"When I was young I used to watch ballet. My favorite was The Dying Swan. The plot describes a European singing star who in her old age is too weak to sing. But if only she is asked, then when she gets on stage she can still sing very well. Once someone asks her to perform, and she sings the song 'The Dying Swan.' As the curtain comes down, she falls to the ground, spits blood and dies. I was very moved, and I hoped I could be like the 'Dying Swan' and devote my whole life to the study of historical sites, which I so love, and not rest until I die." (Slightly adapted from The Reminiscences of Mr. Heng-tao Lin, published by the Academia Historica, October 1996).
One morning in November, 82-year-old Lin Heng-tao, an expert on historical sites in Taiwan, got up bright and early, for that day he was due to go with a dozen or so members of the historical sites committee of the Ministry of the Interior's relics preservation section, on an inspection tour of Hsinchu Railway Station. But due to traffic jams on the freeway it took them three hours to get there.
As always on other inspection tours of historical sites over many decades, Professor Lin Heng-tao wore his "patented" uniform: a plastic Tianlan washing powder bag and a pair of big, battered old leather shoes. But what was different was that when this old gentleman-now after all in his eighties-appeared on the scene with bent back, clutching a walking stick and with a nurse tagging along behind, some people were deeply shocked.
A taxi driver, seeing Lin Heng-tao-whom he had always thought of as a man of boundless energy who walked briskly and with firm steps-so old and frail, could not help rushing over to support him and saying, with no attempt to hide his feelings: "Professor, what has happened to you? How different you are from the way we've seen you on TV!" "Of course, don't you know everything you see on TV is phony?" For his part, Professor Lin's clear and simple reply and his unruffled expression gave nothing away about what he might be thinking.
The sun and moon outshine the stars
As all the committee members went roaming around Hsinchu Station, Professor Lin, looking somewhat exhausted, sat quietly on a station bench. But despite this "low profile" he could not escape the attention of the media, and when the many journalists from different news organizations who had come to report on the inspection discovered him, they did not wait to be introduced by the organizers, but converged on him in a crowd to ask his opinion.
"Professor Lin, if Hsinchu Station really is to be preserved, what grade of monument should it be classed as?" asked one radio reporter. "Grade III," said Lin Heng-tao without pausing for reflection, and his words were broadcast live on the news. A little later, when the inspection was complete and everyone was getting ready to return to Taipei, just as the bus driver started the engine a local official responsible for ancient monuments rushed aboard the bus to express his views to the assembled committee members.
"Professors, whatever you do, please don't make Hsinchu Station a Grade III monument, because those are in the care of local and county and city governments, which have no money or staff. Please consider carefully-if you are going to make it a listed monument, make it a Grade II monument under the provincial government, or a Grade I monument under the national authorities." Having breathlessly unburdened himself of this wish, he got off the bus.
Was this local official worried that whatever Professor Lin said would go? Does 82-year-old Lin Heng-tao still wield such enormous influence among researchers of historical monuments? During the inspection, a reporter jokingly asked the other experts and scholars if they didn't feel that in any activity to do with ancient monuments, if only Lin Heng-tao was present, then everyone else was put in the shade and regarded as the "supporting cast" by the media? "We are the stars, he is the sun and the moon," replied Huang Fu-san, director of the Academia Sinica's preparatory office for the planned Institute of Taiwan History, with a laugh. "When the sun or the moon comes out, the stars fade out of sight-that's inevitable." It's much the same with Lin's reputation for having an enormous appetite: for decades on inspection tours, Lin Heng-tao would always want to eat two boxed lunches, something other participants marvelled at. "He's an aircraft carrier, we are submarines; the difference in our tonnage is so vast there's just no comparison," says Huang Fu-san.
A living example of contemporary history
Perhaps Professor Huang's description is not all that exaggerated, for when scholars of Taiwan's historical sites talk of who has the greatest knowledge of Taiwan's monuments large and small, there is no doubt that Lin Heng-tao stands head and shoulders above the rest. Lin, who actually read economics at university, is variously known as "The Immortal of the Ancient Monuments," a "living dictionary of Taiwan," and an "encyclopedia of Taiwan's historical sites."
Lin Heng-tao was born in 1915, a descendant of the Lin clan of Panchiao. In the history of Taiwan's development and colonization during the Qing dynasty, the Lin families of Panchiao and Wufeng were Taiwan's two most influential clans. The Lins of Panchiao rose to prominence in Taiwan in the middle years of the Qing. The founding father of the clan in Taiwan, Lin Ping-hou, migrated to the island and prospered by growing and trading rice, and clearing land for cultivation. Later, by the concerted efforts of the two generations led by his sons Lin Kuo-hua and Lin Kuo-fang, and his grandsons Lin Wei-jang and Lin Wei-yuan, the Lins became the leading family among the settlers of Zhangzhou ancestry, and Taiwan's richest and most influential clan. As a descendent of Lin Wei-jang, Lin Heng-tao is a member of the senior branch of the family.
Lin Heng-tao's life over the last 80 years has mirrored the experience of the rich clans over the same period, filled with conflicting emotional bonds with China, Japan and Taiwan. His own experiences are a vivid microcosm of the modern history of Taiwan.
Lin Heng-tao was born in Tokyo, and when a month old was taken to Fuzhou to be raised by his grandmother. At age seven he came to Taipei, to attend the Kabayama elementary school. After four years there he was sent back to Tokyo to study at the Seijo elementary and middle schools, which only the Japanese aristocracy could attend. Eventually, after graduating from Touhoko Imperial University, he got a job in Tokyo. It was only after Taiwan's return to Chinese rule that he came back to the island. Thus one can say that his childhood and youth were spent in Japan.
In those days Taiwan was already a Japanese colony. After the Qing court ceded Taiwan to Japan, the Lin clan had moved lock, stock and barrel to Xiamen (Amoy) to avoid the clutches of the Japanese. Lin Heng-tao's grandmother came from one of Fuzhou's leading clans (and was the younger sister of the Qing Assistant Grand Tutor Chen Bao-zhu). During his childhood and youth, Lin Heng-tao travelled frequently between Taiwan, mainland China and Japan. Before martial law was lifted, Lin Heng-tao was not very willing to speak about these experiences. It has only been with the recent fashion for reexamining Taiwan's history that Lin Heng-tao has begun to speak publicly about the experiences of his youth.
Schizophrenic national consciousness
For instance, in The Reminiscences of Mr. Heng-tao Lin, published in October 1996 by the Academia Historica, he speaks of his memories of the May 4th Movement of 1919. That year, when he was just four years old, students in Fuzhou demonstrated on Nandie Street. A servant took him there to watch the fun, and he saw crowds of students marching in large groups and singing in educated Fuzhou dialect: "The 9th of May, the 9th of May, don't forget our national disgrace. The 21 Demands, we swear to avenge our country, watch our courage and blood!" (On 9 May 1919, President Yuan Shikai accepted 21 Japanese demands for extended colonial rights in China, including the takeover of Germany's colonial territories in Shandong.) More than 70 years later, Lin still recites these words clearly and fluently, as if the demonstrating students had only just passed before his eyes.
He still remembers how during the demonstrations, the students made a paper effigy of a Mr. Wang, the owner of Fuzhou's largest draper's shop, and burned it in Fuzhou's busiest street, just because Wang sold cloth made by the Japanese. This event aroused powerful emotions in him: "That was the first time I saw a deep-rooted flaw in the Chinese character: fearing foreigners, but attacking our own people." On the way back home, the servant who had taken him there told him: "You're from Taiwan, you're a Japanese, and the clothes you're wearing are made from Japanese cloth." This was the first time he had heard anyone say he was Japanese. "This came as a big shock to me," says Lin Heng-tao, because he had always thought of himself as Chinese.
For his elementary schooling, Lin Heng-tao was sent to school in Taiwan, where he lodged in the home of a Japanese teacher, Mr. Onda. Once when Lin came back from school, Mr. Onda wrote on a blackboard the words "Japanese," "Taiwanese," "Korean" and "Chinese." When he had finished, he asked Lin which was the greatest among these four peoples. Thinking he would be cursed if he gave any other answer, Lin replied: "The Japanese." But to his surprise, when Onda heard this he flew into a rage: "What did you say? His Majesty the Emperor is the greatest!" Lin Heng-tao says this illogical answer showed that the teacher was obviously trying to find fault, and from this we can see that the colonized people had no status, for even the home tutor which the Lin family had employed had the right to question his employers' child's national consciousness simply because he was Japanese.
Speaking of his own intellectual and emotional journey as a child, Lin Heng-tao says: "After I came to Taiwan I suffered from a kind of schizophrenic national consciousness. In Fuzhou I had thought of myself as Chinese. But after I came to Taiwan, although everyone said I was Taiwanese, I could not speak Taiwanese dialect, and I lived in the home of a Japanese, ate Japanese food, and wore traditional Japanese dress. But I certainly wasn't Japanese, so I never had a sense of belonging."
Baptized into three cultures
Although he was born into a great clan, Lin Heng-tao could not escape the vicissitudes of the age he lived in. In Taiwan, mainland China or Japan, he was always an outsider. But compared with others of the same era, Lin Heng-tao's family background evidently gave him more opportunities to be initiated into all these cultures.
"When I was studying in Japan, on the way back to China in the summer holidays I would usually take the boat from Keelung to Fuzhou. . . . In those days the Osaka Company's Kohoku Maru would sail from Keelung at 6 p.m. . . . In the Taisho emperor's reign [1912-1925], there was no proper road yet along Taiwan's north coast, and to get from Keelung to Tanshui you had to go by handcart. . . . From the ship you could see the scenery along the coast, along with Mt. Chi-hsing, Mt. Tatun and Mt. Chutsu. As night gradually fell you would see the sky fill with stars. After daybreak you could see the Bai-quan ['White Dog'] Islands off Fuzhou. The islands along the coast near Fuzhou are rocky, not like Taiwan which is all mounds of earth. . . . When the ship entered the River Min, you could see a huge rock which was called Jin'gang Tui ['the Heavenly Guardian's Leg'], and after a few bends of the river you would see the Luoxing Pagoda at Mawei.
"'Jin'gang Tui' was so named because the rock was shaped like the calf of a leg. During the war with Japan, the Nationalist army was afraid the Japanese would land at Fuzhou, so they broke up Jin'gang Tui and used the stones to block the mouth of the River Min. So Jin'gang Tui disappeared. The Luoxing Pagoda was called 'Wuxin Ta' ['the Pagoda Without a Heart'] by ordinary townsfolk. According to the servants, there was once a treasure in the pagoda, but after the locals began trading with the barbarians [foreigners], the barbarians stole the treasure, which is why the pagoda was called the Pagoda Without a Heart. . . ."
"When I had just come to Taiwan I thought the Taiwanese dialect was very uncouth. For instance, calling one's own parents A-Ba and A-Bu really was dreadfully coarse compared with the Ye and Niang used in educated Fuzhou speech. For one's 'behind' they said kachunhou [meaning 'buttocks' in Taiwanese].' Educated people in Fuzhou would never say that. . . . In those days in Fuzhou, everyone wore Chinese dress. Occasionally you would see someone in Western clothes. They were all Overseas Chinese from Southeast Asia. The Taiwanese also wore Chinese dress, but in a very coarse style with very short sleeves. . . .
These two excerpts from Lin Heng-tao reminiscences place his own experiences against the background of the local color and legends of the time. The first excerpt tells us about travel between Taiwan and the Chinese mainland in the late 1920s, while from the second we can see the first impressions of mainlanders who came to Taiwan after its return to Chinese rule in 1945. Recounting events in his distinctive style, Lin Heng-tao gives a first-hand historical account of the time.
But in his own view, reminiscences of this kind introduce personal value judgements, and are therefore of very little value for historical research. However, they are of great value for cultural history: from people's recollections of their personal experiences we can gain clear knowledge of how lifestyles have evolved, and understand the ways of thinking of the people of a particular era. This is particularly useful for anthropological study.
A pioneer of field studies
After Retrocession, Lin Heng-tao returned to Taiwan. Apart from a very brief period at the grain administration, for almost 30 years from 1952 to 1979 he worked at the Taiwan Province Historical Research Commission, and rose from commissioner to deputy director and finally director of the commission.
After joining the Historical Research Commission, because he was "in a state of melancholy following Retrocession" he began to travel throughout Taiwan's towns and countryside, looking at historical sites everywhere.
At Touhoku Imperial University in Japan, Lin Heng-tao had first begun to study Japanese history. But later, because, as he says, he "discovered that all we were learning were 'party tricks' like determining the age of paper and ink, which were not the things a real man should be studying," he switched to economics. He never imagined that after he returned to Taiwan, the job he would work at longest and hardest would be a branch of cultural research-the study of historical sites.
Talking about why he began working in this field, Lin Heng-tao says he always loved to travel, and during his high school days was also influenced by Yanagida Kunio, a Japanese scholar of folk customs, and read many books about Japanese folk customs. Before he graduated from university, his greatest wish was to research Japan's more than 120 imperial tombs, because he believed that studying the changes in their architecture, and in the villages built to tend and manage them, was the best way to learn about the evolution of Japanese society and culture. His wish to research the imperial tombs never came to fruition, but later, in Taiwan, the time he spent visiting and investigating historical sites went some way towards making up for the unfulfilled dreams of his youth.
To this day, Lin Heng-tao has never lost his love of travel and of visiting historical sites. "A few years ago when I had surgery, while I was laid up I heard that a new site had been found on Chang-an West Road. I couldn't sleep at night, I was so eager to get better quickly and go and look at it," he recalls.
Perhaps it is this enthusiasm which has enabled him to tread the streets and alleyways throughout Taiwan in his big shoes, carrying his plastic washing powder bag, for so many decades-from the vigor of youth into his old age. In the 1960s and 1970s, a publishing company in Taipei published many books in which Lin expounds his insights from studying historical sites over the years, such as History and Folk Customs of Taiwan, Compendium of Temples in Taiwan, Notes on Historical Sites in Taiwan and All About Taiwan's History. These works, in which Lin systematically presents Taiwan's better-known historical monuments, laid the foundation for his status as the doyen of research into Taiwan's historical sites.
Continuing in the Japanese occupation era tradition of documenting established customs and drawing up detailed cultural descriptions, when interpreting history Lin Heng-tao likes to start from life experience, bringing in all kinds of information, from ancient buildings, temples, ancestral halls and schools to rivers, streets, place names, fruit, the origin of local snacks and other products, legends, storytelling, and so on. "With many interconnected and vivid storylines, Professor Lin Heng-tao weaves a web of Taiwanese history," describes Hsu Yu-chien, head of the architecture department at Huafan College of Humanities and Technology. When listeners' interest is aroused, they are unconsciously carried into the world of Taiwanese history.
A gifted storyteller
"It was Professor Lin who pioneered the study of historical sites in Taiwan," says Associate Professor Li Chien-lang of the architecture and urban design department at Chinese Culture University. This "pioneer" is not only well-read, with encyclopedic knowledge and a retentive memory; he also has rich life experience and a gift for storytelling, so that when he talks about events, however long ago they may have happened, they become lively, fresh memories of that age.
Professor Tsai Hsiang-hui of Chinese Culture University's history department also has lasting memories of Lin Heng-tao's talent for storytelling. He says that years ago when he went on a field trip led by Professor Lin, when the participants got on the train for Panchiao, Professor Lin used this as a "teaching opportunity"-as soon as everyone was on the train, he recited a folk ditty: "The train sets off with a toot toot toot, After Wanhua comes Panchiao, The pretty girls of Panchiao smile, Divorce the wife and bring one home." This immediately brought to life the excitement felt by Taipei residents when the railways started running.
Another example is how in the Academia Historica's Reminiscences of Mr. Heng-tao Lin, Lin speaks of the days in his early childhood when he lived in the well-known historical area of Fuzhou called San Fang Qi Xiang ("Three Arches and Seven Lanes").
He observed how one difference between Ming and Qing dynasty houses was in the size of the stone slabs used for their foundation platforms. Ming houses were built on very large slabs (the slabs laid under walkways could be as much as 10 square meters in area), but in the Qing, smaller slabs were used, and for houses built this century, none were used at all.
Perhaps to create a stronger impression, he quotes Malthus' 19th-century theories on population to explain why people in Fuzhou stopped building their houses on stone slabs. "Malthus said that population grows geometrically, while food supplies only increase arithmetically. When the rate of increase in the food supply can no longer keep up with the growth in population, then wars break out and disasters occur, finally leading to the destruction of the human race. This theory was widely criticized, but if Malthus had been talking about the ratio of stones to people instead of the ratio of people to food, then the theory holds, because judging from the situation in San Fang Qi Gang, the stones under Fuzhou houses really did disappear because of the increasing population."
Architects may disagree with Lin Heng-tao's observations, but just as when he is talking about the changes in Fuzhou's architecture, when Lin talks about historical sites he often uses some apparently far-fetched analogies to assist his explanation. "Comprehending history depends on seeking out memories and on sympathetic understanding," says Lin Heng-tao. If one does not use some information from anthropology and the study of folk customs, but simply talks about dates and names, who will be interested?"
A "greater China" perspective on history
Lin Heng-tao is good at speaking of the past and is able to cite all kinds of examples, often containing a touch of childlike humor. Once, talking about his experience of leading field study camps on historical monuments in the 1970s, he said: "In those days, students had to do a pre-class morning study hour in which they read quotations of Generalissimo Chiang. The students asked me if they couldn't stop reading the quotations and go for a stroll in the mornings instead. I didn't answer, but the next day I got the secretary to hang out a notice: 'At the end of the course there will be an examination on the President's teachings. 1st prize NT$20,000.' Nobody came to protest anymore, and they all studied hard in the morning study period." When Lin Heng-tao tells these stories, he never worries about whether his listeners fall about laughing, or wear expressions of disagreement or scorn. Is Lin Heng-tao simply recounting the past, or commenting on it? Listeners are left completely in the dark about Lin's own state of mind at the time he is referring to. This is typical of Lin Heng-tao's style.
Li Chien-lang believes that Lin Heng-tao's contribution to Taiwanese historiogra-phy represents a view of Taiwanese history from the Japanese period until after Retrocession which is largely colored by a "greater China" consciousness. The attitude towards Taiwan of its rulers went from "the Japanese, who regarded Taiwan as a wild, uncultured island, to the Chinese perspective of the KMT government after it relocated to Taiwan," says Li. Lin Heng-tao is a representative figure who experienced this transition from Japanese to KMT rule.
When asked his opinion of this view, Lin Heng-tao smiles drily and says that every period has its own character, and when he talks about historical sites or comments on people and affairs, it would be very hard for him not to be influenced by the atmosphere of the time he is referring to. "I talk about history from a sociological and economic perspective. 'Right is on the side of the victors'-it's impossible not to have an ideology." He acknowledges that if one really wants to talk about "ideology," he does indeed "tend to be sympathetic to the idea of a greater China"-it's just that this consciousness of a greater China is founded in fact. "He takes things as they really are, and says whatever he thinks," says his former student Chiu Hsiu-tang.
A frank speaker, yet always respectful of the great and the good and of those close to him-this too is certainly part of Lin Heng-tao's style. In the last few years many scholars of history have begged Lin to say more about such things as the February 28th Incident of 1947, the relationship between government and business in the early post-retro-cession period, and land policy. But he has always been unwilling to say much, on the grounds that "the people involved are still alive, and to speak ill of them or to give them faint praise would cause offense." Does Lin Heng-tao's approach reflect the inhibitions felt by most old folk who have lived through the "change of dynasties" from Japanese rule to the Republic of China? Or is it simply that, as Lin Heng-tao opines, "history is a counterfeit document-many facts have disappeared like a stone falling into the sea"?
High-class orphanages
Whatever judgements a person makes are influenced by their personal experience, their likes and dislikes, and their moral values. Something which made a deep impression on architectural scholar Li Chien-lang was Lin Heng-tao's view of the architecture of the Lin Family Garden in Panchiao, where he lived and played as a child.
Li Chien-lang relates how one year he went with Lin Heng-tao on a tour of this patrician residence and garden, built by what had been Taiwan's richest family. As soon as he went in through the gate, he was attracted by the structures' tall white walls and their dark beams and pillars, and he reflected that this really was something special and rarely seen in Taiwan. But when he asked Lin Heng-tao's opinion, to his surprise his teacher said: "These are crude, rough buildings." "Perhaps Lin's aesthetic standards were based on San Fang Qi Xiang in Fu-zhou, where he lived as a child!" Li Chien-lang surmises.
Because the Lin Family Garden was his own family's residence, Lin Heng-tao can speak more bluntly about it than others might. He once said: "Most early settlers in Taiwan were very poor. When they later prospered they wanted to build luxury residences, but in their eyes, apart from rich people's houses, the best-looking buildings they knew were large temples. So big houses in Taiwan often have flying eaves modelled on those of temples, and they look rather a mish-mash."
Lin also says: "Most rich houses in Taiwan look dreadful once you get beyond the first courtyard, because their owners started life in poverty, and although they had seen the outside of rich people's houses, they certainly had no opportunity to go into the family living quarters. Thus they had no idea of how the inside was arranged, and could only use their imagination. . . ." All in all, when speaking of the Lin family residence, which has been so lavished with praise by others, Lin Heng-tao presents a different perspective. Some suspect that this is due to Lin projecting onto his views about architecture the unhappy experience of his childhood in a rich family-for instance, Lin Heng-tao has often described the children of rich families as living in "high-class orphanages," deprived of the love and care of their parents, to be brought up by nurses and nannies, so that from early childhood their personalities could not develop healthily.
But in fact Lin Heng-tao does not lack a coherent view of historical sites. For instance, Li Chien-lang observes that Lin Heng-tao likes the black-tiled, white-walled houses of the common people, but dislikes ostentatious, palatial mansions; he prefers peaceful Buddhist temples to elaborately decorated Taoist temples; and as for buildings from the militaristic period of the Japanese Showa reign-such as Taipei's Chung Shan Hall in the so-called "imperial crown" style, which represents the spirit of Asian Co-Prosperity, or the Taoyuan Shinto shrine, a relic of the campaign to make loyal imperial subjects of the Taiwanese-he des-pises them, and would even prefer to see all such buildings torn down.
However, today's "standard" for the preservation of historic sites is more like that of cultural anthropology: anything of which no new examples will be produced, and which reflects the experience of an era, may be regarded as a historical site," says Li Chien-lang. From this perspective, the Taoyuan Shinto shrine needs to be preserved even though it is a relic of Japanese militarism. In this regard, Li believes Lin Heng-tao represents an earlier conception of hist-oriography.
History without people
Amidst today's burgeoning interest in native culture, this old pioneer of the study of historical sites raises a point of view which gives pause for deep reflection. Since 1994, the Ministry of Education has required elementary and middle schools to provide native culture teaching materials. But Lin Heng-tao says that after such a long hiatus in the teaching of local culture, many teachers really do not know any longer how to teach local history, let alone how to write teaching materials for it. When he was asked to examine and comment on some local history textbooks, he discovered on opening them that they covered Taiwan's history all the way from Emperor Yang of the Sui dynasty and Sun Quan of the Three Kingdoms period to Zheng Chenggong and Wang Delu. "They all followed the structure of the traditional tongshi [detailed chronological histories]." He did not believe that these were really interesting native culture teaching materials.
"To be interesting, native culture teaching materials should take local affairs as their starting point," he says. For instance, in Taoyuan County's Lungtan Rural Township, the farmers have traditionally grown sweet potatoes. Why? Is it because the Hakka inhabitants of the area were short of labor, and that sweet potatoes are easy to tend? It was not until the Xianfeng reign (1851-1861) of the Qing dynasty, after Taiwan began trading with foreign countries, that tea was grown there. The transition from sweet potatoes to tea, and the reasons behind it, would make excellent material for teaching about local history. "Local culture education today generally stresses the great and glorious deeds of the children's grandfathers, great-grandfathers and other ancestors. It's not that you can't talk about those things, but you shouldn't overdo it," says Lin.
As for his hopes for Taiwanese historio-graphy as a whole, Lin believes that as society becomes more and more pluralistic, the face of history will become more and more diverse. "In the past, few people made an effort to investigate historical sites, or to collect material on local history. Today, all kinds of voices are raised. Local people have their own views, and are willing to put in a lot of effort. More and more people are collecting materials. But just having material is not enough. You have to read widely, and back up what you say with evidence from anthropology, folk culture and even economics before you can arrive at a really deep view of history," says Lin.
In October 1996 the Academia Historica, which has long been working to preserve materials on recent and modern history, published a volume of Lin Heng-tao's reminiscences as oral history, hoping to use Lin's lively and witty language to preserve for the benefit of people today a record of the experiences of the people of Taiwan in the long years from the era of Japanese rule to the post-retrocession period, as seen through the eyes of a descendant of Taiwan's richest family, the Lin clan-or as Lin Heng-tao calls himself, a member of the last generation of "Young Masters."
However, it is somewhat puzzling that in the Academia Historica book, and in recent media interviews, this "Last of the Young Masters" reveals a sense of perplexity at life in his old age. It appears that except for going to visit historical sites, there really is nothing which gives him pleasure.
Unresolved questions?
"Looking back over my life, it really has been one to regret. There are many things I should have done which I didn't do, books I should have read which I didn't read, and things I should have studied which I didn't study. . . . Today, when I get together with my brothers and sisters, we cannot help sighing with regret.
"Our experience from early childhood deprived us children of rich families of even basic life skills such as boiling water or cooking food. Nor did we know how to manage money, so we were tricked out of several houses. Sometimes I feel like a subnormal child, especially two or three years ago when I had had an operation for rectal cancer and could only move about with difficulty. I was often overcome with a sense of inferiority and a fear of being abandoned. I had to rely on the housekeeper to cook my food and the nurse to look after my physical needs. Whenever they were not there I felt thoroughly insecure, and thought that I would be better off dead. . . ." In response to a stranger's question, Lin Heng-tao speaks frankly of his state of mind.
"But I'm not scared of dying--at my age, what's there to be afraid of in death? I always tell my children that when I die, they should do what Chuang Fu, the owner of the Leofoo Hotel, had his family do--as soon as I shut my eyes they should cremate me and have done with it. They shouldn't put on any ceremonial, and once the funeral is over, they should write to my friends and relations and say: "While I was alive you gave me so much love and care. Now that I'm gone I don't want to put you to any more trouble, so please don't send money or flowers.'"
Thus, he says: "I'm happiest when I've a seminar to go to. When I get out and about and have plenty to do then I forget everything." Lin Heng-tao quotes Benjamin Franklin's maxim that there are only two certainties in this world: "Death and taxes." For him, both are unavoidable vexations to which he has thus far found no solution.
An individual's lifespan is limited, but the span of history is infinite. For Lin Heng-tao, looking at his own life against the background of history, are some questions still unresolved?
[Picture Caption]
Lin Heng-tao spent his childhood and youth in Japan, and so was deeply influenced by Japanese culture. His body language is no different from that of his Japanese guests.
The White Flower Room in the Lin Family Garden in Panchiao was where the family received guests. In the center is a theatrical stage. The room is so named because it is painted white and decorated with plants. The work of building the Garden was put in hand in 1888 by Lin Wei-yuan, brother of Lin Heng-tao's great-grandfather. (courtesy of Wang Kuo-fan)
Lin Heng-tao's garb of an old-fashioned suit, big leather shoes and a washing powder bag have become his trademark, and something much talked about by the generations of students he has led around Taiwan in search of historical sites.
Lin Heng-tao dislikes the buildings of the Showa reign, regarding them a s relics of Japanese militarism. Chung Shan Hall, with its "imperial crown," is an example. ( courtesy of the Committee of Taipei Historical Records)
Tataocheng,by the Tanshui River.Taipei Bridge is in the left background. In the 10th year of the Qing dynasty Xianfeng reign(1860),when this photograph was taken,Tataocheng was a trading port, and the river bank was lined with foreign trading houses. Close by was the consulate area. (from A Glimpse of Historical Taiwan)
(facing page) In Lin Heng-tao's view, Fort Provintia, a center of trade and administration under the Dutch and during Zheng Chenggong's rule, is the historical site in Taiwan most worth visiting. (photo by Cheng Yuan-ching)
(facing page) An avid reader, Lin Heng-tao takes great care of his books . When he has finished reading one he wraps it in a brown paper envelope, to prevent T aipei's damp air from turning the pages yellow.
The many works by Lin heng-tao which can be found in bookshops are mostl y about historical sites, but Before the Dawn is one of his few novels. His latest book is The Reminiscences of Mr. Heng-tao Lin, published by the Academia Historica in October 1996.
Lin Heng-tao's apartment is located in bustling downtown Taipei. Lin says he both loves and fears going out, and when he does so is always accompanied by a nurse.
The White Flower Room in the Lin Family Garden in Panchiao was where the family received guests. In the center is a theatrical stage. The room is so named because it is painted white and decorated with plants. The work of building the Garden was put in hand in 1888 by Lin Wei-yuan, brother of Lin Heng-tao's great-grandfather. （courtesy of Wang Kuo-fan）
Lin Heng-tao's garb of an old-fashioned suit, big leather shoes and a washing powder bag have become his trademark, and something much talked about by the generations of students he has led around Taiwan in search of historical sites.
Lin Heng-tao dislikes the buildings of the Showa reign, regarding them a s relics of Japanese militarism. Chung Shan Hall, with its "imperial crown," is an example. （ courtesy of the Committee of Taipei Historical Records）
（facing page） In Lin Heng-tao's view, Fort Provintia, a center of trade and administration under the Dutch and during Zheng Chenggong's rule, is the historical site in Taiwan most worth visiting. （photo by Cheng Yuan-ching）
Tataocheng,by the Tanshui River.Taipei Bridge is in the left background. In the 10th year of the Qing dynasty Xianfeng reign（1860）,when this photograph was taken,Tataocheng was a trading port, and the river bank was lined with foreign trading houses. Close by was the consulate area. （from A Glimpse of Historical Taiwan）
The many works by Lin heng-tao which can be found in bookshops are mostl y about historical sites, but Before the Dawn is one of his few novels. His latest book is The Reminiscences of Mr. Heng-tao Lin, published by the Academia Historica in October 1996.
（facing page） An avid reader, Lin Heng-tao takes great care of his books . When he has finished reading one he wraps it in a brown paper envelope, to prevent T aipei's damp air from turning the pages yellow.
Lin Heng-tao's apartment is located in bustling downtown Taipei. Lin says he both loves and fears going out, and when he does so is always accompanied by a nurse.
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