1705041508 He sat down at his desk, took a fair sheet of paper, and placed it before him. He poured a few drops of water on a stone, rubbed the ink stick in it, and took his brush. With a free movement of his arm he began to write. And as I watched him, I remembered with not a little amusement something else which had been told me of him. It appeared that the old gentleman, whenever he could scrape a little money together, spent it wantonly in the streets inhabited by ladies to describe whom a euphemism is generally used. His eldest son, a person of standing in the city, was vexed and humiliated by the scandal of this behavior; and only his strong sense of filial duty prevented him from reproaching the libertine with severity. I dare say that to a son such looseness would be disconcerting, but the student of human nature could look upon it with equanimity. Philosophers are apt to elaborate their theories in the study, forming conclusions upon life which they know only at second hand, and it has seemed to me often that their works would have a more definite significance if they had exposed themselves to the vicissitudes which befall the common run of men. I was prepared to regard the old gentleman’s dalliance in hidden places with leniency. Perhaps he sought but to elucidate the most inscrutable of human illusions.

1705041509

1705041510 He finished. To dry the ink he scattered a little ash on the paper and rising handed it to me.

1705041511

1705041512 “What have you written?” I asked.

1705041513

1705041514 I thought there was a slightly malicious gleam in his eyes. “I have ventured to offer you two little poems of my own.”

1705041515

1705041516 “I did not know you were a poet.”

1705041517

1705041518 “When China was still an uncivilized country,” he retorted with sarcasm, “all educated men could write verse at least with elegance.”

1705041519

1705041520 I took the paper and looked at the Chinese characters. They made an agreeable pattern upon it.

1705041521

1705041522 “Won’t you also give me a translation?”

1705041523

1705041524 “Traductore—tradittore,” he answered. “You cannot expect me to betray myself. Ask one of your English friends. Those who know most about China know nothing, but you will at least find one who is competent to give you a rendering of a few rough and simple lines.”

1705041525

1705041526 I bade him farewell, and with great politeness he showed me to my chair. When I had the opportunity I gave the poems to a sinologue of my acquaintance, and here is the version he made. I confess that, doubtless unreasonably, I was somewhat taken aback when I read it.

1705041527

1705041528 “You loved me not: your voice was sweet;

1705041529

1705041530 Your eyes were full of laughter; your hands were tender.

1705041531

1705041532 And then you loved me: your voice was bitter;

1705041533

1705041534 Your eyes were full of tears; your hands were cruel.

1705041535

1705041536 Sad, sad that love should make you

1705041537

1705041538 Unlovable.”

1705041539

1705041540 * * *

1705041541

1705041542 “I craved the years would quickly pass

1705041543

1705041544 That you might lose

1705041545

1705041546 The brightness of your eyes, the peach-bloom of your skin,

1705041547

1705041548 And all the cruel splendour of your youth.

1705041549

1705041550 Then I alone would love you

1705041551

1705041552 And you at last would care.”

1705041553

1705041554 “The envious years have passed full soon

1705041555

1705041556 And you have lost

1705041557

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