CHAPTER VI

_THE FEAST OF FLOWERS_

This feast falls on the fifteenth day of the second moon, but is, in practice, prolonged until the end of spring. It is also called “the feast of mild warmth.” This is the best season of the year, the mildest and the most charming. The trees, almost all in bloom at that time, alternating with the weeping willows, drooping down their long branches laden with green leaves, form, together with the picturesque pavilions, perspectives which over and over again have inspired the poet’s song. There is not a private garden in the land which is not then transformed into a horticultural exhibition. Poles of different colours are set up, ornamented with flags and laden with little bells, and in the middle all sorts of games are played, amongst others the game of butterflies. This game is unknown in Europe, and, therefore, merits a description here. Butterflies are caught, and a hair is attached to them; this hair is weighted with a scrap of paper, to prevent them from flying away out of reach, and then they are pursued by the women armed with their fans.

Other families go out into the country to pick flowers, to run in the fields, and to play the game we call the “lawn game.” We have had emperors who were poets, and who, on that day, used to distribute verses composed by them on different kinds of plants. It was on this occasion that the Minister of Agriculture used to present to the Sovereign seeds of every plant under cultivation in his empire. In private houses, this is the day chosen for making rice-wine. The people of Su-Tcheang march out on this day in solemn procession, to the sound of music, to the rice-fields, amidst crowds of spectators. This fête used to be very brilliant under the dynasty of the Thangs, emperors who delighted in simple pleasures in the midst of flowers. One of them used to give his favourites pieces of silk, having the colours of the spring flowers, on this feast. The silks were afterwards made into light spring dresses.

One year, when the feast fell in the midst of late winter weather, the Emperor had a glass house constructed, and had all the plants brought in to develop in the heat, and to the sound of the drum. This is the origin of glass houses.

One of our novelists relates that one of the favourites of the Emperor fell in love with a young man of letters who lived in the capital, and whose garden was traversed by a brook which flowed out of the imperial park. The young woman being shut up in the palace, jealously watched, had no means of corresponding with him whom she loved. But love will always suggest ways and means, and it came to her to write a poem on the petal of a peony and to confide it to the stream. The young man of letters was lucky enough to find the peony-petal, and thus learned that in spite of the separation he was still loved. This feeling gave him so much courage that he set to work with great diligence and an extraordinary ardour, so that he was soon able to pass all his examinations, and to become a celebrated statesman. In reward of numerous services, he asked the Emperor to accord him the hand of the young woman, a request which his sovereign was unable to refuse. Thus a simple flower gave a great minister to the empire, and united two beings who thought themselves for ever separated.