The Art of Showing Respect — The Analects

In his village Confucius looked simple and sincere, as if he were not able to speak. In the prince's ancestral temple, or in the court, he spoke minutely on every point, but cautiously. Waiting at court, he spoke freely and straightforwardly with the lower great officers, and blandly but precisely with the higher. When the ruler was present, his manner displayed respectful uneasiness. It was grave, but self-possessed. Called to receive a visitor, his countenance appeared to change, and his legs to move forward with difficulty. He kept the skirts of his robe evenly adjusted and hastened forward with his arms like the wings of a bird. At the palace gate he seemed to bend his body, as if it were not sufficient to admit him. He did not occupy the middle of the gateway. He did not tread upon the threshold. Passing the vacant place of the prince, his words came as if he hardly had breath. He ascended the reception hall holding up his robe with both hands, holding in his breath as if he dared not breathe. Coming out, he relaxed his countenance after one step, and on occupying his place still showed respectful uneasiness. Carrying the sceptre of his ruler, he seemed unable to bear its weight.

Dress, food, and fasting each have a form. He did not use a deep purple or a puce colour in the ornaments of his dress. When fasting he thought it necessary to have his clothes brightly clean, to change his food, and to change the place where he commonly sat. He did not eat what was sour, gone, ill-cooked, or out of season. Meat would not exceed the due proportion for the rice. Only in wine did he lay down no limit, but he did not allow himself to be confused by it. Even coarse rice and vegetable soup he would offer a little of in sacrifice with a grave, respectful air. If his mat was not straight, he did not sit on it. When the villagers were drinking, he went out immediately after those who carried staffs. Chi K'ang sent him physic. He bowed and received it, saying he did not know it. He dared not taste it.

The stable being burned down while he was at court, on his return he said, has any man been hurt. He did not ask about the horses. When the prince sent cooked meat, he first tasted it, then gave it away. A living animal he kept alive. When the prince's order called him, he went at once, without waiting for his carriage to be yoked. When a friend died with no relations who could be depended on, he said he would bury him. A friend's present, even a carriage and horses, drew no bow. The only present for which he bowed was the flesh of sacrifice. In bed he did not lie like a corpse. At home he did not put on any formal deportment. Seeing anyone in mourning, he would change countenance. On a sudden clap of thunder, or a violent wind, he would change countenance. About to mount his carriage, he stood straight, holding the cord. Seeing the countenance, it instantly rises. It flies round, and by and by settles. There is the hen-pheasant on the hill bridge. At its season. At its season. Tsze-lu made a motion to it. Thrice it smelt him and then rose.