2—
Wang Hsi-chih (ca. 303–ca. 361)

Wang Hsi-chih, from Kuei-chi (modern Shao-hsing, Che-chiang), 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 Shao-hsing on April 22, 353. As part of the entertainment, winecups 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 the following short introduction of 324 characters. 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 became a model of the "running mode." Wang's style was transmitted by later masters and promoted by various emperors who modeled their own calligraphy on this piece. 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. Not only in China, but also in countries influenced by Chinese culture such as Korea and Japan, one can find replicas of the site built as settings for similar gatherings. In Kyoto, indeed, there is still a society of Sinophiles that restages the event every sixty years when the year falls once again on kuei-ch'ou in the horary cycle.

In his preface, Wang initially affirms the possibility of social harmony, personal happiness, and enlightenment. The presence of a

Fig. 9.
The Gathering at the Orchid Pavilion (detail from a rubbing of a Yung-lo era [1403–1424] engraving). Collection of the author.
These sections depict some of the guests at the gathering at the Orchid Pavilion in 353. The names and poems of each are
recorded in the cartouches above. Wang Hsi-chih is seated second from the right along the stream with floating winecups.

range of talented guests constitutes an ideally ordered world where selfexpression, objective observation, and philosophical speculation can occur. The mood abruptly changes in the second part of the piece, where Wang becomes obsessed with the evanescence of life, reflecting a theme from Mystical Learning, then fashionable. The creation of texts—both the poems of the guests and the preface itself—is viewed as the supreme act of meaning and the only defense against mortality. Wang Hsi-chih finds a bittersweet victory over time in the communication of genuine emotions to future readers. In its final line, his preface successfully asserts its own immortality; it has became one of the classic statements of the faith of the literatus in the act of inscription.

One may argue whether the preface is properly a work of travel writing, since it does not focus on a journey but, rather, articulates an archetypal response to being in Nature after arriving in a scenic place. Its effect on later travel literature, however, seems to warrant its inclusion. Many writers alluded to the preface and envisioned their own journeys as quests to recapture a similar experience. What inspired

most of them, though, was the image of brilliant scholars gathering to contemplate Nature and produce immortal poems recorded in the first part of Wang's short piece, rather than his subsequent consideration of melancholy and mortality.

Preface to Collected Poems from the Orchid Pavilion

(353)

In the ninth year of the Yung-ho era in the beginning of the last month of spring when the calendar was in kuei-ch'ou [April 22, 353], we met at the Orchid Pavilion in Shan-yin, Kuei-chi, to celebrate the Bathing Festival.^[1] 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 it, which had been diverted in order to play the

game of floating winecups 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 were 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. Upward we gazed to contemplate the immensity of the universe; downward 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 meet as friends for but the brief span of their lives. Some are content to unburden their innermost feelings as they privately converse inside a chamber. Some are prompted to give rein to their desires and lead wild, unfettered lives. Although their preferences differ and their temperaments are unalike, yet both take pleasure from whatever they encounter, embracing it for but a while, happy and content, 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 can their hearts not give rise to longing? Furthermore, longevity depends on Nature's transformation: everything must come to an end. An ancient said, "Life and death are the greatest of matters, indeed!"^[2] 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.^[3] Future readers will look back on 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.^[4]