Word: jades
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Dates: during 1950-1959
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...Forbidden City. Yung Lo scooped out portions of the Imperial City to make the Pool of Great Fertilizing Spume, used the excavated earth to build Coal Hill as a protection for the palace against zephyrs from evil spirits of the North. Fed by Golden Water River flowing from Jade Fountain, the pool was actually a necklace of three lakes named North, Middle and South...
...pitch black. The only light came from the yellow eyes of a weird pagan god with two heads and eight arms sitting on a teakwood stand . . . A regular Japanese doll of a woman strolled into the foyer . . . Her feet were thrust into tiny gold slippers twinkling with jewels, and jade and ivory bracelets clattered on her arms. She had the longest fingernails I'd ever seen, each lacquered a delicate green. An almost endless bamboo cigarette holder hung languidly from her bright red mouth . . . There was a moment's silence. 'But darling,' she said dramatically...
From the Moon. Peking opera, the most famed and influential of many Chinese schools, is a mere 1,241 years old. Its founder was Emperor Hsuan who set it up, so the story goes, after he visited the moon and developed a taste for the entertainment in the Jade Palace of the lunar emperor. Luxurious as it is, Chinese opera is true popular entertainment, attended by anybody who can spare a few pennies, until its plots and morals have become a basic part of the culture...
...patient. If the weather gets cold, and the roads get icy, they'll have to stay indoors. Maybe that will stop them." Poujade got his movement started when tax collectors came to his village in Southern France a year and a half ago. Pou jade, an ex-stevedore, professional bicycle rider and prewar Fascist-party politician who fled to England and fought in the R.A.F. during the war, was a municipal councillor. The villagers asked him for help. Poujade sympathized: "I cheat on my taxes, and I always have. I couldn't get by otherwise," he told them...
...white-haired but boyish-looking priest in a knee-length clerical coat strode to the dais in the Waldorf-Astoria's Jade Room one afternoon last week, took a soldierly stance between the grand piano and a bowl of pink-and-white chrysanthemums, and faced the expectant crowd. Scotland's Roman Catholic Father Sydney MacEwan, 45, started to sing in a small voice that recalled much of the bewitching sweetness of the late John McCormack. He sang the centuries-old songs of plaintive and merry love, of the sea and of the rugged Hebrides, while mink-jacketed matrons...