| 英譯： |
NIGHT of the tenth day of the fourth month, Lo-t'ien' says:
O Wei-chih, Wei-chih, it is three years since I saw your face
and almost two years since I had a letter from you. Is man's
life so long that he can afford such partings? Much less should
hearts joined by glue be set in bodies remote as Hu and
Yieh. In promotion we could not be together; and in failure
we cannot forget each other. Snatched and wrenched apart,
separately each of us grows grey. O Wei-chih, what is to be
done? But this is the work of Heaven and there is no use in
speaking of it.
When I first arrived at Hsün-yang, Hsiung Ju-tēng came
with the letter which you had written the year before, when
you were so ill. First you told me of the progress of your ill-
ness, next of your feelings while you were ill and last you
spoke of all our meetings and partings, and of the occasion of
your own difficulties and dangers. You had no time to write
more, but sent a bundle of your writings with a note attached,
which said, "Later on I will send a message by Po Minchung.
Ask him for news and that will do instead of a letter" . Alas!
Is it thus that Wei-chih treats me? But again, I read the poem
you wrote when you heard I had been banished:
The lamp had almost spent its light: shadows filled the room,
The night I heard that Lo-t'ien was banished to Kiu-kiang.
And I that had lain sick to death sat up suddenly in bed;
A dark wind blowing rain entered at the cold window.
If even strangers' hearts are touched by these lines, much
more must mine be; so that to this day I cannot recite them
without pain. Of this matter I will say no more, but tell you
briefly what has passed of late.
It is more than three years since I came to Kiu-kiang.
All this time my body has been strong and my heart much
at peace. There has been no sickness in my household, even
among the servants. Last summer my elder brother arrived
from Hsü-chou, leading by the hand six or seven little broth-
ers and sisters, orphans of various households. So that I have
under my eyes all those who at present demand my care.
They share with me cold and heat, hunger and satiety. This
is my frst consolation.
The climate of the River Province is somewhat cool, so
that fevers and epidemics are rare. And while snakes and
mosquitoes are few, the fish in the Pēn are remarkably fat,
the River wine is exceedingly good, and indeed for the most
part the food is like that of the North Country. Although the
mouths within my doors are many and the salary of a Sub-
Prefect is small, by a thrifty application of my means, I am
yet able to provide for my household without seeking any man's assistance to clothe their backs or fill their bellies. This
is my second consolation.
In the autumn of last year I visited Lu Shan for the first
time. Reaching a point between the Eastern Forest and West-
ern Forest Temples, beneath the Incense-Burner Peak, I was
enamoured by the unequalled prospect of cloud-girt waters
and spray-clad rocks. Unable to leave this place, I built a
cottage here. Before it stand ten tall pines and a thousand
tapering bamboos. With green creepers I fenced my garden;
with white stones I made bridge and path. Flowing waters
encircle my home; flying spray falls between the eayes. Red
pomegranate and white lotus cluster on the steps of the pond.
All is after this patterr, though I cannot here name each de-
light. Whenever I come here alone, I am moved to prolong
my stay to ten days; for of the things that have all my life
most pleased me, not one is missing. So that not only do I
forget to go back, but would gladly end my days here. This
is my third consolation.
Remembering that not having had news of me for so
long, you might be in some anxiety with regard to me, I have
hastened to set your mind at rest by recording these three
consolations. What else I have to tell shall be set out in due
order, as follows....
Wei-chih, Wei-chih! The night I wrote this letter I was
sitting at the mountain-window of my thatched hut. I let my
brush run as my hand willed and wrote at hazard as my thoughts came. When I folded it and addressed it, I found
that dawn had come I raised my head and saw only a few
mountain-priests, some sitting, some sleeping. I heard the
mournful cries of mountain apes and the sad twitterings of
valley birds. O friend of all my life, parted from me by
a thousand leagues, at such times as this "dim thoughts of
the World" creep upon me for a while; so, following my
ancient custom, I send you these three couplets:
I remember how once I wrote you a letter sitting in the Palace at night,
At the back of the Hall of Golden Bells, when dawn was coming
in the sky.
This night I fold your letter—in what place?
Sitting in a cottage on Lu Shan, by the light of a late lamp.
The caged bird and fettered ape are neither of them dead yet;
In the world of men face to face will they ever meet again?
O Weichih, Wei-chih! This night, this heart—do you
know them or not? Lo-t'ien bows his head.
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