Qing Dynasty, Qian Qianyi, “Biography of Tang Suichang and Xianzu”

Yi Ren’s spirit remained high and his bearing resolute. With a clenched hand longing for the winds of fortune, he looked on but saw no sign of the world’s affairs being resolved. Those he had cast his lot with—Li Yutian, Dao Fu, Mei Kesheng and the like—all rose to prominence and established themselves, while Yi Ren never struck true; in old age he languished in poverty. His residence, the Yuming Hall, lay in disorder; guests and friends sat mixed amid chicken coops and pigpens, coming and going at the courtyard gate. In quiet leisure he chanted and composed, content with himself. When Dao Fu took office in Huai and, remembering Yi Ren’s destitution, sent a letter inviting him, Yi Ren replied, “You and I are equals in serving the ruler; to become a guest in my old age I cannot do.” When he served as a lang he struck out against those in power and invited peril beyond reckoning. He once wrote to a friend, “On impulse I submitted a memorial—how will those in authority deal with me?” In later years he studied under Xujiang and befriended Zibai, calmly fostering aspirations to reform the world. With great projects still unexhausted in his chest, he gave them expression in lyrics and songs. Though the book of the “Four Dreams” remains steeped in lingering feeling and responds to the changing moods of things, its aim is to wash away emotional dust and dissolve back into emptiness—this shows something of what Yi Ren truly valued. He once said, “In our court’s letters the Song scholars are taken as the standard; from Li Mengyang to the Langya school the force and subtlety vary greatly—most are merely imitative.” In the Wanli years two literati of Langya served together in the Southern Capital; Yi Ren served under Jingmei in the Taichang office. Jingmei composed a poem for a public banquet, to which Yi Ren did not reply. He also abridged and annotated the prose and fu of Xianji, Yu Lin and Yuanmei, marking their allusions and noting additions and deletions drawn from Han histories and Tang poems; these circulated in Baixia and reached Yuanmei, who said, “Tang has marked my writings; in time someone will mark Tang.” From the rise of Wang and Li until now some hundred years have passed; at a time when everything was shrouded in mist, Yi Ren pierced through it and labored to clarify and refute. After returning from the Office of the Imperial Stables he stood alone. In his youth he was well versed in the Wen Xuan; in middle age he applied himself to prosody. After forty his poetry shifted toward the styles of Xiangshan and Meishan, and his prose toward the traditions of Nanfeng and Linchuan. He once described his poetry as undergoing three transformations until his strength failed. He once entrusted his prose to me and said, “Do not expect them to know what I have already achieved; rather, expect them to understand what I have not yet achieved.” Thus in poetry he admitted his exhaustion of strength; in prose he pointed to what remained unaccomplished. Yi Ren’s broad sympathies and appetite for learning never led him to think himself already accomplished, yet the world appreciated only his lyrics and songs. How could it perceive what he had already achieved, and still less what he had yet to achieve? Is this not cause for threefold lamentation?
There was still a gifted youth named Shiqu, who at the age of five could recite by heart the “Two Capitals” and the “Three Capitals.” At twenty-three, he died as a guest in Baixia. Next came Daji, a man of talent yet somewhat frivolous, yet he bore his father’s spirit. Then came Kaiyuan, who, having passed the local examination, served as a military commissioner and perished in battle while suppressing bandits. Kaiyuan was fond of scholarly pursuits; as for Yi, he nevertheless completed the fragmentary manuscript of “The Purple Flute” and burned all the unperformed lyrics and dramatic works. This was indeed the truth, according to Daji. His youngest son, Jiyun, likewise possessed remarkable talent.