My Lady of the Chinese Courtyard

by Elizabeth Cooper

But sadness could not come to us when shopping, and our eager
eyes looked long at the signs above the open shopways. There were
long black signs of lacquer with letters of raised gold, or red ones with
the characters carved and gilded. Above a shoe-shop was a made for
the King of the Mountains, in front of a pipe-shop was a water pipe fit
for his mate. From the fan-shop hung delicate, gilded fans; and
framing the silk-shop windows gaily coloured silk was draped in rich
festoons that nearly swept the pathway.
We bought silks and satins and gay brocades, we chatted and we
bargained and we shopped. We handled jade and pearls and
ornaments of twisted gold, and we priced amulets and incense pots
and gods. We filled our eyes with luxury and our amahs' chairs with
packages, and returned home three happy, tired, hungry women,
thinking with longing of the hissing tea-urn upon the charcoal brazier.
That crowded, bustling, threatening city seems another world from
this, our quiet, walled-in dwelling. I feel that here we are protected,
cared for, guarded, and life's hurry and distress will only pass us by,
not touch us. Yet-- we like to see it all, and know that we are part of
that great wonder-thing, the world.
I am thy happy, tired,
Wife.
8.
My Dear One,
I am carrying a burden for another that is causing me much sorrow.
Dost thou remember Chen-peh, who is from my province and who
married Ling Peh-yu about two moons after I came to thy household?
She came to me yesterday in dire distress. She is being returned to
her home by her husband's people, and, as thou knowest, if a woman
is divorced shame covers her until her latest hour. I am inexpressibly
saddened, as I do not know what can be done. The trouble is with his
mother and, I fear, her own pride of family. She cannot forget that she
comes from a great house, and she is filled with pride at the
recollection of her home. I have told her that the father and mother of
one's husband should be honoured beyond her own. I can see that
she has failed in respect; and thus she merits condemnation. We
have all learned as babes that "respect" is the first word in the book of
wisdom. I know it is hard at times to still the tongue, but all paths that
lead to peace are hard.
She will remain with me two nights. Last night she lay wide-eyed,
staring into the darkness, with I know not what within her soul. I
begged her to think wisely, to talk frankly with her husband and his
mother, to whom she owes obedience. There should be no pride
where love is. She must think upon the winter of her days, when she
will be alone without husband and without children, eating bitter rice of
charity, though 'tis given by her people. I put her in remembrance of
that saying of the poet:
"Rudely torn may be a cotton mantle,
yet a skillful hand may join it;
Snapped may be the string where pearls are threaded,
yet the thread all swiftly knotted;
But a husband and his wife,
once parted, never more may meet."
I must not bring thee the sorrows of another. Oh, dear one, there will
never come 'twixt thee and me the least small river of distrust. I will
bear to thee no double heart, and thou wilt cherish me and love me
always.
Thy Wife.
9
My Dear One,
I cannot wait until the seventh day to write thee again, as my letter to
thee yestereve was full of sadness and longing. Now I have slept, and
troubles from a distance do not seem so grave.
Thine Honourable Mother has chided me gravely, but to my mind
unjustly, and, as thou knowest, I could not answer her words, though
they pierced me "like arrows from the strings of white-winged bows."
Poor Li-ti is in trouble again, and this time she has brought it upon
herself, yet she cannot he blamed. I as the head of the household, as
thine Honourable Mother has told me, should have protected her. I
told thee that she brought servants from her old home, and amongst
them her childhood's nurse, who, I am sure, loves Li-ti dearly; but, as
many women who have little to occupy their hands, she loves to sit in
the women's courtyard and gossip. If it had stopped within the
servants' courtyard all would have been well; but at the time of Li-ti's
dressing all the small goods she had gathered during the day were
emptied into the lap of Li-ti, who is too young to know that "as poison
that reaches the blood spreads through the body, so does the love of
gossip spread through the soul of woman." I do not know how it came
about, but comparisons were made between the households, that of
her home and that of her husband, and news was carried back to the
servants' quarters until at last our household was in a state of unrest
that stopped all work and made living quite impossible.
It seems small, but it is the retailing of little calumnies that disturbs
the harmony of kinsmen and ruins the peace of families. Finally I
found it necessary to talk to Li-ti's nurse, and I told her many things it
were good for her to know. I warned her that if she did not wish to
revisit her home province she must still her tongue. Things were better
for a time, but they commenced again, and I called her to my
courtyard and said to her, "The sheaves of rice have been beaten
across the wood for the last time. You must go." Li-ti was
inconsolable, but I was firm. Such quarrels are not becoming when we
are so many beneath one rooftree.
The servant went away, but she claimed her servant's right of reviling
us within our gate. She lay beneath our outer archway for three long
hours and called down curses upon the Liu family. One could not get
away from the sound of the enumeration of the faults and vices of thy
illustrious ancestors even behind closed doors. I did not know, my
husband, that history claimed so many men of action by the name of
Liu. It pleased me to think thou mayest claim so long a lineage, as
she went back to the dynasty of Ming and brought forth from his grave
each poor man and woman and told us of-- not his virtues. I should
have been more indignant, perhaps, if I had not heard o'ermuch the
wonders of thy family tree. I was impressed by the amount of
knowledge acquired by the family of Li-ti. They must have searched
the chronicles which evidently recorded only the unworthy acts of thy
men-folk in the past. I hope that I will forget what I have heard, as
some time when I am trying to escape from thine ancestors the
tongue might become unruly.
At the end of three hours the woman was faint and very ill. I had one
of the servants take her down to the boat, and sent a man home with
her, bearing a letter saying she was sickening for home faces. She is
old, and I did not want her to end her days in disgrace and shame.
But thine Honourable Mother! Thine Honourable Mother! Art thou not
glad that thou art in a far-off country? She went from courtyard to
courtyard, and for a time I fully expected she would send to the
Yamen for the soldiers; then she realised the woman was within her
right, and so restrained her-self. It nearly caused her death, as thou
knowest thine Honourable Mother has not long practised the virtue of
restraint, especially of the tongue. She was finally overcome taken to
her chamber, and we brought her tea and heated wine, and tried in all
our ways to make her forget the great humiliation. As she became no
better, we sent for the man of medicine from the Eastern Gate, and he
wished to burn her shoulders with a heated cash to remove the heat
within her. To this she objected so strongly that he hastily gathered
his utensils and departed looking fearfully over his shoulder from time
to time as he passed quickly down the hillside.
Then I thought of her favourite priest from the monastery down below,
and sent for him. He came with candle and incense and, I think, some
rose wine for which the monastery is justly famous; and he chanted
prayers, striking from time to time a little gong, until peace was
restored and sleep came to her eyelids.

In the morning she wished to talk to Li-ti; but I feared for her, and I
said, "You cannot speak of the ocean to a well-frog, nor sing of ice to
a summer insect. She will not understand. She said Li-ti was without
brains, a senseless thing of paint and powder. I said, "We will form
her, we will make of her a wise woman in good time. She replied with
bitterness, "Rotten wood cannot be carved nor walls of dirt be
plastered." I could not answer, but I sent Li-ti to pass the day with
Chih-peh at the Goldfish Temple, and when she returned the time was
not so stormy.
All this made me unhappy, and the cares of this great household
pressed heavily upon my shoulders. Please do not think the cares too
heavy, nor that I do not crave the work. I know all labour is done for
the sake of happiness, whether the happiness comes or no; and if I
find not happiness, I find less time to dream and mourn and long for
thee, my husband.
Thy Wife.
10
My Dear One,
We have been to a great festival at the Temple of the Goddess of a
Thousand Hands. Thine Honourable Mother decided that we should go
by boat part of the way, so the chairs were told to meet us at the
Western Village Rest-house.
We hired from the city one of those great pleasure-boats, but it was
not too great for us all. There was the August One, and four of her
friends, then Li-ti, Mah-li and myself. We took the cook, the steward
and three amahs, and it was indeed a time of feasting. It was the first
time I had been upon the canal, and it was different from seeing it
from the terrace. As we passed slowly along we could watch the life
of the water people. On the banks were the great water-wheels turned
by the village buffalo. In the deserted districts women were gathering
reeds to make the sleeping mats and boat covers. The villages with
their blue-grey houses and thatched roofs nestling among the groves
of bamboos looked like chicklets sheltering under the outstretched
wings of the mother hen.
We pushed our way through the crowded water-ways of the cities,
where we could catch glimpses of the guests in the tea-houses or the
keepers of the shops, or could watch the children leaning over the
balconies. On the steps between the houses which led to the
waterside women were washing clothes, or the dyers were cleansing
the extra dye from the blue cotton which clothes all China's poor. We
caught small bits of gossip and heard the laughter of all these people,
who seemed happy at their work.
When we could again pass to the open canal we would watch the
boats. I did not know there were so many boats in all the world. They
floated slowly past us-- big boats, little boats, those that went by sail,
and those that went by oar. There were the boats of mandarins and
merchants, those for passengers, and great unwieldy boats for rice.
We saw the fishing-boats with their hungry, fierce-eyed cormorants
sitting quietly in their places, waiting for the master to send them
diving in the water for the fish they may not eat.

The canal was a great broad highway. Even the tow-paths had their
patrons. Travellers on wheelbarrows, rich men in sedan-chairs,
soldiers, coolies, chanting as they swung along with their burdens
swinging from the bamboo on their shoulders, all going to or coming
from the great city to which we drew nearer with each stroke.
At the rest-house the bearers were awaiting us, and we were carried
up the long paved roadway to the temple. It seemed as if all the world
had turned to praying-- all the women world, that is. They were here,
rich and poor, peasant and official's wife, but in the temple all of a
sisterhood. We descended from our chairs in the courtyard and put
our spirit money in the great burner, where it ascended in tiny flames
side by side with that of the beggar woman, to the great God in the
Heavens. We entered the temple, placed our candles, and lighted our
incense. We made our obeisance to the Many-handed Goddess and
asked her blessing on our household for the year to come. Then I
went to the Mother of Mercies, Kwan-yin, and made my deepest
reverence, because for her my heart is full of love and gratitude. The
other Gods I respect and make them all due worship, but, I feel they
are far away from me. Kwan-yin, is the woman's God, and I feel her
love for me. She shapes my way, and I know it is to her I owe it that
my life flows on as a gentle stream, and I know that she cares for me
and guards me now that thou art away and I have no one on whom to
lean. When I go before her all fire of passion is extinguished in my
heart, and my troubles and cares pass away and become small in the
distance, even as the light of the morning stars pales and wanes at
the coming of the sun. My heart is full of love for her, of a love that I
cannot express. She has heard my prayers and answered them. She
is my Kwan-yin, my Mother of Mercy, and each day I do some little
deed for her, some little thing to show remembrance, so she will know
the hours are not too full nor the days too short for me to place my
offering on an altar built of love.

As we turned to leave the temple I glanced back at the great dark
chamber and I saw the God of Light, the Buddha, sitting there so
calm upon his throne, with the light of many candles before him and
clouds of incense that floated to the roof. I thought, "He is all-powerful.
I only prayed to him from out my lips, not with my heart. Perhaps--"
So I returned. I prayed the mighty God with humble prayer to bring my
loved one swiftly home to me; and then we left the temple. We walked
slowly through the courtyards, looking at the great trees that stood
like tall, grim sentinels guarding the place of prayer. Then we were
taken by our bearers to the Goldfish Monastery in the hills. Dost thou
remember it? Thou and I were there once in the springtime.
We bought the small round cakes from the priests and fed the greedy
fish. They swarmed over the pool, pushing, nudging, fighting one
another to get the morsels we threw them. Tiring of that, we had tea
and sweetmeats served upon the terrace; then, after chatting for a
time, we left for the boat. We drifted slowly homeward. Thy Mother
and her friends discussed the earth, the moon, the sun and stars, as
well as smaller matters, such as children, husbands, servants,
schools-- and upon the last thy Mother waxed most eloquent; as thou
knowest, it is a sore subject with her, this matter of the new
education. I heard her say: "All my sons have book knowledge. Of
what use is it in the end? The cock crows and the dog barks. We
know that, but the wisest of my sons cannot say why one crows and
the other barks, nor why they crow or bark at all." Canst thou hear
her, and see her shake her head dolefully over the dismal fact that
thou hast left the narrow way of Confucius and the classics?
We came to the pathway just at sunset, and as I looked up at the old
palace a little hurt came to my heart that thou wert not close by my
side. It lay so peaceful there and quiet, the curving roofs like flights of
doves who had settled down with their wings not yet quite folded. It
brought remembrance that for me it was an empty palace. I will see
no one-- as Li-ti will-- within the archway.
Thy Wife Who Loves Thee.
11
My Dear One,
Thy letter and the photographs received. Thou sayest it is a
"flashlight" of a reception to thy Master, the Prince. I do not know
exactly what that means, but there seem to be many people and--
ladies. I have not shown thine Honourable Mother the picture, as she
might ask thee to return at once. I do not criticise thy friends, nor
could our Prince go to a place not fitting to his dignity, but-- the ladies
seem in my poor judgment most lightly clad.
The papers here are full of thy reception in that foreign land and of the
honour that is paid the embassy. Thy brother read to all within the
courtyard of the feasts that are given in honour of His Highness, and
we were full proud, knowing well thou stoodst close by him at the
time. Thy letters are a joy to me. We read them many times, and
then I read those of Chih-peh, which talk of things I do not understand.
Thou must not give the foolish boy ideas, as he prates most glibly of
"republics" and "government of the people by the people," after he has
received thy letters. That is for men of wisdom like thee, but not for
foolish boys to carry with them to the tea-house.
Kwei-li.
12
My Dear One,
Thou askest me if I still care for thee, if the remembrance of thy face
has grown less dear with the passing of the days. Dear one, thou
knowest we Chinese women are not supposed to know of love, much
less to speak of it. We read of it, we know it is the song of all the
world, but it comes not to us unless by chance. We go to you as
strangers, we have no choice, and if the Gods withhold their greatest
gift, the gift of love, then life is grey and wan as the twilight of a
hopeless day. Few women have the joy I feel when I look into my
loved one's face and know that I am his and he is mine, and that our
lives are twined together for all the days to come.
Do I love thee? I cannot tell. I think of thee by day and I dream of thee
by night. I never want to hurt thee nor cause thee a moment's sorrow.
I would fill my hands with happiness to lay down at thy feet. Thou art
my life, my love, my all, and I am thine to hold through all the years.
13
My Dear One,
It is the time of school, and now all the day from the servants'
courtyard I hear their droning voices chanting the sayings of
Confucius. I did not know we had so many young lives within our
compound until I saw them seated at their tables. I go at times and
tell them tales which they much prefer to lessons, but of which thine
Honourable Mother does not approve. I told them the other day of
Pwan-ku. Dost thou remember him? How at the beginning of Time the
great God Pwan-ku with hammer and chisel formed the earth. He
toiled and he worked for eighteen thousand years, and each day
increased in stature six feet, and, to give him room, the Heavens rose
and the earth became larger and larger. When the Heavens were
round and the earth all smooth, he died. His head became mountains,
his breath the wind and the clouds, his voice the thunder. His arms
and legs were the four poles, his veins the rivers, his muscles the hills
and his flesh the fields. His eyes became the stars, his skin and hair
the herbs and the trees, and the insects which touched him became
people. Does not that make thee think of thy childhood's days?
They crowd around me and say, "Tell us more," just as I did with my
old amah when she stilled me with the tales of the Gods. Yesterday,
one small boy, the son of the chief steward, begged for a story of the
sun. I had to tell him that my wisdom did not touch the sun, although
I, in my foolish heart, think it a great God because it gives us warmth
and we can feel its kindly rays. I said, "Thou hast seen the coolies
tracking on the tow-path with their heavy wadded clothing wet with
rain. If it were not for the kindly sun which dries them, how could they
toil and work and drag the great rice-boats up to the water-gate? Is he
not a God to them?"
I told them also of Chang-ngo, the great, great beauty who drank the
cup of life eternal. She went to the moon, where the jealous Gods
turned her into a great black toad. She is there, forever thinking,
mourning over her lost beauty, and when we see the soft haze come
over the face of the moon, we know that she is weeping and filling the
space with her tears.
I perhaps am wrong to tell the foolish tales to the children, but they
grow so tired of the hard benches and Chang-tai, the teacher, who
glares at them so fiercely when they speak not quickly enough to
please him.
There has been much gossip from the valley over the mountain-side. It
seems an iron bridge is being put across the river, and strange men
come and peer at the countryside through witch glasses. It has made
the good spirits of the air to draw apart from the valley, and the cattle
have died and the rice not ripened, and much sorrow has gone
broadcast. The river overflowed, because they desecrated the
Dragon's back by digging down into the earth that was sacred. I know
nothing except what is brought from the market-place, and, as it does
not concern us here on the mountain-side, I listen only with my ears,
not with my mind.
The nights are long and cold. The moon casts silver shimmering lights
over the valley below. We cannot stand long on the terrace but must
stay close within our rooms near to the charcoal braziers. The wind
sweeps o'er the rooftree with the wailing voice of a woman.
Oh, Soul of Mine, with weary heart the creeping days I'm counting.
Thy Wife.
14
My Dear One,
We have had a serious sickness come to all the countryside; rich and
poor, peasant and merchant have suffered from a fever that will not
abate. It raged for more than a moon before it was known the cause
thereof. Dost thou remember the Kwan-lin Pagoda? Its ruin has long
been a standing shame to the people of the province, and finally the
Gods have resented their neglect and sent them this great illness.
Over all the city the yellow edicts of the priests have been placed so
as to meet the eye of all who travel. They are in the market-places, at
the entrance of the tea-houses, standing on great boards at the
doorways of the temples, in front of the water-gates, and at each city
postern. They state that the Gods are angry and send to each man or
household that will not give three days' work upon the Pagoda the
fever that leaves him weak and ailing. They demand the labour of the
city; and if it is not given freely, toil is sent the people in their sleep
and they waken weary, and must so remain until the work is finished.
We did not hearken to the summons until Chih-peh, thy brother, fell ill
with the sickness. He grew worse each day, until Li-ti and thine
Honourable Mother were panic-stricken. At last the chairs were
ordered, and thy Mother and I went to the monastery on the hillside to
consult with the old abbot, who is most full of wisdom. Thine
Honourable Mother told him of the illness which had assailed her son,
and begged him to tell her if it were the illness of the Pagoda. He
meditated long and seriously, then he said, "My daughter, the Gods
are no respecter of persons; they wish the service of your son."
"But," thine Honourable Mother objected, "he is no workman. He
cannot labour upon the Pagoda." The abbot said, "There are more
ways of giving service than the labour of the hands. The Gods will
allow him to contribute of his wealth and buy the toil of other men, and
thus he may cancel his obligation." The August One satisfied the
greedy heart of the priest, and then he told her to go and make her
beisance to the God of Light, the great Buddha, and see what
message he had for her.
She took the hollow bamboo filled with the numbered slices of wood
and, prostrating herself three times before the Great One, shook it
slowly until one detached itself from its brothers and fell to the floor.
The abbot then handed her a slip of paper which read:
"Wisdom sits by the Western Gate

And gives health and happiness to those who wait."
These words meant nothing to thine Honourable Mother; and after
giving the abbot more silver, he said, "Beside the Western Gate sits
the owl of wisdom, the great doctor Chow-fong. His father and his
father's father were wise; their study was mankind, and to him has
come all their stores of knowledge. He has books of wonderful age,
that tell him the secret of the world. Go to him; he will give you the
plan of healing."
We started for the Western Gate, and I, in my wicked heart, spoke
thoughts that should have been closely locked within my breast. I
said, "Perhaps the doctor and the priest have formed a combination
most profitable to the two. If we had gone to the doctor first, we might
have been sent to the abbot." It was a great mistake to mention such
a dreadful thing, and I realised it instantly; as thou knowest, the Elder
One has a tongue of eloquence, and I was indeed glad that her
bearers carried her at least ten paces from my bearers-- and the way
was long.
Even thine Honourable Mother was awed at the solemn looks of this
great man of medicine who, in his dim room with dried bats hanging
from the ceiling beams and a dragon's egg close by his hand, glared
at her through his great goggles like a wise old owl. She apologised
for disturbing so great a man at his studies, but she was the bearer of
a message from the abbot. He read it carefully, then took down a
monstrous book entitled "The Golden Mirror of Medical Practice," and
solemnly pored over its pages. At last he wrote upon a paper, then
chanted:
"In a building tall, by the city wall, In the street of the Tower of Gold, Is
the plant of health, long life and wealth, In the claws of the Dragon
bold."
The August One took the paper, laid some silver upon the table, and
we hurried from his doorway, glad to be free from his fearful presence.
When we entered the chairs and looked to the paper for directions to
give the bearers, the characters were meaningless to us. I repeated
his chant, and the head bearer said, "There is a shop of drugs in the
street of the Tower of Gold, and the sign of the place is a Golden
Dragon's Claw."
We soon were there, and waited in our chairs while the bearer took
the paper into the maker of medicines. We waited long, and thine
Honourable Mother would have been impatient if sleep had not kindly
made her forget the waiting hours. I, sitting in my chair, could look
through the archways into the big covered courtyards where blind men
were grinding herbs. They were harnessed to great stones, and went
round and round all day, like buffalo at the water-wheel. I wondered
why the Gods had put them at this service. What sins they had
committed in their other life, to be compelled to work like beasts,
grinding the herbs that would bring health and life to others, while they
lived on in darkness. Often I would hear the soft call of the deer as
they moved restlessly in their tiny cells. I know their horns, when
powdered fine with beetles' wings, is the cure for fevers and all
ailments of the blood, but why could not the wise ones of the earth
have found some herb or weed to take their place and give these wild
ones of the woods their freedom? Finally, the bearer came with a tiny
jar, too small, it seemed, to take such time in mixing, and we
returned to the waiting Li-ti.
The medicine was black and nasty and smelled not sweetly, which
proved its strength. Chih-peh got slowly better, and the world again
looked fair to Li-ti, and the song came to her lips. The flowers were
put in the hair, the gay dresses were brought out of their boxes, and
she was, as of old, our butterfly.
We laughed at her for her fright, but I thought, if it had been thou who
wast ill, and I did not know the cure! Oh, dear one, dost thou
understand that, to a woman who loves, her husband is more than
Heaven, more than herself? All that she is not, all that she lacks, all
that she desires to be, is her beloved. His breath alone can bring
peace to her heart, and it is he alone who teaches her the depth of
passionate joy there is in love and life and all things beautiful.
I am, thy wife.
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.