Eunice Tietjens

“ The stone grows old.
Eternity
Is not for stones.
But I shall go down from this airy space, this swift white peace, this stinging exultation; And time will close about me, and my soul stir to the rhythm of the daily round. Yet, having known, life will not press so close, and always I shall feel time ravel thin about me; For once I stood In the white windy presence of eternity. ”

“ He is heavily built, and when he is still the dignity of
the Orient is about him like his robe. His head
is large and beautifully domed, his hands tapering
and aristocratic.
When he speaks it is of subtleties.
But when he speaks his dignity drops from him. His
eyes shift quickly from one end of their little slit
to the other, his mouth, his full brown mouth,
moves over-fast, his hands flicker back and forth.
The courtroom is crowded with ominous yellow poverty.
The cases are of many sorts.
A woman, she of the little tortured feet and sullen face,
has kidnapped a small boy to sell. ”

“ As I walk, lifted above the squalor and the dirt, the timeless miracle of sunset mantles in the west, The blue dusk gathers close And beauty moves immortal through the land. And I walk quickly, praying in my heart that beauty will defend me, will heal up the too great wounds of China. ”

“ Beside me in this airy space the temple roofs cut their
slow curves against the sky,
And one black bird circles above the void.
Space, and the twelve clean winds are here; And with them broods eternity—a swift, white peace, a presence manifest. The rhythm ceases here. Time has no place. This is the end that has no end. ”

“ In the cold darkness of eternity he sits, this god who
has grown old.
His rounded eyes are open on the whir of time, but
man who made him has forgotten him.
Blue is his graven face, and silver-blue his hands. ”

“ The Connoisseur: An American
He is not an old man, but he is lonely.
He who was born in the clash of a western city dwells
here, in this silent courtyard, alone.
Seven servants he has, seven men-servants. They
move about quietly and their slippered feet make
no sound. Behind their almond eyes move green,
sidelong shadows, and their limber hands are
never still.
In his house the riches of the Orient are gathered. ”

“ Yet odds are heavy, and the Orient is in your blood.
Your voice is weary.
"There are no skilled laborers" you say, "Among
the owners no coöperation.
It is like—like working in a nightmare, here in China.
It drags at me, it drags"....
You bow me out with great civility.
The furnaces, the great steel furnaces, tremble and
glow, gigantic machinery clanks and in living
iridescent streams the white-hot slag pours out.
Beyond the gate the filth begins again.
A beggar rots and grovels, clutching at my skirt with
leprous hands. A woman sits sorting hog-bristles ”

“ The dead have need of silk. Yet silk is dear, and there are living backs to clothe. The rolls are paper.... Do not look too close.
The dead I think will understand. The carvings, too, the bearer-chair, the jade—yes, they are paper; and the shining ingots, they are tinsel. Yet they are made with skill and loving care! And if the priest knows—surely he must know!— when they are burned they'll serve the dead as well as verities. So living mouths can feed.
The master of the shop is a pious man. He has attained much honor and his white moustache droops below his chin. ”

“ On your head is a domed cap of black satin and your supple hands with their long nails are piously folded. You rock to and fro rhythmically. Your voice, rising and falling in clear nasal monosyllables, flows on steadily, monotonously, like the flowing of water and the flowering of thought. You are chanting, it seems, of the pious conduct of man in all ages, And I know you for a scoundrel. ”

“ But China, you must understand, is full of evil spirits,
demons of the earth and air, foxes and shui-mang
devils, and only the priest knows what beside.
A man may at any moment be bewitched, so that his
silk-worms die and his children go blind and he
gets the devil-sickness.
So living is difficult. ”

“ And darkness broods upon him. The veil that hid the awful face of godhead from the too impetuous gaze of worshippers serves in decay to hide from deity the living face of man, So god no longer sees his maker. ”

“ In the market-place sits a coolie, expanding in the warmth. He has opened his ragged upper garments and his bronze body is naked to the belt. He is examining it minutely, occasionally picking at something with the dainty hand of the Orient. If he had ever seen a zoological garden I should say he was imitating the monkeys there. As he has not, I dare say the taste is ingrained.
At all events it is going to be hot here.
The Village of the Mud Idols
The City Wall
About the city where I dwell, guarding it close, runs
an embattled wall. ”

“ A tea-merchant, in
dark green silk, complains that he was decoyed
and held prisoner in a lodging-house for ransom.
A gambling den has been raided and the ivory
dominoes are shown in court.
The prisoners are stoically sullen. The odor of them
fills the room.
Above them sit the two men, raised on the pedestal of the law, judging their fellows. I turn to the man beside me, waiting his case. "Tell me" I ask "of these men, which is the better judge?" He answers carefully. "The Chinaman is cleverer by half. He sees where the other is blind. ”

“ Who can read me your hand? In the firelight the smoke curls up fantastically from the cigarette between your fingers which are the color of new bronze. The room is full of strange shadows. I am afraid of your hand.... ”

“ Like the patter of rain on the crisp leaves of autumn are the tiny footfalls of the fox-maidens.
Festival of the Dragon Boats
On the fifth day of the fifth month the statesman Küh
Yuen drowned himself in the river Mih-lo.
Since then twenty-three centuries have passed, and the
mountains wear away. ”