le pavillon aux pivoines - Maison des Cultures du Monde

Tu Li-niang: Chun-hsiang, to tell you the
truth, when I strolled in the garden there
was another person there.
Chun-hsiang: What kind of person?
Tu Li-niang: A young man holding a willow
spray. He asked me to compose a verse of
poetry.
Chun-hsiang: And then?
Tu Li-niang: And then… I just saw some petals
falling down, which woke me from sleep.
Chun-hsiang: I thought you meant a real person,
but it was just a dream. Let me go and
ask your father and mother to choose you
an ideal husband. Wouldn’t that be nice?
Tu Li-niang: I am so weak I can hardly stand.
My only fear is that my last wish will not
be realised. Chun-hsiang, when I die you
must bury me beneath the plum tree. Hide
this portrait under the Taihu rock. Remember
well!
Chun-hsiang: Mistress, take care to get well.
Don’t say such sad things. You seem to be
taking a turn for the worse. You rest awhile,
I’ll be right back.
Tu Li-niang: Chun-hsiang, take me to the
plum tree, to find my dream again.
[They go to the garden.]
Today, let me see once more the sights of
this garden.
There beside the mound of Taihu rocks,
Here by the Peony Pavilion,
I recall the intoxicating beauty of spring
When we met in my dream that day.
–33–
Ensemble: Buds of peony inset along the balustrade,
Strand upon strand of weeping willow floss,
Elm-seeds tossed like coins,
At spring’s sweet fragrance
Suddenly the spirit clouds, the mind grows
languid.
Tu Li-niang: Of whose family was that youth
who came so near
And lured me to meet him beside the plum
tree?
As I speak of that moment I grow bashful.
He had the bearing of a scholar,
And by these willows and flowers we slept
together.
Everything looks just as it did, but now it
seems cold and deserted. I feel drawn to this
flowering plum tree. When I die, I should count
it a blessing to be buried in this spot.
My heart is strangely drawn
To this plum tree’s side.
Just as we please ourselves
Which flower of herb we most love,
Could we only live or die at will,
Then who would moan for bitter pain?
Let me commit my fragrant spirit,
Though rains be dank and dear,
To keep company with this plum tree’s roots.
Ensemble: Just as we please ourselves
Which flower of herb we most love,
Could we only live or die at will,
Then who would moan for bitter pain?