Ling, Shuhua
(Beijing 1900-1990 Beijing) : Schriftstellerin, Malerin
Subjects
Art : Painting and Calligraphy
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Index of Names : China
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Literature : China
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Periods : China : People's Republic (1949-)
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Periods : China : Republic (1912-1949)
Chronology Entries (8)
| # | Year | Text | Linked Data |
|---|---|---|---|
| 1 | 1935-1936 |
Bell, Julian. Letters from China. 1935 Letter from Julian Bell to Marie Mauron ;1935. Really, I am falling a bit in love with China – also, platonically, yes, I assure you (for particular reasons, social and so on) with a Chinese woman [Ling Shuhua]. She is charming – the wife of the dean [Chen Yuan] of the Faculty of Letters, a highly intelligent and amiable man, one of Goldie's [G. Lowes Dickinson] students. She's the dauthter of a mandarin, a painter and short story writer, one of the most famous in China. She's sensitive and delicate, intelligent, cultivated, a little malicious, loving those gossipy stories, etc., that are true about everyone, very gay – in short, one of the nicest and most remarkable women I know. Letter from Julian Bell to Virginia Woolf ; Fall 1935. It's lovely country and the Chinese are charming ; lecturing on the moderns, 1890-1914 ; 1914-36. I have to read the writers ; what is one to do : we all write too much ; I shall make the Lighthouse I think, a set book. Letter from Julian Bell to Vanessa Bell ; 23 Oct., 1935. Hsu Hwa [Ling Shuhua] is an intelligent and sensitive angel. Can you imagine someone quite unaffected, very sensitive, extremely good and kind, with a sense of humour and firm hands with life ; she's darling. She comes to my Shakespeare and Modern lectures, which has the good effect of making me lecture my best : when I'm with the students I sometimes don'trouble, or treat them as schoolboys. Letter from Julian Bell to Vanessa Bell ; 22 Nov. 1935. Oh Nessa dear, you will have to meet her [Ling Shuhua] one of these days. She's the most charming creature I've met, and the only woman I know whou would be a possible daughter-in-law to you (she isn't, being married with a charming child and ten years too old) that she is really in our world and one of the most gifted, the nicest, most sensitive and intelligent people in it. I don't know what will happen. I think when I'm cured I shall probably get her involved : at present I'm not physically disturbed – less by her than others – but I know myself well enough to know that the parade follows the fla, etc. Letter from Julian Bell to Vanessa Bell ; 18 Dec. 1935. She's [Ling Shuhua] a desperately serious person, with great reserves of unhappiness : she says she's lost faith in everything, and is now working to find love, something to believe in. She's subtle, sensitive, very complicated – also torn between an introspective – analytic part and a very fragile easily-damaged sensibility. And sensible and intelligent. And also very romantic at heart. And, I should imagine, nervously and ecstatically passionate. She wouldn't let me make love to her to any extent at all last night. And she looks lovely… And inexperienced in love. Letter from Julian Bell to Eddy Playfair ; 27 Dec. 1935. She's [Ling Shuhua] very shy, verbally and physically. It's my oddest affair to date. She's as intense and passionate as your old enemy Helen [Soutar] is also a selftorturer and pessimist asking reassurance. And both jealous and not wanting to lose face. On the other hand, intelligent, charming ,sensitive, passionate and a malicious storyteller. And a perfect adviser on social situations : she's saved me gaffes innumerable. Letter from Julian Bell to Vanessa Bell ; 1 Febr. 1936. Our day in the Western Hills spent lookg at temples. Some of them are very lovely, beautifully proportioned courts of white marble : lots of bas-relief that seems to me decent decoration, and some good statues. There's a colossal sleeping Bhudda in a sort of copper-gold who I fancy distinguished statesmen sen him presents of colossal slippers. Then, as you'll see from the photos, we climbed a small mountain. I really lost my heart to the Western Hills… I really could live very happily in Peking. But I think I prefer Charleston. Letter from Julian Bell to Eddy Playfair ; Febr. 1936. In Sichuan there's no real culture – even faintly foreign society. And the Chinese are, I fell very different, if one wants intimacy of intellectual conversation. At least these rather stiff and provincial academics are. Peiping is utterly different ; these are genuine flexible Chinese, come intelligent foreigners mix with them. Letter from Julian Bell to Virginia Woolf ; Fall 1936. China's leading woman writer, my Dean's wife with whom I'm platonically in love is a passionate admirer of your work. |
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| 2 | 1938-1939 |
Letters between Virginia Woolf and Ling Shuhua. Letter from Virginia Woolf to Ling Shuhua ; 5 April, 1938. Dear Sue Ling, I hope you have had the letter I wrote in answer to your first letter. I wrote only a few days after I had yours. Now Vanesse [Bell] has just sent on your letter of March 3rd. I wish I could help you. I know what you have much more reason to be unhappy than we have even ; and therefore how foolish any advice must be. But my only advice – and I have tried to take it myself – is to work. So let us think how you could fix your mind upon something worth doing in itself. I have not read any of your writing, but Julian often wrote to me about it, and meant to show me some of it. He said too that you had lived a most interesting life ; indeed, we had discussed – I think in letters – the chance that you would try to write an account of your life in English. That is what I would suggest now. Your English is quite good enough to give the impression you wish to make ; and I could change anything difficult to understand. Will you make a beginning, and put down exactly anything you remember ? As no one in England knows you, the book could be more free than usual. Then I would see if it could not be printed. But please think of this : not merely as a distraction, but as a work that would be of great value to other people too. I find autobiographies much better than novels. You ask what books I would advise you to read : I think the English in the 18th Century wrote in the best way for a foreigner to learn from. Do you like letters ? There are Cowpers, [Horace] Walpoles ; very clear and easy ; Scotts novels ; (Rob Roy) ; Jane Austen ; then Mrs. Gaskells life of Charlotte Brontë ; then among modern writers, George Moore's novels – they are simply written too. I could send you English books, but I do not know if you have them already. But from your letters I see that you write very well ; you need not copy others, only find new words by reading quickly. I say nothing about politics. You know from what I said before how strongly the English are on your side but cannot do anything to help. We hear about China from friends here. But perhaps now there will be a change. The worst may be over. At any rate please remember that I am always glad if you will write and tell me anything about yourself : or politics : and it would be a great pleasure to me to read some of your writing, and criticize it : so think of writing your life, and if you only write a few pages at a time, I could read them and we could discuss it. I wish I could do more. We send you our best sympathy. Yours Virginia Woolf. Letter from Ling Shuhua to Virginia Woolf ; 25 May, 1938. I'm thinking all the stories I had told Julian and them down would be something to the Western people, perhaps some people with free thoughts or others who sympathize with all things human. If I could write this book in a very natural way – from it people coulde see some truths of life and art or sex which Westerners never have a chance even to think about them, that would be something worth doing. Letter from Ling Shuhua to Virginia Woolf ; 16 Nov. 1938. During these last weeks as all bad news brought out at once, we lost [Guangzhou] unexpectedly and Hankow [Hankou] had to withdraw our troops, and the West being in a helpless condition… As I understand that it is useless to got to the front to fight for we cannot find our enemy, we only see the machines… I dream… I saw my house in the ruin and broken furnitures, outside the hous the laying corps, the unburied corpses smelling badly. I think perhaps you would like to know a bit of extreme miserable mind feeling so I wrote this to tell you. Letter from Virginia Woolf to Ling Shuhua ; 9 April, 1938. Dear Sue Ling, I got your letter written on March 3rd a few days ago, and ansered it at once. But stupidly I forgot to send it by airmail – so I write this to tell you that I have written. And the olny thing of any interest I had to say was to ask you to write your autobiography, and to say I will gladly read it and give it any correction it needs. Now your other letter (March 24th) has just come, in which you tell me that you have begun to write this. I am so glad. Julian always told me that you had lived a most interesting life : and you say he also wanted you to write it down – simply, as it comes, not bothering about grammar at all. I also asked if you would like me to send you any old English books – 18th Century ones perhaps – so that you could learn words. But you will find this in my letter. Let me know if I can do anything to help you in your work. I am certain work is the only way in which one can live at this moment. I will send this now, and hope you will get it soon. We send our sympathy and shall always wish for news both of you and of your war, and politics. Yrs Virginia Woolf Letter from Ling Shuhua to Virginia Woolf ; 24 July, 1938. [Betr. Ling, Shu-hua. Ancient melodies [ID D31562]. If my book could give English readers some picture of real Chinese lives, some experience about Chinese who are as ordinary as any English people, some truth of life and sex which your people never have a chance to see it even seen by a child in the East, I shall be contented. I'm not those who only want satisfy readers' curiosity whether or not it's true to. Letter from Virginia Woolf to Ling Shua ; 27 July, 1938. Dear Madame Sue Ling, I have just seen Christopher Isherwood, who gave me the lovely little box with the two little gifts from you. I need not say that I am much touched that you should have got them for me, and I shall keep them on my table—not as a memory of you, for I have never seen you, but all the same I think of you often. Thank you so much. I heard from him how much they had enjoyed seeing you. But he was only here for a moment, and I did not have time to get much information from him. I hope however that you are going on with your work. I am sending you two little books, one is the [Mrs Gaskell] life of Charlotte Bronte, the other Lambs Essays. I think Lamb wrote very good English prose—but do not bother to read it as an exercise; only for pleasure—The life of Charlotte Bronte will perhaps give you a feeling for the lives of women writers in England in the 19th century—their difficulties, and how she overcame them. And it is a very interesting life in other ways. But I will send other books from time to time, on condition that you do not think you must thank me for them. And certainly you must never think of paying for them. They are so cheap in England. I can buy them for a few pence. Tell me the names of any you think you would like. We are just going down to Sussex, and I hope to have more time there. London is so crowded. There is a quiet time here politically for the moment. That is to say we are waiting for what Hitler may do next. People are tired of talking about war; but all the same we do nothing but buy arms. The air is full of aeroplanes at the moment. I hope some day you will write again and tell me how you are getting on with your work. And please remember how glad I shall be to give you any help I can in reading it and correcting any mistakes. But write exactly as you think—that is the only way. With my love, good bye. Please call me Virginia. I do not like being Mrs Woolf. Virginia Woolf. Letter from Virginia Woolf to Ling Shuhua ; 15 Oct., 1938. I am typing this, so as to save your eyes, for my writing is so hard to read. At last I have read the chapter you sent me – I put it off, for one reason At last I have read the chapter you sent me – I put it off, for one reason and another. Now I write to say that I like it very much. I think it has a great charm. It is also of course difficult for an English Person, at first, there is some incoherence, and one does not understand the different wives ; who they are ; which is speaking. But this becomes clear after a time, and then I feel a charm in the very unlikeness. I find the similes strange and poetical. How far it can be read by the public as it stands, I do not know. That I could only say if you would go on sending me more chapters. Then I should get the whole impression. This is only a fragment. Please go on ; write freely ; do not mind how directly you translate the Chinese into the English. In fact I would advise you to come as close to the Chinese both in style and meaning as you can. Give as many natural details of the life of the house, of the furniture as you like. And always do it as if you were writing Chinese. Then if it were to some extent made easy grammatically by someone English I think it might be ossible to keep the Chinese flavor and make it both understandable yet strange for the English. One of the reasons why I did not read it or write before was that we have been so uneasy in England ; we were almost sure of war. Everything was ready, even the gas masks served out, and orders given to house children from London. This atmoshphere made it difficult to fix ones mind on books. Now for the time at least that strain is over. Please forgive me then for having been so long in writing. Next Time you send me more chapters – soon I hope – I will write more quickly. We are just going to London. The houses there are still protected many of them with sand bags. But in China I know things are far worse. I find the only relief is to work. And I hope you will go on, writing, for it might be a very interesting book. Did you get a letter I wrote in August, and a parcel of books ? Tell me, for if they came sage I will send more. It is easy to get books cheaply in London. Please never think of paying for them. It is a great pleasure to me to send them. Tell me what you like. It is difficult to know. I am keeping the manuscript you sent. I can read your writing quite easily, so don't bother to type. Yours with love, Virginia Woolf Letter from Ling Shuhua to Virginia Woolf ; 31 Dec. 1938. I know there is very little chance for me to write a good book in English for the tool I use to do my work in something which I can not handle well. It is true in cooking too, if one uses a foreign pin [pan] or stove to cook a Chinese dish, it won't come out the same as the original. It often loses some good taste. In writing I don't know how far it counts. When I read a good translation, I feel a relief at once… Dear Virginia, I want you to tell me what shall I do since I am in a state of nervous tension. Oh, yet, how I hope you would be as kind as before to tell me to try it, don't despair. Letter from Virginia Woolf to Ling Shuhua ; 17 April, 1939. Dear Sue, I am so glad to hear that you have at last got my letter safely. I will always send them by air mail in future. I have heard several times from you, and I am keeping your chapters as they come. But I hope you keep copies, so that there may be no risk through the post. It is difficult to know what to advise you to do, except that I am sure you ought to go on writing. The difficulty is as you say about the English. I feel that the whole feeling of the book would be very much spoilt if some English were to put what you write into formal English prose; yet of course as it stands it is difficult for English readers to get at your full meaning. I suppose you could not dictate to an educated English person? Perhaps in that way the sense and the feeling could be combined. But it would depend entirely upon finding some¬one who could be quick enough to understand and able to express. I must of course leave this to you, as I do not know what opportunities you have. Meanwhile, I think it is best to get together as many chapters as possible; and then to read them all through together. One cannot get a true impression if one reads in little bits. But I have seen enough to be interested and charmed. Publication would of course depend upon many things so that it is useless to think of it—things we cannot control. But please go on, and let us hope that it will become more hopeful for books later. At the moment we are finding it very difficult to continue our publishing for nobody will read anything except politics; and we have had to make plans for taking our press away from London, and of course have to face the prospect, should there be war, of shutting up our publishing house altogether. It is very difficult to go on working under such uncertainty. But I myself feel it is the only pos¬sible relief from the perpetual strain. It has become worse here, since Italy also began to steal land [Albania]. We do not know if the American presi¬dent's appeal will be heard. If not, there is nothing can prevent war. We are spending Easter in the country; but all the time aeroplanes are crossing the house and every day we hear of some unfortunate refugee who asks for help. I am reading Chaucer and trying to write about our friend Roger Fry. Also Vanessa and her children come over and we play bowls, and try to go on with our painting and gardening as if we were sure of living another ten years. When I go to London I will see if I can find some books to send you. Only I find it so difficult to guess what you would like. Never mind; books are very cheap; and you can always throw them away. I have not seen Christopher Isherwood as I had hoped but he and Mr Auden like so many people have gone to America. They dont like it, I hear; but at any rate there is more feeling of security there; and they can work better so they say. But I had wanted to hear more about you. It seems millions of miles away—your life, from this. It is full spring here; and our garden has blue, pink, white flowers—and all the hills are deep green, but very small; and our little river is about as big as a large snake; Julian used to wade across it; and sail a tiny boat. On the other hand, people crowd together. We are hardly ever alone even for a day. Would you like this change of proportion? I often envy you, for being in a large wild place with a very old civilisation. I get hints of it in what you write. Do you ever send Vanessa your paintings? Please write whenever you like; and what¬ever happens please go on with your autobiography; for even though I cannot help yet with it, it will be a great thing to do it thoroughly. I am giving you the advice I try to take myself—that is to work without caring what becomes of it, for the sake of doing something impersonal. I will send this by air, and let me know if it comes safely. If so, I will go on if you dont mind these very scrappy letters; written in a garden house, after my morning working at my book. Yours Virginia Woolf Letter from Virginia Woolf to Ling Shuhua ; 16 July, 1939. Dear Sue, I am afraid that I have been very bad about answering your letters. It is partly that I am a very bad letter writer—after writing all the morning about Roger Fry, I hate the type writer. And then we went to France for a holiday, driving about Brittany; and directly after that my mother in law had an accident; was ill and died. And now we have to turn out of this house, which is crammed with books and papers and type and furniture and go to another. 37 Mecklenburgh Square will be our address in Septem¬ber. So I hope you will write there. Also it is difficult to think of any news worth sending. One only caps stories of war—and you have enough of your own. Here they say it must come next month. That is what Harold Nicolson who is in Parliament told me two nights ago. By this time one is so numb that it seems impossible to feel anything, save that dull vague gloom. We are getting used, I suppose. But it will be different when it comes. Like you, I find work the best thing; and I have more than I can do. It is dull work—sorting letters, trying to find quotations; trying to fit them together. Roger Fry left such masses of papers; and they are full of interest; but full too of detail. I keep wanting Julian to help me. I am keeping all your chapters together. As I told you, I shant read them till the book is done. And please go on with it, as it might be of such great interest. I am also sorry that I have never sent more books— I began to feel for one thing that books would never reach you. But I will get some cheap ones this week; chancing that you may like them. There again, I dont know what to send, whether new or old, poetry or fiction or biography. But tell me some time what it is that you would like. Thank you very much for the red and black poster, which I liked. And you say you are sending something else to Vanessa. I am just going to dine with her. That is a great pleasure. And I wish you lived near and could come in. These little meetings are the best things we have at present. We talk about pictures not about war. I am so sorry for all you are having to suffer—but what is the use of saying that, all these miles away? Any time you want to write please do. The letter will be sent on. Next week we go down to Sussex, Monk's House, Rodmell, Lewes is the address. Will one be able to work? Will one have to fill the house with refugees? There are aeroplanes always round us; and air raid shelters—but I still believe we shall have peace. And there I will stop. With my love and believe in my sympathy, futile as it seems. Yours Virginia Woolf |
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| 3 | 1940 |
Letter from Vanessa Bell to Ling Shuhua ; 17 March, 1940. [Vanessa received a letter with New Year's pictures from Ling Shuhua]. They are lovely. Especially I think those on their paper which I suppose are those of the different gods. I had never seen anything like them before. I wonder if other people in England who know about Chinese things, such as Arthur Waley have seen things like these. I think I must try to show them to him. They are such exquisite color and drawing and we have all been looking at them again and again and thinkins how wonderful it is that such a present should have reached us her in the midst of the war, where one seems to be completely shut out from the outside world. |
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| 4 | 1938 | Ling Shuhua schreibt 1938, kurz nach dem Tod von Julian Bell : I happened to come across and read Virginia Woolf 's A toom of one's own, and I was quite carried away by her writing, so suddenly I decided to write and see if she were in my situation, what she would do. |
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| 5 | 1945 | Ling Shuhua und Chen Xiying verlassen China und reisen nach England. Ling arbeitet für die Sino-British Culture Association und später für die UNESCO. | |
| 6 | 1946 | Ling Shuhua left China for London with her daughter and Vanessa Bell helped her when she arrived in England. | |
| 7 | 1953 |
Ling, Shuhua. Gu yun. In : Ling Shuhua san wen xuan ji. Zhu Xiaozheng bian. (Tianjin : Bai hua wen yi chu ban she, 1986). (Bai hua san wen shu xi). [Ancient melodies]. 古韵 / 凌叔華散文選集 Ling schreibt : "Once Uncle Ku [Gu Hongming] came together with Uncle Liang. Perhaps because of something Uncle Liang had said of him, Uncle Ku, before sitting down, handed an English book to my cousin, crying, 'I'll let you hear if I can recite Paradise Lost or not. Uncle Liang said I was boasting. Confucius taught us, 'No modesty against morality'. When it comes to learning, I'm against the least modesty." "With these words, he began to recite steadily and smoothly. My eyes quickly followed my cousin's fingers (at that time I knew no more English than the alphabet). Goodness, he finished the nearly thousand lines of Milton's Paradise Lost without a single mistake ! Then his eyes shone the splendor of the cat's-eye, at the sight of which one was filled with so much admiration as to be ready to kowtow to him. Then, as it seems, he would go on with more books to stop Uncle Liang's mouth, when Father started and managed to divert him with other topics." |
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| 8 | 1989 | Ling Shuhua kehrt krankheitshalber nach Beijing zurück. |
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Bibliography (3)
| # | Year | Bibliographical Data | Type / Abbreviation | Linked Data |
|---|---|---|---|---|
| 1 | 1953 | Su, Hua [Ling, Shuhua]. Ancient melodies. With an introd. by V. Sackville-West. (London : Hogarth Press, 1953). [Autobiographie]. | Publication / LingS1 |
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| 2 | 1953 | Ling, Shuhua. Nie verklungne Melodie. Mit einem Geleitwort von V[ita] Sackville-West ; Übertr. Aus dem Englischen von Sonja Mariasch. (Zürich : Arche, 1953). Übersetzung von Su, Hua [Ling, Shuhua]. Ancient melodies. With an introd. by V. Sackville-West. (London : Hogarth Press, 1953). [Autobiographie]. | Publication / LingS2 | |
| 3 | 1989 | Ling, Shuhua. Dopo la festa. Trad. e nota di Maria Rita Masci. (Palermo : Sellerio, 1989). (La memoria ; 188). Übersetzung von Ling, Shuhua. Jiu hou. In : Fa biao yu ; no 1 (1925). = (Beijing : Dong fang chu ban she, 2004). 酒后 | Publication / MasM22 |
Secondary Literature (3)
| # | Year | Bibliographical Data | Type / Abbreviation | Linked Data |
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| 1 | 1980 | Hürsch, Katharina. Ling Shu-hua und der Aufbruch ins neue China : Leben und Werk zwischen Welten. Lic. phil. Univ. Zürich, 1980. [Ling Shuhua]. | Publication / HürK1 | |
| 2 | 1994 | Lang-Tan, Goatkoei. Women in love : two short stories of Ling Shuhua (1904-) compared to Katherine Mansfield’s (1888-1923) Psychology (1921). In : Chinese literature and European context : proceedings of the 2nd international sinological symposium, Smolenice Castle, 1993. Ed. by Marián Gálik. Bratislava : Institute of Asian and African Studies, 1994. | Publication / Mans3 | |
| 3 | 2003 | Laurence, Patricia. Lily Briscoe's Chinese eyes : Bloomsbury, modernism, and China. (Columbia, S.C. : University of South Carolina Press, 2003). [Betr. Virginia Woolf, Ling Shuhua, Julian Bell]. | Publication / Woolf3 |
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