A rather curious coincidence exists in the two antipodes of the globe. In France, when a man retires from business or from official life, he says, “I am going to plant cabbages.” In China we say, “I am going to retire into the mountains, or into the forest.” This is another way of saying that he is going to give himself up to gardening. This coincidence is caused by the fact that the same tastes exist everywhere. When a man has had enough of the occupations of an active life, he is glad to withdraw completely from them, and to devote himself to innocent pleasure, which provides exercise for the body and rest for the mind, and charms with peace the last days of his life. What is called the world differs but little. When one is tired of its battles, it is that other world, the world of nature, that alone one yearns after.

In our history, as in our poetry, we are constantly reading of men of the widest fame who only lived in the hope of being able to retire at last. They often used to be heard saying that their gardens were running to waste for want of cultivation; and this thought is so popular a one, that even those who cling to their offices follow the example of the others, and constantly repeat that they are dying with the longing to go and cultivate their gardens. A philosopher thus characterises this contradiction between the word and the act:

However this may be, it is certain that a number of people do caress this dream of a rural life, and do finally put it into execution.

“O rus quando te aspiciam,” is true in every age, and in every land; on the banks of the blue river, as well as in the severe landscapes of ancient Rome, or on the sunny landscapes of modern France.

The poet Tou-Fou himself, when his functions at Court allowed him a few moments of leisure, took great delight in donning gardener’s clothes, as is shown by the following lines:

Tao-Yen-Ming, the man of letters, is the author of a long piece, entitled “Back in the Country,” of which the following is the principal passage:

And this man of letters, in spite of repeated invitations from the Emperor, contented himself with living and dying in the midst of his chrysanthemums, which he loved passionately.

We are not, however, satisfied in China with mere cultivation, but have succeeded in developing our gardening operations into a real work of art. What with watering, grafting, the selection and scientific combinations of species, the great varieties both of our plants and our skill in shaping them into the most varied and most fantastic shapes, our gardens are veritable masterpieces of the art. The Chinese gardeners know how to transform their gardens into zoological gardens, cutting and bending their trees, as they do, into lions, dragons, and every other kind of animal. We are so fond of flowers, that a single spray is considered sufficient for a bouquet. One never sees those round bouquets of several kinds of flowers, which are fashionable in Europe, at home.

Listen to the following verses written by an amateur gardener:

Do not think that to be happy the Chinaman must have a large estate. It is the quality of the philosopher to be satisfied with very little. A small plot of land is all-sufficient for his happiness, provided he has a few square yards of soil in which to plant his bamboo and his favourite flowers.

The following is a poem written by a man of letters, who lived in a cottage, and consoled himself in this wise:

Moreover, has not Confucius written as follows?—

I pause here to tell an anecdote:

I cannot vouch for the truth of the preceding anecdote, but, true or false, the story is amusing enough to be related. After all, the man only had to change the course of his studies, and from being a professor of Chinese, developed into a professor of Chinese gardening.

A man of letters, named Ko-To-Tao (To-Tao means the humpback, a soubriquet given to the man whose real name nobody knew, and who seemed to enjoy his nickname), used to dwell in the village Foun-Lo (fertility and joy), which lies to the west of Tchiang-Nyang. He used to cultivate trees, which were so beautiful that they were the envy of all the rich people of the province, and all the traders bought from him. All the incomparable plants which came from his garden flourished and grew much quicker than any others. Some one asked him what was the secret of his success. He answered that there was no secret in the matter. All that he did was merely to study the individual character of the plant, and to treat it accordingly.

“When you plant a tree,” he said, “you must make it comfortable, give it plenty of room to grow in, and see that the soil in which it is planted is rich and solid. Then you must leave it alone, not move it about. From time to time, treat it with the care that you would show to your own child. Don’t spoil it, when it is in want of nothing. Thus brought up the tree is free, and thrives, as it is its nature to do. I do not prevent its development, which comes of its own accord. Others who plant trees often change the earth round it, making it sometimes too strong, sometimes too poor, and spoil their pupils by too much care. Not satisfied with looking at them, they touch them; sometimes even they cut into the bark to see if they are living or dead. No sooner have the buds sprouted, than they examine them to see if they will turn into fruit. The tree is not free, and its character changes. You think that you are showing love, but you are destroying. You are trying to show care, and you are dealing death. That is why my system is superior to all others. But in all that I have no particular merit.”

He was asked if the same system could be applied in government offices.

“No; I know nothing about anything but trees. It is not my trade to govern nations. I have seen good governments, who, instead of leaving people free to work, took them under their protection. Then each day brought with it its sheaf of decrees and laws, ordering people into the fields and to their trades, and regulating their customs and ways of living. The people, being no longer master of itself or of its movements, comes to no good. As for myself, I am old and infirm, and occupy myself with my trees alone.”

The person who had been talking with him, delighted to have learned the true system of government, whilst endeavouring to learn how to plant trees, wrote down the conversation for the instruction of the government officials.

After all, there is little difference between the education of a tree and of a man. Our forefathers used to say that it takes a century to complete the education of a man, and that the proper education of a tree lasts at least ten years.