from Japan had presented him with a painting in the name of his Emperor. It was a superb landscape of mountains and snow, and bamboo struggling in the wind.
Ming Huang was interested. "Ah, by Wang Wei."
"No," replied the Envoy, bowing low, "by one of the lesser artists of my country. A hundred such have taken Wang Wei for their teacher. He leads, they copy. Culture can be built up in like manner. Diligently they have sought to saturate themselves in his teachings. They have at last arrived at the level where they know that mountains without clouds or mist are comparable to spring without flowers; to perceive that one night's rain in the hills is a hundred thousand fountains in the treetops. Under Wang Wei's guidance they seek the fundamental idea. Now, at last, one of them has produced a picture that is glazed with endurance. My Emperor has sent it to you in humility. You have given my people a new impulse."
"I am honored," declared the Emperor, "doubly honored—by having a subject like rare Wang Wei and by receiving this scroll inspired by his works. We, of China, are always honored when other nations are mirrors reflecting the wisdom of our philosophers, the charm of our poets, or the brilliance of such artists as Wang Wei."
Far in the rear of the Pavilion, Li Po watched the proceedings unobserved. He was greatly interested.
"Is it true," he whispered, "that the men of Japan are descended from monkeys?"
