吉尔伯特•基思•切斯特顿（Gilbert Keith Chesterton）（译者注：英国著名作家、文学评论家、神学家，经常被人们誉为“悖论王子”。）曾说过一句话：“我在托儿所里学到的是我最初，同时也是我最终的人生哲理，而且我会坚定不移地笃信这些哲理。”这也许有些夸张，但是一个人儿时印象对自己人生观所造成的根深蒂固的影响，谁又能否认呢？我小时候曾看到家里的一位胖老妈子因为下巴脱臼而痛哭流涕的场景，这是儿时最早留给我较深的一个印象。那年我还不到五岁，但我还记得站在她面前的情景，我对她深表同情，当时我的心都要化了。我问站在我身后的人：“林阿妈出什么事啦？”有人告诉我，这是因为她过于高兴，笑得太厉害，结果下巴脱臼了。没过多久来了一位大夫，他医术娴熟，三下两下，林阿妈的下巴又能活动了。但这却唤醒了我的幽默感，于是我双手小心翼翼地托着自己的下巴，突然放声大笑起来。随着这种幽默感的出现，我对生命中的这种反复无常也有了模模糊糊的认识：一个人笑得太过激烈可能会导致哭泣！后来我在一篇中文古典作品中看到了这句至理名言：“物极必反”，这句话对我而言已经是很熟悉了。当我读到莎士比亚的箴言：“人生就是一张用善恶丝线交错织成的网”时，我说：“真地是这样啊！林阿妈就是由笑转哭，又由哭转笑的。”简而言之，我很早就开始了解悖论的奥秘，我的悖论性思维在我接受基督教时发挥了不小的作用。 我6岁那年，开始在家里跟随一位私塾先生学习。这位先生是个儒学老秀才。等我长到7岁，已经掌握了足够多的汉字，我便开始学习一本名为《二十四孝》的小书。这是我人生中读的第一本书，给我留下的印象最为深刻。 第一课是摘自舜帝的传说故事，据说他在公元前2300年登上王位。舜微为庶人，父顽，母嚣，弟傲。父命舜耕于历山（今山西永济首阳山），群象为之耕，众鸟为之耘。一日，父使舜下井，舜既入深，弟下石击舜，舜竟从匿空出。帝尧闻其孝感，妻以二女。虽父不慈，弟不恭，舜事父母，爱弟弥谨。舜之真诚使得整个家庭和睦，父慈母爱，兄弟友善。整篇课文最后用以下四句美妙的诗句总结：
对对耕春象， 纷纷耘草禽。 嗣尧登帝位， 孝感动天下。
这是我人生中背诵的第一首诗。尽管我并不相信整个故事的真实性，但我当时并不怀疑，而且也从未怀疑过，好人虽历尽千辛万苦，最终总是安然无恙。“苍天有眼”、“天道公平”、“老天爷惩恶扬善”，这些都是我那代人耳熟能详的谚语。虽然我对蒙福和降罪的概念后来脱离了世俗，或者说神灵化了，但在时间的长河中，天道公平的基本原则通过我的观察和体验得到了确认。 另一个深深打动我的故事与孔夫子的高徒闵子骞有关。子骞早丧母。父娶后母，生二子。后母爱二子而恶子谦。冬，后母以芦花衣子谦，以棉絮衣其二子。一日，子骞为父御车，天寒身抖，失辔，父斥其心不专，子骞不语。父后察知其故，怒后母虐前妻之子，而欲出之，子骞恳求道：宁叫娘在一子单，不叫娘去三子寒。后母闻之，卒悔改，遂善待子骞。 我忍不住相信上面所讲的真有其事。不管怎么说，子骞上面说的话常常挂在我认识的每位夫子的嘴上。孔夫子这位高徒的大度和智慧，使人不禁想到基督教中的某些圣徒。 我喜欢另一个故事的原因是它激发了我的幽默感。陆绩，年六岁，尝作宾客于大将军袁术府，术出橘待之。绩怀橘二枚，此举有违时礼，客应啖橘而非匿藏之。及绩跪拜辞术，二橘堕地。术见之，曰：“陆郎作宾客为何而怀橘乎？”绩再跪答曰：“吾母性之所爱，欲归以遗母尝。”术大奇此子之孝。 我读这个故事时，奇的却是陆绩的勇敢，他竟敢把做客的礼仪之道抛掷一边而不顾。我记得这本书配了很好的插图，每当我看到两个橘子躺在地上时的那幅图画，都忍不住笑出声来。这胸怀该有多坦荡啊！ 但给我留下最深印象的也许是老莱子的故事。老莱子行年七十，齿几全落，但母尚在。尝著五彩斑斓之衣，为婴儿状，戏舞于母前，并弄雏母前，欲亲之喜。又尝取水上堂，诈跌卧地，作婴儿啼，母为之乐，儿孙皆为之乐，阖家融融。在我看来，老莱子是某些基督圣徒的原型，诸如基督圣徒斐里伯•内利（Philip Neri）——“身穿斑衣的神秘人”，以及阿西西的圣佛朗西斯（Francis of Assisi）——“天主的杂耍演员”。 我对这个故事的内容感到痴迷，试图效仿老莱子。小时候我也常常诈跌卧地，弄雏娱母。但我忘了我尚未古稀，地不干净，母亲为我做的新衣服很容易被地上的土弄脏。她非但不高兴，还恳求我不要再这样做。尽管我这种独特的表现方式还有待于进一步提高改进，但她知道我这样做都是出自我的良苦用心。 糟糕的是，自小养成的习惯很不容易戒除。即使现在，每当天主眷顾我，让我背负一些小小的十字架或给我以宽大的安慰时，我都感到一股不可遏制的冲动，想在地上打滚，效仿老莱子的各种动作，以博得我们圣母脸上的一丝微笑。有一次，我的好友薛光前（Paul K. T. Sih）正好看到了我在卧室里玩这些把戏，断定我一定是在模仿阿西西的圣佛朗西斯。事实上，我不过是改编了老莱子自制动作，以便使这些动作符合我的精神生活。闲言少絮，当我看到有些人可以满脸忧郁、心事重重侍奉天主，我对此感到非常惊奇。 我非常喜欢的另一本书是《诗经》。我并未真正研究过那些诗歌，只是听我哥哥吟诵。他念得津津有味，我虽不识其中的文字，却能体会其中的意思。最能令我着迷的诗歌是“木瓜”。任何翻译都无法传其神韵，因为这首诗的魅力核心部分在于其音调。但字句仍可忠实对译：
It was G. K. Chesterton who said, "My first and last philosophy, that which I believe with unbroken certainty, I learnt in the nursery." This may be an exaggeration, but who can deny the deep-seated influence of one's childhood impressions upon one's philosophy of life? One of my earliest impressions was the sight of a fat maidservant weeping piteously because her lower jaw was disjointed! I could not have been more than five, but I remember that I was standing before her with my heart melting in compassion. I asked somebody standing behind me, "What has happened to Amah Lin?" I was told that it was because she was too happy, that she had laughed so violently that her lower jaw got out of joint. A doctor came and by his skillful manipulation she could move the jaw again. But my sense of humor had been awakened, and I burst into laughter with my hands carefully holding my lower jaw. With the sense of humor came also a vague idea of the irony of life: laughter, when it was too violent, could lead to weeping! When later I came upon the wise saying in one of the Chinese classics: "When a thing is pushed to its extreme, it moves to its opposite," it sounded quite familiar to me. When I read Shakespeare's dictum: "The web of life is of a mingled yarn, good and ill together," I said, "How true it is! For instance, Amah Lin's laughter led to weeping and her weeping led to laughter again." In short, I was early initiated into the mysteries of paradox, and my paradoxical turn of mind played no small role in my acceptance of Christianity.
When I was six, I began to study at home under a private tutor, who was a Confucian scholar. By seven I had mastered a sufficient number of characters to embark upon a little book called The Twenty-four Models of Filial Piety. Being the first book I ever read, it impressed me most deeply.
The first lesson was drawn from the legends of Emperor Shun, supposed to have reigned in the twenty-third century B.C. He was of humble origin. His father was stupid, his mother perverse, and his younger brother insolent. He was ordered by his father to cultivate the hills of Li in the modern Province of Shansi. There came to him elephants in great crowds to plough his fields, and countless birds flocked together to weed the grain for him. One day he was commanded by his father to descend into a well, and his brother cast down stones upon him; but he came out miraculously through another opening. His virtuous life caught the ears of Emperor Yao, who gave him two of his daughters in marriage. He loved his parents and his brother in spite of their maltreatment of him. His perfect sincerity was effectual in renovating his family; his parents became pleasant and his brother transformed in character. The whole lesson was summed up in a charming quatrain:
Elephants came in crowds to plough his fields;
For the weeding, numberless birds did their part.
He succeeded Emperor Yao on his throne,-
Ah, how his filial love moved Heaven's Heart!
This was the first poem that I ever learned by heart. Although I did not believe the whole story in its literalness, I did not doubt, nor ever have doubted, that a good man, whatever hardships he might have to undergo at the beginning, would never suffer any harm in the end. "Heaven has eyes." "Heaven is just." "Heaven blesses the good, and punishes the wicked." These were some of the proverbs known to everybody in my generation. Although my conception of blessing and punishment has been etherealized, or spiritualized, in the course of time, the fundamental principle of the justice of Heaven has been confirmed by my observation and experience.
Another story which touched me profoundly concerned the well-known disciple of Confucius, Min Tse-ch'ien. Tse-ch'ien lost his mother when he was a child. His father married another wife, who bore two sons. She petted her own children, but loathed Tse-ch'ien. In winter she clad him in garments made of rushes, while her own sons wore warm cotton clothes. One day as Tse-ch'ien was driving his father's chariot, his body shivered so violently that the reins dropped from his hands, for which apparent carelessness he was chastised by his father; but he refrained from making any explanation. Later, his father came to know the actual circumstance, and he was so angry at his wife's cruel partiality that he determined to divorce her. But Tse-ch'ien pleaded, saying, "If mother remains, only one son is cold; if mother goes away, three sons will be destitute." The father desisted from his purpose; and the mother was led to repentance and began to love her stepson.
I cannot help believing that this story was based upon facts. At any rate, the above words of Tse-ch'ien were on the lips of every Confucian scholar that I knew. The generosity and wisdom of this great disciple of Confucius makes one think of some of the Christian saints.
Another story I liked because it tickled my sense of humor. A six-year-old lad by the name of Lu Chi once was a guest of the celebrated general Yuan Shu, who gave him some oranges for a treat. Two of them the lad put in his bosom. This evidently was against social etiquette; for the things offered by the host to a guest were supposed to be eaten, not to be taken away secretly. As it happened, when the lad took leave of the general, bowing courteously to him, the two oranges fell out on the ground. When the general saw this, he said, "Why does my young friend, who is now a guest, put the fruit away in his bosom?" The lad, bowing again, replied, "My mother is very fond of oranges, and I wished to let her have a taste of them." The general marvelled at the filial love of the lad. But when I read the story I marvelled at his audacity in brushing aside social etiquette. I remember the book was well illustrated, and whenever I looked at the picture of the two oranges lying on the ground, I could not help chuckling over it. What a denudation!
But somehow the story which impressed me most of all was that of the old man Lao Lai Tse. He was already more than seventy years old, and had lost nearly all his teeth. But his mother was still living. In order to amuse her, he would dress himself in gaudy-colored garments, frisking and cutting capers like a child in front of her. He would sometimes take up buckets of water and try to carry them into the house; and, feigning to slip, would fall to the ground, kicking and wailing like a baby. His mother was delighted, and even his children and grandchildren were amused. Thus the whole house was filled with the spirit of joy. I regard Lao Lai Tse as the prototype of such Christian Saints as Philip Neri, the "Mystic in motley," and Francis of Assisi, the "jongleur de Dieu."
I took a great fancy to this story and tried to emulate the old boy. I too would feign to slip and fall to the ground, cutting capers and turning somersaults, in order to amuse my mother. But I forgot that I was not yet seventy, and that the floor was dirty and apt to soil the new clothes which my mother had made for me. Instead of being amused, she used to beg me to stop it; but she knew that my intentions were good, although my particular way of manifesting them left much to be desired.
Unfortunately, a habit which was formed so early in life is not easily broken. Even now, whenever God favors me with either little crosses or great consolations, I feel an almost irresistible impulse to throw myself on the ground and imitate the actions of Lao Lai Tse in order to win a smile from our Blessed Mother. My dear friend Paul K. T. Sih once caught me in the midst of such acrobatics in my bedroom, and drew the conclusion that I was imitating Francis of Assisi. In fact, I was only adapting the homespun style of Lao Lai Tse to the field of spiritual life. Jokes aside, I marvel at anyone who could serve God with a sulky face and a heavy heart.
Another book that delighted me tremendously was The Book of Songs. I did not exactly study the songs; I heard them chanted by my elder brother. He sang them with such spontaneous gusto and joy that even when I did not understand their letter, I imbided their spirit. One song enchanted me most of all-"The Song of the Quince." No translation can do it justice, for the simple reason that an essential part of its charm consists in its tune. But the wording can be faithfully rendered:
She threw a quince to me:
I requited her with a girdle-gem.
No, not just as requital,
But as a pledge of eternal love.
She threw a peach to me;
I requited her with a greenstone.
No, not just as requital,
But as a pledge of eternal love.
She threw a plum to me;
I requited her with an amulet.
No, not just as requital,
But as a pledge of eternal love.
For more than forty years this poem has been haunting me, and its meaning has grown richer and deeper for me with the passing of time.
What a beautiful sentiment is here embodied! It is "simple in conception, abounding in sensible images, and informing them all with the spirit of the mind." It fulfills the Chinese ideal of art: the impression should be as unfathomable as the ocean, while the expression should be as clear as crystal. In these few lines, the whole philosophy of love and friendship, which is the purest form of love, is shrined. For love does not count in terms of material gifts. Love is lavish. Love is generous. Love is the infinite, in the presence of which all mathematical and worldly distinctions melt and vanish into the air. Do you call it extravagant to return a greenstone for a peach? No, he says, it is not enough. She gives me a peach, because she loves me. I can only repay her love with my love.
《超越东西方》第5章-托儿所的人生哲理（A）
英文原著作者：吴经熊博士（Dr. John C. H. Wu）
吉尔伯特•基思•切斯特顿（Gilbert Keith Chesterton）（译者注：英国著名作家、文学评论家、神学家，经常被人们誉为“悖论王子”。）曾说过一句话：“我在托儿所里学到的是我最初，同时也是我最终的人生哲理，而且我会坚定不移地笃信这些哲理。”这也许有些夸张，但是一个人儿时印象对自己人生观所造成的根深蒂固的影响，谁又能否认呢？我小时候曾看到家里的一位胖老妈子因为下巴脱臼而痛哭流涕的场景，这是儿时最早留给我较深的一个印象。那年我还不到五岁，但我还记得站在她面前的情景，我对她深表同情，当时我的心都要化了。我问站在我身后的人：“林阿妈出什么事啦？”有人告诉我，这是因为她过于高兴，笑得太厉害，结果下巴脱臼了。没过多久来了一位大夫，他医术娴熟，三下两下，林阿妈的下巴又能活动了。但这却唤醒了我的幽默感，于是我双手小心翼翼地托着自己的下巴，突然放声大笑起来。随着这种幽默感的出现，我对生命中的这种反复无常也有了模模糊糊的认识：一个人笑得太过激烈可能会导致哭泣！后来我在一篇中文古典作品中看到了这句至理名言：“物极必反”，这句话对我而言已经是很熟悉了。当我读到莎士比亚的箴言：“人生就是一张用善恶丝线交错织成的网”时，我说：“真地是这样啊！林阿妈就是由笑转哭，又由哭转笑的。”简而言之，我很早就开始了解悖论的奥秘，我的悖论性思维在我接受基督教时发挥了不小的作用。
我6岁那年，开始在家里跟随一位私塾先生学习。这位先生是个儒学老秀才。等我长到7岁，已经掌握了足够多的汉字，我便开始学习一本名为《二十四孝》的小书。这是我人生中读的第一本书，给我留下的印象最为深刻。
第一课是摘自舜帝的传说故事，据说他在公元前2300年登上王位。舜微为庶人，父顽，母嚣，弟傲。父命舜耕于历山（今山西永济首阳山），群象为之耕，众鸟为之耘。一日，父使舜下井，舜既入深，弟下石击舜，舜竟从匿空出。帝尧闻其孝感，妻以二女。虽父不慈，弟不恭，舜事父母，爱弟弥谨。舜之真诚使得整个家庭和睦，父慈母爱，兄弟友善。整篇课文最后用以下四句美妙的诗句总结：
对对耕春象，
纷纷耘草禽。
嗣尧登帝位，
孝感动天下。
这是我人生中背诵的第一首诗。尽管我并不相信整个故事的真实性，但我当时并不怀疑，而且也从未怀疑过，好人虽历尽千辛万苦，最终总是安然无恙。“苍天有眼”、“天道公平”、“老天爷惩恶扬善”，这些都是我那代人耳熟能详的谚语。虽然我对蒙福和降罪的概念后来脱离了世俗，或者说神灵化了，但在时间的长河中，天道公平的基本原则通过我的观察和体验得到了确认。
另一个深深打动我的故事与孔夫子的高徒闵子骞有关。子骞早丧母。父娶后母，生二子。后母爱二子而恶子谦。冬，后母以芦花衣子谦，以棉絮衣其二子。一日，子骞为父御车，天寒身抖，失辔，父斥其心不专，子骞不语。父后察知其故，怒后母虐前妻之子，而欲出之，子骞恳求道：宁叫娘在一子单，不叫娘去三子寒。后母闻之，卒悔改，遂善待子骞。
我忍不住相信上面所讲的真有其事。不管怎么说，子骞上面说的话常常挂在我认识的每位夫子的嘴上。孔夫子这位高徒的大度和智慧，使人不禁想到基督教中的某些圣徒。
我喜欢另一个故事的原因是它激发了我的幽默感。陆绩，年六岁，尝作宾客于大将军袁术府，术出橘待之。绩怀橘二枚，此举有违时礼，客应啖橘而非匿藏之。及绩跪拜辞术，二橘堕地。术见之，曰：“陆郎作宾客为何而怀橘乎？”绩再跪答曰：“吾母性之所爱，欲归以遗母尝。”术大奇此子之孝。
我读这个故事时，奇的却是陆绩的勇敢，他竟敢把做客的礼仪之道抛掷一边而不顾。我记得这本书配了很好的插图，每当我看到两个橘子躺在地上时的那幅图画，都忍不住笑出声来。这胸怀该有多坦荡啊！
但给我留下最深印象的也许是老莱子的故事。老莱子行年七十，齿几全落，但母尚在。尝著五彩斑斓之衣，为婴儿状，戏舞于母前，并弄雏母前，欲亲之喜。又尝取水上堂，诈跌卧地，作婴儿啼，母为之乐，儿孙皆为之乐，阖家融融。在我看来，老莱子是某些基督圣徒的原型，诸如基督圣徒斐里伯•内利（Philip Neri）——“身穿斑衣的神秘人”，以及阿西西的圣佛朗西斯（Francis of Assisi）——“天主的杂耍演员”。
我对这个故事的内容感到痴迷，试图效仿老莱子。小时候我也常常诈跌卧地，弄雏娱母。但我忘了我尚未古稀，地不干净，母亲为我做的新衣服很容易被地上的土弄脏。她非但不高兴，还恳求我不要再这样做。尽管我这种独特的表现方式还有待于进一步提高改进，但她知道我这样做都是出自我的良苦用心。
糟糕的是，自小养成的习惯很不容易戒除。即使现在，每当天主眷顾我，让我背负一些小小的十字架或给我以宽大的安慰时，我都感到一股不可遏制的冲动，想在地上打滚，效仿老莱子的各种动作，以博得我们圣母脸上的一丝微笑。有一次，我的好友薛光前（Paul K. T. Sih）正好看到了我在卧室里玩这些把戏，断定我一定是在模仿阿西西的圣佛朗西斯。事实上，我不过是改编了老莱子自制动作，以便使这些动作符合我的精神生活。闲言少絮，当我看到有些人可以满脸忧郁、心事重重侍奉天主，我对此感到非常惊奇。
我非常喜欢的另一本书是《诗经》。我并未真正研究过那些诗歌，只是听我哥哥吟诵。他念得津津有味，我虽不识其中的文字，却能体会其中的意思。最能令我着迷的诗歌是“木瓜”。任何翻译都无法传其神韵，因为这首诗的魅力核心部分在于其音调。但字句仍可忠实对译：
投我以木瓜，
报之以琼琚。
匪报也，
永以为好也。
投我以木桃，
报之以琼瑶。
匪报也，
永以为好也。
投我以木李，
报之以琼玖。
匪报也，
永以为好也。
四十多年来，我对这首诗一直魂牵梦萦。岁月流淌，诗意变得更加浓烈，意境变得更加深远。
这里体现了多么美好的情感啊！“多么简单，多么感性，多么慷慨激昂！”这首诗实现了中国人的艺术理想：情感必须像海洋一样深不可测，但表达必须像水晶一样清澈透明，即所谓的“情深而文明”。在这短短的几句话中，爱情和友情（友情是爱情最纯洁的形式）的全部哲理被奉为神圣，因为爱无法用物质馈赠来计算。爱既奢华又慷慨，爱无穷尽。在爱面前，一切算计和世俗分歧都烟消云散，消失在空气之中。用翡翠换木桃，你说这是奢华吗？他说：“不不不，这离奢华还差得远呢。她之所以赠我木桃，是因为她爱我。我只能用我的爱来回馈她对我的爱。”
2022年1月30日译于美国加州洛杉矶
父娶后母，生二子。后母爱二子而恶子谦。冬，后母以芦花衣子谦——这里的两个子谦写错了吧？
5. THE PHILOSOPHY OF THE NURSERY
It was G. K. Chesterton who said, "My first and last philosophy, that which I believe with unbroken certainty, I learnt in the nursery." This may be an exaggeration, but who can deny the deep-seated influence of one's childhood impressions upon one's philosophy of life? One of my earliest impressions was the sight of a fat maidservant weeping piteously because her lower jaw was disjointed! I could not have been more than five, but I remember that I was standing before her with my heart melting in compassion. I asked somebody standing behind me, "What has happened to Amah Lin?" I was told that it was because she was too happy, that she had laughed so violently that her lower jaw got out of joint. A doctor came and by his skillful manipulation she could move the jaw again. But my sense of humor had been awakened, and I burst into laughter with my hands carefully holding my lower jaw. With the sense of humor came also a vague idea of the irony of life: laughter, when it was too violent, could lead to weeping! When later I came upon the wise saying in one of the Chinese classics: "When a thing is pushed to its extreme, it moves to its opposite," it sounded quite familiar to me. When I read Shakespeare's dictum: "The web of life is of a mingled yarn, good and ill together," I said, "How true it is! For instance, Amah Lin's laughter led to weeping and her weeping led to laughter again." In short, I was early initiated into the mysteries of paradox, and my paradoxical turn of mind played no small role in my acceptance of Christianity.
When I was six, I began to study at home under a private tutor, who was a Confucian scholar. By seven I had mastered a sufficient number of characters to embark upon a little book called The Twenty-four Models of Filial Piety. Being the first book I ever read, it impressed me most deeply.
The first lesson was drawn from the legends of Emperor Shun, supposed to have reigned in the twenty-third century B.C. He was of humble origin. His father was stupid, his mother perverse, and his younger brother insolent. He was ordered by his father to cultivate the hills of Li in the modern Province of Shansi. There came to him elephants in great crowds to plough his fields, and countless birds flocked together to weed the grain for him. One day he was commanded by his father to descend into a well, and his brother cast down stones upon him; but he came out miraculously through another opening. His virtuous life caught the ears of Emperor Yao, who gave him two of his daughters in marriage. He loved his parents and his brother in spite of their maltreatment of him. His perfect sincerity was effectual in renovating his family; his parents became pleasant and his brother transformed in character. The whole lesson was summed up in a charming quatrain:
Elephants came in crowds to plough his fields;
For the weeding, numberless birds did their part.
He succeeded Emperor Yao on his throne,-
Ah, how his filial love moved Heaven's Heart!
This was the first poem that I ever learned by heart. Although I did not believe the whole story in its literalness, I did not doubt, nor ever have doubted, that a good man, whatever hardships he might have to undergo at the beginning, would never suffer any harm in the end. "Heaven has eyes." "Heaven is just." "Heaven blesses the good, and punishes the wicked." These were some of the proverbs known to everybody in my generation. Although my conception of blessing and punishment has been etherealized, or spiritualized, in the course of time, the fundamental principle of the justice of Heaven has been confirmed by my observation and experience.
Another story which touched me profoundly concerned the well-known disciple of Confucius, Min Tse-ch'ien. Tse-ch'ien lost his mother when he was a child. His father married another wife, who bore two sons. She petted her own children, but loathed Tse-ch'ien. In winter she clad him in garments made of rushes, while her own sons wore warm cotton clothes. One day as Tse-ch'ien was driving his father's chariot, his body shivered so violently that the reins dropped from his hands, for which apparent carelessness he was chastised by his father; but he refrained from making any explanation. Later, his father came to know the actual circumstance, and he was so angry at his wife's cruel partiality that he determined to divorce her. But Tse-ch'ien pleaded, saying, "If mother remains, only one son is cold; if mother goes away, three sons will be destitute." The father desisted from his purpose; and the mother was led to repentance and began to love her stepson.
I cannot help believing that this story was based upon facts. At any rate, the above words of Tse-ch'ien were on the lips of every Confucian scholar that I knew. The generosity and wisdom of this great disciple of Confucius makes one think of some of the Christian saints.
Another story I liked because it tickled my sense of humor. A six-year-old lad by the name of Lu Chi once was a guest of the celebrated general Yuan Shu, who gave him some oranges for a treat. Two of them the lad put in his bosom. This evidently was against social etiquette; for the things offered by the host to a guest were supposed to be eaten, not to be taken away secretly. As it happened, when the lad took leave of the general, bowing courteously to him, the two oranges fell out on the ground. When the general saw this, he said, "Why does my young friend, who is now a guest, put the fruit away in his bosom?" The lad, bowing again, replied, "My mother is very fond of oranges, and I wished to let her have a taste of them." The general marvelled at the filial love of the lad. But when I read the story I marvelled at his audacity in brushing aside social etiquette. I remember the book was well illustrated, and whenever I looked at the picture of the two oranges lying on the ground, I could not help chuckling over it. What a denudation!
But somehow the story which impressed me most of all was that of the old man Lao Lai Tse. He was already more than seventy years old, and had lost nearly all his teeth. But his mother was still living. In order to amuse her, he would dress himself in gaudy-colored garments, frisking and cutting capers like a child in front of her. He would sometimes take up buckets of water and try to carry them into the house; and, feigning to slip, would fall to the ground, kicking and wailing like a baby. His mother was delighted, and even his children and grandchildren were amused. Thus the whole house was filled with the spirit of joy. I regard Lao Lai Tse as the prototype of such Christian Saints as Philip Neri, the "Mystic in motley," and Francis of Assisi, the "jongleur de Dieu."
I took a great fancy to this story and tried to emulate the old boy. I too would feign to slip and fall to the ground, cutting capers and turning somersaults, in order to amuse my mother. But I forgot that I was not yet seventy, and that the floor was dirty and apt to soil the new clothes which my mother had made for me. Instead of being amused, she used to beg me to stop it; but she knew that my intentions were good, although my particular way of manifesting them left much to be desired.
Unfortunately, a habit which was formed so early in life is not easily broken. Even now, whenever God favors me with either little crosses or great consolations, I feel an almost irresistible impulse to throw myself on the ground and imitate the actions of Lao Lai Tse in order to win a smile from our Blessed Mother. My dear friend Paul K. T. Sih once caught me in the midst of such acrobatics in my bedroom, and drew the conclusion that I was imitating Francis of Assisi. In fact, I was only adapting the homespun style of Lao Lai Tse to the field of spiritual life. Jokes aside, I marvel at anyone who could serve God with a sulky face and a heavy heart.
Another book that delighted me tremendously was The Book of Songs. I did not exactly study the songs; I heard them chanted by my elder brother. He sang them with such spontaneous gusto and joy that even when I did not understand their letter, I imbided their spirit. One song enchanted me most of all-"The Song of the Quince." No translation can do it justice, for the simple reason that an essential part of its charm consists in its tune. But the wording can be faithfully rendered:
She threw a quince to me:
I requited her with a girdle-gem.
No, not just as requital,
But as a pledge of eternal love.
She threw a peach to me;
I requited her with a greenstone.
No, not just as requital,
But as a pledge of eternal love.
She threw a plum to me;
I requited her with an amulet.
No, not just as requital,
But as a pledge of eternal love.
For more than forty years this poem has been haunting me, and its meaning has grown richer and deeper for me with the passing of time.
What a beautiful sentiment is here embodied! It is "simple in conception, abounding in sensible images, and informing them all with the spirit of the mind." It fulfills the Chinese ideal of art: the impression should be as unfathomable as the ocean, while the expression should be as clear as crystal. In these few lines, the whole philosophy of love and friendship, which is the purest form of love, is shrined. For love does not count in terms of material gifts. Love is lavish. Love is generous. Love is the infinite, in the presence of which all mathematical and worldly distinctions melt and vanish into the air. Do you call it extravagant to return a greenstone for a peach? No, he says, it is not enough. She gives me a peach, because she loves me. I can only repay her love with my love.