Preface to Collected Poems from the Orchid Pavilion
Wang Hsi-chih (c. 303–c. 361)
In the ninth year of the Eternal Harmony era in the beginning of the last month of spring when the calendar was in kuei-ch’ou,1 we met at the Orchid Pavilion in Shan-yin, Kuei-chi, to celebrate the Bathing Festival.2 All the worthy men assembled; the young and the senior gathered together. Here were lofty mountains and towering hills, thick groves and tall bamboo. And, there was a clear, rapid stream reflecting everything around that had been diverted to play the game of floating wine-cups along a winding course. We sat down in order of precedence. Though we had none of the magnificent sounds of strings and flutes, a cup of wine and then a poem was enough to stir our innermost feelings.
This was a day when the sky was bright and the air was pure. A gentle breeze warmed us. Upwards we gazed to contemplate the immensity of the universe; downwards we peered to scrutinize the abundance of living things. In this way, we let our eyes roam and our emotions become aroused so that we enjoyed to the fullest these sights and sounds. This was happiness, indeed!
Men associate with each other but for the brief span of their lives. Some are content to control their innermost feelings as they converse inside a room. Some are prompted to give rein to their ambitions and lead wild, unfettered lives. There is all the difference between controlled and abandoned natures, just as the quiescent and the frenzied are unalike. Yet, both take pleasure from whatever they encounter, possessing it but for a while. Happy and content, they remain unaware that old age is fast approaching. And, when they tire of something, they let their feelings change along with events as they experience a deep melancholy. What they had taken pleasure in has now passed away in an instant, so how could their hearts not give rise to longing? Furthermore, a long or short life depends on the transformation of all things: everything must come to an end. An ancient said, “Life and death are the greatest of matters, indeed!”3 Isn’t this reason enough to be sad?
Whenever I read of the causes of melancholy felt by men of the past, it is like joining together two halves of a tally. I always feel sad when I read them, yet I cannot quite understand why. But I know that it is meaningless to say life and death are the same; and to equate the longevity of P’eng-tsu with that of Shang-tzu is simply wrong.4 Future readers will look back upon today just as we look back at the past. How sad it all is! Therefore, I have recorded my contemporaries and transcribed what they have written. Over distant generations and changing events, what gives rise to melancholy will be the same. Future readers will also feel moved by these writings.
Translated by Richard Strassberg
Wang Hsi-chih, from Kuei-chi (modern-day Shao-hsing, Chekiang), was an influential official, writer, and, above all, calligrapher during the Eastern Chin dynasty. He wrote this preface to commemorate a festive springtime gathering of forty-one notable figures, who made an excursion outside Kuei-chi to a spot about ten miles southwest of modern-day Shao-hsing on April 22, 353. As part of the entertainment, wine-cups were floated down a winding stream, and the guests were asked to write a poem before the cups passed their seats or else drink a forfeit. Only twenty-six guests were able to comply, and their efforts were gathered in a volume to which Wang wrote this short introduction. Despite its brevity, few examples of Chinese prose have had such widespread influence on subsequent literati culture. Wang was canonized as the “sage” of calligraphy, and the original text in his hand became a model of the “running script.” The image of the gathering generated a veritable cult of the Orchid Pavilion celebrated in poetry, painting, and the decorative arts while the area of the original event became a literary shrine.
The preface was an important place for a Chinese author to make a statement about the purpose of his own literary work or about the nature of literature in general. Beyond that, however, the prefaces themselves often have literary significance. Other prefaces collected in this anthology are found in selections 12 and 164.
1. April 22, 353.
2. The Bathing Festival was originally an ancient festival of purification held in the first ten days of the third lunar month when the people would go to sacrifice and bathe in a nearby river or lake. During the Six Dynasties period, its early religious significance was lost, and it became a social occasion for the literati to gather and write poetry.
3. See Chuang Tzu (see selection 8), chapter 12: “Confucius said, ‘Life and death are the greatest of matters, indeed, but he [Wang T’ai] is unaffected by them. Although Heaven may overturn and the Earth might sink, it is no loss to him. He carefully observes whatever is pure and does not let things influence him. He recognizes as fate the transformation of things and holds fast to their guiding principles.’” Here, Confucius is ironically made to espouse Chuang Tzu’s philosophy by praising a cripple, Wang T’ai, who had his foot cut off as a penalty yet gathered as many disciples as Confucius himself.
4. See Chuang Tzu, chapter 5: “No one has lived longer than Shang-tzu and P’eng-tsu died young.” Chuang Tzu paradoxically reverses the common belief that P’eng-tsu lived for eight hundred years, longer than any other man, and that Shang-tzu died in his youth.