Canonical Classics ← 第八十回
第八十回
姹chà女nǚ育yù陽yáng求qiú配pèi偶ǒu
心xīn猿yuán護hù主zhǔ識shí妖yāo邪xié

The Fair Girl, Nursing the Yang, Seeks a Mate · The Mind-Ape, Guarding His Master, Knows a Fiend

口念番經
模式 Mode Read Study
拼音 Pinyin Off
字體 Script 繁
原文 Original text 繁體 Traditional Reader's edition 含詞賦 With rhapsody

口念番經 He Chants a Foreign Sutra

身shēn著zhuó頗pō羅luó毛máo線xiàn服fú,一yì雙shuāng白bái眼yǎn亮liàng如rú銀yín。身shēn着zhuó颇pō罗luó毛máo线xiàn服fú,一yì双shuāng白bái眼yǎn亮liàng如rú银yín。
手shǒu中zhōng搖yáo著zhe播bō郎láng鼓gǔ,口kǒu念niàn番fān經jīng聽tīng不bù真zhēn。手shǒu中zhōng摇yáo着zhe播bō郎láng鼓gǔ,口kǒu念niàn番fān经jīng听tīng不bù真zhēn。
三sān藏zàng原yuán來lái不bú認rèn得dé,這zhè是shì西xī方fāng路lù上shàng喇lǎ嘛ma僧sēng。三sān藏zàng原yuán来lái不bú认rèn得dé,这zhè是shì西xī方fāng路lù上shàng喇lǎ嘛ma僧sēng。

逐句解 Line by line

身shēn著zhuó頗pō羅luó毛máo線xiàn服fú,一yì雙shuāng白bái眼yǎn亮liàng如rú銀yín。 身shēn着zhuó颇pō罗luó毛máo线xiàn服fú,一yì双shuāng白bái眼yǎn亮liàng如rú银yín。

On his body a coat of foreign woollen stuff, / a pair of pale eyes as bright as silver.

Here 著 is zhuó, the verb to wear, not the zhe that holds an action open — the same reading it took in Pilgrim's inventory of his old armour. 頗羅 transcribes the name of a foreign cloth.

手shǒu中zhōng搖yáo著zhe播bō郎láng鼓gǔ,口kǒu念niàn番fān經jīng聽tīng不bù真zhēn。 手shǒu中zhōng摇yáo着zhe播bō郎láng鼓gǔ,口kǒu念niàn番fān经jīng听tīng不bù真zhēn。

In his hand a shaken pellet-drum, / in his mouth a foreign scripture, and one cannot make it out.

This 著 is the sustained zhe, one line after the other reading. A 播郎鼓 is the small drum with two beads on cords that sound when the handle is twisted — a hand-drum used in ritual and, in China, mostly known as a pedlar's rattle.

三sān藏zàng原yuán來lái不bú認rèn得dé,這zhè是shì西xī方fāng路lù上shàng喇lǎ嘛ma僧sēng。 三sān藏zàng原yuán来lái不bú认rèn得dé,这zhè是shì西xī方fāng路lù上shàng喇lǎ嘛ma僧sēng。

Tripitaka did not know him at all: / this was a lama monk of the western road.

喇嘛 is lǎ ma, from the Tibetan bla-ma, a teacher. This is the only lama in the whole book, and the verse has to stop and name him because the reader would not know either.


總評 Commentary

The last line does the work of a caption. Four lines of unfamiliar detail, and then a flat statement telling you what you have been looking at — and telling you that the man on the horse could not tell either.

What the portrait is describing, accurately enough, is Tibetan Buddhist practice as it looked to a sixteenth-century Chinese writer: the cap, the ear-rings, the wool, the hand-drum, the chanting in a language nobody in the party speaks. It is exotic and it is not hostile, which for this novel is unusual treatment.