He smiled, then turned back to Wolf. "That's all right. I told him I'd see him at four, but it'll do the little yellow bastard good to wait a bit. It'll make him more eager."
Wolf laughed. "Do you still intend to challenge him? They say he's a good player."
Sergey lifted his chin and looked away thoughtfully. "Yes. But Heng's an arrogant young fool. He's inflexible. Worse, he's rash when put under pressure. Like all these Han, he's more concerned with saving face than saving a fortune. And that will be his undoing, 1 promise you. So, yes, I'll challenge him. It's about time someone raised the stakes on young Heng."
Sergey leaned forward, looking across at Lotte. "And you, Lotte? Are you coming along?"
Again his words, his action in leaning toward Lotte, were designed to upset Catherine. They all knew how much Lotte was besotted with the handsome young sculptor. It was a joke that even she, on occasion, shared. But that didn't lessen the pangs of jealousy that affected Catherine.
As ever, Lotte looked to her brother before she answered, a faint color at her cheeks. "Well, I ought, I know, but—"
"You must," Sergey said, reaching out to cover her hand with his own. "I insist. You'd never forgive yourself if you didn't see the Great Man."
Wolf answered for her. "We were going to do some shopping. But I'm sure . . ."
Wolf looked at Lotte, smiling encouragement, and she nodded. Wolf still had hopes that his sister might marry Novacek. Not that it affected his relationship with Catherine. Not significantly.
"Good," said Sergey, leaning back and looking about the circle of his friends. "And afterward I'll treat you all to a meal."
the TIERS of the lecture hall were packed to overflowing. Stewards scurried up and down the gangways, trying to find seats for the crowds pressing into the hall, clearly put out by the size of the attendance. Normally the hall seemed vast and echoing, but today it was like a hive, buzzing with expectation.
At three precisely the lights dimmed and the hall fell silent. On a raised platform at the front of the hall a single spotlight picked out a lectern. For a while there was no movement on stage, then a figure stepped out of the darkness. A murmur of surprise rose from the watching tiers. It was Chu Ta Yun, the Minister of Education. He stood to one side of the lectern, his head slightly bowed, his hands folded at his waist.
"Ch'un tzu," he began, his tone humble, "I have been given the great pleasure and honor of introducing one of the outstanding figures of our time. A man whose distinctions are too numerous to be listed here and whose accomplishments place him in the very first rank of painters. A man who, when the history of our culture is set down by future generations, will be seen as the epitome—the touchstone—of our art. Ch'un tzu, I ask you to welcome to our College the Honorable Fan Liang-wei, painter to the court of His Most Serene Highness, Li Shai Tung."
As the Minister withdrew, head bowed, into the darkness, Fan Liang-wei came into the spotlight, resting his hands lightly on the edge of the lectern, then bowing his head to his audience. There was a faint shuffling noise as, in unison, the packed tiers lowered their heads in respect to the Great Man.
"Ch'un tzu," he began, in the same vein as the Minister, then, smiling, added, "Friends . . ."
There was a small ripple of laughter from the tiers. The ice had been broken. But at once his face grew serious again, his chin lifting in an extravagant yet thoughtful gesture, his voice taking on an immediate tone of authority.
"I have come here today to talk of art, and, in particular, of the art of shanshui painting, something of which I have, or so I delude myself, some small knowledge."
Again there was the faintest ripple of amusement, but, as before, it was tinged with the deepest respect. There was not one there who did not consider Fan Liang-wei to be Chung Kuo's foremost expert on the ancient art of shanshui.
The Great Man looked about the tiers, as if noting friends there among the crowd; then he spoke again. "As you may know, I have called today's talk 'Spontaneity and Meticulousness,' and it is upon these two extremes of expression that I wish to dwell, taking as my examples the works of two great exponents of the art of shanshui, the Ming painter Tung Ch'i-ch'ang and the Song painter Cheng Ro. But before I come to them and to specific examples of their work, I would like to take this opportunity of reminding you of the critic Hsieh Ho's Six Principles, for it is to these that we shall, time and again, return during this lecture."
Fan Liang-wei paused, looking about him. He had just opened his mouth to speak when the door to his right swung open and a young man strode into the hall, ignoring the hushed remonstrances of a steward. The steward followed him two or three paces into the hall, then backed away, head bowed, glancing up at the platform apologetically before drawing the door closed behind him. The young man, meanwhile, moved unselfconsciously along the gangway in front of the platform and began to climb the stairs. He was halfway up when the Great Man cleared his throat.
"Forgive me, young Master, but am I interrupting something?"
The young man half turned, looking back at the speaker, then, without a word, climbed the rest of the steps and sat down at their top.
There was a murmur of astonishment from the surrounding tiers and even a few harshly whispered words of criticism, but the young man seemed oblivious of it. He sat there, staring down at the platform, a strange intensity in his manner making him seem brooding, almost malicious in intent.
"Are we comfortable?" the Great Man asked, a faint trace of annoyance in his voice.
The young man gave the barest nod.
"Good. Then perhaps we might continue. As I was saying . . . Hsieh Ho, in his classic fifth-century work the Ku Hua-p'in-lu, set down for all time the Six Principles by which the great artist might be recognized. In reiterating these, we might remember that while Hsieh Ho intended that all six should be present in a great work of art, they do, nonetheless, form a kind of hierarchy, the First Principle, that of spirit-consonance, of harmony of spirit to the motion of life—that sense we have of the painting coming alive through the harmonizing of the vital force, the ch'i, of the painter with the ch'i of his subject matter—forming the first rank, the First Level, if you like."
There was a mild ripple of laughter at the Great Man's play on words. He continued quickly, his anger at the rudeness of the young man's interruption set aside momentarily.
"Bearing this in mind, we see how the Second Principle, the bone structure of the brushwork—and its strength in conveying the ch'i, or vital energy—stems from the First and is, indeed, dependent upon it, as a Minister is dependent upon the favor of his T'ang. Likewise, the Third Principle, the fidelity, or faithfulness of the artistic representation to the subject, is dependent upon these first two. And so forth."
He hesitated, then looked directly at the young man seated at the head of the stairs. "You understand me, young Master?" Again the young man nodded.
"Good. Then let me move on quickly. Fourth of the Six Great Principles is likeness in color. Fifth is the proper placing of the various elements within the scheme of the painting. And Sixth, and last in our great hierarchy, is the preservation of the experience of the past through making pictorial reference to the great classical paintings."
Fan Liang-wei smiled, looking about him, then moved to one side of the platform, half turning as the screen behind him lit up, showing an ancient painting.
"There is, of course, one further quality that Hsieh Ho demanded from the great artist—a quality that, because it is intrinsic to art, is enshrined in each of those six great Principles—that of ching. Of precision or minuteness of detail."