The Astoria was probably Taipei's most historical coffeehouse. I can still recall my college days 20 years ago, when it was our usual gathering place. It was located on Wuchang Street, next to Chung-king South Road, with a book stall under its arcade. This book stall, unlike most, did not carry run-of-the-mill magazines or chivalrous novels. What it did feature was quite a number of poetry collections and journals, along with Modern Literature. The stall was the poetic kingdom of that solitary "Lord" Chou Meng-tieh.

　At that time the Astoria's literary climate was awesome. The Genesis would often do its proofreading there; later the Literary Quarterly also met at that coffeehouse. I remember on one occasion seeing Hwang Chun-ming and Shih Shu-ching on the second floor. In the 1960's most literary activities were a fellowship: group of literary friends, and a magazine, and no one ever grew weary of sitting there.

　In those days we wrote, but appeared to lack any higher sense of mission, had no slogan to evoke people's excitement-- even if we had a "watchword," I am afraid no one took heed. Modern poetry and fiction in early 1960s were still in the phase of "developing the wilderness"-- expanding their frontiers. In the eyes of the average person, our conduct was always a little bizarre, hard to fathom. Most of what was composed was circulated and read within our fellowship; one or two good things said about it by friends could be considered as a very great encouragement. However, in the lonely and silent cultivation of that literature, there was also its own spiel of bittersweet experience that could not be related to outsiders. Thus Taiwan's modern poetry and fiction was heavily laden with the aroma of the Astoria's coffee, in its beginning stages, like flowers sprouting and blooming one by one.

　Over the past few years Taipei has undergone myriad changes, such that its whole face is different; you can pace up and down its streets at times and still not know quite where you are. The new high-rise buildings on the east side stand awesome and overwhelming; the sight can make one dizzy. Taipei's restaurants are many, as always, but when I returned this time, I realized that the city's coffeehouses, on big streets and small lanes, had multiplied like the teeth of a comb, like bamboo shoots sprouting after a spring rain, totally replacing the "exclusive tea-drinking" mode of some years ago. Its exotic decorations and brilliant colors leave New York and Tokyo far behind. Maybe I am prejudiced, but although these new-style coffeehouses are dazzling, they could be too gaudy, just a little upstart. I still like the simplicity of the Astoria on Wuchang Street; its coffee and cakes have a fragrance that lingers on after 20 years.

　On September 15th, 16th and 17th Modern Literature held three meetings with the authors. I talked with Yuanching's Chen Teng-en; we chose the Astoria's second floor as our meeting place, with the purpose of discussing old times. On the first day prominent figures in the realm of poetry were honored guests; the leading ones of each school had all assembled at once, and that reclusive Lord Chou Meng-tieh came from his unearthly sphere. I had not met Kuan Kuan for 17 years; the previous time had been at Chen Juo-hsi's home on Yungkang Street. Chang Mo came and gave me a set of Genesis, the publication that could be termed the "cat with nine lives." Its history predates that of Modern Literature, and the two magazines have been around for so long that they could "watch the lakes dry up and turn to mulberry patches." Also present were Luo Fu, Shang Chin, Hsin Yu and the couple of poets-lovers associated with the Blue Star, Lomen and Yungtze. Chiu Yen-ming, the most outstanding one under Ya Hsuan (who brought her along), sat at the same table with the Taiwan Times' Mei Hsin, the China Daily News' Tsai Wen-pu, Elite Publishing's Yin Ti, the elusive Chang Chien, Luo Ching (who loved to eat watermelons) and Ching Hsiang, who liked to write about butterflies. Of course, there were also veterans Ho Hsin and Yao Yi-wei of Modern Literature. Kao Shang-chin came half an hour later--such a confab is truly hard to get together! When separation and reunion are the norm, there aren't that many opportunities for so many old friends to gather in one room.

　When Yeh Wei-lien first brought Ya Hsuan to my house 20 years ago, I recall that Korean poet Huh Se Wook also came. My home was on Sungkiang Road; that strip of land was still one big rice paddy with lush growth, through which our little party took a shorwalk, talking about poetry. Ya Hsuan had just written "Paris," causing an uproar in literary circles. He had the happy thought of comparing a woman's lips to silk shoes! When Huh Se Wook first tried his hand at Chinese poetry, his initial pieces were printed in Modern Literature. This past summer the literary section of the United Daily News had a banquet at a restaurant on Sungkiang Road. I went for a look and saw that the stately restaurant was located where my home had stood. What a coincidence! On that day I was surprised to find the Korean poet Huh Se Wook in attendance; when old friends meet it makes them feel that the intervening twenty years have melted away.

　The Astoria's Western-style lunch was very simple: one dish, one bowl of soup, but I saw that everyone was still having a good time. Old friends were meeting in a place about which they had common memories. There were some white hairs, some wrinkles of age, but I was amazed at how their noble feeling had never diminished with the years. Their minds were riding high, better than ever. What power was it that upheld their reverence toward literature and kept their courage as strong as ever? It was probably their poetry!

　This group of pioneers had already laid down a path, and though this route was convoluted, uneven, at times extremely frightening and divergent, its construction was complete. Those who traveled later would at least have a road to follow.

　On the first day came the young writer Li Chieh-chin, who had originally been slated for the second but had moved up his date on account of other business. The year before last I read his story "Cat." The writing style was deep, with a rich variety of experience behind it. An older person's mind is thoroughly and vividly portrayed in it, so at first I thought the author must be middle-aged and have a great deal of experience in society; I never guessed he would be a young student, was I in for a surprise! The shame is that the story did not win the Fiction Award from the United Daily News; I felt it was terribly unfair. Last year Li garnered the runner-up spot in the China Times fiction competition, as Mr. Hsia Chih-ching had special praise for his "Narrow Lane," of which I hold a similar opinion.

　Now the fiction writers of the new generation are unexpectedly numerous and good; each in his own way has made an important contribution. On that second day came Sung Tse-lai, Wu Nien-chen, Chen Liang-hang, Ku Meng-jen, Chen Ming-fan and Chi Teng-sheng (with whom I had long communed in spirit, but this was our first personal meeting). He had supported Modern Literature consistently, day by day, for ten years, and the quantity of novel manuscripts he had submitted to the journal was more than that by any other writer except one. Sung Tse-lai, Wu Nien-chen, and Chen Yu-hang won Fiction Awards from the United Daily Mews this year; Ku Meng-jen also gained an endorsement award from the China Times. All were extremely happy.

　Taiwan literature now belongs to the age of novels. Young novelists have widespread feelings of exaltation upon their achievement. I feel very happy for them; when we used to write fiction, no one would read it. Who would have given us any awards? Taiwan's novelists of the new generation convey a sense that their techniques are firm and secure, not drifting or wandering. After all, they originated from this land of Taiwan and completely identify with it; the banner of Taiwan's literature must be carried by them.

　It looks as if Chen Ying-chen's memories of Astoria are deeper, more intense, and more profound. The Literary Quarterly used to meet there more frequently than we did. Along with Chen Ying-chen, I truly belonged to the 1960s. Way back in our college days Chen's crowd was still working on Pi Hui. We met one time, when he came to my house for some fun; at that time we were both students. In Taipei God Created Woman was showing; we laughed while discussing BB. Three years ago we met again at Shih Shu-ching's home; everyone had come a long way. At the head of my bed I have kept the selected fiction of Chen Ying-chen for many years; it is one of my favorite books.

　On the night of the 17th came Hsi Sung, Yao Yi-wei, and Chen Teng-en; we five had a few beers on the third floor of the Astoria. Mr. Yao's conclusion: only literature is worth struggling for. Chen Teng-en still has much courage. Modern Literature meets this heavy task, and Yuan-ching is also brave enough to shoulder it. The Western adage that "Human life is short; art is enduring" probably has some truth in this fast-changing world.

　When Hsi Sung and I left the Astoria, nightfall was gradually settling over Taipei. We sauntered down Chungking South Road. He and I had many common understandings, so we talked easily. Hsi Sung suggested that I come back to live awhile; I answered that I had thought of doing so. I have long fallen into the habit of feeling nostalgic, and this feeling that I hold for Taipei will never pass. Although the city has undergone drastic change, there are still a few places and things that bring back memories, including coffee and cakes at the Astoria on Wuchang Street.

　--Pai Hsien-yung/October 1979

[Picture Caption]

Cozy and sparely decorated, the coffeehouse left behind many memories of first love affairs.

The Astoria's first owner was a White Russian named G. C. Elsner (right). (photo courtesy of the Astoria Coffeehouse)

The warm light from inside is now history.

The warm light from inside is now history.

The Astoria's first owner was a White Russian named G. C. Elsner （right）. （photo courtesy of the Astoria Coffeehouse）