The Tang Xianzu Memorial Hall in Fuzhou is a comprehensive cultural venue built to commemorate Tang Xianzu, one of the world’s hundred great cultural figures and a master of Ming‑dynasty drama in China. It is also one of Jiangxi Province’s ten major memorial halls dedicated to historical luminaries.
Mei Lanfang and “A Dream in the Garden” (Part 10) | Yu Zhenfei: Du Liniang, Endlessly Filled with Deep Affection
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2023-04-13
The 60th Anniversary of the Passing of Mr. Mei Lanfang
He enriched the performing art of the dan role in Peking Opera through the performance techniques of Kunqu opera, while, in turn, further enriching and elevating the artistry of Kunqu itself.
Every time he comes to Shanghai for a performance, he always makes time to drop by my home for a chat. When the conversation gets lively, I’ll take out my flute, and he’ll belt out two or three Kunqu arias—proof enough of his deep love for this art form.
I remember that at our first meeting, he asked me to play the flute for him and sang two arias from “The Garden Tour”: “Zaoluo Pao” and “Good Sister.” After he moved to Shanghai in 1933, we began to visit one another frequently and became close friends.
In 1933, the Shanghai Kunqu Preservation Society held a benefit performance to raise funds. On that occasion, Mr. Mei, filled with enthusiasm, volunteered to take part. The first day’s program featured the aforementioned “Youyuan Jingmeng”; the second day, “Duanqiao”; and the third day, “Yaotai”—all plays in which I had personally staged the roles for him.
As it happens, the first time we struck up a friendship, I played the flute while he sang “Youyuan”; our first stage collaboration saw him as Du Liniang and me as Liu Mengmei; our final film together was also “The Peony Pavilion”; and our last joint performance on stage, too, was “The Peony Pavilion.”
Over the course of thirty years, they have performed this play together no fewer than dozens of times. Each collaboration has allowed them to fully indulge their passion for the art. In my view, if “The Cosmic Hairpin” is his signature piece in the Peking‑opera style, then “A Dream in the Garden” is undoubtedly his quintessential Kunqu masterpiece.
Mr. Mei has a deep affection for Kunqu opera and once devoted himself to it over many years, acquiring an exceptionally solid foundation. As he told me himself, he first stepped onto the stage at the age of eleven, playing the Weaver Girl in the “Secret Oath on the Magpie Bridge” scene from the Kunqu masterpiece “The Palace of Eternal Life.” Around the age of twenty, he diligently studied numerous Kunqu operas.
In the past, the repertoire frequently included “Water Duel” and “Broken Bridge” from “The Pagoda of Leifeng”; “Joyful Appointment” and “Whipping Hong” from “The West Chamber”; “Shocking the Fool,” “First Match,” and “Second Match” from “The Kite Mistake”; “Playing the Qin,” “Inquiring About the Illness,” and “Stealing the Poem” from “The Jade Hairpin”; “Seeking Flowers,” “Nunnery Assembly,” “Jealousy,” and “Drunk Roundelay” from “The Golden Sparrow”; “Dressing Up,” “Kneeling by the Pool,” and “Three Fears” from “The Lion’s Roar”; “Jade Terrace” from “The Southern Dream”; “Hiding the Boat” from “Fishermen’s Joy”; “Assassinating the Tiger” from “The Iron Crown”; as well as two chui‑qiang operas, “Zhaojun Leaves the Frontier” and “The Miraculous Double Meeting.”
Almost every one of these plays is a masterpiece, but the ones that left the deepest impression on me are “Stabbing the Tiger,” “Broken Bridge,” “The Double Marriage,” and “A Dream in the Garden.”
The 60th Anniversary of Mr. Mei Lanfang’s Passing
Especially Du Liniang in “The Peony Pavilion,” who may well be regarded as its crowning masterpiece. Here, I would like to focus specifically on this extraordinary Du Liniang.
In this play, Mr. Mei excels in singing, recitation, and stage action. Through his superb performance, he not only brings to life Du Liniang’s gentle, refined, and chaste character but also conveys, with remarkable subtlety in both song and gesture, the loneliness, emptiness, wistfulness, and sense of disorientation that dwell deep within the heart of this young woman confined to her secluded boudoir. Moreover, his portrayal is richly layered, allowing every attentive audience member to perceive these nuances clearly.
For instance, during the “stroll through the garden,” he reveals only a faint trace of wistful melancholy, focusing instead on vividly depicting the scenery and thus bringing to life the poetic mood of “the spring sways like a slender thread.” The more fully this mood is rendered, the more convincingly it suggests that such an idyllic setting, with its lovely maiden, ought to be matched by a harmonious and fulfilling home.
During the “Awakening from a Dream,” from the spoken passage beginning with “Suddenly, the pounding of the pestle turns” to the completion of the aria “Shanpo Yang,” Du Liniang’s yearning and melancholy are laid bare with boldness, no longer veiled as they were in the “Garden Stroll.”
When Liu Mengmei sings the aria “Shan Tao Hong,” his expression is exquisitely nuanced, conveying both the waning of Du Liniang’s lingering sorrow and the joyous elation of her dream, as well as an irrepressible sense of excitement—yet never losing sight of her inherent grace and gentle demeanor. In the aria “Mian Da Xu,” by contrast, the yearning for the dreamlike scene serves to highlight the stark coldness of the present.
What is particularly rare is that, in these performances at different levels, he does not rely merely on his facial expressions; rather, he weaves the character’s shifting moods and emotions throughout every aspect of his singing, recitation, physical movements, and facial expressions. Moreover, between each transition from one level to another, there is no trace of artificiality or contrivance, truly achieving a state of seamless naturalness.
The 60th Anniversary of the Passing of Mr. Mei Lanfang
In the scene “A Dream of Astonishment,” since what is depicted is no ordinary dream, Seemingly real yet not quite real, seemingly illusory yet not quite illusory, seemingly empty yet not quite empty, seemingly solid yet not quite solid—thus Du Liniang’s performance must likewise be attuned to this duality: neither overly grounded nor excessively ethereal. 
Too much realism risks undermining the dreamlike quality of the performance, while excessive abstraction can easily veer into frivolity. The finest acting strikes a delicate balance, infusing tender intimacy with a touch of ethereal lightness. I have performed this role for decades, and my co‑stars have numbered in the dozens, yet none has ever brought it off as perfectly as he does.
For example, when Liu Mengmei sings the aria “Shan Tao Hong,” “For your beauty like a blossoming maiden, and time that flows like water,” Du Liniang keeps her hand raised for quite a long stretch. Covering her face with her sleeve, she was filled with the coy modesty of a young girl. , listen intently as your lover pours out the love in their heart.
In this passage, since the movement is entirely still, most performers would easily appear stiff—but not him. Though his posture at that moment was likewise motionless, and he stood beside Liu Mengmei, who was both singing and dancing, the audience nonetheless sensed, from his poised and graceful frame, the passionate stirrings of love hidden deep within his heart.
In the flowing, time‑worn phrasing of his singing, he would slowly let his right sleeve fall, then, head bowed, gradually lower his left. This unconscious gesture, born of inner excitement, would naturally meet the deliberately brushed right sleeve of Liu Mengmei at the rhythm of the character “year,” while, on that very same beat, a furtive glance would pass between them—like a flash of lightning—mingling tender affection and heartfelt emotion, stirring the soul to its very depths.
The 60th Anniversary of the Passing of Mr. Mei Lanfang
On the surface, it might seem that one is a martial‑arts performer and the other an actress, with no obvious basis for comparison; yet this is far from the case. Despite their different roles, these two artistic masters share a strikingly similar mastery of the art of using the eyes. One of their most significant commonalities lies in their economy of expression—treasuring every gesture as if it were gold.
He usually keeps a tight rein on his art, saving it for the crucial moments; and when he does employ it, the effect is nothing short of astonishing. In this regard, Yang Xiaolou has indeed reached consummate mastery, yet Mr. Mei is by no means outdone.
We know that, among all the facial expressions in Peking Opera, the most challenging to master is what’s known as “eye contact,” and it is precisely in this area that he has attained a unique and consummate skill.
In the scene “A Dream of Astonishment” alone, there are four remarkable performances: the one already mentioned is one of them. Another occurs when Du and Liu first meet, in a season of peach blossoms and willow greenery. A young maiden just beginning to stir with romantic feelings suddenly beholds a dashing, subtly charming scholar; on the one hand, she cannot help but feel her heart quicken, overwhelmed by both delight and surprise, while on the other, she is filled with bashful shyness, at a loss for what to do. What a complex array of emotions—yet he conveys it all with consummate artistry in a single exchange of glances with Liu Mengmei.
The third time came during the line “Why have you come to this place,” when, in a single, swift gesture, he met his partner’s gaze and withdrew—neither advancing nor retreating, neither rushing nor lingering—landing precisely at the crucial moment. The fourth instance occurred after Liu Mengmei finished the final line of the aria “Shan Tao Hong”—“At this fortunate meeting, not a word is spoken”—when he lunged toward the stage entrance; Du Liniang stepped aside to the lower-stage door, and amid the music of the tune “Wan Nian Huan,” they stole furtive glances at one another—a glance brimming with irresistible charm. Even these four moments alone suffice to demonstrate his consummate art of “eye‑to‑eye connection”: not only does he hit the mark, but he does so with pinpoint accuracy and exquisite finesse.
Every time I perform “A Dream of the Red Chamber” with him, as soon as my eyes meet his clear, autumn‑water‑like pupils, my entire being seems to tremble—like a vast, warm current coursing through me. By contrast, when I share this role with others, such a feeling rarely arises.
The 60th Anniversary of Mr. Mei Lanfang’s Passing
Besides his piercing gaze, Mr. Mei’s clear, unadorned diction is nothing short of superb. Not only are his enunciations precise and rounded, with each word articulated clearly and resonantly, but his phrasing—its rises and falls, its subtle nuances—reaches the very heights of artistry, exuding an unparalleled beauty. 
For instance, in “A Dream of Astonishment”: “Suddenly the spring outing turns; a gentle touch on the face of spring. Ah, spring—spring—how delightful it is to linger with you! But when spring departs, how shall I bear it? Alas! Such weather is truly wearisome.”
These two five-character verses are a sheer delight to recite. Not only are the stanzas clearly delineated, but the transition between them seems both abrupt and seamless. When he pronounces the second “spring” in “Spring, oh spring,” his voice is crisp and resonant, vividly conveying Du Liniang’s yearning: “I long to ask the heavens.” The subsequent three lines pause slightly, their rhythmic cadence evoking a sense of lingering contemplation.
Precisely because he delivers these few lines not only with a melodious voice but also with remarkable expressiveness—fully conveying Du Liniang’s poignant sorrow—every time the scene reaches this point, the audience falls utterly silent; even his faint sigh before launching into the call-and-response is heard crystal clearly.
I have been listening to opera for decades, and among the female roles, few possess such a powerful allure in their spoken lines.
The 60th Anniversary of Mr. Mei Lanfang’s Passing
He enunciates with crystal clarity, his vocal delivery and articulation are remarkably precise, and his phrasing and breath control flow with effortless ease. His high notes are melodious, pure, and resonant, while his lower tones carry a rich, full-bodied warmth that carries far.
In the preface to “The Peony Pavilion” in his “Nashu Ying Qu Pu,” Mr. Wang Menglou remarked: “When set to music and performed on the pipa and other instruments, it acquires a unique charm—deeply evocative yet exquisitely exotic—a quality that no other opera of past or present can match.”
Indeed, several arias in “A Dream in the Garden” capture a profound and exotic charm; in particular, the pieces “Shanpo Yang” and “Mian Da Xu” master the essence of stillness. For an opera performer of sixty-five to render Kunqu at such a level is truly remarkable.
The 60th Anniversary of the Passing of Mr. Mei Lanfang
1961.08.08-2021.08.08
Being able to inspire others and collaborate with them, so that their emotions blend seamlessly and connect on a deep, intimate level.
I have collaborated with him for decades and have come to deeply appreciate this point. For instance, in the two lines from “Jing Meng”—“Turning past the peony trellis, I draw close to the stone by the lake and mountains”—there is a “hefan” movement performed by Du and Liu (when two performers execute the same gesture, it is referred to in technical terms as “hefan”).
When I take his left wrist with my right hand, guiding it with two fingers and shifting my feet to the left and right, I always sense in him a keen responsiveness—capable of instantly discerning the sensations emanating from every part of his body and swiftly modulating his own internal energy to match them.
So every time the two of us “join our fans,” we almost always reach a state where each of us seems to exist entirely on our own, yet in perfect harmony with the other. Likewise, in the line “And I’ll loosen your collar button,” when I’m singing the word “loosen” and make my vocal glide from the “large side” to the “small side,” he always manages, just at the very instant I’ve already lunged but haven’t quite made contact, to turn gracefully and step over to the “large side.”
The dimensions of this space are, strictly speaking, quite straightforward, yet they serve as a benchmark for gauging an actor’s skill and the overall quality of a scene. If not mastered, even a single step—or half a step—taken too early while Liu Mengmei is still approaching the “small side,” or a delay of just a few seconds in his departure once he reaches that point, can leave him frozen onstage. Such minutiae can make all the difference between success and failure.
Yet in such a setting, Mr. Mei moves with effortless composure, coordinating with his partner with seamless precision. His footwork appears light and airy, almost swift, yet never hurried; every step—whether advancing or pausing—falls perfectly in time with the rhythm of Liu Mengmei’s singing, though it is far from a mechanical, metronomic cadence. Such mastery truly deserves the accolade “mature perfection.”
Precisely because he imbued “The Peony Pavilion” with so many brilliant elements, I dare to assert that the image of Du Liniang he has crafted stands alongside Tang Xianzu’s original creation as an enduring masterpiece in the history of Chinese opera.
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