论文部分内容阅读
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 placethese things come in at the most unexpected 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 Floating Life， and Chiang Tan’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 Yün 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.
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.
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.
In the Six Chapters of a Floating Life we have the reminiscences of an obscure Chinese painter about his married life with Yün. They were both simple artistic souls， trying to snatch every moment of happiness that came their way， and the story was told in a simple unaffected manner. Somehow Yün 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 two passages describing their enjoyment of the seventh of the seventh moon and the fifteenth of the seventh moon， both festivals. On the seventh night of the seventh moon of that year （1780） Yün 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 Yün 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 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. Yün 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. Yün 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， Yün 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 Yün 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 Yün 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 Yün was very timid， dared not mention it to her. And Yün 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 Yün 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.
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 Floating Life， and Chiang Tan’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 Yün 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.
a. Ch’iufu
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.
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.
b. Yün
In the Six Chapters of a Floating Life we have the reminiscences of an obscure Chinese painter about his married life with Yün. They were both simple artistic souls， trying to snatch every moment of happiness that came their way， and the story was told in a simple unaffected manner. Somehow Yün 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 two passages describing their enjoyment of the seventh of the seventh moon and the fifteenth of the seventh moon， both festivals. On the seventh night of the seventh moon of that year （1780） Yün 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 Yün 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 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. Yün 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. Yün 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， Yün 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 Yün 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 Yün 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 Yün was very timid， dared not mention it to her. And Yün 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 Yün 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.