15
My Dear One,
Thine Honourable Mother is beset by the desire or marrying. No, do
not start; it is not or herself she is thinking. She will go to the River or
Souls mourning thine Honourable Father, and a pailo will be erected in
her honour. It is or her household she is thinking. She says our
rooftree is too small to shelter four women, three or whom have little
brains-- and that includes thy humble, loving wire-- but why she
should wish to exchange Mah-li, whom she knows, for a strange
woman whom she does not know, passes my understanding. She
seems not overfond of daughters-in-law, if one judge from chance
remarks.
First, before I speak or Mah-li, I must tell thee of thy brother. Thine
Honourable Mother is right-- it were better that he marry and have a
heel rope that leads him homewards. He is unruly and passes
overmuch time at the Golden Lotus Tea-house. He is not bad or
wicked. He lives but for the moment, and the moment is often
wine-flushed. He will not work or study, and many times at night I
send away the gatekeeper and leave my amah at the outer archway,
so thy Mother will not know the hour he enters. He is young, and has
chosen friends not equal to himself, and they have set his feet in the
path-way that slopes downward.
[Illustration: Mylady11.]
He does not wish to marry. We have told him that marriage is a will of
the Gods and must be obeyed. "Man does not attain by himself, nor,
Woman by herself, but like the one-winged birds of our childhood's
tale, they must rise together." It is useless to talk to him. A spark of
fire will not kindle wood that is still too green, and I rear he is in love
with life, and youth, and freedom.
I do not wish to doubt the wisdom of the August One, but I think she
made a mistake in her choice of a bride for Chih-mo. She chose
Tai-lo, the daughter of the Prefect of Chih-Ii. The arrangements were
nearly made, the dowry even was discussed, but when the astrologer
cast their horoscopes to see if they could pass their life in peace
together, it was found that the ruler of Chih-mo's life was a lion, and
that of the bride's, a swallow, so it was clearly seen they could not
share one rooftree. I fear (I would not have this come to the ears of
thine Honourable Mother) that some silver was left upon the doorstep
of the astrologer. Chih-mo asked of me the loan of an hundred taels,
and I saw the wife of the reader of the stars pass by with a new gown
of red and gold brocade.
I think Chih-mo had seen Tai-lo. Report gives her small beauty. Yet,
as the Elder One says, "Musk is known by its perfume, and not by
the druggist's label." Quite likely she would have made a good wife;
and-- we have one beauty in the household-- it is enough.
There is much wailing in the courtyards. The gardener and the bearer
and the watchman are having bound the feet of their small daughters.
The saying, "For every pair of golden lillies' there is a kang of tears,"
is true. I am so sorry for them. Just when they want to run and play,
they must sit all day with aching feet. My amah wished to put on the
heavy bindings, but I would not permit it. I said, "Do you want little
eyes to fill with tears each time they see you coming across the
courtyard? If their grandmothers do not come, let some old women
from the village do the cruel thing."
The happy rains of the spring are here. It is not the cold, drear rain of
autumn, but dancing, laughing rain that comes sweeping across the
valley, touching the rice-fields lovingly, and bringing forth the young
green leaves of the mulberry. I hear it patter upon the roof at
night-time, and in the morning all the earth seems cleansed and new;
fresh colours greet mine eye when I throw back my casement.
When wilt thou come to me, thou keeper of my heart?
Thy Wife.
16
Dear One,
"He whose faults are never told him
Doubtless deems the angels mould him."
That cannot be said of three women of thy household.
It is Mah-li this time on whom the wrath descends. She and Li-ti were
broidering in the western room, where they could get the last rays of
the sun. Perhaps they were speaking on forbidden subjects-- I do not
know; but thine Honourable Mother entered quietly and reproved them,
and (even when I write it I blush for her) Mah-li said to her Honourable
Mother, "Only cats and cranes and thieves walk silently." Thy Mother
was speechless with anger, and justly so, and now it is decided that
Mah-li must be married. She needs a stronger hand than a woman's.
Is it not ridiculous, little Mah-li needing a strong hand?
At first the August One considered Meng-wheh, the prefect at
Sung-dong. He is old and cross, but when I remonstrated, I was told
that he was rich. His many tens of thousands of sycee are supposed
to weigh more than youth and love. I said, "Though he bar with gold
his silver door," a man cannot keep the wife who loves him not. Thine
Honourable Mother thought more wisely, and after days of
consideration entered into consultation with the family of Sheng Ta-jen
in regard to his son. It seems Mah-li is doomed to marriage soon, and
she does not know whether she is happy or sorrowful. She is turned
this way and that, as the seed of the cotton-tree is swayed by the
coming and going of the wind. To-day she laughs, to-morrow she
weeps. Thy Mother has lost all patience with her, and, as she always
does when her own words rail her, I heard her quoting the Sage: "Just
as ducks' legs though short cannot be lengthened without pain, nor
cranes' legs though long be shortened without misery to the crane,
neither can sense be added to a silly woman's head."
I feel that thine Honourable Mother is unkind to Mah-li. She is a
flower, a flower that has her place in life the same as the
morning-glory, which is loved just as fondly by the Gods as the
pine-tree which stands so stately upon the hillside. She is light and
pure and dainty as the fragrance of perfumed air, and I do not want to
see her go to a family who will not understand her youth and love of
play.
Mah-li has asked of me money, and with it bought a great candle for
each day, which she sends down the mountain-side to be placed
before Kwan-yin. I asked her to tell me her prayer, that needed so
large an offering. The unfilial girl said she prayed, "Kwan-yin, send me
a husband with no family."
Such a lot of petty gossip I pour into thine ears, yet thou wouldst
know the happenings of thine household. Of the world outside, thy
brother writes thee. My world is here within these walls.
Thy Wife.
17
My Dear One,
Thine house of intrigue. Deep, dark intrigue and plotting. Thy wife has
lent herself to a most unwomanly thing, and doubtless thou wilt tell
her so, but Mah-li begged so prettily, I could refuse her nothing. I told
thee in my last letter that thine Honourable Mother had been regarding
the family of Sheng Ta-jen with a view to his son as husband of
Mah-li. It is settled, and Mah-li leaves us in the autumn. None of us
except Chih-peh has seen the young man, and Mah-li did a most
immodest thing the other day. She came to me and asked me to find
out from Chih-peh if he were handsome, if he were young-- all the
questions that burn the tongue of a young girl, but which she must
keep within tightly closed lips if she would not be thought unmaidenly.
I asked thy brother; but his answer was not in regard to the questions
Mah-li wished so much to know. So we arranged a plan-- a plan that
caused me many nights of sleeplessness. It was carried out and-- still
the sky is blue, the stars are bright at night, and the moon shines just
as softly on the valley.
The first part of the plan was for Li-ti. She must persuade Chih-peh to
ask Shen-go to spend the day with him at the Fir-tree Monastery.
When he knew the meaning of the invitation he refused. He was
shocked, and properly; as it was a thing unheard-of. He could not
understand why Mah-li would not be content with her mother's choice.
Li-ti brought all her little ways to bear-- and Chih-peh can refuse her
nothing. At the Feast of the Moon thy brother asked three friends to
join him at the monastery and stroll amongst its groves.
The rest of the plan was for me to carry out; and I, thy wife, displayed
a talent for diplomacy. I noticed that the cheeks of our Honourable
Mother were pale, that she seemed listless, that her step was
wearied. I said doubtless she was tired of being shut within the
compound walls with three aimless, foolish women, and proposed a
feast or pilgrimage. I mentioned the Goldfish Pond, knowing she was
tired of it; spoke of the Pagoda on the Hills, knowing full well that she
did not like the priests therein; then, by chance, read from a book the
story of the two kings. It is the tale of the King of Hangchow and the
King of Soochow who, in the olden time, divided our great valley
between them. The King of Hangchow was an old man and the cares
of state fell heavily upon his shoulders. The King of Soochow was a
man, eaten up with mad ambitions. He began to tread upon the lands
of the old King, taking now a farmhouse, now a village, and at last a
city, until the poor old King was threatened at his very gateway by the
army of the young man. The young King had strength, but the old
King had guile, so he made a peace with his enemy for one year. He
sent him presents, costly silks and teas, and pearls and jade and
ginseng, and, last and best, a beautiful slave-girl, the most beautiful in
the province. The young King was delighted, and forgot his warring,
passing all his days within the women's quarters.
As the winter waned and the spring came, the slave-girl sickened,
said she panted for the hillsides, and she pointed to the mountain
outside his city walls. He was a foolish King, and he builded for her a
palace, and she moved there with her women. The King was lonely in
the city, and he passed his days with the women in the palace on the
mountain. While living there in pleasure, and his army in the city, the
old King of Hangchow sent his soldiers; and soon there was no King
of Soochow, only a slave-girl decked with many jewels was taken
back with honour to the old King's city.
I read all this to thine Honourable Mother, and told her we could see
the ruins of the fish-pond, of the palace, see the fallen marbles from
the tea-house, and-- the chairs were ordered, and we went. We
wandered over deserted pathways, saw the lotus pools once filled with
goldfish, picked our way through lonely courtyards, climbed the
sunken steps of terraces that had once been gay with flowers. It all
was melancholy, this palace built for pleasure, now a mass of
crumbling ruins, and it saddened us. We sat upon the King's bench
that overlooked the plain, and from it I pointed out the Fir-tree
Monastery in the distance. I spoke of their famous tea, sun-dried with
the flowers of jessamine, and said it might bring cheer and take away
the gloom caused by the sight of death and vanished grandeurs now
around us.
We were carried swiftly along the pathways that wound in and out
past farm villages and rest-houses until we came to the monastery,
which is like a yellow jewel in its setting of green fir-trees. The priests
made us most welcome, and we drank of their tea, which has not
been overpraised, sitting at a great open window looking down upon
the valley. Strolling in the courtyard was Chih-peh with his three
friends. Mah-li never raised her eyes; she sat as maidens sit in public,
but-- she saw.
We came home another pathway, to pass the resting-place of
Sheng-dong, the man who at the time of famine fed the poor and gave
his all to help the needy. The Gods so loved him that when his body
was carried along the road-way to the Resting-place of his Ancestors,
all the stones stood up to pay him reverence. One can see them now,
standing straight and stiff, as if waiting for his command to lie down
again.
Art thou dissatisfied with me? Have I done wrong? Dear One, it means
so much to Mah-li. Let her dream these months of waiting. It is hard
to keep wondering, doubting, fearing one knows not what, hoping as
young girls hope. But now she has seen him. To me he was just a
straight-limbed, bright-faced boy; to her he is a God. There are no
teeth so white, no hair so black, and man were not born who walked
with such a noble stride. It will make the summer pass more quickly,
and the thought of the marriage-chair will not be to her the gateway of
a prison.
Art thou not tired of that far-off country? Each time I break the seal of
thy dear letter I say, "Perhaps this time-- it holds for me my
happiness. It will say, 'I am coming home to thee'." I am
longing for that message.
Thy Wife.
18
My Dear One,
It will soon be the Feast of the Springtime. Even now the roads are
covered with the women coming to the temple carrying their baskets
of spirit money and candles to lay before the Buddha.
Spring will soon be truly here; the buds are everywhere. Everything
laughs from the sheer joy of laughter. The sun looks down upon the
water in the canal and it breaks into a thousand little ripples from pure
gladness. I too am happy, and I want to give of my happiness. I have
put a great kang of tea down by the rest-house on the tow-path, so
that they who thirst may drink. Each morning I send Chang-tai, the
gate-keeper, down to the man who lives in the little reed hut he has
builded by the grave of his father. For three years he will live there, to
show to the world his sorrow. I think it very worthy and filial of him, so
I send him rice each morning. I have also done another thing to
express the joy that is deep within my heart. The old abbot, out of
thankfulness that the tall poles were not erected before the monastery
gateway, has turned the fields back of the temple into a freeing-place
for animals. There one may acquire merit by buying a sheep, a horse,
a dog, a bird, or a snake that is to be killed, and turning it loose where
it may live and die a natural death, as the Gods intended from the
beginning. I have given him a sum of money, large in his eyes but
small when compared to my happiness, to aid him in this worthy
work. I go over in the morning and look at the poor horses and the
dogs, and wonder whose soul is regarding me from out of their tired
eyes.
Let me hear that thou art coming, man of mine, and I will gather
dewdrops from the cherry-trees and bathe me in their perfume to give
me beauty that will hold thee close to me.
I am,
Thy Wife.
19.
My Dear One,
I have received thy letter telling me thou wilt not be here until the
summer comes. Then, I must tell thee my news, as the springtime is
here, the flowers are budding, the grass is green, soon the plum-tree
in the courtyard will be white. I am jealous of this paper that will see
the delight and joy in thine eyes. In the evening I watch the rice boats
pass along the canal, where the water is green and silvery like the
new leaves of the willow, and I say, "Perhaps when you return, I shall
be the mother of a child." Ah--! I have told thee. Does it bring thee
happiness, my lord? Does it make a quick little catch in thy breath?
Does thy pulse quicken at the thought that soon thou wilt be a father?
[Illustration: Mylady12.]
Thou wilt never know what this has meant to me. It has made the
creature live that was within my soul, and my whole being is bathed
with its glory. Thou wilt never know how many times I have gone down
the pathway to the temple and asked this great boon of our Lady of
Mercy. She granted it, and my life is made perfect. I am indeed a
woman, fulfilling a woman's destiny. If a woman bear not sons for her
lord, what worth her life? Do we not know that the first of the seven
causes for putting away a wife is that she brings no sons into the
world to worship at the graves of her husband's ancestors? But I,
Kwei-li, that will not be said of me.
Sometimes I think, "If something should happen; if the Gods should
be jealous of my happiness and I should not see thee more?" Then
the heart of the woman throbs with fear, and I throw myself at the feet
of Kwan-yin and beg for strength. She gives me peace and brings to
my remembrance that the bond of fate is sealed within the moon.
There is no place for fear, for aught but love; my heart is filled so with
its happiness.
Thy Wife.
20
My Dear One,
The spring has come, and with it some new pulse of life beats through
my quiet veins. I spend long hours upon the terrace, breathing in the
perfume of the many flowers. The cherry-blossoms are a glory. The
whole steep hillside is covered with a fairy lace, as if some God knew
how we hungered after beauty and gave us these pink blossoms to
help us to forget the bare cold earth of winter.
It is the time of praying, and all the women with their candles and their
incense are bending knees and chanting prayers to Kwan-yin for the
blessing of a son. There is a pilgrimage to the Kwem-li Pagoda. I can
see it in the distance, with its lotus bells that sway and ring with each
light breath of wind. One does not think of it as a thing of brick and
mortar, or as a many-storied temple, but as a casket whose jewels
are the prayers of waiting, hoping women.
You ask me how I pass my days? I cannot tell. At dawn, I wake with
hope and listen to the song of the meadow-lark. At noon, I dream of
my great happiness to come. At sunset, I am swept away into the
land of my golden dreams, into the heart of my golden world that
is peopled with but three-- Thou, Him, and Me. I am drifting happily,
sleepily, forgetting care, waiting for the Gods to bring my joy.
Thy Wife.
21.
My Dear One,
My courtyard is filled with the sounds of chatting women. I have sent
for the sewiing-women and those who do embroidery, and the days
are passed in making little garments. We are all so busy; Li-ti, Mah-li,
even thine Honourable Mother takes again the needle and shows us
how she broidered jackets for thee when thou wert young. The piles of
clothing grow each day, and I touch them and caress them and
imagine I can see them folding close a tiny form. There are jackets,
trousers, shoes, tiny caps and thick warm blankets.
I send for Blind Chun, the story-teller, and he makes the hours pass
quickly with his tales of by-gone days. The singers and the
fortune-tellers all have found the path that leads up to our gateway,
knowing they will find a welcome.
[Illustration: Mylady13.]
I am,
Thy Happy Wife.
22
I send thee cherry-blossoms. They grew within thy courtyard, and
each tiny petal will bring to thee remembrance of thy wife who loves
thee well.
23
If thou couldst see my courtyard! It seems carpeted with snow, so
many are the cherry-blossoms on its pavement. They say I am untidy
that I permit it to be untouched by broom or brush. It is cleaned and
spotless all the year, save at this the time of cherry-blossoms, when
'tis untrodden and unswept.
I cannot write thee merely household cares and gossip. I am so filled
with happiness, I can only dream and wonder. Joy is beating with his
wings just outside my open window, and soon all the gates of Heaven
will be opened wide to me.
Thy Wife.
24
He is here, beloved, thy son! I put out my hand and touch him, and
the breath of the wind through the pine-trees brings the music of the
Gods to me. He is big and strong and beautiful. I see in his eyes as in
a mirror the reflection of thy dear face, and I know he is thine and
mine, and we three are one. He is my joy, my son, my first-born. I am
tired, my lord, the brush is heavy, but it is such a happy, happy tired.
Thy Wife.
25
Is there anything so wonderful as being the mother of a son? I simply
sing, and laugh, and live-- oh, how I live the long days through. I have
happiness enough for all the world, and I want to give and give and
give. Thy mother says that all the beggers within the province know
there is rice outside our gateway; but when I look into my son's eyes,
and feel his tiny fingers groping in my neck, I feel I must give of my
plenty to those who have no joy.
Oh, husband mine, come back and see thy son!
26
Dost thou know what love is? Thou canst not till thou holdest Love
itself within thy very arms. I thought I loved thee. I smile now at the
remembrance of that feeble flickering flame that was as like unto the
real love as the faint, cold beam of the candle is to the rays of the
glorious sun. Now-- now-- thou art the father of my son. Thou hast a
new place in my heart. The tie that binds our hearts together is
stronger than a rope of twisted bamboo, it is a bond, a love bond, that
never can be severed. I am the mother of thy first-born-- thou hast
given me my man-child. Love thee-- love thee--! Now I know!