(no subject)
天下女子有情，寧有如杜麗娘者乎！夢其人即病，病即彌連，至手畫形容，傳於世而後死。死三年矣，復能溟溟莫中其所夢者而生。如麗娘者，乃可謂之有情人耳。情不知所起，一往而深。生而不可與死，死可以生。生而不可與死，死而不可復生者，皆非情之至也。夢中之情，何必非真？天下豈少夢中之人耶？必因落枕而成親，待挂冠而為密者，皆形骸之論也。 (湯顯祖，牡丹亭的序言）
In the world, has there ever been a woman's love like that of Du Liniang's? After dreaming of her lover she fell sick; after falling sick, she was ever worse; until finally she painted her portrait to pass onto the world, and died thereafter. Having been dead for three years, she returned, having found in the midst of the gloomy void the object of her dream, and she lived again. To be as Du Liniang - only then can one be called a true lover.
Love comes from an unknown place, and once it arrives, it grows deep. The living may die of it, and through it the dead may live again. If one cannot die from it, if it cannot make the dead live again, then it is not love at its pinnacle.
Love in dreams - why must it be unreal? Is there a shortage of dream lovers in the world? Those who become lovers after their heads have fallen on pillows, or those who wait until retirement for it to flourish - for all of those, is it a matter of the body. (Tang Xianzu, preface to the Peony Pavilion minus a few lines)
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Someday - SOMEDAY - I will get the hang of Ming drama. Not yet, however. I think I shall be starting with the more attainable, yet still beautiful, language of 孟超 this week. He's a little less dense. Still, characters almost quiver on the page - the beauty of his prose is really something, and the "higher [political] purpose" of his heroine doesn't hobble the language ....
In the world, has there ever been a woman's love like that of Du Liniang's? After dreaming of her lover she fell sick; after falling sick, she was ever worse; until finally she painted her portrait to pass onto the world, and died thereafter. Having been dead for three years, she returned, having found in the midst of the gloomy void the object of her dream, and she lived again. To be as Du Liniang - only then can one be called a true lover.
Love comes from an unknown place, and once it arrives, it grows deep. The living may die of it, and through it the dead may live again. If one cannot die from it, if it cannot make the dead live again, then it is not love at its pinnacle.
Love in dreams - why must it be unreal? Is there a shortage of dream lovers in the world? Those who become lovers after their heads have fallen on pillows, or those who wait until retirement for it to flourish - for all of those, is it a matter of the body. (Tang Xianzu, preface to the Peony Pavilion minus a few lines)
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Someday - SOMEDAY - I will get the hang of Ming drama. Not yet, however. I think I shall be starting with the more attainable, yet still beautiful, language of 孟超 this week. He's a little less dense. Still, characters almost quiver on the page - the beauty of his prose is really something, and the "higher [political] purpose" of his heroine doesn't hobble the language ....