Strange Stories from the Lodge of Leisures
出版:Strange Stories from the Lodge of Leisures
Strange Stories from the Lodge of Leisures-1
STRANGE STORIES
FROM THE
LODGE OF LEISURES
TRANSLATED FROM THE CHINESE BY
GEORGE SOULIÉ
OF THE FRENCH CONSULAR SERVICE IN CHINA
BOSTON AND NEW YORK
HOUGHTON MIFFLIN COMPANY
1913
PRINTED BY
HAZELL, WATSON AND VINEY, LD.,
LONDON AND AYLESBURY,
ENGLAND.
[v]
PREFACE
The first European students who undertook
to give the Western world an
idea of Chinese literature were misled by
the outward and profound respect affected
by the Chinese towards their ancient
classics. They have worked from generation
to generation in order to translate
more and more accurately the thirteen
classics, Confucius, Mengtsz, and the others.
They did not notice that, once out of
school, the Chinese did not pay more attention
to their classics than we do to ours: if
you see a book in their hands, it will never
be the "Great Study" or the "Analects,"
but much more likely a novel like the
"History of the Three Kingdoms," or a
selection of ghost-stories. These works that[vi]
everybody, young or old, reads and reads
again, have on the Chinese mind an influence
much greater than the whole bulk
of the classics. Notwithstanding their great
importance for those who study Chinese
thought, they have been completely left
aside. In fact, the whole of real Chinese
literature is still unknown to the Westerners.
It is a pity that it should be so. The
novels and stories throw an extraordinary
light on Chinese everyday life that foreigners
have been very seldom, and now will
never be, able to witness, and they illustrate
in a striking way the idea the
Chinese have formed of the other world.
One is able at last to understand what is
the meaning of the huen or superior soul,
which leaves the body after death or during
sleep, but keeps its outward appearance and
ordinary clothes; the p'aï or inferior soul
which remains in the decaying body, and
sometimes is strong enough to prevent it
from decaying, and to give it all the appearances[vii]
of life. The magicians of the Tao
religion, or Taoist priests, play a great
part in these stories, and the Buddhist
ideas of metempsychosis give the opportunity
of more complicated situations than we
dream of.
Among the most celebrated works, I
have chosen the "Strange Stories from
the Lodge of Leisures," Leao chai Chi yi.
It was written in the second half of the
eighteenth century by P'ou Song-lin (P'ou
Lieou-hsien), of Tsy-cheou, in the Chantong
province.
The whole work is composed of more
than three hundred stories. I have selected
twenty-five among the most characteristic.
This being a literary work, and having
nothing scientific to boast of, I have tried
to give my English readers the same
literary impression that the Chinese has.
Tradutore traditore, say the Italians; I hope
I have not been too much of a traitor.
A translation is always a most difficult[viii]
work; if it is materially exact, word for
word and sentence by sentence, the so-called
scientific men are satisfied, but all
the charm, beauty, and interest of the
original are lost. Very often, too, such
translation is obscure and unintelligible.
Each nation has an heirloom of traditions,
customs, or religion to which its literature
constantly refers. If the reader is
not acquainted with that literature, these
references will convey no meaning to his
mind, or they may even convey a false one.
In Chinese, this difficulty is greater than
in any other language; the Far Eastern
civilisation has had a development of its
own, and its legends and superstitions have
nothing in common with the Western folklore.
The Chinese mind is radically different
from ours, and has grown, in every generation,
more different by reason of a different
training and a different ideal in life. The
Chinese writing, moreover, has strengthened
those differences; it represents the ideas[ix]
themselves, instead of representing the
words; each Chinese sign may be rightly
translated by either of the three or more
words by which our language analytically
describes every aspect of one same idea.
The sign which is read Tao, for instance,
must be, according to the sentence, translated
by any of the words: direction, rule,
doctrine, religion, way, road, word, verb;
all of them being the different forms of the
same idea of direction, moral or physical.
Some French sinologists, aware of this
difficulty, now translate the texts literally,
and try to explain the meaning by a number
of notes, which sometimes leave only
one or two lines of text in a page. This
method seems at first more scientific; it
explains everything in the most careful way,
and is very useful for the translation of
inscriptions or of certain obscure passages
in historical books. But for real literature,
it is the greatest possible error, leaving
out, as it does, all the impression and[x]
illusion the author intended to convey.
Besides, the necessity of going, at every
word, down the page in order to find the
meaning in a note, tires the reader and
takes away all the pleasure he should derive
from the book.
One may even say that a materially
exact translation is, in reality, a false one;
the words we use in writing and speaking
being mere technical signs by which we
represent our ideas. For instance, the word
"cathedral" will certainly not convey the
same idea to two men, one of whom has
only seen St. Paul's, and the other only
Notre-Dame de Paris; for the first, cathedral
means a dome; for the other it means
two towers and a long ogival nave. Below
the outward appearance of the words
there lie so many different images that it
is absolutely necessary to know the mentality
of a nation in order to master its
language. In fact, a true translation will
be the one that, though sometimes materially[xi]
inexact, will give the reader the same
impression he would have if he were reading
the original text.
Since I first went to China, in 1901, I have
had many opportunities of acquainting myself
with all the superstitions of the lower
classes, with all the splendid mental and
intellectual training of the learned. My
experience has helped me to perceive what
was hidden beneath the words; and in my
translation I have sometimes supplied what
the author only thought necessary to imply.
In many places the translation is literal;
in other places it is literary, it being impossible
for a Western writer to retain all
the long and useless talking, all the repetitions
that Chinese writing and Chinese
taste are equally fond of.
George Soulié.
[xiii]
CONTENTS
Page
1
10
18
22
30
38
42
47
54
61
72
79
[xiv]
84
90
106
110
114
120
125
131
138
143
149
154
162
[1]
Strange Stories from the Lodge of Leisures
THE GHOST IN LOVE
On the 15th day of the First Moon, in the
second year of the period of "Renewed
Principles," the streets of the town
of the Eastern Lake were thronged with
people who were strolling about.
At the setting of the sun every shop was
brightly lit up; processions of people moved
hither and thither; strings of boys were
carrying lanterns of every form and colour;
whole families passed, every member of
whom, young or old, small or big, was
holding at the end of a thin bamboo the
lighted image of a bird, an animal, or a
flower.
[2]
Richer ones, several together, were carrying
enormous dragons whose luminous wings
waved at every motion and whose glaring
eyes rolled from right to left. It was the
Fête of the Lanterns.
A young man, clothed in a long pale green
dress, allowed himself to be pushed about by
the crowd; the passers-by bowed to him:
"How is my Lord Li The-peaceful?"
"The humble student thanks you; and
you, how are you?"
"Very well, thanks to your happy influence."
"Does the precious student soon pass his
second literary examination?"
"In two months; ignorant that I am.
I am idling instead of working."
The fête was drawing to a close when The-peaceful
quitted the main street, and went
towards the East Gate, where the house was
to be found in which he lived alone.
He went farther and farther: the moving
lights were rarer; ere long he only saw before[3]
him the fire of a white lantern decorated
with two red peonies. The paper globe
was swinging to the steps of a tiny girl
clothed in the blue linen that only slaves
wore. The light, behind, showed the elegant
silhouette of another woman, this one
covered with a long jacket made in a rich pink
silk edged with purple.
As the student drew nearer, the belated
walker turned round, showing an oval
face and big long eyes, wherein shone a
bright speck, cruel and mysterious.
Li The-peaceful slackened his pace,
following the two strangers, whose small
feet glided silently on the shining flagstones
of the street.
He was asking himself how he could
begin a conversation, when the mistress
turned round again, softly smiled, and in a
low, rich voice, said to him:
"Is it not strange that in the advancing
night we are following the same road?"
"I owe it to the favour of Heaven," he[4]
at once replied; "for I am returning to
the East Gate; otherwise I should never
have dared to follow you."
The conversation, once begun, continued
as they walked side by side. The student
learned that the pretty walker was called
"Double-peony," that she was the daughter
of Judge Siu, that she lived out of the city
in a garden planted with big trees, on the
road to the lake.
On arriving at his house The-peaceful
insisted that his new friend should enter
and take a cup of tea. She hesitated; then
the two young people pushed the door,
crossed the small yard bordered right and
left with walls covered with tiles, and disappeared
in the house....
The servant remained under the portal.
Daylight was breaking when the young
girl came out again, calling the servant,
who was asleep. The next evening she
came again, always accompanied by the
slave bearing the white lantern with two[5]
red peonies. It was the same each day
following.
A neighbour who had watched these
nocturnal visits was inquisitive enough to
climb the wall which separated his yard
from that of the lovers, and to wait,
hidden in the shade of the house.
At the accustomed hour the street-door,
left ajar, opened to let in the visitors.
Once in the courtyard, they were suddenly
transformed, their eyes became flaming
and red; their faces grew pale; their
teeth seemed to lengthen; an icy mist
escaped from their lips.
The neighbour did not see any more:
terrified, he let himself slide to the ground
and ran to his inner room.
The next morning he went to the student
and told him what he had seen. The lover
was paralysed with fear: in order to reassure
himself he resolved to find out everything
he could about his mistress.
He at once went outside the ramparts,[6]
on the road to the lake, hoping to find the
house of Judge Siu. But at the place
he had been told of there was no habitation;
on the left, a fallow plain, sown
with tombs, went up to the hills; on the
right, cultivated fields extended as far as
the lake.
However, a small temple was hidden
there under big trees. The student had
given up all hope; he entered, notwithstanding,
into the sacred enclosure, knowing
that travellers stayed there sometimes
for several weeks.
In the first yard a bonze was passing
in his red dress and shaven head; he stopped
him.
"Do you know Judge Siu? He has a
daughter——"
"Judge Siu's daughter?" asked the
priest, astonished. "Well—yes—but wait,
I will show her to you."
The-peaceful felt his heart overflowing
with joy; his beloved one was living; he[7]
was going to see her by the light of day.
He quickly followed his companion.
Passing the first court, they crossed a
threshold and found themselves in a yard
planted with high pine-trees and bordered by
a low pavilion. The bonze, passing in first,
pushed a door, and, turning round, said:
"Here is Judge Siu's daughter!"
The other stopped, terrified; on a trestle
a heavy black lacquered coffin bore this
inscription in golden letters: "Coffin of
Double-peony, Judge Siu's daughter."
On the wall was an unfolded painting
representing the little maid; a white
lantern decorated with two red peonies was
hung over it.
"Yes, she has been there for the last
two years; her parents, according to the
rite, are waiting for a favourable day to
bury her."
The student silently turned on his heel
and went back, not deigning to reply to
the mocking bow of the priest.
[8]
Evening arrived; he locked himself in,
and, covering his head with his blankets, he
waited; sleep came to him only at daybreak.
But he could not cease to think of her
whom he no longer saw; his heart beat as
if to burst, when in the street he perceived
the silhouette of a woman which reminded
him of his friend.
At last he was incapable of containing
himself any longer; one evening he stationed
himself behind the door. After a
few minutes there was a knock; he opened
the door; it was only the little maid:
"My mistress is in tears; why do you
never open the door? I come every evening.
If you will follow me, perhaps she
will forgive you."
The-peaceful, blinded by love, started at
once, walking by the light of the white
lantern.
The next day the neighbours, seeing[9]
that the student's door was open, and
that his house was empty, made a declaration
to the governor of the town.
The police made an inquest; they collected
the evidence of several people who
had been watching the nightly visitors
the student had received. The bonze of
the temple outside the city walls came to
say what he knew. The chief of the police
went to the road leading to the lake; he
crossed the threshold of the little edifice,
passed the first yard and at last opened the
door of the pavilion.
Everything was in order, but under the
lid of the heavy coffin one could see the
corner of the long green dress of the student.
In order to do away with evil influences
there was a solemn funeral.
Ever since this time, on light clear nights,
the passers-by often meet the two lovers
entwined together, slowly walking on the
road which leads to the lake.
[10]
THE FRESCO
In the Great Highway of Eternal
Fixity, Mong Flowing-spring and his
friend Choo Little-lotus were slowly walking,
clothed in the long light green dress of
the students.
They had both just passed with success
their third literary examination, and were
enjoying the pleasures of the capital before
returning to their distant province.
As they were both of small means, they
were looking now (and at the same time
filling their eyes with the movement of the
street) for a lodging less expensive than the
inn where they had put up on arriving at
Pekin.
Leaving the Great Highway, they strolled
far into a labyrinth of lanes more and
more silent. They soon lost themselves.[11]
Undecided, they had stopped, when they
spied out the red lacquered portal of a
temple of the Mysterious-way.
Pushing the heavy sides of the door,
they entered; an old man with his hair
tightly drawn together in a black cap,
majestic in his grey dress, stood behind the
door and appeared to be waiting for them.
"Your coming lightens my humble dwelling,"
he said in bowing. "I beg you will
enter."
"I do not dare! I do not dare!" murmured
the two students, bowing in their
turn.
They nevertheless entered, crossing the
yard on which the portal opened, which
was closed, at the end, by the little
temple in open woodwork close under the
mass of roofs of green tiles.
They went up three steps, then, pushing
a narrow and straight door, they entered.
In the half-shadow they distinguished on
the white altar a statue of Tche Kong The-Supreme-Lord,[12]
with a golden face and
griffins' feet like the claws of an eagle.
The walls on each side of the altar were
painted in frescoes; on the wall on the
right you saw goddesses in the midst of
flowers. One of these young girls, with a
low chignon, was gathering a peony and
was slightly smiling. Her mouth, like a
cherry, seemed as if it were really opening;
one would have sworn that her eyelids
fluttered.
Mong Flowing-spring, his eyes fixed on
the painting, remained a long time without
moving, absorbed in his admiration of the
work of art, and disturbed beyond expression
by the beauty of the goddess with
the low chignon.
"Why is she not living?" said he. "I
would willingly give my life for a moment
of her love!"
Suddenly he started; the young goddess
raised herself upright, bursting with laughter,
and got down from the wall. She crossed the[13]
door, went down the staircase, stepped over
the yard and left the place.
Flowing-spring followed her without reflecting.
He saw her going away with a
light step, and turn down the first lane;
the young student ran behind her.
As he turned the corner, he saw her
stop at the entrance of a small house.
She was gracefully waving her hand, and,
with sly glances, made him signs to come.
He hastened forward and entered in his
turn. In the silent house there was nobody,
no one but the goddess standing in
her long mauve dress and nibbling the
flower that she had picked and that she
still held in her hand.
"I bow down," said the student, who
knelt to salute her.
"Rise! you exceed the rites prescribed,"
she replied.
"I bend my head, not being able to bear
the splendour of your beauty."
As she did not seem to be discontented[14]
he continued telling her his admiration
and his desire. He approached, touched
her hand; she started, but did not draw
back. He then took her in his arms; she
did not make much resistance.
The moments passed rapidly. They spoke
to each other in a low voice, when, suddenly
in the street, a noise of heavy boots resounded;
steps stopped before the door;
the lock was shaken; oaths were heard.
The young girl grew pale; she told
Flowing-spring to hide himself under the
bed. The student felt his heart become
quite small; he crouched down in the
shadow, not even being able to breathe.
From the depth of his hiding-place, he
saw an officer enter, his face in black lacquer,
covered with a golden cuirass and surrounded
by a troop of young girls in long dresses of
bright colours.
"I smell an odour of human flesh!"
grumbled the officer, walking heavily and
going round the room.
[15]
"Hide yourself well!" the goddess
murmured to her lover, raising herself
from the bed and white with terror. "If
you can escape from him, wait till we have
left, and open the little door at the end of
the garden; then run away quickly!"
[16]
"There is a man here! I smell him!
He must be delivered to me! If not, I
shall punish the person who has hidden
him."
"We know nothing!" all the young
women said together.
"Very well! Let us go out."
[17]
Then, following the gracious troop which
the goddess had joined, he crossed the
threshold.
Flowing-spring, hidden under the bed,
waited till the noise of the boots had gone
away. Then he glided with caution from
his refuge.
Half bent, listening with anxiety in fear
of being surprised, he flew from the room
and crossed the garden.
[18]
During this time Choo Little-lotus,
having remained in the temple, had not
remarked the departure of his friend.
But, turning round and not any longer
seeing him, he questioned the old magician.
"Your friend is not far off," he replied.
Then, showing him the wall, he said:
"Look! here he is!"
And, indeed, in the centre of the fresco,
the image of Flowing-spring was painted;
he was crouched in among the flowers,
straining his ear. The image moved, and,
suddenly, the student separated himself
from the wall and advanced, looking sad
and anxious.
Choo Little-lotus, terrified, was looking
at him. The other told him his adventure.
As he spoke a terrible clap of thunder was
heard. The two friends instinctively shut
their eyes; when they opened them, their
glance fell on the fresco: the goddesses
had taken their places there again, in
the midst of the flowers; but the young[19]
girl with the low chignon was no longer
there.
The magician smiled at Flowing-spring:
"Love has touched her. She has become
a woman and is waiting for you in your
village."
[20]
THE DWARF HUNTERS
The heavy summer in the South is
particularly hard to bear for those
who are ill. The damp heat keeps them
awake, and thousands of insects trouble
their rest.
Wang Little-third-one, stretched on his
bed made of bamboo laths, where a low
fever kept him, complained of it to all
those who came to see him, especially to his
friend the magician officiating priest of the
little temple situated in the neighbouring
crossway.
The magician knew something of medicine;
he prescribed a calming potion and
retired.
When Little-third-one had drunk the
potion, his fever fell and he was able to
enjoy a little sleep. He was awakened by[21]
a slight noise; night had come on; the
room was lighted by the full moon, which
threw a bright gleam by the open door.
All the insects were moving and flying
hither and thither; white ants who gnaw
wood, bad-smelling bugs, enormous cockroaches,
mosquitoes, innumerable and various
flies.
As Little-third-one was looking, his attention
was drawn by a movement on the
threshold: a small man, not bigger than
a thumb, advanced with precautious steps;
in his hand he held a bow; a sword was
hanging at his side.
Little-third-one, on looking closer, saw
two dogs as big as shirt-buttons running
before the man with the bow; they suddenly
stopped: the archer approached,
held out his weapon, and discharged the
arrow. A cockroach who was crawling
before the dogs made a bound, fell on its
back, moved again, then remained motionless;
the arrow had run through it.
[22]
Behind the first huntsman others had
come; some were on horseback, armed
with swords; some on foot.
From that time it was a pursuit without
intermission; hundreds of insects were
shot. At first the mosquitoes escaped;
but as they cannot fly for long, every time
that one remained still it was transpierced
by the huntsmen.
Soon nothing was left of all the insects
who broke the silence with their buzzing,
their gnashing of teeth, or their falling.
A horseman then was seen galloping over
the room, looking from right to left. He
then gave the signal; all the huntsmen
called their dogs, went towards the door,
and disappeared.
Little-third-one had not moved, in order
not to disturb the hunt. At last he
peacefully went to sleep, henceforth sure
of not being awakened by a sting or a
bite. He awoke late the next day almost
cured.
[23]
When his friend the magician came to
see him, he told him his experience: the
other smiled. Wang understood that the
mysterious hunters came from the little
temple.
[24]
THE CORPSE THE BLOOD-DRINKER
Night was slowly falling in the narrow
valley. On the winding path cut
in the side of the hill about twenty mules
were following each other, bending under
their heavy load; the muleteers, being
tired, did not cease to hurry forward their
animals, abusing them with coarse voices.
Comfortably seated on mules with large
pack-saddles, three men were going along
at the same pace as the caravan of which
they were the masters. Their thick dresses,
their fur boots, and their red woollen hoods
protected them from the cold wind of the
mountain.
In the darkness, rendered thicker by a
slight fog, the lights of a village were shining,
and soon the mules, hurrying all together,[25]
jostling their loads, crowded before the
only inn of the place.
The three travellers, happy to be able
to rest, got down from their saddles when
the innkeeper came out on the step of
his door and excused himself, saying all his
rooms were taken.
"I have still, it is true, a large hall the
other side of the street, but it is only a
barn, badly shut. I will show it to you."
The merchants, disappointed, consulted
each other with a look; but it was too
late to continue their way; they followed
their landlord.
The hall that was shown to them was big
enough and closed at the end by a curtain.
Their luggage was brought; the bed-clothes
rolled on the pack-saddles were spread out,
as usual, on planks and trestles.
The meal was served in the general
sitting-room, in the midst of noise, laughing,
and movement—smoking rice, vegetables
preserved in vinegar, and lukewarm wine[26]
served in small cups. Then every one went
to bed; the lights were put out and profound
silence prevailed in the sleeping village.
However, towards the hour of the Rat,
a sensation of cold and uneasiness awoke
one of the three travellers named Wang
Fou, Happiness-of-the-kings. He turned
in his bed, but the snoring of his two companions
annoyed him; he could not get
to sleep. Again, seeing that his rest was
finished, he got up, relit the lamp which
was out, took a book from his baggage, and
stretched himself out again. But if he
could not sleep, it was just as impossible
to read. In spite of himself, his eyes
quitted the columns of letters laid out in
lines and searched into the darkness that
the feeble light did not contrive to break
through.
A growing terror froze him. He would
have liked to awaken his companions, but
the fear of being made fun of prevented
him.
[27]
By dint of looking, he at last saw a slight
movement shake the big curtain which
closed the room. There came from behind
a crackling of wood being broken. Then a
long, painful threatening silence began again.
The merchant felt his flesh thrill; he
was filled with horror, in spite of his efforts
to be reasonable.
He had put aside his book, and, the coverlet
drawn up to his nose, he fixed his enlarged
eyes on the shadowy corners at the end
of the room.
The side of the curtain was lifted; a
pale hand held the folds. The stuff, thus
raised, permitted a being to pass, whose
form, hardly distinct, seemed penetrated
by the shadow.
Happiness-of-kings would have liked to
scream; his contracted throat allowed no
sound to escape. Motionless and speechless,
he followed with his horrified look the
slow movement of the apparition which
approached.
[28]
He, little by little, recognised the silhouette
of a female, seen by her short
quilted dress and her long narrow jacket.
Behind the body he perceived the curtain
again moving.
The spectre, in the meantime bending
over the bed of one of the sleeping travellers,
appeared to give him a long kiss.
Then it went towards the couch of the
second merchant. Happiness-of-kings distinctly
saw the pale figure, the eyes, from
which a red flame was shining, and sharp
teeth, half-exposed in a ferocious smile,
which opened and shut by turns on the
throat of the sleeper.
A start disturbed the body under the
cover, then all stopped: the spectre was
drinking in long draughts.
Happiness-of-kings, seeing that his turn
was coming, had just strength enough to
pull the coverlet over his head. He heard
grumblings; a freezing breath penetrated
through the wadded material.
[29]
The paroxysm of terror gave the merchant
full possession of his strength; with a
convulsive movement he threw his coverlet
on the apparition, jumped out of his bed,
and, yelling like a wild beast, he ran as
far as the door and flew away in the night.
Still running, he felt the freezing breath
in his back, he heard the furious growlings
of the spectre.
The prolonged howling of the unhappy
man filled the narrow street and awoke
all the sleepers in their beds, but none of
them moved; they hid themselves farther
and farther under their coverlets. These
inhuman cries meant nothing good for
those who should have been bold enough
to go outside.
The bewildered fugitive crossed the village,
going faster and faster. Arriving at
the last houses, he was only a few feet in
advance and felt himself fainting.
The road at the extremity of the village
was bordered with narrow fields shaded with[30]
big trees. The instinct of a hunted animal
drove on the distracted merchant; he
made a brisk turn to the right, then to the
left, and threw himself behind the knotted
trunk of a huge chestnut-tree. The freezing
hand already touched his shoulder; he
fell senseless.
In the morning, in broad daylight, two
men who came to plough in this same field
were surprised to perceive against the
tree a white form, and, on the ground, a
man stretched out. This fact coming after
the howling in the night appeared strange
to them; they turned back and went to
find the Chief of the Elders. When they
returned, the greater part of the inhabitants
of the village followed them.
They approached and found that the
form against the tree was the corpse of a
young woman, her nails buried in the
bark; from her mouth a stream of blood
had flowed and stained her white silk[31]
jacket. A shudder of horror shook the
lookers-on: the Chief of the Elders recognised
his daughter dead for the last six
months whose coffin was placed in a barn,
waiting for the burial, a favourable day
to be fixed by the astrologers.
The innkeeper recognised one of his
guests in the man stretched on the ground,
whom no care could revive.
They returned in haste to find out in
what condition the coffin was: the door
of the barn was still open. They went
in; a coverlet was thrown on the ground
near the entrance; on two beds the great
sun lit up the hollow and greenish aspect
of the corpses whose blood had been emptied.
Behind the drawn curtain the coffin
was found open. The corpse of the young
woman evidently had not lost its inferior
soul, the vital breath. Like all beings
deprived of conscience and reason, her
ferocity was eager for blood.
[32]
LOVE REWARDED
Lost in the heart of Peking, in one
of the most peaceful neighbourhoods
of the Yellow City, the street of Glowing-happiness
was sleeping in the silence and
in the light.
On the right and left of the dusty road
was some waste ground, where several red
mangy, and surly dogs were sleeping. Five
or six low houses, their white walls forming
a line not well defined, whose low roofs
were covered with grey tiles, bordered the
road.
In the first year of the Glorious-Strength,
four hundred years ago, a young man with
long hair tied together under the black
gauze cap of the scholars, clothed in a pink
dress with purple flowers, was walking in
the setting sun, stepping cautiously in[33]
order not to cover with dust his shoes with
thick felt soles.