sang more gaily than ever in praise of wine, flowers, and birds.
His spirit, unburdened by vulgar cares, was light like a young
man's, and he dreamed of nothing but pure enjoyment.

Little by little an intense hatred sprang up between the friends.
They could not meet without indulging in bitter sarcasm. They
were like two hedges of brambles, bristling with sharp thorns. At
last, things came to such a pass that they could no longer endure
each other's society, and each hung a tablet by the door of his
dwelling, stating that no person from the neighboring house would
be allowed to cross the threshold on any pretext whatever.

They would have been glad to move their houses to different parts
of the country, but, unhappily, this was not possible. Tou even
tried to sell his property but he set such an unreasonable price
that no buyer appeared, and he was, moreover, unwilling to
leave all the treasures he had accumulated there--the sculptured
wainscotting, the polished panels, like mirrors, the transparent
windows, the gilded lattice-work, the bamboo lounges, the vases
of rare porcelain, the red and black lacquered cabinets, and the
cases full of books of ancient poetry. It was hard to give up to
strangers the garden where he had planted shade and fruit trees
with his own hands, and where, each spring he had watched the
opening of the flowers; where in short, each object was bound to
his heart by ties delicate as the finest silk, but strong as iron
chains.

In the days of their friendship, Tou and Kouan had each built a
pavilion in his garden, on the shore of a lake, common to both
estates. It had been a great delight to sit in their separate