I. PARADISE LOST?
IT is a curious thing that among the myriad creations on this planet, while the entire
plant life is deprived from taking any attitude toward Nature and practically all
animals can also have no "attitude" to speak of, there should be a creature called
man who is both self-conscious and conscious of his surroundings and who can therefore
take an attitude toward it. Man' s intelligence begins to question the universe, to
explore its secrets and to find out its meaning. There are both a scientific and a
moral attitude toward the universe. The scientific man is interested in finding out
the chemical composition of the inside and crust of the earth upon which he lives,
the thickness of the atmosphere surrounding it, the quantity and nature of cosmic
rays dashing about on the top layers of the atmosphere, the formation of its hills
and rocks, and the law governing life in general. This scientific interest has a
relationship to the moral attitude, but in itself it is a pure desire to know and
to explore. The moral attitude, on the other hand, varies a great deal, being sometimes
one of harmony with nature, sometimes one of conquest and subjugation, or one of
control and utilization, and sometimes one of supercilious contempt. This last
attitude of supercilious contempt toward our own planet is a very curious product
of civilization and of certain religions in particular. It springs from the fiction
of the " Lost Paradise, " which, strange to say, is pretty generally accepted as being
true today, as a result of a primitive religious tradition.
It is amazing that no one ever questions the truth of the story of a lost Paradise.
How beautiful, after all, was the Garden of Eden, and how ugly, after all, is the
present physical universe? Have flowers ceased to bloom since Eve and Adam sinned?
Has God cursed the appie tree and forbidden it to bear fruit because one man sinned,
or has He decided that its blossoms should be made of duller or paler colors? Have
orioles and nightingales and skylarks ceased to sing? Is there no snow upon the
mountain tops and are there no reflections in the lakes? Are there no rosy sunsets
today and no rainbows and no haze nestling over villages, and are there no falling
cataracts and gurgling streams and shady trees? Who therefore invented the myth that
the "Paradise" was " lost" and that today we are living in an ugly universe? We are
indeed ungrateful spoiled children of God.
A parable has to be written of this spoiled child. Once upon a time there was a man
whose name we will not yet mention. He came to God and complained that this planet
was not good enough for him, and said he wanted a Heaven of Pearly Gates. And God
first pointed out to the moon in the sky and asked him if it was not a good toy, and
he shook his head. He said he didn't want to look at it. Then God pointed out to the
blue hills in the distance and asked him if the lines were not beautiful, and he said
they were common and ordinary. Next God showed him the petals of the orchid and the
pansy, and asked him to put out his fingers and touch gently their velvety lining
and asked if the color scheme was not exquisite, and the man said, "No. " In His
infinite patience. God took him to an aquarium, and showed him the gorgeous colors
and shapes of Hawaiian fishes, and the man said he was not interested. God then took
him under a shady tree and commanded a cool breeze to blow and asked him if he couldn't
enjoy that, and the man replied again that he was not impressed. Next God took him
to a mountain lake and showed him the light of the water, the sound of winds whistling
through a pine forest, the serenity of the rocks and the beautiful reflections in
the lake, and the man said that still he could not get excited over it. Thinking that
this creature of His was not mild-tempered and wanted more exciting views, God took
him then to the top of the Rocky Mountains, the Grand Canyon, and caves with
stalactites and stalagmites, and geysers, and sand dunes, and the fairyfinger-shaped
cactus plants on a desert, and the snow on the Himalayas, and the cliffs of the Yangtse
Gorges, and the granite peaks of the Yellow Mountains, and the sweeping cataract of
Niagara Falls, and asked him if He had not done everything possible to make this planet
beautiful to delight his eyes and his ears and his stomach, and the man still clamored
for a Heaven with Pearly Gates. "This planet, " the man said, "is not good enough
for me. " "You presumptuous, ungrateful rat ! " said God. "So this planet is not good
enough for you. I will therefore send you to Hell where you shall not see the sailing
clouds and the flowering trees, nor hear the gurgling brooks and live there forever
till the end of your days. " And God sent him to live in a city apartment. His name
was Christian.
It is clear that this man is pretty difficult to satisfy. There is a question as to
whether God can create a heaven to satisfy him. I am sure that with his millionaire
complex, he will be pretty sick of the Pearly Gates during his second week in Heaven,
and God will be at His wits' end to invent something else to please this spoiled child.
Now it must be pretty generally accepted that modern astronomy, by exploring the
entire visible universe, is forcing us to accept this earth itself as a very heaven,
and the Heaven that we dream of must occupy some space, and occupying some space,
it must be somewhere among the stars in the firmament, unless it is in the
inter-stellar void. And since this Heaven is to be found in some star, with or without
moons, my imagination rather fails to conceive of a better planet than our own. Of
course there may be a dozen moons instead of one, colored pink, purple, Prussian blue,
cabbage green, orange, lavender, aquamarine, and turquoise, and in addition there
may be better and more frequent rainbows. But I suspect that a man who is not satisfied
with one moon will also get tired of a dozen moons, and one who is not satisfied with
an occasional snow scene or rainbow , will be equally tired of better and more frequent
rainbows. There may be six seasons in a year instead of four, and there will be the
same beautiful alternation of spring and summer and day and night, but I don't see
how that will make a difference. If one doesn't enjoy spring and summer on earth,
how can he enjoy spring and summer in Heaven? I must seem to be talking either like
a great fool or an extremely wise man now, but certainly I don't share the Buddhist
or Christian desire to escape from the senses and physical matter by assuming a heaven
occupying no space and constructed out of sheer spirit. P'or myself, I would as soon
live on this planet as on any other. Certainly no one can say that life on this planet
is stale and monotonous. If a man cannot be satisfied with the variety of weather
and the changing colors of the sky. the exquisite flavors of fruits appearing by
rotation in the different seasons, and flowers blooming by rotation in the different
months, that man had better commit suicide and not try to go on a futile chase after
an impossible Heaven that may satisfy God himself and never satisfy man.
As the facts of the case really stand today, there is a perfect, and almost a mystic,
coordination between the sights, sounds, smells and tastes of nature and our organs
of seeing, hearing, smelling and eating. This coordination between the sights and
sounds and smells of the universe and our own perceptive organs is so perfect that
it forms a perfect argument for teleology, so much ridiculed by Voltaire. But we need
not all be teleologists. God might have invited us to this feast, or he might not.
The Chinese attitude is that we will join in the feast whether we are invited or not.
It simply doesn't make sense not to taste the feast when the food looks so tempting
and we have such an appetite. Let the philosophers carry on their metaphysical
researches and try to find out whether we are among the invited guests, but the
sensible man will eat up the food before it gets cold. Hunger always goes with good
common sense.
Our planet is a very good planet. In the first place, there is the alternation of
night and day, and morning and sunset, and a cool evening following upon a hot day,
and a silent and clear dawn presaging a busy morning, and there is nothing better
than that.
In the second place, there is the alternation of summer and winter, perfect in
themselves, but made still more perfect by being gradually ushered in by spring and
autumn, and there is nothing better than that. In ihe third place, there are the silent
and dignified trees, giving us shade in summer and not shutting out the warm sunshine
in winter, and there is nothing better than that. In the fourth place, there are
flowers blooming and fruits ripening by rotation in the different months, and there
is nothing better than that. In the fifth place, there are cloudy and misty days
alternating with clear and sunny days, and there is nothing better than that.
In the sixth place, there are spring showers and summer thunderstorms and the dry
crisp wind of autumn and the snow of winter, and there is nothing better than that.
In the seventh place, there are peacocks and parrots and skylarks and canaries singing
inimitable songs, and there is nothing better than that. In the eighth place, there
is the zoo, with monkeys, tigers, bears, camels, elephants, rhinoceros, crocodiles,
sea lions, cows, horses, dogs, cats, foxes, squirrels, woodchucks and more variety
and ingenuity than we ever thought of, and there is nothing better than that. In the
ninth place, there are rainbow fish, sword fish, electric eels, whales, minnows, clams,
abalones, lobsters, shrimps, turtles and more variety and ingenuity than we ever
thought of, and there is nothing better than that. In the tenth place, there are
magnificent redwood trees, fire-spouting volcanoes, magnificent caves, majestic
peaks, undulating hills, placid lakes, winding rivers and shady banks, and there is
nothing better than that. The menu is practically endless to suit individual tastes,
and the only sensible thing to do is to go and partake of the feast and not complain
about the monotony of life.

II. ON BIGNESS
Nature is itself always a sanatorium. If it can cure nothing else, it can cure man
of megalomania. Man has to be " put in his place, " and he is always put in his place
against nature's background. That is why Chinese paintings always paint human figures
so small in a landscape. In a Chinese landscape called "Looking at a Mountain After
Snow, " it is very difficult to find the human figure supposed to be looking at the
mountain after snow. After a careful search, he will be discovered perching beneath
a pine tree his squatting body about an inch high in a painting fifteen high, and
done in no more than a few rapid strokes. There is another Sung painting of four
scholarly figures  wandering in an autumn forest and raising their heads to look at
the intertwining branches of majestic trees above them. It does one good to feel
terribly small at times. . . -That is why a mountain trip is supposed by the Chinese
to have a cathartic effect, cleansing one's breast of a lot of foolish ambitions and
unnecessary worries.
Man is liable to forget how small and often how futile he is. A man seeing a
hundred-story building often gets conceited, and the best way to cure that
insufferable conceit is to transport that skyscraper in one's imagination to a little
contemptible hill and learn a truer sense of what may and what may not be called
"enormous." What we like about the sea is its infiniteness, and what we like about
the mountain is its enormity. There are peaks in Huangshan or the Yellow Mountains
which are formed by single pieces of granite ;  thousand feet high from their visible
base on the ground to their tops, and half a mile long. These are what inspire the
Chinese artists, and their silence, their rugged enormity and their apparent eternity
account partly for the Chinese love of rocks in pictures. It is hard to believe that
there are such enormous rocks until one visits Huangshan, and there was a Huangshan
School of painters in the seventeenth century, deriving their inspiration from these
silent peaks of granite.
On the other hand, by association with nature's enormities, a man's heart may truly
grow big also- There is a way of looking upon a landscape as a moving picture and
being satisfied with nothing less big as a moving picture, a way of looking upon tropic
clouds over the horizon as the backdrop of a stage and being satisfied with nothing
less big as a backdrop, a way of looking upon the mountain forests as a private garden
and being satisfied with nothing less as a private garden, a way of listening to the
roaring waves as a concert and being satisfied with nothing less as a concert, and
a way of looking upon the mountain breeze as an air-cooling system and being satisfied
with nothing less as an air-cooling system. So do we become big, even as the earth
and firmaments are big. Like the "Big Man" described by Yuan Tsi (A. D. 210-263),
one of China's first romanticists, we"live in heaven and earth as our house. "
The best " spectacle" I ever saw took place one evening on the Indian Ocean. It was
truly immense. The stage was a hundred miles wide and three miles high, and on it
nature enacted a drama lasting half an hour, now with giant dragons, dinosaurs and
lions moving across the sky how the lions' heads swelled and their manes spread and
how the dragons' backs bent and wriggled and curled!  now showing armies of white-clad
and gray-uniformed armies and officers with golden epaulets, marching and
counter-marching and united in combat and retreating again. As the battle and the
chase were going on, the stage-lights changed, and the soldiers in white uniform burst
out in orange and the soldiers in gray uniforms seemed to don purple, while the
backdrop was a flaming iridescent gold. Then as Nature's stage technicians gradually
dimmed the lights, the purple overcame and swallowed up the orange, and changed into
deeper and deeper mauve and gray, presenting for the last five minutes a spectacle
of unspeakable tragedy and black disaster before the lights went out. And I did not
pay a single cent to watch the grandest show of my life.
There is, too, the silence of the mountains, and that silence is therapeutic the
silent peaks, the silent rocks, the silent trees, all silent and all majestic. Every
good mountain with an enclosing gesture is a sanatorium. One feels good nestling like
a baby on its breast.
A disbeliever in Christian Science, I do believe in the spiritual, healing properties
of grand, old trees and mountain resorts, not for curing a fractured shoulder-bone
or an infected skin, but for curing the ambitions of the flesh and diseases of the
soul.

Ill. Two CHINESE LADIES
The enjoyment of Nature is an art, depending so much on one's mood and personality,
and like all art, it is difficult to explain its technique. Everything must be
spontaneous and rise spontaneously from an artistic temperament. It is therefore
difficult to lay down rules for the enjoyment of this or that tree, this or that rock
and this or that landscape in a particular moment, for no landscapes are exactly alike.
He who understands will know how to enjoy Nature without being told. Havelock Ellis
and Van der Velde are wise when they say that what is allowable and what is not
allowable, or what is good and what is bad taste in the art of love between husband
and wife in the intimacy of their bedroom, is not something that can be prescribed
by rules. The same thing is true of the art of enjoying Nature. The best approach
is probably by studying the lives of such people who have the artistic temperament
in them. The feeling for Nature, one's dreams of a beautiful landscape seen a year
ago, and one's sudden desire to visit a certain place these things come in at the
most unex pected moments. One who has the artistic temperament shows it wherever he
goes, and writers who truly enjoy nature will go off in descriptions of a beautiful
snow scene or a spring evening, forgetting entirely about the story or the plot.
Autobiographies of journalists and statesmen are usually full of reminiscences of
past events, while the autobiographies of literary men should mainly concern
themselves with reminiscences of a happy night, or a visit with some of their friends
to some valley. In this sense I find the autobiographies of Rudyard Kipling and G.
K. Chesterton disappointing. Why are the important anecdotes of their lives regarded
as so unimportant, and why are the unimportant anecdotes regarded as so important?
Men, men, men, everywhere, and no mention of flowers and birds and hills and streams!
The reminiscences of Chinese literary men, and also their letters, differ in this
respect. The important thing is to tell a friend in one's letter about a night on
the lake, or to record in one's autobiography a perfectly happy day and how it was
passed. In particular, Chinese writers, at least a number of them, have gone to the
length of writing reminiscences about their married lives. Of these, Mao Pichiang's
Reminiscences of My Concubine, '^ Shen Sanpo's Six Chapters of a
Quoted in ihr section on "Smoke and Incense. "
Floating Life, and Chiang T'an's Reminiscences Under the Lamp-Light are the best
examples. The first two were written by the husbands after their wives' death, while
the last was written in the author's old age during his wife's lifetime.   We will
begin with certain select passages from the Reminiscences Under the Lamp-Light with
the author's wife Ch'iufu as the heroine, and follow it with selections from Six
Chapters of a Floating Life, with Yiin as the heroine. Both these women had the right
temperament, although they were not particularly educated or good poets. It doesn't
matter. No one should aim at writing immortal poetry; one should learn the writing
of poems merely as a way to record a meaningful moment, a personal mood, or to help
the enjoyment of Nature.
Ch'iufu often said to me, "A man's life lasts only a hundred years, and of this hundred
sleep and dream occupy one half, days of illness and sorrow occupy one half, and the
days of swaddling clothes and senile age again occupy one half.   What we have got
left is only a tenth or fifth part. Besides, we who are made of the stuff of willows
can hardly expect to live a hundred years. "
One day when the autumn moon was at its best, Ch'iufu asked a young maid to carry
a ch'in and accompany her to a boating trip among the lotus flowers of the West Lake.
I was then returning from the West River, and when I arrived and found that Ch'iufu
had gone boating, I bought some melons and went after her. We met at the Second Bridge
of the Su Tungp'o Embankment, when Ch'iufu was playing the sad ditty of " Autumn in
Han Palace." Stopping to listen with my gown gathered in my hands, I listened to her
music. At this moment, the hills all around were enveloped in the evening haze, and
the reflections of the stars and the moon were seen in the water. Dif-
(D There are a number of others; for instance, Li Liweng has also two sketches about
his two concubines, who were good singers, personally trained by him.   This is merely
Chinese mathematics.ferent musical sounds came to my ear so that I could not
distinguish whether it was the sounds of the wind in the air, or the sounds of jingling
jade. Before the song was completed, the bow of our boat had already touched the
southern bank of the Garden of Swirling Waters. We then knocked at the gate of the
White Cloud Convent, for we knew the nuns there. After sitting down for a while, the
nuns served us with freshly picked lotus seeds prepared in soup. Their color and their
fragrance were enough to cool one's intestines, a world different from the taste of
meats and oily foods. Coming back, we landed at Tuan's Bridge, where we spread a bamboo
matting on the ground and sat talking for a long time. The distant rumble of the city
rather annoyed our ears like the humming of flies. . . . Then the stars in the sky
became fewer and fewer and the lake was blanketed with a stretch of white. We heard
the drum on top of the city wall and realized that it was already the fourth watch
[ about 3 A.M. ] and carried the ch'in and paddled the boat home.
The banana trees that Ch'iufu planted had already grown big leaves which cast their
green shade across the screen. To have heard raindrops beating upon the leaves in
autumn when lying inclined on a pillow was enough to break one's heart. So one day
I playfully wrote three lines on one of the leaves:
What busybody planted this sapling? Morning tapping, Evening rapping!
Next day, I saw another three lines following them, which read:
It's you who're lonesome, fretting! Banana getting, Banana regretting!
The characters were delicately formed, and they came from Ch'iufu's playful pen. But
I have learnt something from what she wrote.
One night we heard the noise of wind and rain, and the pillows and matting revealed
the cooler spirit of autumn. Ch'iufu was just undressing for the night, and I was
sitting by her side and had just gone through an album of hundred flowers with
inscriptions that I was making. I heard the noise of several yellow leaves falling
upon the floor from the window, and Ch'iufu sang the lines:
Yesterday was better than today;
And this year I'm older than the last.
I consoled her, saying, "One never lives a full hundred years. How can we have time
to wipe the tears for others [the falling leaves]." And with a sigh I laid aside the
painting brush. When the night was getting late, and Ch'iufu wanted to have something
to drink, I found that the fire in the earthen stove had already died out, and the
maid servants were all in dreamland, drooping their heads. I then took the oil lamp
on the table and placed it under the little tea stove, and warmed up a cup of lotus
seeds for her. Ch'iufu has been suffering from an affection in the lungs for ten years,
and always coughs in late autumn and sleeps well only when upholstered on a high pillow.
This year, she is feeling stronger, and we often sit face to face with each other
deep into the night. Perhaps it is due to proper care and nourishment.
I made a dress with a plum-flower design for Ch'iufu, with fragrant snow all over
her body, and at a distance she looked like a Plum Fairy standing alone in a world
of mortal beings. In late spring, when her green sleeves were resting on the balcony ,
butterflies would flit about her temples, not knowing that the season of the Eastern
Wind was already gone.
Last year, the swallows came back later than usual, and when they came, half of the
peach blossoms outside the screen had already bloomed. One day, the clay from their
nest fell down and a young swallow fell to the ground. Afraid that a wild cat might
get it, Ch'iufu immediately took it up, and made a bamboo support for its nest. This
year the same swallows have returned and are chirping around the house. Do they perhaps
remember the one who protected the young one last year?
Ch'iufu loves to play chess but is not very good at it. Every night, she would force
me to play "the conversation of fingers" with her, sometimes till daybreak. I
playfully quoted the line of Chu Chuchia, "At tossing coins and matching grass-blades
you have both lost. I ask you with what are you going to pay me tonight ?" "Are you
so sure I cannot win?" she said, evading the question. "I will bet you this jade tiger.
" We then played and when twenty or thirty stones had been laid, and she was getting
into a worse situation, she let the cat upon the chessboard to upset the game. "Are
you regarding yourself as Yang Kueifei [ who played the same trick upon Emperor T'ang
Minghuang]?" I asked. She kept quiet, but the light of silver candles shone upon her
peach-colored cheeks. After that, we did not play any more.
There are several cassia trees at the Hupao Spring, stretching low over some rocks.
During blossom, its yellow flowers cover up the stone steps, its perfume making one
feel like visiting the Kingdom of Divine Fragrance. I have a weakness for flowers
and often boiled tea^ under them. Ch'iufu plucked the flowers and decorated her hair
with them, but sometimes her hair would be caught or upset by the overhanging branches.
I arranged it and smoothed it with the spring water. On our departure, we plucked
a few (wigs and brought them home, putting them on the back of our cart as we went
through the city streets, that people might know the latest news of the new autumn.
In the Six Chapters of a Floating Life we have the reminiscences of an obscure Chinese
painter about his married life with Yun. They were both simple artistic souls, trying
to snatch every moment of
Cp  Hupao Spring water is famous for making tea.
happiness that came their way, and the story was told in a simple unaffected manner.
Somehow Yiin has seemed to me the most beautiful woman in Chinese literature. Theirs
was a sad life, and yet it was one of the gayest, with a gaiety that came from the
soul. It is interesting to see how the enjoyment of nature came in as a vital part
of their spiritual experience. Below are three passages describing their enjoyment
of the seventh of the seventh moon and the fifteenth of the seventh moon,   both
festivals, and of how they passed a summer inside the city of Soochow:
On the seventh night of the seventh moon of that year [ 1780] Yiin prepared incense,
candles and some melons and fruits, so that we might together worship the Grandson
of Heaven  in the Hall called "After My Heart." I had carved two seals with the
inscription, "That we might remain husband and wife from incarnation to incarnation."
I kept the seal with positive characters, while she kept the one with negative
characters, to be used in our correspondence. That night, the moon was shining
beautifully and when I looked down at the creek, the ripples shone like golden chains.
We were wearing light silk dresses and sitting together with a small fan in our hands,
before a window overlooking the creek. Looking up at the sky, we saw the clouds sailing
through the heavens, changing at every moment into a myriad forms, and Yiin said:
"This moon is common to the whole universe. I wonder if there is another pair of lovers
quite as passionate as ourselves looking at the same moon tonight ?" And I said: "Oh,
there are plenty of people who will be sitting in the cool evening and looking at
the moon, and, perhaps also many women criticising or enjoying the clouds in their
chambers; but when a husband and wife are looking at the moon
  The seventh day of the seventh moon is the only day in the year when the pair of
heavenly lovers, the Cowherd ("Grandson of Heaven") and the Spinster are allowed to
meet each other across the Milky Way.together, I hardly think that the clouds will
form the subject of their conversation. " By and by, the candle-lights went out, the
moon sank in the sky, and we removed the fruits and went to bed.
The fifteenth of the seventh moon was All Souls' Day. Yun prepared a little dinner,
so that we could drink together with the moon as our company, but when night came,
the sky was suddenly overcast with dark clouds. Yun knitted her brow and said: "If
it be the wish of God that we two should live together until there are silver threads
in our hair, then the moon must come out again tonight." On my part I felt disheartened
also. As we looked across the creek, we saw will-o'-the-wisps flitting in crowds
hither and thither like ten thousand candle-lights, threading their way through the
willows and smartweeds. And then we began to compose a poem together, each saying
two lines at a time, the first completing the couplet which the other had begun, and
the second beginning another couplet for the other to finish, and after a few rhymes,
the longer we kept on, the more nonsensical it became, until it was a jumble of slapdash
doggerel. By this time, Yun was buried amidst tears and laughter and choking on my
breast, while I felt the fragrance of the jasmine in her hair assail my nostrils.
I patted her on the shoulder and said jokingly, "I thought that the jasmine was used
for decoration in women's hair because it was round like a pearl; I did not know that
it is because its fragrance is so much finer when it is mixed with the smell of women's
hair and powder. When it smells like that, even the citron cannot remotely compare
with it. " Then Yiin stopped laughing and said: "The citron is the gentleman among
the different fragrant plants because its fragrance is so slight that you can hardly
detect it; on the other hand, the jasmine is a common fellow because it borrows its
fragrance partly from others. Therefore, the fragrance of the jasmine is like that
of a smiling sycophant. ""Why, then, " I said, "do you keep away from the gentleman
and associate with the common fellow?" And Yiin replied, "I am amused by the gentleman
that loves the common fellow. " While we were thus bandying words about, it was already
midnight, and we saw the wind had blown away the clouds in the sky and there appeared
the full moon, round like a chariot wheel, and we were greatly delighted. And so we
began to drink by the side of the window, but before we had tasted three cups, we
heard suddenly the noise of a splash under the bridge, as if some one had fallen into
the water. We looked out through the window and saw there was not a thing, the water
was as smooth as a mirror, except that we heard the noise of a duck scampering in
the marshes. I knew that there was a ghost of some one drowned by the side of the
Ts'anglang Pavilion, but knowing that Yiin was very timid, dared not mention it to
her. And Yiin sighed and said: "Alas! whence cometh this noise ?" and we shuddered
all over. Quickly we shut the window and carried the wine pot back into the room.
A lamp light was then burning as small as a pea, and the curtains moved in the dark,
and we were shaking all over. We then put out the light and went inside the bed curtain,
and Yiin already had run up a high fever. Soon I had a high temperature myself, and
our illness dragged on for about twenty days. True it is that when the cup of happiness
overflows, disaster follows, as the saying goes, and this was also an omen that we
should not be able to live together until old age.
The book is strewn literally with passages of such charm and beauty, showing an
overflowing love of nature, but the following description of how they spent a summer
must suffice:
After we had moved to Ts'angmi Alley, I called our bedroom the "Tower of Guests'
Fragrance," with a reference to Yiin's name,   and to the story of Liang Hung and
Meng Kuang who(D  "Yiin" in Chinese means a certain fragrant weed.as husband and wife
were always courteous to each other "like guests. We rather disliked the house because
the walls were too high and the courtyard was too small. At the back, there was another
house, leading to the library. Looking out of the window at the back, one could see
the old garden of Mr. Lu, then in a dilapidated condition. Yiin's thoughts still
hovered about the beautiful scenery of the Ts'anglang Pavilion.
At this time there was an old peasant woman living on the east of Mother Gold's Bridge
and the north of Kenghsiang. Her little cottage was surrounded on all sides by
vegetable fields and had a wicker gate. Outside the gate, there was a pond about thirty
yards across, surrounded by a wilderness of trees on all sides. ... A few paces to
the west of the cottage, there was a mound filled with broken bricks, from the top
of which one could command a view of the surrounding country, which was an open ground
with a stretch of wild vegetation. Once the old woman happened to mention the place,
and Yiin kept on thinking about it. ... So the next day I went there and found that
the cottage consisted only of two rooms, which could be partitioned into four. With
paper windows and bamboo beds, the house would make quite a delightfully cool place
to stay in. ...
Our only neighbours were an old couple who raised vegetables for the market. They
knew that we were going to stay there for the summer, and came and called on us,
bringing us some fish from the pond and vegetables from their own fields. We offered
to pay for them, but as they wouldn't take any money, Yun made a pair of shoes for
them, which they were finally persuaded to accept. This was in July when the trees
cast a green shade over the place. The summer breeze blew over the water of the pond,
and cicades filled the air with their singing the whole day. Our old neighbour also
made a fishing line for us, and we used to angle together under the shade. Late in
the afternoons, we would go up on the mound to look at the evening glow and compose
lines of poetry, when we felt so inclined. Two of the Beast-clouds swallow the sinking
sun, And the bow-moon shoots the falling stars.
After a while, the moon cut her image in the water, insects began to cry all around,
and we placed a bamboo bed near the hedgerow to sit or lie upon. The old woman then
would inform us that wine had been warmed up and dinner prepared, and we would sit
down to have a little drink under the moon. After we had a bath, we would put on our
slippers and carry a fan, and lie or sit there, listening to old tales of retribution
told by our neighbour. When we came in to sleep about midnight, we felt our whole
bodies nice and cool, almost forgetting that we were living in a city.
There along the hedgerow, we asked the gardener to plant chrysanthemums. The flowers
bloomed in the ninth moon, and we continued to stay there for another ten days. My
mother was also quite delighted and came to see us there. So we ate crabs in the midst
of chrysanthemums and whiled away the whole day. Yiin was quite enchanted with all
this and said: "Some day we must build a cottage here. We'll buy ten mow of ground,
and around it we'll plant vegetables and melons for our food. You will paint and I
will do embroidery, from which we could make enough money to buy wine and compose
poems over dinners. Thus, clad in simple gowns and eating simple meals, we could live
a very happy life together without going anywhere." I fully agreed with her. Now the
place is still there while the one who knows my heart is dead. Alas, such is life!

IV . ON ROCKS AND TREES
I don't know what we are going to do now. We are building houses square and are building
them in a row, and we are having straight roads without trees. There are no more crooked
streets, no more old houses, no more wells in one's garden, and whatever private garden
there is in the city is usually a caricature. We have quite successfully shut nature
out from our lives, and we are living in houses without roofs, the roofs being the
neglected end of a building, left in any old shape after the utilitarian purposes
have been served and the building contractor is a little tired and in a hurry to get
through his job. The average building looks like wooden blocks built by a peevish
or fickle child who is tired of the game before he finishes building, and leaves them
unfinished and uncrowned. The spirit of Nature has left the modern civilized man,
and it seems to me we are trying to civilize the trees themselves. If we ever remember
to plant them on boulevards, we usually number them serially, disinfect them, cut
them and trim them to assume a shape that we humans consider beautiful.
We often plant flowers and lay them out on a plot so that they resemble either a circle,
or a star, or different letters of the alphabet, and we are horrified when some of
the flowers so planted get out of line, as we are horrified when we see a West Point
cadet march out of step, and we proceed to cut them down with scissors. And at
Versailles, we plant these conically cut trees in pairs and arrange them with perfect
symmetry along a perfectly round circle or in perfectly rectilinear rows in army
formation. Such is human glory and power and our ability to train and discipline the
trees as we train and discipline uniformed soldiers. If one tree of a pair grows taller
than the other, our hands itch to cut off its top so as not to let it disturb our
sense of symmetry and human power and glory.There exists, therefore, the great problem
of recovering nature and bringing nature back to the home. This is an exasperating
problem. What can one do with the best artistic temperament, when one lives in an
apartment and away from the soil? How is one going to have a plot of grass or a well
or a bamboo grove even if he is rich e-nough to rent a penthouse? Everything is wrong,
utterly and irretrievably wrong. What has one got left to admire except tall
skyscrapers and lighted windows in a row at night? Looking at these skyscrapers and
these lighted windows in a row at night, one gets more and more conceited about the
power of human civilization and forgets what puny little creatures human beings are.
I am therefore forced to give up the problem as hopeless of solution.
We must begin, therefore, by giving man land and plenty of it. No matter what the
excuse, a civilization that deprives man of land is wrong. But suppose in a future
civilization every man is able to own an acre of land, then he has got something to
start with. He can have trees, his own trees, and rocks, his own rocks. He will be
careful to choose a site where there are already full-grown trees, and if there are
not already full-grown trees, he will plant trees that grow fast enough for him, such
as bamboos and willows. Then he will not have to keep birds in cages, for birds will
come to him and he will see to it that there are frogs in the neighborhood, and
preferably also some lizards and spiders. His children will then be able to study
nature in Nature and not study nature in a glass case. At least his children will
be able to watch how chickens hatch from their eggs and they need not be woefully
ignorant about sex and reproduction as the children of "good" Boston families often
are. And they will have the pleasure of watching a fight between lizards and spiders.
And they will have the pleasure also of getting comfortably dirty.
The Chinese sentiment for rocks has already been explained, or hinted at, in a previous
section.   That explanation sufficiently accounts for the love of rocky peaks in
Chinese landscape painting. This explanation is basic, but it does not sufficiently
account for Chinese rock gardens and the love of rocks in general. The basic idea
is that rocks are enormous, strong and suggest eternity. They are silent, immovable
and have strength of character like great heroes, and they are independent and
detached from life like retired scholars. They are invariably old, and the Chinese
love whatever is old. Above all, from the artistic point of view they have grandeur,
majesty, ruggedness, and quaintness. There is the further sentiment of wei, which
means "dangerous" but is really untranslatable. A tall cliff that rises abruptly three
hundred feet above the ground is always fascinating to look at because of its
suggestion of "danger."
But then it is necessary to go further. As one cannot visit the mountains every day,
it is necessary to have rocks brought to the home. In the case of rock gardens and
artificial rock grottoes, a subject which is difficult for Western travelers in China
to understand and appreciate, the idea is still to retain a suggestion of the rugged,
"dangerous" and majestic lines of rocky peaks. Western travelers are not to blame
because most of the rockeries are done with atrocious taste, and fail to convey the
suggestion of natural grandeur and majesty. Artificial grottoes built out of several
pieces of rock are usually cemented together, and the cement shows. A really artistic
rockery should have the composition and contrast of a painting. There is no question
that the artistic appreciation of artificial rock sceneries and that of mountain rocks
in landscape painting are closely associated, as we find the Sung painter. Mi Fei,
was the author of a book on ink-stones, and there was a book Shihp'u on rocks by a
Sung author, Tu Kuan, giving detailed descriptions of the quality of over a hundred
kinds of rocks produced at different places and used for rockeries, showing that
rockeries were already a highly developed art in the time of the great Sung painters.
Side by side with this appreciation of the grandeur of rocks on mountain peaks, there
developed then a different appreciation of rocks in gardens, emphasizing their color,
texture, surface, grains and sometimes the sounds they produced when struck. The
smaller the stones, the more emphasis was laid on quality of texture and color of
grains. The development along this direction was greatly helped by the hobby of
collecting the finest ink-stones and seals, two things which the literary man in China
daily associated with. Daintiness, texture, light or translucence and shades of color
became then of the first importance, as also in the case of stone, jade and jadeite
snuff bottles, which came later. A good stone seal or a good snuff bottle could cost
six or seven hundred dollars.
For the fullest appreciation of all uses of stone in the house and gardens, however,
one has to go back to Chinese calligraphy. For calligraphy is nothing but a study
of rhythm and line and composition in the abstract. While really good pieces of rock
should suggest majesty or detachment from life, it is even more important that the
lines be correct. By line one does not mean a straight line, or a circle or a triangle,
but the rugged lines of nature. Laotse, "The Old Boy, " always emphasized in his
Taotehching the unearned rock. Let us not tamper with Nature, for the best work of
art, like the best poem or literary composition, is one which shows no sign of human
effort, as natural as a winding river or a sailing cloud, or as the Chinese literary
critics always say, "without ax and chisel marks." This applies to every field of
art. The appreciation is of beauty in irregularity, in lines that suggest rhythm and
movement and gesture. The appreciation of the gnarled roots of an oak tree, sometimes
used as stools in a-rich man's studio, is based on the same idea. Consequently most
of the rockeries found in Chinese gardens are uncut rocks, which may be the fossilized
bark of a tree ten or fifteen feet high standing vertically alone and unmovable like
a great man, or of rocks found in lakes and caves, generally bearing perforations
and having the utmost irregularity of outline. One writer suggested that if the
perforations happen to be perfectly round, some little pebble should be inserted to
break up the regularity of the circle. Rockeries near Shanghai and Soochow are mostly
built of rocks from the Taihu Lake, bearing marks of former sea waves. Such rocks
were dug out of the bottom of the lake, and sometimes when something was needed to
correct their lines, they would be chiseled until they were perfect and let down into
the water again for a year or so, so that the chisel marks might be obliterated by
the movement of water.
The feeling for trees is easier to understand, and is, of course, universal. Houses
without trees around them are naked, like men and women without clothing. The
difference between trees and houses is that houses are built but trees grow, and
anything which grows is always more beautiful to look at than anything which is built.
There are considerations of practical convenience which force us to build our walls
straight and our stories level, although in the matter of floors,there is absolutely
no reason why the foors of different rooms in a house should not be on different levels.
Nevertheless, there is an inevitable tendency to go in for straight lines and square
shapes, and such straight lines and square shapes can be brought into pleasurable
relief only by the company of trees. In the color scheme, too, we dare not paint our
houses green. But nature dares and has painted the trees green.
The wisdom of art consists in concealing art. We are so anxious to show off. In this
respect, I must pay my tribute to a great scholar, Yuan Yuan, who as governor had
an islet built in the water of the West Lake, known today as Governor Yi-ian's Islet,
and who refused to put a single human edifice on the place, not a pavilion, not a
pillar, not even a monument. He completely obliterated himself as an architect. Today
the Governor Yiian's Islet stands in the middle of the lake, a level piece of land
about a hundred yards across, rising barely a foot above the water and planted all
around with willow trees. And today as you stand looking at it on a misty day, the
magic island seems to rise out of the water, and the willow trees cast their
reflections in the water, breaking the monotony of the lake's surface and harmonizing
with it. Therefore Governor Yiian's Islet is in perfect harmony with nature. It is
not obtrusive to the eye, like the lighthouse-shaped monument next to it built by
a student returned from America, which gives me inflammation of the eyelids every
time I look at it. I have made a public promise that if one day I should emerge as
a bandit general and capture Hangchow, my first official act would be to direct a
cannon and blow that lighthouse-shaped thing to pieces.
Out of the myriad variety of trees, Chinese critics and poets have come to feel that
there are a few which are particularly good for artistic enjoyment, due to their
special lines and contours which are aesthetically beautiful from a calligrapher's
point of view. The point is, that while all trees are beautiful, certain trees have
a particular gesture or strength or gracefulness. These trees are therefore picked
out from among the others and associated with definite sentiments. It is clear that
an ordinary olive tree has no rugged manner, for which we go to the pine, and while
a willow is graceful, it can never be said to be "majestic" or "inspiring." There
are then a small number of trees which are more constantly painted in paintings and
sung about in poems. Of these the most outstanding are the pine tree, enjoyed for
its grand manner, the plum tree, enjoyed for its romantic manner, the bamboo tree,
enjoyed for its delicacy of line and the suggestion of the home, and the willow tree,
enjoyed for its gracefulness and its suggestion of slender women.
The enjoyment of the pine tree is probably most notable and of the greatest poetic
significance. It typifies better than other trees the conception of nobility of manner.
For there are trees noble and trees ignoble, trees distinguished for their grand
manner and trees of the common manner. The Chinese artists therefore speak of the
grand old manner of the pine tree, as Matthew Arnold spoke of the grand manner of
Homer. It would be as hopeless to look for this grand manner in willows among the
trees, as it is to look for the grand manner of poetry in Swinburne among the poets.
There are so many kinds of beauty, beauty of tenderness, of gracefulness, of majesty,
of austerity, of quaintness, of ruggedness, of sheer strength, and of a suggestion
of the antique. It is this antique manner of the pine tree that gives the pine a special
position among the trees, as it is the antique manner of a recluse scholar, clad in
a loose-fitting gown, holding a bamboo cane and walking on a mountain path, that sets
him off as the highest ideal among men. For this reason Li Liweng says that to sit
in an orchard full of peach trees and flowers and willows without a pine nearby is
like sitting in the company of young children and women without the presence of an
austere master or old man, whom we can look up to. It is also for this reason that
when Chinese admire pine trees, they go in for the old ones; the older the better,
for then they become more majestic. Classed with the pine tree is the cedar cypress
which has the same manner, particularly the kind known as selaginela involvens, with
twisting, encircling and ruggedly downward-pointing branches. While branches that
stretch upwards toward heaven seem to symbolize youth and aspiration, downward-
pointing branches seem to symbolize the posture of old men bending down toward youth.
I say the enjoyment of pine trees is artistically most significant, because it
represents silence and majesty and detachment from life which are so similar to the
manner of the recluse. This enjoyment is then associated with "stupid" rocks and with
figures of old people loitering around underneath its shade, as we so often see in
Chinese paintings. As one stands there beneath a pine tree, he looks up to it with
a sense of its majesty and its old age, and its strange happiness in its own
independence. Laotse says, "Nature does not talk," nor does the old pine tree. There
it stands silent and imperturbable; from its height it looks down upon us, thinking
it has seen so many children grow up into maturity and so many middle-aged people
pass on to old age. Likewise, old men, it understands everything, but it does not
talk, and therein lie its mystery and grandeur.
The plum tree is enjoyed partly for its romantic manner in its branches, and partly
for the fragrance in its flowers. It is curious that among the trees selected for
our poetic enjoyment, the pine tree, the plum tree and the bamboo are associated with
winter, being known as the "Three Friends of Winter, " for the bamboo tree and the
pine tree are evergreens, while the plum tree blossoms at the end of winter and the
beginning of spring. The plum tree, therefore, in particular, symbolizes purity of
character, the purity that we find in the crisp, cold winter air. Its splendor is
a cold splendor, and like the recluse, the cooler the atmosphere it finds itself in,
the better it prospers. Like the orchid flower, it typifies the idea of charm in
seclusion. A Sung poet and recluse, Lin Hoching, declared that he had married plum
trees as his wives, and had a stork for his son. Today the site of his seclusion on
the Kushan in the middle of the West Lake is an object of pilgrimage for poets and
scholars, and below his tomb is the tomb of the stork, his "son". Now the appreciation
of the plum tree, of its type of fragrance and its outline, is best expressed by this
poet in his famous line of seven words:
An hsiang fou lung yin heng sheh
'Its dim fragrance floats around, its shadow leaning across. " It is admitted by all
poets that the essence of the beauty of the plum is expressed in those seven words
and cannot be improved upon.
The bamboo tree is loved for its delicacy of trunk and leaves, and being more delicate,
it is more enjoyed in the intimacy of a scholar's home. Its beauty is more a kind
of smiling beauty and the happiness it gives us is mild and temperate. Bamboos are
best enjoyed when they are thin and slender and sparse, and for this reason two or
three trees are as good as a whole bamboo grove, either in life or in painting. The
appreciation of its slender outlines makes it possible to paint just two or three
twigs of bamboo in a picture, as it is also possible to paint a single twig of plum
flowers. Somehow its slender lines go very well with the rugged lines of rocks, and
hence one finds always one or two rocks painted along with a few bamboos. Such rocks
are invariably painted as having the beauty of Slender-ness.
The willow grows easily anywhere and often on a bank.   It is the feminine tree par
excellence. That is why Chang Ch'ao counts the willow among the four things in the
universe which touch man's heart most profoundly, and why he says the willow tree
makes a man sentimental. Chinese ladies of slender waist are said to have "willow
waists, " and Chinese female dancers, with their long sleeves and their flowing robe,
try to simulate the movement of willow branches swaying and bowing in the wind. As
willows grow most easily, there are places in China where willows are planted for
miles around and then when a wind blows over them, the effect of the combination is
spoken of as " willow-waves, " or liulang . Furthermore, as orioles love to perch
on their hanging branches, they are associated in pictures or in life with the presence
of orioles, or with cicadas which also love to rest there. One of the ten scenic spots
of the West Lake is(D  I have translated in My Country and My People a passage by
Li Liweng on the enjoyment of the willow tree.therefore called Liulang Wen Ying, or"
Listening to Orioles among Willow-Waves. "
There are of course other trees, and a good number of them admired for other reasons,
like the wut'ung (stercuiia platanitolia), admired for the cleanliness of its bark
and the possibility of carving poems on its smooth surface with a knife. There is
also great love of gigantic old creepers, two or three inches across at their roots,
encircling old trees or rocks. Their encircling and undulating movement contrasts
pleasurably with the straight trunks of erect trees. Sometimes a particularly good
creeper suggests a sleeping dragon and is given that name. Old trees that have zigzag
and more or less sloping trunks are also greatly loved and valued for this reason.
At Mutu, a point on the Taihu Lake near Soochow, there are four such cypress trees
which have been given the four respective names "Pure," "Rare," "Antique" and
"Quaint." "Pure" goes up by a long, straight trunk, spreading out a foliage on top
resembling an umbrella; "Rare" crouches on the ground and rolls along in three zigzag
bands like the letter "Z ; "Antique is bald and bare at the top and broad and stumpy,
with its straggling limbs half dried up and resembling a man's fingers; and "Quaint's"
trunk twists around in spiral formation all the way up to its highest branches.
Above all, the enjoyment of trees is not only in and for themselves, but in association
with other elements of nature, such as rocks, clouds, birds, insects and human beings.
Chang Ch'ao says that "planting flowers serves to invite butterflies, piling up rocks
serves to invite clouds, planting pine trees serves to invite the wind, . . . planting
banana trees serves to invite the rain, and planting willow trees serves to invite
the cicada. " One enjoys the sounds of birds along with the trees, and enjoys the
sounds of crickets along with the rocks, for birds sing where trees are, and crickets
sing where rocks are found. The Chinese enjoyment of croaking frogs, chirping crickets
and intoning cicadas is immeasurably greater than their love of cats and dogs and
other animal pets. Among all the animals, the only one which belongs in the same
category with pine trees and plum trees is the stork, because he, too, is the symbol
of the recluse. As one sees a stork, or even a heron, standing motionless in the marshes
of some secluded pond, dignified, elegant and white and pure, the scholar wishes that
he were a stork himself.
The final picture of man harmonizing with nature and happy because the animals are
happy is best expressed by Cheng Panch'iao (1693-1765) in his letter to his younger
brother, pointing out his disapproval of keeping birds in cages:
In regard to what I said about not keeping birds in cages, I wish to add that it isn't
that I don't love birds, but there is a proper way of loving them. The best way of
keeping birds is to plant hundreds of trees around the house, and let them find in
their green shade a bird kingdom and bird homes. So then, at dawn, when we have waked
up from sleep and are still tossing about in bed, we hear a chorus of chirping songs
like a celestial symphony. When we have got up and put on our gowns and are washing
our faces or gargling our mouths or sipping the morning tea, we see their gorgeous
plumes flitting to and fro, and before we have time to look at one, our eyes are
attracted by another  an enjoyment that is not to be compared with looking at a single
bird in a single cage. Generally the enjoyment of life should come from a view
regarding the universe as a park and the rivers and lakes as a pond, so that all beings
can live according to their nature, and great indeed is such happiness! How does this
compare in kindness and cruelty and in the magnitude of enjoyment with the enjoyment
of a bird in a cage, or of a fish in a jar!

V . ON FLOWERS AND FLOWER ARRANGEMENTS
There seems to be a certain randomness about the enjoyment of flowers and flower
arrangements, as we know it today. The enjoyment of flowers, like the enjoyment of
trees, must begin with the selection of certain noble varieties, with a sense of
grading of their relative standing, and with the association of definite sentiments
and surroundings with definite flowers. To begin with, there is the matter of
fragrance, from the strong and obvious, like that of jasmine, to the delicate, like
that of lilac, and finally to the most refined and subtle kind, like that of the Chinese
orchid. The more subtle and less easily perceivable its fragrance, the more noble
the flower may be regarded. Then there is the matter of color and appearance and charm,
which again varies a great deal. Some are like buxom lassies and others are like
slender, poetic, quiet ladies. Some seem to pander their charms to the crowd, and
others are happy in their own fragrant being and seem contented merely to dream their
hours away. Some go in for a dash of color, while others have a milder and more
restrained taste. Above all, flowers are always associated with the outward
surroundings and seasons of their bloom. The rose is naturally associated in our minds
with a bright sunny spring day; the lotus is naturally associated with a cool summer
morning on a pond; the cassia is naturally associated with the harvest moon and
mid-autumn festivities; the chrysanthemum is associated with the eating of crabs in
late autumn;the plum is naturally associated with snow and together with the narcissus
it forms a definite part of our enjoyment of the New Year. Each seems perfect in its
own natural surroundings, and it is the easiest of all things for lovers of flowers
to make them stand in our mind for definite pictures of the different seasons, as
the holly stands for Christmas.
Like the pine tree and the bamboo, the orchid, the chrysanthemum and the lotus are
selected for certain definite qualities and stand in Chinese literature as symbols
for the gentleman, the orchid more particularly for an exotic beauty. The plum flower
is probably most beloved by Chinese poets among all flowers, and has been partly dealt
with already in the previous section. It is said to be the "first" among the flowers,
because it comes with the New Year and therefore stands first in the procession of
flowers in the course of the year. Opinions differ, of course, and the peony has been
traditionally regarded as the "king of flowers, " particularly in the T'ang Dynasty.
On the other hand, the peony being rich in its colors and its petals, is rather regarded
as the symbol of the rich and happy man, whereas the plum flower is the poet's flower,
and symbol of the quiet, poor scholar, and therefore the latter is spiritual as the
former is materialistic. One scholar voiced his sympathy for the peony only because
of the fact that, when Empress Wu of the T'ang Dynasty commanded one day, in one of
her megalomaniac whims, that all the flowers in the Imperial garden should bloom on
a certain day in mid-winter, just because she wanted it, the peony was the only one
that dared to offend her Imperial Majesty by blooming a few hours late, and
consequently, all the thousands of pots of peony flowers were banished by Imperial
decree from Sian, the capital, to Loyang. Although falling out of Imperial favor,
the cult of the peony was still maintained and Loyang became a center for peony flowers.
I think the reason that the Chinese do not place more importance on the rose is because
its color and shape belong in the same class with the peony, but have been overshadowed
by the latter's gorgeousness. According to early Chinese sources, there were ninety
varieties of the peony distinguished, and each was given a most poetic name.
Unlike the peony, the orchid stands as the symbol of secluded charm because it is
often found in a deserted shady valley. It is said to have the virtue of "enjoying
its own lonely charm, " not caring whether people look at it or not, and extremely
unwilling to be moved into the city. If it consents to be moved, it must be cultivated
on its own terms, or it dies. Hence we often speak of a beautiful secluded maiden,
or a great scholar living away in the mountains with contempt for power and fame,
as "a secluded orchid in a deserted valley. " Its fragrance is so subtle that it doesn't
seem to make a particular effort to please anybody, but when people do appreciate
it, how divine is its fragrance! This makes it a symbol for the gentleman not caring
to cater to the public, and also for true friendship, because an ancient book says,
"After entering and remaining in a house with orchids for a long time, one ceases
to feel the fragrance, " when he himself is permeated with it. Li Liweng advised that
the best way to enjoy orchids was not to place them in all rooms, but only in one
room and then to enjoy the fragrance when passing out and in. American orchids do
not seem to have this subtle fragrance, but on the other hand, are bigger and more
gorgeous in shape and color. In my native city and province, we are supposed to have
the best orchids in China, known as "Fukien orchids. " The flower is pale green with
spots of purple and is of a very much smaller size, the petals being slightly over
an inch long. The best and most highly valued variety, the Ch'en Mengliang, has such
a color that it is barely visible when immersed in water, being of the same color
as the water itself. Unlike the peony, whose varieties are known after their place
of origin, the different famous varieties of the orchid are known, like many American
flower varieties, after their owners, as "General P'u, " "Quartermaster Shun," "Judge
Li, " "Eighth Brother Huang, " " C'hen Mengliang, ""Hsu Chingch'u. "
There is no question that the extreme difficulty of cultivating orchids and the
flower's extreme delicacy of health contributed to the idea of its nobility of
character. Among all the flowers, the orchid is the one that most easily withers or
rots away with the slightest mishandling. Hence an orchid-lover always attends to
it with his personal care and does not leave it to the servants, and I have seen people
caring for their orchids like their own parents. An extremely valuable plant aroused
as much jealousy as a particularly good piece of bronze or vase, and hatred from a
friend's refusal to give away its new offshoots could be extremely bitter. Chinese
notebooks record the case of a scholar who was refused new offshoots from a plant
and was sentenced to jail for stealing it. This sentiment is well expressed by Shen
Fu in Sir Chapters of a Floating l.ije in the following manner:
The orchid was prized most among all the flowers because of its subdued fragrance
and graceful charm, but it was difficult to obtain really good classic varieties.
When Lanp'o died, he presented me with a pot of spring orchids, whose flowers had
lotus-shaped petals; the centre of the flowers was broad and white, the petals were
very neat and even at the "shoulders, and the stems were very slender. This type was
classical, and I prized it
like a piece of old jade. When I was working away from home, Yim used to take care
of it personally and it grew beautifully. After two years, it died suddenly one day.
I dug up its roots and found that they were white like marble, while nothing was wrong
with the sprouts, either. At first, I could not understand this, but ascribed it with
a sigh merely to my own bad luck, which might be unworthy to raise such flowers. Later
on, I found out that some one had asked for some of the flowers from the same pot,
had been refused, and had therefore killed it by pouring boiling water over it.
Thenceforth I swore I would never grow orchids again.
The chrysanthemum is the flower of the poet T'ao Yiianming, as the plum flower was
the flower of the poet Lin Hoching, and the lotus was the flower of the Confucian
doctrinaire, Chou Liench i. Blooming in late autumn, it shares the idea of "cold
fragrance" and "cold splendor." The contrast between the cold splendor of the
chrysanthemum and the gorgeous splendor, say, of the peony is easily seen and
understood. Hundreds of varieties exist, and so far as I know, a great Sung scholar.
Fan Ch'engta, started the fashion of recording its different varieties with the most
beautiful names. Variety seems to be the very essence of the chrysanthemum flower,
both variety of shape and of color. The white and the yellow are regarded as the
"orthodox" colors of the flower, while purple and red are regarded as deviations and
therefore given a low grading. The colors of while and yellow gave rise to the names
of the varieties like "Silver Bowl, " "Silver Bells, " "Golden Bells, " "Jade Basin,
" "Jade Bells, " "Jade Embroidered Ball." Some were given the names of famous beauties,
like "Yang Kueifei" and "Hsishih. " Sometimes their shapes resemble a lady's
close-cropped hair and sometimes their quills resemble flowing locks. Some varieties
have more fragrance than others, and the best are supposed to have the fragrance of
musk, or of an incense called "Dragon's Brains. "
The lotus or water lily is in a class by itself and seems to me personally the most
beautiful of all flowers, when we consider the flower, including its stem and its
leaves floating on the water, as a whole. It is impossible to enjoy summer without
having lotus flowers around, and if one does not have a house near a pond, he can
grow them in big earthen jars. In this case, however, we miss much of the beauty of
a half a mile's stretch of lotus flowers, their perfume pervading the air, and their
white and red tipped blossoms contrasting with their broad green leaves with water
running on them like liquid pearls. (The American water lilies arc different from
the lotus. ) The Sung scholar Chou wrote an essay explaining why he loved the lotus
and pointing out that the lotus, like the gentleman, grew out of dirty water but was
not contaminated by it. He was talking like a regular Confucian doctrinaire. From
the utilitarian point of view, every pan of the flower is utilized. The lotus root
is used to make a cooling drink, its leaves are used for wrapping fruits or food to
be steamed, its flowers are enjoyed for their shape and fragrance, and finally the
lotus seed is regarded as the food of the fairies, either eaten raw, fresh from the
pod, or dried and sugared.
The liaif'ung pyrus, resembling apple-blossoms, enjoys as great a popularity among
poets as any other flower, although Tu Fu failed to make a single mention of this
flower which grew in his native province, Szechuen. Various explanations have been
offered, but the most plausible one was that the hait'uny, was his mother's name and
he had avoided it out of deference to his mother. There are only two flowers for whose
fragrance I am willing to forego the orchid, and they are the cassia and the narcissus.
The last is also a special product of my native city, Changchow, and its import into
the United States in the form of cultivated roots at one time ran to hundreds of
thousands of dollars, until the Department of Agriculture saw fit to deprive the
American people of this flower with a heavenly fragrance, in order to protect them
from possible germs. The notion that the white roots of the narcissus, as clean as
a fairy itself, and intended to be planted nol in mud but in a glass or china basin
of water supported with pebbles, and prepared with the utmost care, could contain
germs is most fantastic. The azalea is supposed to be a tragic flower, in spite of
its smiling beauty, because it was supposed to spring from the tears of blood of the
cuckoo, who was formerly a boy in search of his lost brother persecuted out of home
by a stepmother.
Quite as important as the selection and grading of the flowers themselves is their
arrangement in vases. This was an art that could be traced back at least as far as
the eleventh century. The author of Six Chapters of a Floating Life, written at the
beginning of the nineteenth century, gives a description of the art of arranging
flowers to resemble a picture with good composition in his chapter on "The Little
Pleasures of Life" :
The chrysanthemum, however, was my passion in the autumn of every year. I loved to
arrange these flowers in vases, but not to raise them in pots, not because I did not
want to have them that way, but because I had no garden in my home and could not take
care of them myself. Those I bought at the market were not properly trained and not
to my liking. When arranging chrysanthemum flowers in vases, one should take an odd,
not even number, and each vase should have flowers of only one colour. The mouth of
the vase should be broad so that the flowers can lie easily together. Whether there
be half a dozen flowers or even thirty or forty of them in a vase, they should be
so arranged as to come up together straight from the mouth of the vase, neither
overcrowded, nor too much spread out, nor leaning against the mouth of the vase. This
is called "keeping the handle firm." Sometimes they can stand gracefully erect, and
sometimes spread out in different directions. In order to avoid a bare monotonous
effect, they should be mixed with some flower buds and arranged in a kind of studied
disorderliness. The leaves should not be too thick and the stems should not be too
stiff. In using pins to hold the stems up, one should break the long pins off, rather
than expose them. This is called "keeping the mouth of the vase clear. " Place from
three to seven vases on a table, depending on the size of the latter, for if there
were too many of them, they would be overcrowded, looking like chrysanthemum screens
at the market. The stands for the vases should be of different height, from three
or four inches to two and a half feet, so that the different vases at different heights
would balance one another and belong intimately to one another as in a picture with
unity of composition. To put one vase high in the centre with two low at the sides,
or to put a low one in front and a tall one behind, or to arrange them in symmetrical
pairs, would be to create what is vulgarly called "a heap of gorgeous refuse. " Proper
spacing and arrangement must depend on the individual's understanding of pictorial
composition.
In the case of flower bowls or open dishes, the method of making a support for the
flowers is to mix refined resin with elm bark, flour and oil, and heat the mixture
with hot hay ashes until it becomes a kind of glue, and with it glue some nails upside
down on to a piece of copper. This copper plate can then be heated up and glued on
to the bottom of the bowl or dish. When it is cold, (ie the flowers in groups by means
of wire and slick them on those nails. The flowers should be allowed to incline
sideways and not shoot up from the centre; it is also important that the stems and
leaves should not come too closely together. After this is done, put some water in
the bowl and cover up the copper support with some clean sand, so that the flowers
will seem to grow directly from the bottom of the bowl.
When picking branches from flower trees for decoration in vases, it is important to
know how to trim them before putting them in the vase, for one cannot always go and
pick them oneself, and those picked by others are often unsatisfactory. Hold the
branch in your hand and turn it back and forth in different ways in order to see how
it lies most expressively. After one has made up one's mind about it, lop off the
superfluous branches, with the idea of making the twig look thin and sparse and
quaintly beautiful. Next think how the stem is going to lie in the vase and with what
kind of bend, so that when it is put there, the leaves and flowers can be shown to
the best advantage. If one just takes any old branch in hand, chooses a straight
section and puts it in the vase, the consequence will be that the stem will be too
stiff, the branches will be too close together and the flowers and leaves will be
turned in the wrong direction, devoid of all charm and expression. To make a straight
twig crooked, cut a mark half way across the stem and insert a little piece of broken
brick or stone at the joint; the straight branch will then become a bent one. In case
the stem is too weak, put one or two pins to strengthen it. By means of this method,
even maple leaves and bamboo twigs or even ordinary blades of grass and thistles will
look very well for decoration. Put a twig of green bamboo side by side with a few
berries of Chinese matrimony vine or arrange some fine blades of grass together with
some branches of thistle. They will look quite poetic, if the arrangement is correct.

VI. THE "VASE FLOWERS" OF YUAN CHUNGLANG
Probably the best treatise on the arrangement of flowers was written by Yuan Chunglang,
one of my favorite authors in other respects, living at the end of the sixteenth
century. His book on the arrangement of flowers in vases, called P'ingshih, is highly
valued in Japan, and there is known to be a "Yuan School" of flower arrangement. He
began in his preface by noting that since hills and water and flowers and bamboos
luckily lay outside the scope of the strug-glers for fame and power, and furthermore,
since such people were so busy with their engrossing pursuits and therefore had no
time for the enjoyment of hills and water and flowers and bamboos, the retiring scholar
was enabled to snatch this opportunity and monopolize the enjoyment of the latter
for himself. He explained, however, that the enjoyment of vase flowers should never
be regarded as normal, but at best only as a temporary substitute for people living
in cities, and their enjoyment should not cause one to forget the greater happiness
of enjoying the hills and lakes themselves.
Proceeding from a consideration that one should be careful in admitting flowers for
decoration in his studio , and that it would be better to have no flowers at all than
to have promiscuous varieties admitted, he went on to describe the various types of
bronze and porcelain vases to be used. Two types are distinguished. Those who are
rich and possess antique bronze vessels of Han Dynasty and have big halls should have
big flowers and tall branches standing in huge vases. On the other hand, scholars
should have smaller branches of flowers to go with smaller vases, which should also
be carefully selected. The only exceptions allowed are the peony and the lotus, which
being big flowers should be placed in big vases.
In putting flowers in vases:
One should avoid having them too profuse, or too meager. At most, two or three
varieties may be put in a vase, and their relative height and arrangement should aim
at the composition of a good picture. In placing flower vases, one should avoid having
them in pairs, or uniform, or in a straight row. One should also avoid binding the
flowers with string. F'or the neatness of flowers lies exactly in their irregularity
and naturalness of manner, like the prose of Tu Sungpo, which flows on or stops as
it pleases, and like the poems of Li Po, which do not necessarily go in couplets.
This is true neatness. How can it be called neatness when the branches and leaves
merely match each other and red is mixed with white? The latter resemble the trees
in the courtyard of minor provincial officials or the stone gateways leading to a
tomb.
In selecting and breaking off the branches, one should choose the slender and
exquisite ones and should not have the branches too thick together. Only one kind
of flowers should be used, and at most two, and the two should he so arranged together
that they seem to grow out of one branch. . . . Generally the flowers should match
with the vases, and they may be four or five inches taller than the height of the
vase itself. Suppose the vase is two feet high and its shape is broad in the center
and bottom, the flowers may be two feet and six or seven inches from the mouth of
the vase. ... If the vase is tall and slender, one should have two branches, one long
and one short, and perhaps stretching out in curves, and then it is better that the
flowers are a few inches shorter than the vase itself. What is most to be avoided
is that the flowers be too slender for the vase. Profusion is also to be avoided,
as for instance when flowers are tied up together like a handle, lacking all charm.
In placing flowers in small vases, one should let the flowers come out two inches
shorter than the body of the vase. For instance, a narrow vase of eight inches should
have flowers of only six or seven inches. But if the vases are stout in shape, flowers
may also be two inches longer than the vases.
The room in which flowers are placed should contain a simple table and a cane couch.
The table must be broad and thick and should be of fine wood and have a smooth surface.
All lacquered tables with decorated margins, golden-painted couches and stands with
colored floral designs should be eliminated.
With regard to the "bathing" of flowers, or watering them, the author shows a loving
insight into the moods and sentiments of the flowers themselves:
For flowers have their moods of happiness and sorrow and their time of sleep. If one
bathes flowers in their morning and evening, at the proper time, the water is like
good rain to them. A day with light clouds and a mild sun and the sunset and beautiful
moon are morning to the flowers. A big storm, a pouring rain, a scorching sun and
bitter cold are evening to the flowers. When their stands bask in the sunlight and
their delicate bodies are protected from wind, that is the happy mood of the flowers.
When they seem drunk or quiet and tired and when the day is misty, that is the sorrowful
mood of the flowers. When their branches incline and rest sideways as if unable to
hold themselves erect, that is when the flowers are dreaming in their sleep. When
they seem to smile and look about, with a shining light in their eyes, that is when
the flowers have waked up from their sleep. In their "morning" they should be placed
in an empty pavilion or a big house; in their "evening," they should be placed in
a small room or a secluded chamber; when they are sad, they should sit quietly with
abated breath, and when they are happy, they should smile and shout and tease each
other;during their sleep, they should let down the curtain, and when they have waked
up, they should attend to their toilet. All this is done to please their nature and
regulate their times of getting up and going to bed. To bathe flowers in their
"morning" is the best; to bathe them when they are asleep, is second; and to bathe
them when they are happy is the last. As for bathing them during their "evening, "
or during their sorrow, it really seems more like a way of punishing the flowers.
The way of bathing flowers is to use fresh and sweet water from a spring and pour
it down gently in small quantities, like a small shower awakening a drunken man, or
like the gentle dew itself permeating their body. One should avoid touching the
flowers with his hands, or picking them with the tips of fingers, and the work cannot
be entrusted to stupid manservants or dirty maids. Plum flowers should be bathed by
recluse scholars, the hait'ang by charming guests, the peony by beautifully dressed
young girls, the pomegranate by beautiful slave girls, the cassia by intelligent
children, the lotus by fascinating concubines, the chrysanthemum by remarkable
persons who love the ancients, and the winter plum by a slender monk. On the other
hand, flowers blooming in the cold season should not be bathed, but should be protected
by thin silk gauze.
According to Yuan, certain flowers go with certain other flowers as their minors or
"maids" in a vase. As personal maids who attended to a lady for life were an institution
in old China, there developed the notion that beautiful ladies looked perfect when
they had pretty maids by their side as their necessary adjuncts. Both ladies and maids
should be beautiful, but there is a je ne sais quoi which stamps one type of beauty
as belonging to a maid rather than to a mistress. Maids who were out of harmony with
their mistresses were like stables that did not match a manor house. Carrying the
notion over to flowers. Yuan found that, for their "maids" in the vase, the plum flower
should have camelias, the hait'ang should have apple blossoms and lilacs, the peony
should have cinnamon roses, the paeonia albiflora should have poppies and Szechuen
sunflowers, the pomegranate should have crape myrtle and hisbiscus syriacus, the
lotus should have white day lilies, the cassia should have hisbiscus mutabilis, the
chrysanthemum should have "autumn hait'ang," and the winter plum should have
narcissus. Each maid is exquisite in its own way, and they differ in their voluptuous
or elegant charms like their mistresses. Not that any slight was intended upon these
flower maids, for they were comparable to the famous maids of history, the narcissus
ethereal down to her bones like Liang Yiich'ing, the maid of the Spinster in heaven,
the camelia and the rose fresh and youthful like the maids Hsiangfeng and Chingwan
of the Shih and Yang families (of Chin Dynasty), the shanfan flower clean and
"romantic" like the maid servant of the tragic nun-poetess, Yii Hsiianch'i, while
the lilac was slender, the white day lily was cool and the "autumn hait'ang" was coy,
but savored a little of pedantry like the maid of Cheng K'angch'eng (scholar of Han
Dynasty and profuse commentator on Confucian classics).
Holding to his central idea that anyone who achieves notable results in any line,
even in such matters as playing chess, must love it to a point of craze. Yuan develops
the same idea with regard to the love of CD  Cheng's maid was reputed to talk the
classical language with her learned master, which is somewhat tike talking Latin among
the medieval scholars.
I have found that all the people in the world who are dull in their conversation and
hateful to look at in their faces are those who have no hobbies. . . . When the ancient
people who had a weakness for flowers heard there was a remarkable variety, they would
travel across high mountain passes and deep ravines in search of them, unconscious
of bodily fatigue, bitter cold or scorching heat, and their peeling skins, and
completely oblivious of their bodies soiled with mud. When a flower was about to bud,
they would move their beds and pillows to sleep under them, watching how the flowers
passed from infancy to maturity and finally dropped off and died. Or they would plant
thousands in their orchards to study how they varied, or have just a few in their
rooms to exhaust their interest. Some would be able to tell the size of flowers from
smelling their leaves, and some were able to tell from the roots the color of their
flowers. These were the people who were true lovers of flowers and who had a true
weakness for them.
In regard to the "enjoyment" (or shung) of flowers, it is pointed out that:
Enjoying them with tea is the best, enjoying them with conversation second, and
enjoying them with wine the third. As for all forms of noisy behaviour and common
vulgar prattle, they are an insult to the spirits of flowers. One should rather sit
dumb like a fool than offend them. There is a proper place and time for the enjoyment
of flowers and to enjoy them without regard to the proper circumstances would be a
sacrilege. The flowers in the cold season should be enjoyed at the beginning of snow,
or after the sky has cleared after a snowfall, or during crescent moon, or in a warm
room. The flowers in the warm [spring] season should be enjoyed on a clear day, or
on a slightly chilly day, in a beautiful hall. The flowers of summer should be enjoyed
after rain, in a refreshing breeze, in the shade of nice trees, beneath bamboos, or
on a water terrace. The flowers of the cool [autumn] season should be enjoyed under
a cool moon, at sunset, on the brink of a stone hall pavement, on a mossy garden path,
or in the neighborhood of rugged rocks surrounded by ancient creepers. If one looks
at flowers without regard to wind and sun and place, or when one's thoughts are
wandering and bear no relation to the flowers, what difference is it from seeing
flowers in singsong houses and wine taverns?
Finally, Yuan lists the following fourteen conditions as "pleasing" to the flowers,
and "twenty-three"  conditions as being disgraceful or humiliating to them:
Conditions that please the flowers:
A clear window
A clean room
Antique tripods
Sung ink-stones
"Pine waves" and river sounds
The owner loving hobbies and poetry
Visiting monk understands tea A native of Chichow arrives with Guests  in   the
room  are exquisite Many flowers in bloom A carefree friend has arrived Copying books
on flower cultivation Kettle sings deep at night Wife and concubines editing stories
of flowers  Chinese authors are apparently indifferent to arithmetic and figures in
general. After comparing the best available editions of Yuan's works, I still cannot
find the reputed " twenty-three" conditions. It really doesn't matter whether one's
figures we correct. Mathematical exactitude worries only a petty soul.
Conditions humiliating to the flowers:
The owner constantly seeing guests
A stupid servant putting in extra branches, upsetting the arrangement Common monks
talking zen Dogs fighting before the window
Singing boys of Lientes Alley Yiyang [Kiangsi] tunes Ugly women plucking flowers and
decorating their hair with them Discussing   people's   official
promotion and demotion False expressions of love Poems written for courtesy Flowers
in full bloom before one has paid his debts
The family asking for accounts Writing poems by consulting
rhyming dictionaries Books in bad condition lying
about
Fukien agents
Kiangsu spurious paintings Faeces of mice and rats Trailing marks of slime left by
snails
Servants lying about Wine runs out after one begins
to play wine games Being neighbor to wine-shops A piece of writing with phrases
like the " purple morning air" [ common in imperial eulogies] on the desk

VII. THE EPIGRAMS OF CHANG CH'AO
We have seen that the enjoyment of nature does not lie merely in art and painting.
Nature enters into our life as a whole. It is all sound and color and shape and mood
and atmosphere, and man as the perceiving artist of life begins to select the proper
moods of nature and harmonize them with his own. This is the attitude of all Chinese
writers of poetry or prose, but I think its best expression is found in the epigrams
of Chang Ch'ao (mid-seventeenth century), in his book Yumengying (or Sweet Dream
SfiutJu'n's) . This is a book of literary maxims, of which there are many collections,
but none comparable to those written by Chang Ch'ao himself. Such literary maxims
stand in relation to popular proverbs as the fairy tales of Anderson stand in re-
lation to old English fairy tales, or as Schubert's art songs stand in relation to
folk melodies. His book has been so beloved that a group of Chinese scholars have
added comments of their own to each of his maxims, in a most delightful chatty vein.
I am compelled, however, to translate only some of the best of his maxims about the
enjoyment of Nature. A few of his maxims on human life are so good and form such a
vital part of the whole that I shall include some of them at the end.
On What Is Proper
It is absolutely necessary that flowers should have butterflies, hills should have
springs, rocks should have moss, water should have water-cress, tall trees should
have entwining creepers, and human beings should have hobbies.
One should enjoy flowers in the company of beauties, get drunk under the moon in the
company of charming friends, and enjoy the light of snow in the company of highminded
scholars.
Planting flowers serves to invite butterflies, piling up rocks serves to invite the
clouds, planting pine trees serves to invite the wind, keeping a reservoir of water
serves to invite duckweed, building a terrace serves to invite the moon, planting
banana trees serves to invite the rain, and planting willow trees serves to invite
the cicada.
One always gets a different feeling when looking at hills from the top of a tower,
looking at snow from a city wall, looking at the moon in the lamp-light, looking at
colored clouds in a boat, and looking at beautiful women in the room.
Rocks lying near a plum tree should look "antique, " those beneath a pine tree should
look "stupid, " those by the side of bamboo trees should look "slender, " and those
inside a flower basin should be exquisite.
Blue waters come from green hills, for the water borrows its color from the hills;
good poems come from flavory wine, for poetry begs its inspiration from the wine.
When the mirror meets with an ugly woman, when a rare ink-stone finds a vulgar owner,
and when a good sword is in the hands of a common general, there is utterly nothing
to be done about it.
On Flowers and Women
One should not see flowers wither, see the moon decline below? the horizon, or see
beautiful women die in their youth.
One should see flowers when they are in bloom, after planting the flowers; should
see the moon when it is full, after waiting for the moon; should see a book completed,
after starting to write it; and should see beautiful women when they are gay and happy.
Otherwise our purpose is defeated.
One should look at beautiful ladies in the morning toilet after they have powdered
themselves.
There are faces that are ugly but stand looking at, and other faces that do not stand
looking at, although not ugly; there are writings which are lovable although
ungrammatical, and there are other writings which are extremely grammatical, but are
disgusting. This is something that I cannot explain to superficial persons.
If one loves flowers with the same heart that he loves beauties, he feels a special
charm in them; if one loves beautiful women with the same heart that he loves flowers,
he feels a special tenderness and protective affection.
Beautiful women are better than flowers because they understand human language, and
flowers are better than beautiful women because they give off fragrance; but if one
cannot have both at the same time, he should forsake the fragrant ones and take the
talking ones.
In putting flowers in liver-colored vases, one should arrange them so that the size
and height of the vase match with those of the flowers, while the shade and depth
of its color should contrast with them.
Most of the flowers that are seductive and beautiful are not fragrant, and flowers
that have layers upon layers of petals mostly are ill-formed. Alas, rare is a perfect
personality! Only the lotus combines both.
The plum flower makes a man feel highminded, the orchid makes a man feel secluded,
the chrysanthemum makes a man simple-hearted, the lotus makes a man contented, the
spring hait'ang   makes a man passionate, the peony makes a man chivalrous, the bamboo
and the banana tree make a man charming, the autumn hait'ang makes a man graceful,
the pine tree makes a man feel like a recluse, the wut'ung (sterculia platan-ifolia )
makes a man clean-hearted, and the willow makes a man sentimental.
If a beauty should have the face of a flower, the voice of a bird, the soul of the
moon, the expression of a willow, the charm of an autumn lake, bones of jade and skin
of snow, and a heart of poetry, I should be perfectly satisfied. [ I should say so!
 Tr. ]
If there are no books in this world, then nothing need be said, but since there are
books, they must be read; if there is no wine, then nothing need be said, but since
there is wine, it must be drunk; if there are no famous hills, then nothing need be
said, but since there are, they must be visited; if there are no flowers and no moon,
then nothing need be said, but since there are, they must be enjoyed and "played" ;
if there are no talented men and beautiful women, then nothing need be said, but since
there are, they must be loved and protected.
The reason why a looking-glass doesn't become the enemy of ugly-looking women is
because it has no feeling; if it had, it certainly would have been smashed to pieces.
   This is a flowering tree about ten feet high, belonging to the pyrus species and
bearing fruits like crab-apples.
This is in the manner of the Chinese commentators.
One feels tender toward even a good potted flower that he has just bought; how much
more should he be tender toward a "talking flower! "
Without wine and poetry, hills and water would exist for no purpose; without the
company of beautiful ladies, flowers and the moon would be wasted. Talented men who
are at the same time handsome, and beautiful ladies who at the same time can write,
can never live a long life. This is not only because the gods are jealous of them,
but because this type of person is not only the treasure of one generation, but the
treasure of all ages, so that the Creator doesn't want to leave them in this world
too long, for fear of sacrilege.
On Hills and Water
Of all the things in the universe, those that touch man most profoundly are: the moon
in heaven, the ch'in in music, the cuckoo among animals, and the willow tree among
plants.
To worry with the moon about clouds, to worry with books about moths, to worry with
flowers about storms, and to worry with talented men and beautiful women about a harsh
fate is to have the heart of a Buddha.
One dies without regret if there is one in the whole world a "bosom friend, " or one
who "knows his heart. "
An ancient writer said that if there were no flowers and moon and beautiful women,
he would not want to be born in this world, and I might add, if there were no pen
and ink and chess and wine, there was no purpose in being born a man.
The light of hills, the sound of water, the color of the moon, the fragrance of flowers,
the charm of literary men, and the expression of beautiful women are all illusive
and indescribable. They make one lose sleep dreaming about them and lose appetite
thinking about them.
The snow reminds one of a highminded scholar; the flower reminds one of beautiful
ladies; wine reminds one of good swordsmen;the moon reminds one of good friends; and
hills and water remind one of good verse and good prose that the author himself is
pleased with.
There are landscapes on earth, landscapes in painting, landscapes in dreams, and
landscapes in one's breast. The beauty of landscapes on earth lies in depth and
irregularity of outline; the beauty of landscapes in painting lies in the freedom
and luxuri-ousness of the brush and ink; the beauty of landscapes in dreams lies in
their strangely changing views; and the beauty of landscapes in one's breast lies
in the fact that everything is in its proper place.
For places that we pass by during our travel, we need not be fastidious in our artistic
demands, but for places where we are going to settle down for life we must be fastidious
in such demands .
The bamboo shoot is a phenomenon among the vegetables;the lich'i is a phenomenon among
fruits; the crab is a phenomenon among aquatic animals; wine is a phenomenon among
our foods and drinks; the moon is a phenomenon in the firmament; the West Lake is
a phenomenon among hills and waters;and the Sung lyrics (ts'e) and Yuan dramatic poems
(ch'u) are phenomena in literature.
In order to see famous hills and rivers, one must have also predestined luck; unless
the appointed time has come, one has no time to see them even though they are situated
within a dozen miles.
The images in a looking-glass are portraits in color, but the images [shadows] under
a moonlight are pen sketches. The images in a looking-glass are paintings with solid
outlines, but the images under a moonlight are "paintings without bones." The images
of hills and waters in the moon are geography in heaven, and the images of stars and
the moon in water are astronomy on earth.
On Spring and Autumn
Spring is the natural frame of mind of heaven; autumn is one of its changing moods.
The ancient people regarded winter as the "extra" [or resting period] of the other
three seasons, but I think we should regard summer as the season of "three extras":
getting up at a summer dawn is the extra of the night; sitting at a summer night is
the extra of the day; and an afternoon nap is the extra of social intercourse. Indeed,
"I love the long summer days, " as an ancient poet says.
One should discipline oneself in the spirit of autumn, and deal with others in the
spirit of spring.
Good prose and "T'ang poems" should have the spirit of autumn; good Sung lyrics and
Yuan dramatic poems should have the spirit of spring.c!)
On Sounds
One should listen to the sounds of birds in spring, to the sounds of cicadas in summer,
to the sounds of insects in autumn and the sounds of snowfall in winter; he should
listen to the sounds of playing chess in the daytime, the sounds of flute under the
moonlight, the sounds of pine trees in the mountains, and the sounds of ripples on
the waterside. Then he shall not have lived in vain. But when a young loafer starts
a racket in the street or when one's wife is scolding, one might just as well be deaf.
Hearing the sound of geese makes one feel like in Nanking;
hearing the sound of oars makes one feel like in Soochow, Ch'angchow and Huchow;
hearing the sound of waves on the beach makes one feel like being in Chekiang; and
hearing the Both these latter forms are highly sentimental poetry in form and feeling.
The Lake District in Klangsu.sound of bells beneath the necks of thin horses makes
one feel like being on the road to Sian.
All sounds should be listened to at a distance; only the sounds of the ch'in can be
listened to both at a distance and nearby.
There is a special flavor about one's ears when listening to ch'in music under pine
trees, listening to a flute in the moonlight, listening to a waterfall by a brook,
and listening to Buddhist chants in the mountains.
There are four kinds of sounds of water: the sounds of cataracts, of gushing springs,
of rapids, and of gullets. There are three kinds of sounds of wind: the sounds of
"pine waves, " of autumn leaves, and of storm upon the water. There are two kinds
of sounds of rain: the sounds of raindrops upon the leaves of wu'tung and lotus, and
the sounds of rain water coming down from the eaves into bamboo pails.
On Rain
This thing called rain can make the days seem short and the nights seem long.
A spring rain is like an Imperial edict conferring an honor; a summer rain is like
a writ of pardon for a condemned criminal;an autumn rain is like a dirge.
A rainy day in spring is suitable for reading; a rainy day in summer is suitable for
playing chess; a rainy day in autumn is suitable for going over things in the trunks
or in the attic; and a rainy day in winter is suitable for drinking.
I would write a letter to the God of Rain and tell him that rain in spring should
come after the fifteenth of the first moon [ when the Lantern Festival is over], and
continue till ten days before ch'ingming [the third day of the third moon, at which
time the peach-trees begin to blossom], and come also at kttyu [time for planting
rice ]; that summer rain should come in the first and last ten days of every month
[so as not to interfere with our enjoyment of the moon]; that autumn rain should come
in the first and last ten days of the seventh and the ninth moon [leaving the eighth
moon, or mid-autumn, entirely dry for enjoyment of the harvest moon]; and that as
for the three months of winter, no rain is called for at all.
On the Moon, Wind and Water
One is exasperated at the crescent moon for declining so early, and exasperated at
the waning moon in its third quarter for coming up so late.
To listen to a Buddhist lesson under the moon makes one's mental mood more detached;
to discuss swordmanship under the moon makes one's courage more inspired; to discuss
poetry under the moon makes one's personal flavor more charming in seclusion; and
to look at beautiful women under the moon makes one's passion deeper.
The method of "playing" the moon is to look up at it from a low place when it is clear
and bright, and to look down at it from a height when it is hazy and unclear.
The spring wind is like wine; the summer wind is like tea;
the autumn wind is like smoke; and the winter wind is like ginger.
On Leisure and Friendship
Only those who take leisurely what the people of the world are busy about can be busy
about what the people of the world take leisurely.
There is nothing that man enjoys more than leisure, and this does not mean that one
simply does nothing during that time. Leisure enables one to read, to travel to famous
places, to form beneficial friendships, to drink wine, and to write books. What
greater pleasures can there be in the world than these?
When a cloud reflects the sun, it becomes a colored cloud ( hsia ), and when a spring
gullet flows over a cliff, it becomes a waterfall. By a different association, it
is given a new name.
That is why friendship is so valuable.
When celebrating the Lantern Festival on the fifteenth of the first moon, one should
drink with nonchalant friends; when celebrating the Dragon Boat Festival on the fifth
of the fifth moon, one should drink with handsome friends; when celebrating the annual
reunion of the Cowherd and the Spinning Maid in Heaven on the seventh day of the seventh
moon, one should drink with friends who have charm; when looking at the harvest moon,
at the Mid-Autumn Festival, one should drink with quiet or mild-tempered friends;
when going up to high mountains on the ninth day of the ninth moon, one should drink
with romantic friends.
To talk with learned friends is like reading a rare book; to talk with poetic friends
is like reading the poems and prose of distinguished writers; to talk with friends
who are careful and proper in their conduct is like reading the classics of the sages;
and to talk with witty friends is like reading a novel or romance.
Every quiet scholar is bound to have some bosom friends. By "bosom friends" I do not
mean necessarily those who have sworn a life-and-death friendship with us. Generally
bosom friends are those who, although separated by hundreds or thousands of miles,
still have implicit faith in us and refuse to believe rumors against us; those who
on hearing a rumor, try every means to explain it away; those who in given moments
advise us as to what to do and what not to do; and those who at the critical hour
come to our help, and, sometimes without our knowing, undertake of their own accord
to settle a financial account, or make a decision, without for a moment questioning
whether by doing so they are not making themselves open to criticism of perhaps
injuring our interests.
It is easier to find bosom friends ("those who know our hearts") among friends than
among one's wife and concubines, and it is still more difficult to find a bosom friend
in the relationship between ruler and ministers.
A "remarkable book" is one which says things that have never been said before, and
a "bosom friend" is one who unburdens to us his family secrets.
Living in the country is only enjoyable when one has got good friends with him. One
soon gets tired of the peasants and woodcutters who know only how to distinguish the
different kinds of grains and to forecast the weather. Again, among the different
kinds of friends, those who can write poems are the best, those who can talk or hold
a conversation come second, those who can paint come next, those who can sing come
fourth, and those who understand wine games come last.
On Books and Reading
Reading books in one's youth is like looking at the moon through a crevice; reading
books in middle age is like looking at the moon in one's courtyard; and reading books
in old age is like looking at the moon on an open terrace. This is because the depth
of benefits of reading varies in proportion to the depth of one's own experience.
Only one who can read books without words [ i .e ., the book of life itself] can say
strikingly beautiful things; and only one who understands truth difficult to explain
by words can grasp the highest Buddhist wisdom.
All immortal literature of the ancients and the moderns was written with blood and
tears.
All Men Are Brothers ( Shuihu) is a book of anger. The Monkey Epic ( Hsiyuchi ) is
a book of spiritual awakening, and Gold-Vase Plum ( Chinfi'ingmei) [a pornographic
novel] is a book of sorrow.
Literature is landscape on the desk, and a landscape is literature on the earth.
Reading is the greatest of all joys, but there is more anger than joy in reading history.
But after  all there is pleasure in suc anger.
One should read the classics in winter, because then one's mind is more concentrated;
read history in summer, because one has more time; read the ancient philosophers in
autumn, because they have such charming ideas; and read the collected works of later
authors in spring, because then Nature is coming back to life.
When literary men talk about military affairs, it is mostly military science in the
studio [literally, "discussing soldiers on paper" ]; and when military generals
discuss literature, it is mostly rumors picked up on hearsay.
A man who knows how to read finds everything becomes a book wherever he goes: hills
and waters are also books, and so are chess and wine, and so are the moon and flowers.
A good traveler finds that everything becomes a landscape wherever he goes: books
and history are landscapes, and so are wine and poetry, and so are the moon and flowers.
An ancient writer said that he would like to have ten years devoted to reading, ten
years devoted to travel and ten years devoted to preservation and arrangement of what
he had got. I think that preservation should not take ten years and two or three years
should be enough. As for reading and travel, I do not think even twice or five times
the period suggested would be enough to satisfy my desires. To do so one would have
to live three hundred years, as Huang Chiuyen says.
The ancient people said that "poetry becomes good only after one becomes poor or
unsuccessful, "  for the reason that an unsuccessful man usually has a lot of things
to say, and it is thus easy to show himself to advantage. How can the poetry of the
rich and successful people be good when they neither sigh over
   By "anger" is meant one's feeling mad reading in history about a good man being
shot or a government falling into the hands of eunuchs and dictators. This feeling
mad is aesthetically a beautiful sensation.
The idea is that poetry acquires depth through sorrow.their poverty nor complain about
their being unpromoted, and when all they write about are the wind, the clouds, the
moon and the dew? The only way for such a person to write poetry is to travel, so
that all he sees on his way, the hills and rivers and people's customs and ways of
life, and perhaps the sufferings of people during war or famine, may all go into his
poems. Thus borrowing from the sorrows of other people, for the purpose of his own
songs and sighs, one can write good poetry without waiting to be poor or unsuccessful.
On I^iving in General Passion holds up the bottom of the universe and genius paints
up its roof.
Better be insulted by common people than be despised by gentlemen; better be flunked
by an official examiner than be unknown to a famous scholar.
A man should so live as to be like a poem, and a thing should so look as to be like
a picture.
There are scenes which sound very exquisite, but are really sad and forlorn, as for
instance a scene of mist and rain; there are situations which sound very poetic, but
are really hard to bear, as for instance sickness and poverty; and there are sounds
which seem charming when mentioned, but are really vulgar, as for instance the voices
of girls selling flowers.
I cannot be a farmer myself, and all I can do is to water the garden; I cannot be
a woodcutter myself, and all I can do is to pull out the weeds.
My regrets, or things that exasperate me, are ten: (1) that book bags are easily eaten
by moths, (2) that summer nights are spoiled by mosquitos, (3) that a moon terrace
easily leaks, (4) that the leaves of chrysanthemums often wither, (5) that pine trees
are full of big ants, (6) that bamboo leaves fall in great quantities upon the ground,
(7) that the cassia and lotus flowers easily wither, (8) that the pilo plant often
conceals snakes, (9)that flowers on a trellis have thorns, and (10) that porcupines
are often poisonous to eat.
It is extremely pretty to stand outside a window and see someone writing characters
on the window paper from the inside.
One should be the hsiian [_ hemerocalis flava, a plant called "Forget-sorrow"] among
the flowers, and not be the cuckoo [reputed to shed tears of blood which grow up into
azaleas] a-mong the birds.
To be born in times of peace in a district with hills and lakes when the magistrate
is just and upright, and to live in a family of comfortable means, marry an
understanding wife and have intelligent sons this is what I call a perfect life.
To have hills and valleys in one's breast enables one to live in a city as in a mountain
wood, and to be devoted to clouds transforms the Southern Continent into a fairy isle.
To sit alone on a quiet night to invite the moon and tell her one's sorrow to keep
alone on a good night and to call the insects and tell them one's regrets.
One living in a city should regard paintings as his landscape miniature sceneries
in a pot as his garden, and books as his friends,To ask a famous scholar to teach
one's children, to go into a famous mountain and learn the art of writing examination
essays, and to ask a famous writer to be his literary ghost all these three things
are utterly wrong.
A monk need not abstain from wine, he needs only abstain from vulgarity; a red
petticoat need not understand literature, she need only understand what is
artistically interesting.
If one is annoyed by the coming of tax-gatherers, he should pay the land taxes early;
if one enjoys talking Buddhism with monks, he cannot help making contributions to
temples from time to time.
It is easy to forget everything except this one thought of fame; it is easy to grow
indifferent to everything except three cups of wine.
Wine can take the place of tea, but tea cannot lake the place of wine; poems can take
the place of prose, but prose cannot take the place of poems; Yuan dramatic poems
can lake the place of Sung lyrics, but Sung lyrics cannot take the place of Yuan
dramatic poems; the moon can take the place of lamps, but lamps cannot take the place
of the moon; the pen can take the place of the mouth, but the mouth cannot take the
place of the pen; a maid servant can take the place of a man servant, but a man servant
cannot take the place of a maid.
A little injustice in the breast can be drowned by wine; but a great injustice in
the world can be drowned only by the sword.
A busy man's private garden must be situated next to his house; while a man of leisure
may have his private garden separated from his house at a distance.
There are people who have the pleasures of a mountain recluse lying before them and
don't know how to enjoy them fishermen, woodcutters, farmers, gardeners and monks;
there are people who have the pleasures of gardens, pavilions and concubines before
them and don t know how to enjoy them rich merchants and high officials.
It is easy to stand a pain, but difficult 1o stand an itch; it is easy to bear the
bitter taste, but difficult to bear the sour taste. !'
It is true that the ink-stone of a man of leisure should be exquisite, but a busy
man's ink-stone should equally be exquisite; it is true that a concubine for pleasure
should be pretty but a concubine for the continuation of the family line should also
be pretty.
The stork gives a man the romantic manner, the horse gives a (!)  The great idea thai
it is more difficult to stand an itch tlian to stand pain is not original with this
epigrammatist, hut was found in the correspondence between Su Ttingp o and Iluang
Shankn, so far as 1 e;m remember.man the heroic manner, the orchid gives a man the
recluse's manner, and the pine gives a man the grand manner of the ancients.
It is against the will of God to eat delicate food hastily, to pass gorgeous views
hurriedly, to express deep sentiments super-ficially, to pass a beautiful day steeped
in food and drinks, and to enjoy your wealth steeped in luxuries.