Majesty to weigh these words with care.
20
The emperor approved the memorial. On the way back the imperial train passed Yichun Palace, where Xiangru offered a rhapsody mourning the Second Emperor's moral failure. The piece begins:
21
I climb the long terraced slope and sweep into palaces piled one above another, sheer as cliffs. Below me the river bends around its shoals; before me the southern peaks stagger in broken ranks. The mountains lift savage crags; hollows open into gulfs where valleys yawn wide as a mouth. The flood races on without rest until it spills across the flat marsh, wide as a sea of reeds. Every tree stands in a tangle of shade; the bamboo runs on in an unbroken wall of green. I wheel east past earthen knolls and strike north through stony rapids. I check the horses, let the carriage drift, and halt where the Second Emperor lies. He could not govern himself—his empire slipped away and his power failed; he trusted slander to the end and never woke—till his ancestral shrines were cold ash. Alas! His life came to nothing; his mound chokes with weeds and no hand tends it; his ghost wanders hungry, with no altar to feed it.
22
Xiangru received appointment as steward of Emperor Wen's mausoleum park. The sovereign had already praised his "Sir Fantasy" rhapsody. Seeing how fond the emperor was of transcendents, Xiangru said: "What I wrote of the Upper Grove is not the limit of splendor; something grander remains. I have drafted a "Rhapsody for the Great Man" but never finished it; allow me to polish it and lay it before you. He thought the common picture of immortals—emaciated recluses in hills and swamps—beneath an emperor's dignity, and so he offered the "Rhapsody for the Great Man" instead. It opens:
23
竿耀 輿
There walks among us a Great Man, and his seat is the Middle Kingdom. His house is ten thousand leagues wide, yet he cannot bear to linger there an hour. The world's meanness galls him; he shakes free and soars on a journey without end. He mounts a rainbow threaded through a scarlet banner and climbs on a tide of cloud. He plants a pole tall as the Geze comet and braids sunbeams into streaming pennants. The comet Xunshi hangs like a canopy; a sweeping comet trails behind as his standard. His chariot poles flex and dip; the traces sway and swing as if beckoning the wind. He twists meteors into his ensigns and stretches the curving rainbow for reins. A flush of red fades into purple depths; gusts boil up and clouds stream beneath him. His car is drawn by the winged yinglong, sinuous and long; scarlet chi and green qiu pace as outriders, bodies coiled like ropes. The team arches and dips, manes flaring like proud banners, shoulders rolling in deep folds that link one curve to the next. They surge and rear, hesitate and hold, then break along the shore, heads tossing, eyes rolling white. Their gait is a slow, sliding dance—now crouched, now stretched—like creatures clinging to a rafter in fear. They twist, cry, stamp the way, then bound and leap in a frenzy of motion. They rush like wind, flash like lightning; in an instant mist lifts and clouds shred away.
24
使 使 使
He cuts across the lesser yang and climbs the greater yin, seeking the companionship of transcendents. He veers through winding depths toward the east, vaults the flying cataract, and holds a true eastward course. He calls every spirit warden, chooses his escort, and ranks the gods beneath the star Yaoguang. The Five Thearchs lead the way; Taiyi falls in behind; Lingyang brings up the rear. Xuanming rides his left flank, Qianlei his right; Changli leads, Yuhuang follows. He drafts Boyang and Xianmen as runners and bids Qibo to ready the sovereign's medicaments. Zhurong sounds the escort and clears the path; ill vapors scatter before he moves on. He parks ten thousand cars beneath a canopy of stacked rainbows and a forest of jeweled flags. He sets Gou Mang at the head of the column, for I mean to visit the southern pleasure-grounds.
25
使 西 西 使
He salutes Yao at Mount Chong and Shun among the peaks of Jiuyi. His train piles deep—ranks staggered, teams interlaced—yet every car keeps pace abreast. They boil forward in a tangle of hooves and wheels, a surging mass that breaks and re-forms like surf. They crowd like stacked sheaves, then spill in a long glittering flood, banners and chariots a shifting dazzle. He plunges into the Thunder God's vault where drums never cease, then bursts through Ghost Valley's broken teeth of rock. He scans the eight limits, eyes all four seas, crosses the nine streams, and rides the five great rivers. He sails through infernal flame, drifts the Weak Water, poles past floating shoals, and wades the moving dunes. He rests on the emerald peak, sports in the spreading flood, and sets Lingwa plucking strings while Fengyi dances for him. When gloom closes and the air turns foul, he calls Pingyi, binds the Earl of Wind, and puts the Lord of Rain to the sword. He looks west where Kunlun blurs into mist, then gallops straight toward the Three Perils. He thrusts aside the celestial gate, enters the High God's hall, and bears away the jade maidens in his train. He mounts Langfeng's height and hovers far aloft; black birds wheel up and settle in a single flock. He circles Yin Mountain in slow spirals—at last I look upon the Queen Mother of the West. Her hair gleams white; she wears the jade crown and lives in a stone cavern, yet commands the three-legged crow as herald. If immortality meant only this—never dying, yet living thus—it would run ten thousand generations without bringing delight.
26
He wheels his car and returns, breaks the road at Mount Buzhou, and takes his meal in shadowed stillness. He drinks the night mist, eats the dawn's rose cloud, chews the essence of magic fungi, and tastes petals of jade. He shoots upward through swirling radiance, climbing on a swell of light. He threads the lightning's backward flash and rides the cataract where the thunder god walks. He races the roads of heaven on a long descent, drives through trailing mist, and vanishes into distance. Stifled by the world's narrow lanes, he opens the reins and bursts out past the northern rim. He leaves his escort at the Dark Tower and outruns the vanguard at the Gate of Cold. Beneath him gulf on gulf with no ground; above, hollow without bound, with no sky to mark it. His eyes swim in blur until sight fails; his ears ring hollow until sound dies. He rides the empty dark beyond the highest reach, peerless, alone, the only thing that endures.
27
After Xiangru recited the "Rhapsody for the Great Man," the emperor was transported; he felt light enough to ride the wind between heaven and earth.
28
使 使
When illness forced Xiangru to retire, he lived quietly at Maoling. The emperor said: "Sima Xiangru is dying; send someone to collect whatever manuscripts he has before it is too late. Suo Zhong was dispatched, but Xiangru had already died and his house held no books. When they asked his wife, she said: "Changqing never kept books of his own. Whenever he wrote something, someone carried the draft away. Before he died he sealed a single scroll with the words: if an envoy comes for my writings, submit this memorial to the throne. That final manuscript discussed the feng and shan sacrifices. Suo Zhong laid it before the throne, and the emperor received it with wonder. It reads:
29
In the dawn of time, when the bright sky first quickened the human race— —sovereigns rose in turn, chosen one after another, down to the house of Qin. Neighbors watched their predecessors' footprints; distant lands heard only their fame. Countless kings shone for a moment, then sank into silence without a name left to us. After the hymns of Shao and Xia, when styles and temple names were fixed, seventy-two rulers still left a trace in the record. None who kept to the good ever failed to thrive; none who flouted the way long survived.
30
西 鹿
Before the Yellow Thearch the past is too dim; no trustworthy detail survives. What the Five Thearchs, Three Ages, and Six Classics preserve is all we have to go on. The Book of Documents says: "Let the sovereign be clear-sighted! Let his ministers be worthy! Judging by that text, no ruler surpassed Yao and no minister equaled Houji. Houji began the work under Tang, Gong Liu raised the clan among the western Rong, King Wen reshaped the rites, and Zhou climbed to its zenith; their grand achievement was fulfilled, then slowly waned until a thousand years of silence followed—yet that is still what we call beginning well and ending well! They never strayed into excess: they chose their models with care and handed down sober lessons to those who came after. Their footprints lie on level ground—easy for any heir to follow; their kindness ran deep and wide—easy for any heir to share; their laws shone plain for all to see—easy to take as pattern; the succession they left was orderly—easy to continue without break. So the dynasty's greatness grew from the cradle and reached its crown in the two later sage-kings. Yet from root to branch no age has left a deed so supreme that posterity can still measure itself against it. Even so they climbed Liangfu, ascended Tai Shan, proclaimed glorious titles, and assumed the noblest styles. The virtue of the great Han wells up like a spring, spreads without limit, floods the four quarters, rolls out like clouds and mist, rises through the nine heavens above, and washes the eight outer reaches below. Every creature drinks it in; a gentle qi rolls everywhere; martial order flashes past; the worst offenders sink from sight and blind corners come into the light; even strange beasts and crawling things turn homeward toward the throne. The royal preserves now hold herds of zouyu, rare elk and deer penned for the altar, grain ears of six spikes on a single stalk wrapped as tribute, sacrificial oxen whose paired horns grow from one boss, the tortoise freed at Qi when Zhou fell, and the yellow dragon of omen summoned from the marsh. Spirits welcome spirit wardens as guests in the silent halls. Portents multiply, each odder than the last, beginning in strangeness and ending in transformation without end. Such omens crowd in, yet the court still calls its merit slight and hesitates even to name the feng and shan sacrifices. The house of Zhou received its sign when fish leaped into the king's boat and grain filled the vessel—then offered them up with fire. Without such signs to climb a mere knoll would have been shame enough. How twisted is a course that grasps at glory yet shrinks from the rite that crowns it!
31
使
The commander-in-chief then stepped forward: "Your Majesty nurtures all life with humanity and chastises the stubborn with justice. The Hua states gladly bring tribute; barbarian chiefs arrive with gifts. Your virtue outshines antiquity; your deeds have no peer. Glory spreads abroad; omens arrive in endless variety—this is no first-time wonder but heaven's steady answer. Mount Tai and Mount Liangfu have long stood ready with their altars, waiting for your chariot so their names may share your glory. High God heaps favor upon you to mark the work fulfilled—yet you modestly hold back and will not begin. To deny the Three Powers their joy and leave the kingly sacrifice incomplete shames every minister at court. Some argue that heaven itself is bond, that the rare talismans it sends cannot decently be refused; and that to refuse them would leave Tai Shan without its inscription and Liangfu without its hope of rite. The seventy-two ancient kings each rose in his season, served his age, then bowed out—what would later ages praise in them if you break the chain now? To earn heaven's tallies by virtue and to act once they are granted is not presumption—it is the way of the sage. That is why sage kings never set the rite aside: they perfected worship of earth, made humble approach to heaven, carved their achievement on the sacred peak, displayed the supremacy of the throne, unfolded deep virtue, proclaimed a noble style, drew down rich blessing, and let it flood the common people. This is the supreme spectacle of the empire and the capstone of kingship; it must not be slighted. We beg you to bring it to fulfillment. Then let your scholars catch a reflected gleam of your glory and set their talents to the task. Let them align the doctrine, polish the prose, and add a chapter worthy of the Spring and Autumn. The canon will swell from six classics to seven, its influence endless, so that ages to come may ride its clear stream, catch its ripples, and carry its fame and solid achievement abroad. Earlier sages kept their great names forever at the head of the record by doing exactly this. Order the archivists to set down the full ritual program for your review.
32
The emperor's face cleared; he said, "Very well—I will make the attempt! He gathered his wits, polled his high ministers on the feng and shan, praised the breadth of the great marsh, and rehearsed the wealth of recent omens. He then composed this hymn:
33
Heaven spreads its canopy above us; clouds roll in soft billows. Sweet dew and seasonable rain make every field a pleasure to walk. Moisture seeps everywhere—what could fail to grow? The good grain bears six ears to a stalk—how can we hoard enough of such bounty?
34
Heaven sends not rain alone but a soaking kindness; it favors not us only but spreads shelter over all; the myriad creatures thrive and turn toward it with love. The great peaks stand in ordered rank, watching for the sovereign's approach. O our king, why do you still hold back your step?
35
The zouyu takes joy in our ruler's park; white hide barred with black, a creature of lovely mien; gentle, solemn, grave—the very air of a gentleman. We knew it only by report; now we watch it arrive. No footprints mark its path—sure sign of heaven's grace. Such kindness shone in Shun, and the house of Yu rose on it.
36
輿
The sleek qilin wanders the sacred enclosure of the spirit altar. In the tenth winter month our lord drives out to the suburban offering. His chariot flies to the rite, and High God accepts the blessing. In the three earlier dynasties such a thing had never been recorded.
37
耀
The sinuous yellow dragon mounts on virtue and climbs the sky; its colors blaze darkly, flash with dazzling fire. The true yang shines forth and wakes the common people. The classics record it as the mount of the received mandate.
38
The pattern is plain; it need not be argued at length. Each creature bears its type and speaks in parable, pointing toward the sacrifices on the twin peaks.
39
Open the classics and see: heaven and man already meet; high and low answer each other in truth. The sage-king's business is done with trembling care. Hence the saying: in advance remember retreat; in peace remember peril. Tang and Wu held the highest rank yet never dropped their awe; Shun, though enthroned by borrowed forms, still reviewed his faults. This is the sense of it.
40
Five years after Xiangru's death the emperor first offered sacrifice to Hou Tu. Eight years later he worshiped the central peak, performed the feng on Mount Tai, went on to Liangfu, and the shan at Suyan.
41
Other pieces attributed to him—letters to the Marquis of Pingling, debates with the five gentlemen, botanical sketches—are omitted here; this chapter records chiefly what he laid before the high ministers.
42
The historian's comment: Sima Qian said the Spring and Autumn reads the surface to expose what lies beneath; the Changes moves from the hidden toward the clear; the Greater Odes praise kings and dukes yet their virtue washes down to the people; the Lesser Odes fault petty faults yet their lesson rises to the throne. Their subjects differ, but the moral thread is one. Xiangru's prose is often inflated, yet in the end he pulls the reader back toward restraint—much like the corrective voice of the Odes. Yang Xiong thought such sumptuous fu encourage a hundred times for every warning they utter—like a concert of Zheng and Wei music with a scrap of classical air tacked on at the end: clever, perhaps, but hardly serious moral art.
← Previous Chapter
Back to Chapters
Next Chapter →