by Tam King-fai
to burn up. Your arms and legs had turned to jelly. You felt that even
the end of the world could not be as bad as this!
0W_M^MZITTWN I[]LLMVTQOPVQVOÆI[PMLIVLPMTQOPTQ]XPM
corner of the house. At one stroke, the giant outside ripped the gray
K]ZIQVWXQMKM[¹ Grrr... uhh! Grr... uhh! º he cried out triumphantly. Hoo-weee... hoo-weee... hoo-weee…. The wind that had been blocked outside the curtain for two whole days now hurled itself forward with extraordinary
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92
A Garden of One’s Own
[XMML
away. We felt refreshed, as if shedding a shell from our bodies. Crrack-
kack!
Grrr... uhh! Grr... uhh! Let’s have some more of it—and louder still!
Let the heavy storm wash the world until it is clean and cool!
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qr
Xu Zhimo
Among the many Chinese literary stars in the twentieth century, Xu
Zhimo (1897–1931) probably cuts the most romantic figure. Many
people have heard of his turbulent love affairs and his untimely death at
thirty-four. His short but remarkable life provides raw material for many
ÅTU[IVL<>LZIUI[
Readers of modern Chinese literature, on the other hand, know him
as an active proponent of pro-Western aesthetics, mostly derivative of
English romantic poetry, which he translated and adapted in his own
poetry and prose. Hu Shi described his life as a continuous pursuit of
love, liberty, and beauty, the ideals of which are evident in his creative
_WZS¹1LTM
be read in this context.
;QUQTIZTa PM QUIOM WN JQZL[ KQZKTQVO QV PM IQZ IVL ÆaQVO PQOPMZ IVL
PQOPMZQVPM[SaQV¹
IVMKMLMV[AMWVMIT[WÅVL[LQ[]ZJQVOXPZI[M[PIIZMUWZMQV]VM
with the situation of contemporary China. The mention of the august
eagles preying on young chickens in the middle of the essay and the
KWVKT]LQVO QUIOM WN I ¹JQZL[PIXML UIKPQVMº PI LZWX[ _PI IXXMIZ[
WJMIJWUJZMUIQVI[RIZZQVOVWM[PIUISMQLQNÅK]T\WZMOIZLPQ[
M[[IaUMZMTaI[IM]TWOaWVÆaQVO
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94
A Garden of One’s Own
Idle Talk About Life in the Mountains of Florence (1925)
Going out for a walk here on a clear May evening, whether up or down
the hill, is like attending a feast of beauty. It is like going to an orchard
where fruit imbued with poetry hangs in abundance on every tree. If
aW] IZM VW [IQ[ÅML _QP UMZMTa [IVLQVO PMZM W TWWS ITT aW] VMML
to do is reach up and pick it from the trees, and you can savor to your
heart’s content its freshness, enough to inebriate your soul. The sunlight
is balmy, and never too warm. The wind is gentle and soothing; since it
NZMY]MVTa KWUM[ NZWU PM _WWL[ JZQUUQVO _QP ÆW_MZ[ Q JZQVO[ _QP
it a faint and distant fragrance and a nourishing dampness. It caresses
your face and wraps itself gently around your shoulders and waist. The
mere act of breathing is an inexhaustible happiness in itself ! The air is
always clean—there is no smoke in the valley nearby and no mist in the
distant hills. The beautiful scenery displays itself without reservation for
your leisurely enjoyment, like a picture before your eyes.
The beauty of living in the mountains is, above all, that you never
have to fuss over your clothes and appearance. You can feel free to let
loose the weeds of hair on your head, and allow that moss of stubble to
grow on your cheeks. You can wear whatever clothes you like, be they
PW[MWN IKW_PMZLIÅ[PMZUIVINIZUMZIZWIUQVOOaX[aWZIP]VMZ
You don’t have to worry about adjusting your tie—in fact, you can forget
about wearing one altogether, and allow your neck and chest half a day
of freedom. You can wrap a colorful bandanna around your head and
pretend to be a foot soldier of the Taiping troops,1 or take after Byron
with his Egyptian costumes. Most important of all, however, put on the
very oldest of your old shoes. Never mind that they look shabby—they
are your most loveable friends. They support your weight, allowing you
to forget that you still have a pair of feet beneath you.
It’s best not to have a companion when you go out like that. I would
even strictly forbid it. You should go by yourself, because a companion
would only distract you in some way, particularly a young woman, who
is the most dangerous and tyrannical of companions. You should avoid
her like a beautiful colored snake in the grass.
Usually, when we leave our own homes to go to a friend’s house
or our place of work, we are merely moving from one cell to another
in one big prison. Restraint follows us all the time, and freedom can
1
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Xu Zhimo
95
VM^MZÅVL][*]QN aW]PI^MPMWXXWZ]VQaW[I]VMZITTJaaW]Z[MTN
among the lovely mountains and villages in these days between spring
and summer, then the star of luck is truly shining on you. This is the
QUM _PMV aW] KIV IXXZMKQIM IVL [I^WZ ÅZ[PIVL KWUXTMM NZMMLWU
and comfort, when your body and soul act in unison. Dear friends, with
every year added to our age, the weight of the cangue around our neck
increases and the chains around our ankles tighten. Don’t we all look
with envy at children rolling and playing in the sand and shallow water,
or little cats chasing their own tails? But our cangue and chains are the
masters that restrict our movements. That is why, only when you run
all by yourself into the embrace of nature, like a naked child throwing
itself into the lap of its mother, can you understand what it is like to be
happy in the soul, to revel in the mere acts of living, breathing, walking,
looking, and listening. For that reason, you have to act strictly for
aW]Z[MTN W JM M`ZMUMTa [MTÅ[P IVL W ITTW_ WVTa aW] aW]Z JWLa IVL
soul, to beat at the same pulse with nature, to rise and fall in the same
sound wave, to realize yourself in the same wonderful universe. Our
untainted innocence is as gentle and frail as mimosa. Once it is touched
by a companion, it recoils; but in the clear, quiet sunlight and gentle
wind, its posture is natural, its life uninhibited.
When you go roaming by yourself, you will sit, lie, or even roll
around on the grass because its warmth and color will naturally awaken
the vivaciousness of the child within you. On a quiet path, you will
dance wildly despite yourself and watch the grotesque transformation
of your shadows, because the languorous movement of the shadows
of the trees communicates to you the joy of
dancing. You will also
spontaneously burst into song, occasionally remembering some broken
snatches of music and improvising tunes of your own, because the birds
in the woods tell you that this spring scene deserves our praise. It goes
without saying, moreover, that your mind will expand naturally with the
long mountain paths, and your heart will grow calm as you look at the
clear blue sky. Your thoughts will harmonize with the sound of water
QV PM ^ITTMa IVL PM [XZQVO PI ÆW_[ W] W^MZ PM ZWKS[ ;WUMQUM[
it runs so clear that you can see through the water to the bottom, and
[WUMQUM[Q_PQ[S[Q[MTN QVWI[aUXPWVaWN _I^M[IVLÆW_[IVLÆW_[
through the cool olive woods, into the alluring Arno River....
6W WVTa Q[ I ZI^MTQVO KWUXIVQWV []XMZÆ]W][ aW] VMML VW JZQVO
even a book with you on short walks such as this. A book is ordinarily
the perfect companion, but it is only good on a train or in your own
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96
A Garden of One’s Own
living room, not when you are taking a walk by yourself. What profound
QV[XQZIQWV[ IVL T]KQL JMI]QN]T PW]OP[ KIVVW ÅVL PMQZ ZWW[ QV PM
music of the wind, the hue of the clouds, the rise and fall of mountains
IVL TIVL PM KWTWZ IVL NZIOZIVKM WN ÆW_MZ[ IVL OZI[[' 6I]ZM Q[ PM
greatest book of all. Goethe said that we can read the most profound
message in its every page and word. Moreover, this book of nature
is written in a language comprehensible to all. The Alps and the Wu
Lao Peak, Sicily and the Putuo Mountain, the Rhine and the Yangtze,
Lake Leman and West Lake, orchid and hortensia, the snow on the
reefs on the West Stream in Hangzhou and the red clouds in the sunset
at Venice, the lark and the nightingale, to say nothing of the yellow
color of wheat, the purple of wisteria, the green of the grass—they all
grow together on the land, and wave together in the wind; the symbol
they use will forever be the same, and their meaning will always be
transparent. As long as your soul is not covered with scars, your eyes not
blind and your ears not stopped, this invisible supreme lesson will be
yours, and this most precious tonic will be free to you forever. As long
as you know this book, you will not be lonely though alone in the world,
VWZ _QTT aW] JM XWWZ PW]OP XW^MZa[ZQKSMV AW] _QTT ÅVL KWV[WTIQWV
when troubled, encouragement when frustrated, inspiration when weak,
and a compass when lost.
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Xu Zhimo
97
Thoughts of Flying (1926)
Imagine that it is now snowing outside the window—the street, the city
wall, and the rooftops are all covered with it. A policeman in a black cap
huddles under the eaves of the house at the corner of the alleyway. His
sleepy eyes half open, he is watching the snow frolicking about like tufts
of cotton in the air.... Suppose it is very deep into the night, so deep
that even the hands of the clock on the wall cannot count it, deep like a
mountain cave that spirals downward into the mountain....
Now suppose that I own such a deep night, its bottomless eeriness
making the hair on my body stand on end. And then suppose that I am
QV XW[[M[[QWV WN PM [VW_ Æ]\MZQVO LW_V W][QLM PM _QVLW_ U]NÆQVO
the sounds of the city far and near, covering the tortuous wheel tracks
on the muddy road, and screening out the uncompromising stream of
thoughts going on in my brain....
I long for that kind of depth and that kind of quiet. The nighthawk
hiding under the foliage over there will not risk opening its eyes before
the sun comes out. I think to myself: Even it has to wait.
In the blue sky there is a dark spot. With the sun shining in your
eyes, you can’t really see what it is. So you raise your hand to shield
your eyes and try to look through the gap between two branches. Yes,
it is black, almost the size of a yew nut—no, it’s as big as a peach now.
There, it has gone west.
* * * * * * *
After lunch, we go to the beach. (This is the southernmost tip of
Cornwall in England, which opens up to the Atlantic ocean on three
sides.) A twittering sound rises evenly from the bottoms of our feet,
slightly trembling, reaches our waists, then our shoulders, passes over our
heads, and penetrates the clouds and beyond. Oh, can your imagination
turn the vibrating musical notes into a sheet of bright rain, falling from
the blue sky to the green earth below? No, the rain is like little dancing
feet, the feet of angels. The skylarks have also had their lunch, and leave
PMQZP]UJTMVM[[ WV PMOZW]VL W Æa ]X W PM[Sa W LW PMQZ_WZS
God has given them work, and that’s whom they are working for. Look,
here is one, and there are two over there! Once off the ground, they
Æa [ZIQOP ]X W PM PQOPM[ ZMIKPM[ WN PM [Sa PMQZ _QVO[ ÆIXXQVO [W
enthusiastically, so perfectly, so free of hesitation. They are friends with
PM [Sa IVL PMa [IZ W [QVO R][ I[ [WWV I[ PMa JMOQV W Æa
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98
A Garden of One’s Own
PZWI[ IZM IKQ^MTa I _WZS U][QK ÆW_QVO NZWU PMU TQSM [ZQVO[ WN
pearls, shiny and tinkling, singing praises of the sky. Look how high they
Æa
PMaIZMR][IXIKPWN JTIKSLW[[TQOPTa[PQNQVOI[PMaÆa[ZIQOP]X
into the sky. And then you can’t see them anymore, not even a shadow,
J]\PM[PQVaÅVMLZQbbTM[QTTNITT[QVKM[[IVTa
* * * * * * *
1Q[IZIZMPQVOQVLMMLWÆa_QP¹_QVO[TQSMKTW]L[PI[ZMKPLW_V
from the sky... and a back that supports the blue sky, and nothing that
KIV [IVL QV PM _Iaº2... Outside the eastern gate of our town is a
yellow earthen mound, on top of which is a seven-storied pagoda, its tip
pointing straight up to the sky. Bells are frequently rung from the yard of
the pagoda, and most often when the sun is shining from the west. The
colorful clouds above the earthen mound are matched by the dazzling
JW]OPWN ZMLÆW_MZ[ZQOPJa?M[QTT¸_PMVPMJMTT[IZMZ]VOPMZM
IZMWVM_WPZMMNW]ZWZM^MVÅ^MWZ[Q`¹P]VOZaMIOTM[ºKQZKTQVOPM
top of the pagoda, brushing by the roof and weaving in and out of the
clouds above. Their claws curled and their wide grayish wings stretched
W]\PMaOIbMLW_VI\PMMIZP
in mid-air, totally free of worries, as if there to practice waltzing to the
rhythm of the bells.
Those were the mythic peng JQZL[ WN Ua KPQTLPWWL 7V I ÅVM LIa
_PMVPMZM_I[VWI[QVOTMKTW]LQVPM[Sa1KW]TLMTTPI\PM¹P]VOZa
MIOTM[º WN PM XIOWLI _MZM W] TWWSQVO NWZ NWWL R][ Ja PM [W]VL WN
their rasping cries in the air. As soon as we thought of them, those bald,
round-eyed heroes up in the sky, feathers—jagged like the bristles of
a steel brush—seemed to burst forth f
rom our shoulder blades. They
_I^ML QV PM _QVL OMVTa Z][TQVO ?QP R][ I [TQOP ÆIX _M _MZM W]
the study door, racing our way to frolic in the white clouds that seemed
lined with tortoiseshell. Who had the patience to stand at the teacher’s
desk, shifting from side to side, reciting those impossible books that we’d
ZQML W UMUWZQbM QV PM UWZVQVO' 7P W Æa 6W TQSM [XIZZW_[ PI
hippity-hop from branch to branch; or bats that dart around for a feast
of mosquitoes under cover of evening darkness; or swallows that build
nests under the eaves, their tails drooping and voices fragile. If we are to
ÆaTM¼[ÆaITTW^MZPM[SaTM¼[TI]VKPIÆQOP\PI_QVLKIVVW[WXVWZ
2
Zhuangzi¹@QIWaIWaW]º.ZMMIVL-I[a?IVLMZQVO
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Xu Zhimo
99
KTW]L[QUXMLMIÆQOP\PIKIZZQM[][W^MZPQTT[_QPI[QVOTMÆIXWN W]Z
wings, while our shadows spread shade over twenty mou 3 of land below.
And then in the evening, when we’re tired, we’ll ride the wind and circle
the sky, dreaming....
I have heard that those eagles prey on young chickens.
* * * * * * *
AM[ W Æa -IKP P]UIV JMQVO I WVM QUM could Æa )VOMT[ PI^M _QVO[
IVL PMa Æa IVL _M WW PIL _QVO[ QV PM JMOQVVQVO IVL KW]TL Æa
?PMVMIKPWN ][ÅZ[IZZQ^MLQVPM_WZTL_MKIUMPMZMJaÆQOPIVL
[WUM IUWVO ][ _QTT Æa JIKS _PMV W]Z QUM QV PQ[ _WZTL Q[ ]X
people can only be envied. Most people, however, have forgotten how
W Æa ;WUM WN ][ PI^M TW[ PM NMIPMZ[ WV W]Z _QVO[ _PQKP VM^MZ
grow back, or our wings are now glued together and we can’t open
them anymore, or our feathers have been clipped and we can only hop
about on the ground. And some of us have taken our wings off to the
pawnshop to exchange for money, and the date for redemption has
long since passed.... Indeed, once we have passed our childhood days,
_M QUUMLQIMTa TW[M W]Z IJQTQa W Æa 1 Q[ I MZZQJTM PQVO W TW[M WVM¼[
wings or be unable to use them because they are in disrepair. Unable
W Æa JIKS W PM [Sa aW] IZM NWZKML W [Y]I WV PM OZW]VL IVL OIbM
helplessly at its unreachable heights, looking on as other blessed souls
carouse to and fro in the blue clouds. How pathetic!
