grace of form and charm of manner which the Moorish lady of five
centuries ago possessed. A prominent woman, who has travelled widely in
Moslem countries, has given this rather repellent description of the
women of the Moors of to-day. "They are huge puncheons of greasy flesh,
daubed with white and scarlet, strung with a barbaric wealth of jewels
and scented beads. They eat and sleep, and then for variety's sake they
sleep and eat. They gossip, scold, and intrigue; and are valued
according to their weight. They blacklead their eyes, and paint their
cheeks like Jezebel; beat their slaves, drink tea and chat and quarrel."
Not a very attractive picture is this,--and perhaps a little
gloomy,--but it is given as presenting a marked and altogether truthful
contrast between the Moorish women of the days when chivalry flourished
in southern Spain, and the women of the Morocco of to-day in their
poverty and degradation. Once the women exerted a strong influence over
the men; the truth is that frequently the "power behind the throne" was
to be located within the harem. This was probably true during the reign
of Hakam II., who was so fond of books that war and the practical
concerns of government had little charm for him. He was the son of the
great Kalif of Cordova, Abd-er-Rahman III. The latter had built a city
to please his Ez-Zahra, and called it "City of the Fairest," but he did
not turn over the government to his spouse. His son Hakam, however,
allowed the influence of the women of the court to become dominant, and
on his death the Sultana Aurora, mother of the young Kalif Hisham,
became the most important personage in the state. It was she who was
chiefly instrumental in introducing into power the young Almanzor.
Gifted in the fine art of flattery and being brilliant withal, the
princesses, and more particularly Aurora herself, fell in love with the
talented young man, and turned all the currents of influence and power
toward him. Thus did the women of the court succeed in developing one of
the most successful and unscrupulous of Moorish leaders. He made all
Spain tremble by his victories, and Christians sighed with relief when
death at last conquered the conqueror.
The power of the wife of the Spanish Moor was by no means small. A fine
example of her influence at times may be illustrated by the history of
Muley Abul Hassan, the royal Moorish ruler of the Alhambra, who came to
the throne in A.D. 1465. "Though cruel by nature," says Washington
Irving, "he was prone to be ruled by his wives." He had married early in
life a young kinswoman, the daughter of the Sultan Mohammed VII., his
great-uncle. This Ayxa--or Ayesha, as she has been called--was, says the
historian, of almost masculine spirit and energy, and of such immaculate
and inaccessible virtue that she was generally called La Horra--"the
Chaste." To her there was born a son, who received the name of Abu
Abdallah; or as he is commonly known, by the abbreviation Boabdil. The
astrologers were called upon to cast the horoscope of the infant, as was
usual; and, to their great trepidation, it was found that it was
"written in the book of fate that this child will one day sit upon the
throne, but the downfall of the kingdom will be accomplished during his
reign." At once the young prince and heir began to be looked upon with
suspicion and even aversion by his father, who proceeded to persecute
the child over whom such a prediction hung. He was accordingly nicknamed
El Zogoybi--"the Unfortunate." It was a valiant and fond-hearted mother
whose constant care and protection enabled him to grow up to young
manhood; for she was a woman of strong character and of dominating will.
But, alas! growing somewhat old, and losing some of her personal charm
and influence, Ayesha must face a rival in the harem. Among the captives
taken by the Moors at this time, says Irving, was one Isabella, the
daughter of a Christian cavalier, Sancho Ximenes de Solis. Her Moorish
captors gave her the name of Fatima; but as she grew up, her surpassing
beauty gained her the surname of Zoraya, or "the Morning Star," by which
she has become known to history. Her charms at length attracted the
notice of Muley Abul Hassan, and, after being educated in the Moslem
faith, she became his wife.
Zoraya soon acquired complete ascendency over the mind of Muley Abul
Hassan. "She was as ambitious as she was beautiful, and, having become
the mother of two sons, looked forward to the possibility of one of them
sitting on the throne of Granada." Zoraya succeeded in gathering about
her a faction, who were drawn to her by her foreign and Christian
descent. These were anxious to assist her in her ambition and that of
her sons, as they arrayed themselves against Boabdil and his mother. The
latter, however, were not without their ardent supporters. There were
engendered jealousies that were inveterate and hatreds that were deep.
Intriguing was the order of the day. Fearing that a plot would succeed
in deposing Muley Abul Hassan and in putting Boabdil upon the throne of
his father, the prince, together with his mother, was thrown into prison
and confined in the tower of Cimares. Hassan resolved not only to set
the stars at defiance and to prove the lying fallacy of the horoscope,
but to silence at once and for all, by the executioner's sword, the
ambitions of his son Boabdil. But here the versatility of Ayesha again
asserted itself. She at once began to make a way for Boabdil's escape.
"At the dead of night she gained access to his prison, and, tying
together the shawls and scarfs of herself and her female attendants,
lowered him down from a balcony of the Alhambra to the steep, rocky
hillside which sweeps down to the Darro. Here some of her devoted
adherents were waiting to receive him, who, mounting him upon a swift
horse, spirited him away." The young man, acting under the advice of
ambitious friends and relatives, began to make preparations for war; and
his own mother encouraged his heart and equipped him for the field,
giving him her fond benediction as she lovingly girded his scimiter to
his side. But his young bride wept, as she tried to fancy the ills that
might befall him in so uneven a conquest. "Why dost thou weep, daughter
of Ali Altar?" asked the invincible Ayesha; "these tears become not the
daughter of a warrior, nor the wife of a king. Believe me, there lurks
more danger for a monarch within the strong walls of a palace than
within the frail curtains of a tent. It is by perils in the field that
thy husband must purchase security on his throne." But Morayma, daughter
of Ali Altar, found it hard to be comforted; and as her husband, the
prince, departed from the Alhambra, she took her place at her _mirador_,
and then, overlooking the Vega, she watched the departing loved one,
whom she thought never to see again, as his forces vanished from her
sight, and "every burst of warlike melody that came swelling on the
breeze was answered by a gush of sorrow."
This succession of fateful incidents connected with the career of one
who was destined to be the last to sit upon a Moorish throne in Spain is
here recounted because the events give at once an insight into the
strength and the weakness of the Moorish womanly character, with all its
ardent love and spiteful hate, with its loyalty and its trickery, its
hopes and its fears.
It was Ferdinand, with his wife Isabella, who was destined to return to
the Spaniards the possession of their land, so long held by the Moors.
The story of the overthrow of Boabdil is a narrative of chivalry and
real pathos. Boabdil, standing on a spur of the Alpuxarras, with his
mother Ayesha by his side, looked back upon the glory of his lost
dominion. The towers of the Alhambra loomed up before him, and the rich
and fertile Vega stretched out before his eyes for the last time.
"_Allahu Akbar_," said he, sorrowfully, "God is most great," and burst
into tears. "Well may you weep like a woman," said Ayesha, "for that
which you were unable to defend like a man." This final standing place
of the last of the Moorish rulers in Spain is still known as El Ultimo
Sospiro del Moro--"the last sigh of the Moor." The standard of Castile
and Aragon by the side of the Cross has supplanted the crescent of
Islam; and Ferdinand, with Isabella, knelt in the Alhambra and gave
thanks to God, while the Spanish army knelt behind them, and the royal
choir chanted a _Te Deum_. Had Isabella been more gracious and kept
faith with the infidel, the lot of the vanquished had been less
sorrowful.
When the Moors were driven out from the home that had been theirs for
more than seven eventful centuries, none suffered more than did the
proud Moorish ladies. It is creditable, however, to their Spanish
victors that they preserved as a part of their own national literature
many of the ballads of the vanquished Moors. Lines from the Moorish
_Lament for the Slain Celin_ are expressive of the wail of maid and
mother at the loss of their former glory and their expulsion from the
place they had so long held:
"The Mooress at the lattice stands--the Moor stands at the door
One maid is wringing of her hands and one is weeping sore.
Down to the dust men bore their heads, and ashes black they strew
Upon their broidered garments of crimson, green and blue."
The aged women also had their hopes stricken low by the downfall of
their people:
"An old, old woman cometh forth, when she hears the people cry,
Her hair is white as silver, like horn her glazed eye."
The fall of Granada brought bitterness to many a heart. The words of the
ballad, _Woe is Me_! translated from the Spanish by Lord Byron, might
well depict the feeling of the hour:
"Sires have lost their children--wives,
Their lords,--and valiant men, their lives."
The aged Moor, pacing to and fro before the king, pours out his plaint:
"I lost a damsel in that hour,
Of all the land the loveliest flower;
Doubloons a hundred would I pay,
And think her ransom cheap that day.
Woe is me, Alhambra."
As one has written: "Beautiful Granada, how is thy glory faded! The
flower of thy chivalry lies low in the land of the stranger; no longer
does the Bivarambla echo to the tramp of steed and the sound of trumpet;
no longer is it crowded with thy youthful nobles, gloriously arrayed for
the tilt and tourney. Beautiful Granada! The soft note of the lute no
longer floats through thy moonlit streets; the serenade is no more heard
beneath thy balconies; the lively castanet is silent upon thy hills; the
graceful dance of the Zambra is no more seen beneath thy bowers.
Beautiful Granada! why is the Alhambra so forlorn and desolate? The
orange and the myrtle still breathe their perfumes into its silken
chambers; the nightingale still sings within its groves; its marble
halls are still refreshed with the plash of fountains and the gush of
the limpid rills! Alas! the countenance of the king no longer shines
within those halls. The light of the Alhambra is set for ever!"
"Farewell, farewell, Granada! thou city without peer!
Woe, woe, thou pride of heathendom! seven hundred years and more
Have gone since first the faithful thy royal sceptre bore!
Thou wert the happy mother of a high-renowned race;
Within thee dwelt a haughty line that now go from their place;
..............................................................
Here gallants held it little thing for ladies' sake to die,
Or for the Prophet's honor and the pride of Soldanry;
For here did valor flourish and deeds of warlike might
Ennobled lordly palaces in which was our delight.
The gardens of thy Vega, its fields and blooming bowers,
Woe, woe! I see their beauty gone, and scattered all their flowers!"
XII
WOMEN OF CHINA AND COREA
China, once the country of perpetual calm, has in recent years become
the land of magnificent disturbances. Not an unimportant factor in the
changes that have lately taken place in the Flowery Kingdom has been
woman. The influence of the women of the nations is generally
centripetal. Of the peoples of the earth the Chinese would doubtless be
named as altogether the most conservative, and in this conservatism the
Chinese women play a most important part.
Ancestry worship has marked this people from time immemorial, and if
there be one characteristic of Chinese life stronger than all the rest,
it is that of filial piety. This regard is not taught to end with
childhood, but is to be lasting even in mature manhood. From the
lowliest subject to the emperor himself the rule is imperative. The
latter is father of the people of the realm, and as such is to be
reverenced; he in turn is the son of Heaven. Confucius was careful to
instil into his pupils filial regard--a virtue which the sages before
him had urged upon the people. To such teachings is to be attributed
much that is best in Chinese life.
Thus the Chinese system is a gigantic patriarchal system with its base
resting on the earth, its head penetrating heaven. Mencius spoke often
and in no uncertain words upon this theme. "Of all that a filial son can
attain to, there is nothing greater than his honoring his parents. Of
what can be attained to in honoring his parents, there is nothing
greater than nourishing them with the whole Empire. To be the father of
the son of Heaven is the highest nourishment." In this may be verified
the sentence in the _Book of Poetry_:
"Ever thinking how to be filial,
His filial mind was the model which he supplied."
Every department of life is reached by this trait. Someone once asked
Mencius how it was that Shun, an exemplary character of more ancient
days, had married without consulting his parents. For "if the rule be
thus (_i.e._, to inform the parents), no one ought to have illustrated
it so well as Shun." To which Mencius replied: "If he had informed them
he would not have been able to marry. That male and female should dwell
together is the greatest of human relations. If Shun had informed his
parents, he would have made void this greatest of human relations, and
incurred thereby their resentment. It was for this reason that he did
not inform them." Thus only did Mencius save the filial character of the
great and good Shun.
Since social and religious ideals are the most potential in shaping
woman's life among any people, filial piety has naturally held a notable
place in the making of Chinese womanhood, from the earliest period of
Chinese history. Respect for age is, therefore, one of the most eminent
of Chinese virtues. This is shown in innumerable habits of everyday
life. Let a company be walking out together, the eldest will lead the
way, while the others follow on, paired according to their respective
ages.
The teachings of Confucius have without doubt influenced the thinking
and the conduct of Chinese men in their relations with the female sex;
even though he said little directly about women or their conduct. His
loose ideas as to marriage and the admission of concubinage are among
the blots upon his social teachings. The body of early Chinese
literature gives a most suggestive insight into the ancient ideals
concerning woman; and because of the dreary conservatism of the people
these ideals are still potential.
The _Li Ki_, or "Book of Ceremonies," has many bits of counsel which are
intended to regulate the everyday life of the people. Of course, there
is much there concerning the life of woman, of wives, of concubines, of
mothers; concerning betrothal, marriage, domestic and filial duties.
The Chinese are not usually regarded as a people overflowing with
sentiment; and yet many of their ancient poems are not lacking in
romantic interest. From such effusions as that which exclaims:
"O sweet maiden, so fair and retiring,
At the corner, I'm waiting for you,"--
to deeper meditations upon feminine worth and character, the early
poetry sweeps over quite a wide range of sentimental reflection.
The _Shi King_, a collection of Chinese poetry gathered by Confucius,
an anthology of more than three hundred poems, contains some glowing
epithalamia setting forth at length the unmistakable virtues of the
bride. Others of them present the industry of a queen, the charming and
virtuous manners of an admired maiden, or the affection of a spouse.
While still others set forth the feelings of a wife who bewails the
absence of her husband, away in the performance of duty; or, it may be,
of a rejected wife giving forth her bitter plaint. A husband's cruelty
is bemoaned; a woman scorns the praises of an artless lover; or a wife
is consoled by her husband's home-coming.
These songs, born in the early days of feudalism, when the dukes or
governors of the states would come together to consult with the king
concerning public matters, breathe of a period long past. Among the
officers in attendance on these occasions were the music masters. "Let
me write the songs of the people," one has said, "I care not who makes
their laws." To the music masters was assigned the duty of supervising
the songs in use among the subjects of the realm. The songs approved by
the king's music master were preserved as classics. It was from these
that Confucius selected; and he preserved many in which the Chinese
woman is the motive and inspiration. The ode celebrating the virtue of
King Wan's bride is but one of many such poems giving a good insight
into the ancient attitude of mind toward feminine beauty and virtue, as
well as preserving some of the older customs attending the festal
wedding day:
"The maiden modest, virtuous, coy, is found;
Strike every lute, and joyous welcome sound.
Ours now the duckweed from the stream we bear
And cook to use the other viands rare.
He has the maiden, honest, virtuous bright,
Let drums and bells proclaim our great delight."
The Chinese drama, a much more modern art--though nothing seems modern
in China--often depicts woman in her best as well as in her less
favorable light. There is present here the true spirit of romance. In
the _Sorrows of Han_, a historical tragedy setting forth conditions in
the days of effeminacy:
"When love was all an easy monarch's care,
Seldom at council--never in a war,"
Lady Chaoukeun, a farmer's daughter, who has been raised to be
Princess of Han, has never yet seen the king's face. She was eighteen
years of age when brought into the royal palace, but by the intrigue of
the prime minister she had been ignored and neglected. Her picture has
been mutilated by the official, not only that he might destroy her
prospects in the royal eye, but also that he might extort money in
selecting other beauties for the palace. Her father, being poor, was
unable to pay the amount exacted. But by chance the king comes upon her
as she plays the lute in the darkness. He, enraptured by the music, asks
to see her. Her beauty at once charms him. He hears the story of her
sadness, and the plot of the minister is made known. The latter is at
once condemned to lose his head. Making his escape, however, he reaches
the camp of the Tartars, who are at this very juncture threatening the
land, and gives himself over to their assistance. Being shown a true
picture of Lady Chaoukeun in all her beauty, the prince of the Tartars
falls desperately in love, and is willing even to offer peace to the
king if he will but give up the beautiful princess. The king, sorrowful,
but unable otherwise to save his land from devastation, delivers over
his wife to the enemy, she herself consenting to be sacrificed that the
kingdom and her husband's dynasty may be preserved. But, faithful in her
love, she is not long in the hand of the Tartar prince. She seizes her
opportunity, and throws herself into the surging river, along which the
Tartar army was camped, and is drowned. When Khan, the Tartar prince,
saw his prize had escaped his grasp, he decides to give back the traitor
minister to King Han for punishment. That very night Han sees his martyr
wife in his dreams. He arises to embrace her, but she is gone again. The
play closes with the order for the beheading of him who has brought upon
the royal house such sorrow.
Most of the romance in a Chinese woman's life, however, is found in the
books, which tell of the earlier days. The first event in the life of
most women in China, though she does not at the time realize it, is a
sad one. There is usually scant welcome for the girl. Certainly, amidst
the masses of the people, she enters upon a rough and weary way. She is
reared in seclusion and ignorance. Her little brothers, even, are not
her companions. If she should have any association with them, she is
little better than their servant. Her name does not appear upon the
family register, since she is expected to belong to another family when
she is old enough to wed.
Does one ask of courtship in China? There is no such thing there,
unless bartering by go-betweens could be called by that name. Girls
spend their last days of maidenhood in loud wailing, and their girl
friends come to weep with them. Well may they do this. After marriage,
which is itself a bitter rather than a happy experience for the bride,
they continue a life of worse slavery--slavery abject and heartless--to
women who have been slaves to other women. The mother-in-law in China
rules her daughter-in-law with an iron hand, and the wife's future
depends much more upon the character of the husband's mother than upon
the husband himself. That the coming of girls into the home is not so
welcome an event as that of boys is quite natural, for it is expected
that at about sixteen years of age the girl will become a member of
another family, returning but occasionally to the house of her birth. So
that while a mother's hope of prestige lies in her sons, the ministering
cares which she might expect in duty from her daughter must be tendered
her by the wife of her son rather than by the sympathetic hands of her
daughter, whose attentions must be unremitting to the mother of her own
husband.
Betrothals are sometimes made in infancy. But since such contracts are
regarded as being quite as binding as a marriage, wisdom usually
dictates a postponement. Girls are therefore usually betrothed a year or
two before marriage, which in most cases occurs at about fifteen years
of age. Among the poorer classes, in order to avoid the expense
ordinarily involved in betrothal, a mother will sometimes buy, or
receive as a gift, an infant girl, who is reared as a wife for her son.
Marriage, however, in China as elsewhere, is always regarded as a matter
of deep concern in a woman's career. But in China she has little share
in the events which lead up to the wedding day. Proposals of marriage
and the acceptances are often made without either party to the life
union knowing about the transactions. Nor are the experiences of the
nuptial day always joyous to the timid young bride. Up to the time of
her marriage, the girl has spent her days in comparative seclusion.
Thrust now suddenly among strangers, she naturally shrinks with a
feeling almost akin to terror. This ordeal she must face with apparently
little sympathy. Audible comments are made concerning her when she is at
length in the home of her new-found parents, as they give their vivid
impressions of the newcomer. In parts of China at least, it is customary
for the unmarried girls along the route to throw at the passing bride
handfuls, not of rice, but of hayseed or chaff, which, striking upon her
well-oiled black hair, adheres readily and conspicuously. Not only must
the girl be given in marriage by the parents, but the man must let his
parents know of his desire to marry, and get counsel at their hands. In
the sacred _Book of Poetry_ it is expressly written:
"How do we proceed in taking a wife?
Announcement must be first made to our parents."
Married women seldom have names of their own. A wife may have two
surnames, that of her husband and that of her mother's family. If she
have a son, she may be called "Mother of So-and-So." Nor is she expected
to speak to others of her husband directly as her husband. She must use
some circumlocution which does not directly state her relation to him.