_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.
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