As is widely acknowledged, the very first foreign language translation of Chinese drama occurred in 1735 when Du Halde (1674–1743)published Prémare’s (1666–1736) French version of

Tchao-chi-cou-eulh,ou l’Orphelin de la Maison de Tchao

in his

Description de l’empire de la Chine

.（日）青木正兒：《中國近世戲曲史 · 上》，王古魯譯，北京：作家出版社，1958年，第117頁。[ Aoki Masaru, (A History of Modern Chinese Opera), trans.WANG Gulu, Beijing: Writers’ Publishing House, 1958, 117. ]；王麗娜：《中國古典小說戲曲名著在國外》，上海：學(xué)林出版社，1988年， 第444頁。[ WANG Lina, (The Overseas Dissemination of Chinese Classical Novels and Plays), Shanghai: Xuelin Press, 1988, 444. ]Mutilated as the rendition was, for Prémare did not take pains to translate all the singing parts into French, it did usher in a Sino-Western theatrical exchange which reached its peak in times of “Chinoiserie”when Voltaire’s highly influential adaptation

The Orphan of China

was staged in 1755. In the following century, this tradition and practice of translating Chinese drama was carried on by Julien (1797–1873) and Bazin (1799–1863), and by virtue of their efforts, many more Chinese plays were showcased to Europeans. Since then, as can be understood,Chinese dramas are predominantly translated into English rather than French. Therefore,

Trois pièces du théatre des Yuan

is a much-awaited rarity to the French readership.This volume is unique chiefly for its selection of a corpus which testifies to its author’s inherent thematic preference. Falaschi states that Yuan dramas offer “illumination on the ways the Chinese people envisaged the place of human beings within the society” (xi). It is arguably this motive that propelled him to focus on three plays out of the extant one hundred pieces of Yuan drama:

L’Automne au palais des Han

by Ma Zhiyuan 馬致遠(yuǎn) (1255–1321),

L’Orphelin des Zhao

by Ji Junxiang 紀(jì)君祥 (?–?), and

Zhao Li offre sa chair

by Qin Jianfu 秦簡夫 (?–?). The common strain in these three pieces is that the protagonists are all faced with a moral dilemma. Wang Zhaojun was admired by the emperor but was forced by the court to be sent to Xiongnu in exchange for peace;Cheng Ying had to make the hard choice between the survival of the orphan from a noble clan and that of his own child; Zhao Li returned to the mountain to honor the pledge he had made to the bandit and offer his flesh in return for the survival of his brother and mother. When confronted with these situations of extreme duress, the protagonists must demonstrate their moral character. These moral dilemmas, in which characters must decide between their own interests and those of others,have in them a compelling cross-cultural nature that could trigger even overseas readers’ selfassessment. Imaging themselves in the characters’ shoes, Western readers, who generally uphold the value system of individualism, might be impressed by the altruism of their Chinese ancient counterparts. To that extent, Falaschi has succeeded in presenting the full spectrum of intense spiritual powers in Yuan drama, which echoes strongly with Wang Guowei’s 王國維 (1877–1927)comment that Yuan drama is the essence of the Yuan people’s “l(fā)ofty and noble spirit.” 王國維：《宋元戲曲史》，北京：中華書局，2015年，第111頁。[ WANG Guowei, (A History of Song and Yuan Dramas), Beijing: Zhonghua Book Company, 2015, 111. ]The book consists of two parts. The “Introduction” opens with the basic elements of Yuan drama, including its genesis, structure, conventions, roles, and themes, as well as editorial concerns. This general overview is followed by a close analysis of the plays. In the case of

L’Automne au palais des Han

, Falaschi is particularly interested in how the playwright Ma Zhiyuan weaves the text from diverse historical sources. After comparing the play with the

Book of Later Han

and the

Book of Han

, she points out that the author’s creation of the plot was inspired by the remorse the emperor expresses on discovering the beauty of Wang Zhaojun (xli). According to Falaschi, her choice of death as a token of remonstrating against Xiongnu’s barbarous mores can be explained by the ethnic and ethnocentric conscience which was ascending in fifth-century China as a result of the then prevalent Confucian idea that “it was better to die than to betray what one believes as ethnic principles” (xlii). Though assuming the secondary role, she is the epitome of loyalty for refusing to go to the territory of her country’s enemy, of filial piety for being unwilling to cause her country a disastrous war, of chastity for preserving the purity of her incorruptible love for the emperor, and of justice for postponing death until fulfilling her mission of securing peace(xlix–l). Yet Falaschi’s analysis goes much deeper than attributing her virtues to the influence of what Mencius put forward as “l(fā)aying down one’s life for righteousness.” She is modern enough to turn readers’ eyes to her suicide as an outcry against the policy of matrimonial diplomacy which ignored the truth that all humans had their values and sentiments bigger than their life. The death of Wang Zhaojun stirred a reformatory chord in Khan who would reflect on the profundity of her sentiments, the caprice of his order, as well as the shamefulness of his licentious antics. Her jumping into the border river led to the emperor’s rude awakening that one’s cultural identification was predestined, substantial, and unchangeable, regardless of what political manipulation or coercion was employed. Zang Maoxun 臧懋循 (1550–1620), the editor of well-renowned

Yuan Quxuan

《元曲選》 (Selection of Yuan Plays) had a high regard for

Autumn in Han Palace

, putting the play at the beginning of his anthology. Falaschi’s analysis of the play in its historical and ethical contexts offers a fresh interpretation. A similar treatment is also to be found in her analysis of the

L’Orphelin des Zhao

and

Zhao Li offre sa chair

as well.

As can be expected, the other portion of the book is devoted to a full translation of the three plays. Theatrical translation has long been controversial since its practitioners are often torn between perfomability and fidelity to the original text. Though the purpose of translating Yuan dramas is usually not to have it performed, translators are nonetheless faced with puns, allusions,and unique cultural elements embedded therein. The lyrics can be elusive and translators must be careful in their wording, especially when characters are expressing their emotions. Falaschi’s translation distinguishes itself from its predecessors by its high quality. Take the following excerpt for example:

Source Language:

〖唱〗

『雙調(diào)』

【新水令】

我則見蕩征塵飛過小溪橋，

多管是損忠良賊徒來到。

齊臻臻擺著士卒，

明晃晃列著槍刀。

眼見的我死在今朝，

更避甚痛笞掠。

Prémare’s version:

(Il chante.) Quelle poussière s’élève ? Quelle troupe de soldats vois-je arriver ? C’est sans doute le voleur; il faut me résoudre à mourir. Jean-Baptiste Du Halde, (Geographical, Historical, Chronological, Political, and Physical Descriptions of the Empire of China and Chinese-Tartary) (Paris: Pierre-Gilles Le Mercier, 1735), 362.

Julien’s version:

Il chante sur l’air:

Choang-tiao-sin-choui-ling.

Je vois un nuage de poussière qui vole en tourbillons, et traverse le pont de la petite rivière. Je pense que ces brigands, qui immolent les hommes vertueux, viennent fondre sur moi. Les soldats sont rangés par pelotons serrés, ils marchent d’un pas rapide et font étinceler le glaive et la lance. Je vois que je vais mourir ce matin. Eh bien! j’échapperai ainsi aux douleurs des verges et des tortures ! Stanislas Julien, (Tchao-Chi-Kou-Eulor the Orphan of China:drama in prose and verse: accompanied by historical pieces that provided the subject, news and Chinese poetry) (Paris:Moutardier, 1834), 72.

Falaschi’s version：

CHANT DES EAUX NOUVELLES

Je vois un nuage de poussière mena?ant traverser le pont du torrent.

Ce sont sans doute ces brigands qui anéantissent les gens bienveillants.

Les soldats sont parfaitement disposés,

Leurs lances et leurs glaives brillants bien alignés.

Je constate ainsi que je mourrai ce matin même!

Et que je ne saurai éviter la douleur des coups de baton?

. . .

[Explanatory note provided by Falaschi]: *Chi 笞 signifie ? frapper un coupable avec une latte de bambou ? ; lüe 掠 ? bastonner ? (113–14)

Historically, there existed before Falaschi’s two major French versions of

L’Orphelin des Zhao

: Prémare’s and Julien’s. The above scene is set right after Cheng Ying and Gongsun Chujiu have discussed and decided their conspiracy to save the orphan. And the latter has been mentally prepared to confront the foreseeable torture which would necessarily lead up to his death. The above opening Chinese lyrics of Act III sung by the male lead depicts on one side what he beheld far across his abode and unfolds on the other his unwavering determination to be a martyr for the noble cause.The first version by Prémare is one of the few arias that he chose to translate for the entire play, arguably out of his regard for informing his readers of Tu’an Gu’s arrival and also emphasizing the character’s valiance. To translate, Prémare extracted some fragmentary elements from the original, such as

chen

塵 (poussière),

shizu

士卒 (soldats),

zeitu

賊徒 (voleur), expanded them into simple short sentences to offer a sketch of Gongsun’s sight, and then brought them to a summarizing description of his mentality that he has made up his mind to die. Abridged as Prémare’s version is, it represented one of the earliest strategies to render lyrics meaningful to French readers.

It was almost one hundred years later when this poem was for the first time to be fully reckoned with in French. Julien’s translation was effected in the form of prose, which gave him leeway for further elucidation, as can be seen from the supplementary narrative clauses “viennent fondre sur moi” (came to attack me) and “ils marchent d’un pas rapide” (they marched in a very rapid step) that have no literal equivalences in the original. The addition of these actions implies that Julien was not satisfied with a mere static picture of the source, and endeavored to explain to his readers what was happening both in Gongsun’s mind’s eye and in the outside world. Julien claimed that his version outdid Prémare’s primarily by including all the singing parts that Prémare left out. In the middle of the nineteenth century, it probably could not be denied that such an approach would indeed enable the play to be read more smoothly and make it more vivid as a story.For curious Western readers who had but a scanty knowledge of Chinese drama and were inclined to appreciate Chinese theater as a part of their endeavor to know more about China, it must have worked. However, this was done at the cost of the original poetic form.

Falaschi has restored it as poetry, as is evident from the pattern of separate lines, the rhyme scheme, and her interpretation of the tune title. For the key phrase “笞掠,” which Prémare omitted and Julien rendered as “douleurs des verges” (the pains of rods), Falaschi not only pins its meaning down as “des coups de baton” (the strokes delivered by sticks) but also supplies it with an explanatory note. More importantly, for the last stanza, Julien mistranslated “更避甚痛笞掠” as“ j’échapperai ainsi aux douleurs des verges et des tortures!”(I am going to escape from the pains of rods in this way). His obvious failure to grip the tone resulted in a compromising image of the soliloquist, for “ainsi” suggested that Gongsun intented to choose death as his way of escaping sufferings. Falaschi’s translation was correct in translating it as “je ne saurai éviter la douleur des coups de baton?” (I will not escape the sufferings of the strokes of stick) which implies that Gongsun fears no death.

Her translation is faithful to the original, lucid and lively in its style. For francophone students of Chinese classical plays, the whole work is certainly a high-quality guide to a comprehensive and cross-cultural understanding of Yuan drama.