My Lady of the Chinese Courtyard

by Elizabeth Cooper

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?

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.

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!
I am Thine Own.
27
I am wroth with thy brother Chih-peh. He is a man of very small
discernment. He does not see the wonders of thy son. He says he
cannot see that he is a child of more than mortal beauty. I sorrow for
him. The Gods have surely drawn a film before his eyes.
But I cannot bear resentment, there is no room in me for aught but
love and the days are far too short to hold my happiness. I pass them
near my baby. I croon to him sweet lullabies at which the others
laugh. I say, "Thou dost not understand? Of course not, 'tis the
language of the Gods," and as he sleeps I watch his small face grow
each day more like to thine. I give long hours to thinking of his future.
He must be a man like thee, strong, noble, kindly, bearing thy great
name with honour, so that in years to come it will be said, "The
first-born son of Kwei-li was a great and worthy man."
At night I lie beside him and am jealous of the sleep that takes him
from my sight. The morning comes and sets my heart to beating at
the thought that one more long, sweet day has come to me in which
to guard, and love, and cherish him.
Thy Happy Wife.
28
It has been a wonderful day. Thy son has had his first reception. It is
just one moon ago since I found him lying by my side, and now we
have had the feast of the shaving of the head. All our friends came,
and they brought him beautiful presents. Chih-lo gave a cap with all
the Gods upon the front and long red tassels to hang down by each
ear. Li-ti gave him shoes that she herself had broidered, with a cat's
face on the toes and the ears and whiskers outstanding. They will
make him careful or his steps and sure-footed as the cat. Mah-li gave
him a most wonderful silver box to hang around his neck and in which
I will keep his amulets. There were many things which I will not take
the time to tell thee. I am sorry to say that thy son behaved himself
unseemly. He screamed and kicked as the barber shaved his tiny
head. I was much distressed, but they tell me it is a sign that he will
grow to be a valiant man.
I gave a feast, and such a feast! It will be remembered for many
moons. Even thine Honourable Mother said I showed the knowledge of
what was due my guests upon so great an occasion. We also gave to
him his milk name. It is Ten Thousand Springtimes, as he came at
blossom-time; but I call him that only within my heart, as I do not
wish the jealous Gods to hear. "Then I speak of him, I say "The
Stupid One," "The Late-Born," so they will think I do not care for him
and will not covet me my treasure.
I am tired; it has been a happy day. The Gods are good to,
Kwei-li.
29
My Dear One,
Another marriage within our compound. Dost thou remember the
servant Cho-to, who came to us soon after I became thy bride? She
will soon marry a man in the village of Soong-tong, and she is very
happy. She has not seen him, of course, but her mother says he is
good and honest and will make for her a suitable husband. I talked to
her quite seriously, as my age and many moons of marriage allow
me. I told her that only by practising modesty, humility and
gentleness could she walk safely on the path that leads to being the
mother of sons.
To be the mother of sons is not always a happiness. Ling-ti, the
shoemaker, was here this morning, and he was in great distress. His
baby, three months old, died with a fever and he had no money to pay
for burial. This morning he arose early, before the mother awakened,
and took it to the baby tower outside the city. It is lying in there now,
with all the other little children whose parents were too poor to give
them proper burial. It made a quick, sad hurt within me, and I went
quickly to find my baby. Thou wilt not laugh, but I have pierced his
right ear and put a ring therein, so the Gods will think he is a girl and
not desire him.
I hear thy son.
Thy Wife.
30
My Dear One,
There has been great talk of evil eyes. Not that I believe the servants'
tales; but-- thine Honourable Mother, Li-ti, and thy wife have been to
the Holy Man who dwells underneath the Great Magnolia-tree near the
street of the Leaning Willow. He lives alone within a little house of
matting, and has acquired great merit by his virtuous acts. He wears
around his unbound hair a band of metal that is the outward sign of
his great holiness. He lives alone in peace and with untroubled mind.
In his great wisdom he has learned that peace is the end and aim of
life; not triumph, success, nor riches, but that the greatest gift from all
the Gods is peace. I purchased from him an amulet for my "Stupid
One," my treasure, as some one might come within our courtyard and
cast his eye upon our child with bad intent.
Come to me, my husband. Tell me thou art coming. Thou wilt find me
standing in the outer archway with thy son within mine arms. I long for
thee.
Thy Wife.
31
My days are filled with happiness. I go out on the terrace and look far
down the hillside that is covered with azaleas, pink and orange and
mauve. I hold my son and say, "Look, thy father will come to us from
the city yonder. Our eyes of love will see him from far away, there by
the willow-pattern tea-house. He will come nearer-- nearer-- and we
will not hear the beat of his bearers' feet upon the pathway because of
the beating of our hearts." He smiles at me, he understands. He is so
wonderful, thy son. I would "string the sunbeams for his necklace or
draw down the moon with cords to canopy his bed."
Come back and see thy son.
Kwei-li.
32
My Dear One,
Thy letter has come saying thou wilt be here soon. It came on the day
I went to the temple to make my offering of thanks for the gift of our
son.
I put on my richest gown, the blue one with the broidery of gold. I
dressed my hair with jessamine flowers, and wore all the jewels thou
hast given me. My boy was in his jacket of red, his trousers of mauve,
his shoes of purple, and his cap with the many Gods. When I was
seated in the chair he was placed in my lap, and a man was sent
ahead with cash to give the beggars, because I wished all the world to
be happy on this my day of rejoicing.
My bearers carried me to the very steps of the throne on which
Kwan-yin was seated. I made my obeisance, I lighted the large red
candles and placed them before the Goddess of Heaven. Then I took
our son before the Buddha, the Name, the Lord of Light, the
All-Powerful, and touched his head three times to the mat, to show
that he would be a faithful follower and learn to keep the law.
We went home by the valley road, and my heart kept beating in tune
to the pat-pat of the bearers' feet on the pathway. It was all so
beautiful. The trailing vines on the mountain-side, the ferns in the cool
dark places, the rich green leaves of the mulberry-trees, the farmers in
the paddy fields, all seemed filled with the joy of life. And I, Kwei-li,
going along in my chair with my son on my knee, was the happiest of
them all. The Gods have given me everything; they have nothing more
to bestow. I am glad I have gone to the mountain-side each day to
thank them for their gifts.
The Gods are good, my loved one, they are good to thy,
Kwei-li.
33
I am alone on the mountain-top. I have gone the pathway the last time
to lay my offering at the feet of Kwan-yin. She does not hear my
voice. There is no Goddess of Mercy. She is a thing of gold and wood,
and she has mocked my despair, has laughed at the heart that is
within me, that is alive and full of an anguish such as she has never
known.
My son, my man-child is dead. The life has gone from his body, the
breath from his lips. I have held him all the night close to my heart
and it does not give him warmth. They have taken him from me and
told me he has gone to the Gods. There are no Gods. There are no
Gods. I am alone.
34
He had thine eyes-- he was like to thee. Thou wilt never know thy son
and mine, my Springtime. Why could they not have left thy son for
thee to see? He was so strong and beautiful, my first-born.
35
Do not chide me. I cannot write. What do I do? I do not know. I lie
long hours and watch the tiny mites that live within the sun's bright
golden rays, and say, "Why could I not exchange my womanhood,
that hopes and loves and sorrows, for one of those small dancing
spots within the sunbeams? At least they do not feel."
At night sleep does not touch my eyelids. I lie upon the terrace. I will
not go within my chamber, where 'tis gloom and darkness. I watch the
stars, a silver, mocking throng, that twinkle at me coldly, and then I
see the moon mount slowly her pathway of the skies. The noises of
the night come to me softly, as if they knew my sorrow, and the
croaking frogs and the crickets that find lodging by the lotus pool
seem to feel with me my loneliness, so plaintive is their cry.
I feel the dawn will never come, as if 'twere dead or slumbered; but
when at last he comes, I watch him touch the hillside, trees, and
temples with soft grey fingers, and bring to me a beauty one does not
see by day. The night winds pass with sighs among the pine-trees,
and in passing give a loving touch to bells upon pagodas that bring
their music faint to me. The dawn is not the golden door of happiness.
It only means another day has come and I must smile and talk and
live as if my heart were here.
Oh, man of mine, if but thy dream touch would come and bid me
slumber, I would obey.
Thy Wife.
36
They have put a baby in my arms, a child found on the tow-path, a
beggar child. I felt I could not place another head where our dear boy
had lain, and I sat stiff and still, and tried to push away the little body
pressing close against me; but at touch of baby mouth and fingers,
springs that were dead seemed stirring in my heart again. At last I
could not bear it, and I leaned my face against her head and crooned
His lullaby:
"The Gods on the rooftree guard pigeons from harm
And my little pigeon is safe in my arms."
I cannot tell thee more. My heart is breaking.
37
I have given to this stranger-child, this child left to die upon the
tow-path, the clothes that were our son's. She was cold, and thy
Mother came to me so gently and said, "Kwei-li, hast thou no clothing
for the child that was found by thy servants?" I saw her meaning, and I
said, "Would'st thou have me put the clothing over which I have wept,
and that is now carefully laid away in the camphor-wood box, upon
this child?" She said-- and thou would'st not know thy Mother's voice,
her bitter words are only as the rough shell of the lichee nut that
covers the sweet meat hidden within-- she said, "Why not, dear one?
This one needs them, and the hours thou passest with them are only
filled with saddened memories." I said to her, "This is a girl, a beggar
child. I will not give to her the clothing of my son. Each time I looked
upon her it would be a knife plunged in my heart." She said to me,
"Kwei-li, thou art not a child, thou art a woman. Of what worth that
clothing lying in that box of camphor-wood? Does it bring back thy
son? Some day thou wilt open it, and there will be nothing but dust
which will reproach thee. Get them and give them to this child which
has come to us out of the night."
I went to the box and opened it, and they lay there, the little things
that had touched his tiny body. I gave them, the trousers of purple,
the jackets of red, the embroidered shoes, the caps with the many
Buddhas. I gave them all to the begger child.
I am,
Thy Wife.
38
I am reproached because I will not go to the temple. It is filled with the
sounds of chanting which comes to me faintly as I lie upon the
terrace. There are women there, happy women, with their babies in
their arms, while mine are empty. There are others there in sorrow,
laying their offerings at the feet of Kwan-yin. They do not know that
she does not feel, nor care, for womankind. She sits upon her lotus
throne and laughs at mothers in despair. How can she feel, how can
she know, that thing of gilded wood and plaster?
I stay upon my terrace, I live alone within my court of silent dreams.
For me there are no Gods.
39 They have brought to me from the market-place a book of a new God.
I would not read it. I said, "There are too many Gods-- why add a new
one? I have no candles or incense to lay before an image." But-- I
read and saw within its pages that He gave rest and love and peace.
Peace-- what the holy man desired, the end of all things-- peace. And
I, I do not want to lose the gift of memory; I want remembrance, but I
want it without pain.
The cherry-blossoms have bloomed and passed away. They lingered
but a moment's space, and, like my dream of spring, they died. But,
passing, they have left behind the knowledge that we'll see them once
again. There must be something, somewhere, to speak to despairing
mothers and say, "Weep not! You will see your own again."
I do not want a God of temples. I have cried my prayers to Kwan-yin,
and they have come back to me like echoes from a deadened wall. I
want a God to come to me at night-time, when I am lying lonely,
wide-eyed, staring into darkness, with all my body aching for the
touch of tiny hands. I want that God who says, "I give thee Peace," to
stand close by my pillow and touch my wearied eyelids and bring me
rest.
I have been dead-- enclosed within a tomb of sorrow and despair; but
now, at words but dimly understood, a faint new life seems stirring
deep within me. A Voice speaks to me from out these pages, a Voice
that says, "Come unto Me all ye weary and heavy-laden, and I will
give thee rest." My longing soul cries out, "Oh, great and unknown
God, give me this rest!" I am alone, a woman, helpless, stretching out
my arms in darkness, but into my world of gloom has come a faint
dim star, a star of hope that says to me, "There is a God."
-Part_ 2.
-Preface_.
These letters were written by Kwei-li twenty-five years after those
written to her husband when she was a young girl of eighteen. They
are, therefore, the letters of the present-day Chinese woman of the old
school, a woman who had by education and environment exceptional
opportunities to learn of the modern world, but who, like every Eastern
woman, clings with almost desperate tenacity to the traditions and
customs of her race. Indeed, however the youth of Oriental countries
may be changing, their mothers always exhibit that characteristic of
woman-hood, conservatism, which is to them the safe-guard of their
homes. Unlike the Western woman, accustomed to a broader
horizon, the woman of China, secluded for generations within her
narrow courtyards, prefers the ways and manners which she knows,
rather than flying to ills she knows not of. It is this self-protective
instinct that makes the Eastern woman the foe to those innovations
which are slowly but surely changing the face of the entire Eastern,
yard.
The former letters were written out of the quiet, domestic scenes of
the primitive, old China, while the present letters come out of the
confused revolutionary atmosphere of the new China. Kwei-li's
patriotism and hatred of the foreigner grows out of the fact that, as
wife of the governor of one of the chief provinces, she had been from
the beginning en rapport with the intrigues, the gossip, and the
rumours of a revolution which, for intricacy of plot and hidden motive,
is incomparable with any previous national change on record. Her
attitude toward education as seen in her relationship with her son
educated in England and America reveals the attitude of the average
Chinese father and mother if they would allow their inner feelings to
speak.
Kwei-li's religion likewise exhibits the tendency of religious attitude on
the part of the real Chinese, especially those of the older generation.
It is touched here and there by the vital spark of Christianity, but at
the centre continues to be Chinese and inseparably associated with
the worship of ancestors and the reverence for those gods whose
influence has been woven into the early years of impressionable life.
That the hope of the educational, social, and religious change in
China rests with the new generation is evident to all. The Chinese
father and mother will sail in the wooden ships which their sons and
daughters are beginning to leave for barks of steel.
There is little doubt that new China will be Westernised in every
department of her being. No friend of China hopes for such sudden
changes, however, as will prevent the Chinese themselves from
permeating the new with their own distinctive individuality. There is a
charm about old China that only those who have lived there can
understand, and there is a charm about these dainty ladies, secluded
within their walls, which the modern woman may lose in a too sudden
transition into the air of the Western day.
Let Europe, let America, let the West come to China, but let the day
be far distant when we shall find no longer in the women's courtyards
such mothers as Kwei-li.
1
My Dear Mother,
Thy son has received his appointment as governor of this province,
and we are at last settled in this new and strange abode. We are
most proud of the words pronounced by His Excellency Yuan when
giving him his power of office. He said:
"You, Liu, are an example of that higher patriotism rarely met with in
official life, which recognises its duty to its Government, a duty too
often forgotten by the members of a great family such as that of which
you are the honoured head, in the obligation to the Clan and the
desire to use power for personal advantage. Your official record has
been without stain; and especially your work among the foreigners
dwelling in our land has been accomplished with tact and discretion. I
am sending you to Shanghai, which is the most difficult post in the
Republic because of its involved affairs with the foreign nations,
knowing that the interests of the Republic will be always safe in your
hands."
I write thee this because I know thy mother-heart will rejoice that our
President shows such confidence in thy son, and that his many years
of service to his country have been appreciated.
Shanghai truly is a difficult place at present. There are fifteen
nationalities here represented by their consuls, and they are all
watching China and each other with jealous eyes, each nation fearing
that another will obtain some slight advantage in the present unsettled
state of our country. The town is filled with adventurers, both
European and Chinese, who are waiting anxiously to see what
attitude the new Governor takes in regard to the many projects in
which they are interested. My husband says nothing and allows them
to wonder. It is better for them, because, like all schemers, if they had
nothing to give them anxious nights and troubled dreams, they would
not be happy.
We found the Yamen not suitable for our large household, as it did not
lend itself readily to the reception of foreigners and the innovations
and new customs that seem to be necessary for the fulfillment of the
duties of a Chinese official under this new order. As thy son was
selected governor of this province because of his knowledge of foreign
lands and customs, it is necessary for him to live, partly at least, the
life of a European; but let me assure thee that, so far as I am
concerned, and so far as I can influence it, our life behind the screens
will always be purely Chinese, and the old, unchanged customs that I
love will rule my household. I will surrender no more than is necessary
to this new tide of Westernism that seems to be sweeping our China
from its moorings; but-- I must not dwell o'ermuch upon that theme,
though it is a subject on which I can wax most eloquent, and I know
thou desirest to hear of this house which would seem so ugly in thine
eyes.
There are no quiet courtyards, no curving roofs, no softly shaded
windows of shell, no rounded archways; but all is square and glaring
and imposing, seeming to look coldly from its staring windows of
glass at the stranger within its gates. It says loudly, "I am rich; it
costs many thousands of taels to make my ugliness." For me, it is
indeed a "foreign" house. Yet I will have justice within my heart and
tell thee that there is much that we might copy with advantage. In
place of floors of wide plain boards, and walls of wood with great wide
cracks covered with embroideries and rugs, as in the Chinese homes,
the floors are made of tiny boards polished until they glisten like unto
the sides of the boats of the tea-house girls, and the walls are of
plaster covered, as in our rooms of reception, with silk and satin, and
the chairs and couches have silken tapestry to match their colour.
This furniture, strange to me, is a great care, as I do not understand
its usages, and it seems most stiff and formal. I hope some day to
know a foreign woman on terms of friendship, and I will ask her to
touch the room with her hands of knowledge, and bring each piece
into more friendly companionship with its neighbour. Now chairs look
coldly at tables, as if to say, "You are an intruder!" And it chills me.
This house is much more simple than our homes, because of the
many modern instruments that make the work less heavy and allow it
to be done by few instead of many, as is our way. It is not necessary
to have a man attend solely to the lighting of the lamps. Upon the wall
is placed a magic button which, touched even by the hand of
ignorance, floods the room with the light of many suns. We see no
more the water-carrier with his two great wooden buckets swinging
from the bamboo as he comes from river or canal to pour the water
into the great kangs standing by the kitchen door. Nor do we need to
put the powder in it to make it clear and wholesome. That is all done
by men we do not see, and they call it "sanitation." The cook needs
only to turn a small brass handle, and the water comes forth as from
a distant spring. It reminds me of the man who came to my father,
when he was governor of Wuseh, and wished to install a most
unheard-of machine to bring water to the city from the lake upon the
hillside. My father listened most respectfully to the long and stupid
explanation, and looked at the clear water which the foreign man
produced to show what could be done, then, shaking his head, said,
"Perhaps that water is more healthful, as you say, but it is to me too
clear and white. It has no body, and I fear has not the strength of the
water from our canals."
Another thing we do not hear is the rattle of the watchman as he
makes his rounds at night, and I miss it. In far Sezchuan, on many
nights when sleep was distant, I would lie and listen as he struck
upon his piece of hollow bamboo telling me that all was well within our
compound. Now the city has police that stand outside the gateway.
Many are men from India-- big black men, with fierce black beards
and burning eyes. Our people hate them, and they have good cause.
They are most cruel, and ill-treat all who come within their power. But
we must tread with cat-like steps, as they are employed by the
English, who protect them at all times. They are the private army of
that nation here within our city, and at every chance their numbers are
constantly increased. I do not understand this question of police.
There are in thousands of our cities and villages no police, no
soldiers, yet there is less lawlessness and vice in a dozen purely
Chinese cities than in this great mongrel town that spends many tens
of thousands of taels each year upon these guardians of the people's
peace. It seems to me that this should tell the world that the force of
China is not a physical force, but the force of the law-abiding instinct
of a happy common people, who, although living on the verge of
misery and great hunger, live upright lives and do not try to break their
country's laws.
There is a garden within our walls, but not a garden of winding
pathways and tiny bridges leading over lotus ponds, nor are there
hillocks of rockery with here and there a tiny god or temple peeping
from some hidden grotto. All is flat, with long bare stretches of green
grass over which are nets, by which my children play a game called
tennis. This game is foolish, in my eyes, and consists of much
jumping and useless waste of strength, but the English play it, and of
course the modern Chinese boy must imitate them. I have made one
rule: my daughters shall not play the game. It seems to me most
shameful to see a woman run madly, with great boorish strides, in
front of men and boys. My daughters pout and say it is played by all
the girls in school, and that it makes them strong and well; but I am
firm. I have conceded many things, but this to me is vulgar and
unseemly.
Need I tell thee, Mother mine, that I am a stranger in this great city,
that my heart calls for the hills and the mountain-side with its ferns
and blossoms? Yesterday at the hour of twilight I drove to the country
in the motor (a new form of carrying chair that thou wouldst not
understand-- or like) and I stopped by a field of flowering mustard. The
scent brought remembrance to my heart, and tears flowed from
beneath my eyelids. The delicate yellow blossoms seemed to speak
to me from out their golden throats, and I yearned to hold within my
arms all this beauty of the earth flowering beneath my feet. We
stayed until the darkness came, and up to the blue night rose from all
the fields "that great soft, bubbling chorus which seems the very voice
of the earth itself-- the chant of the frogs." When we turned back and
saw the vulgar houses, with straight red tops and piercing chimneys, I
shut my eyes and in a vision saw the blue-grey houses with their
curved-up, tilted roofs nestling among the groves of bamboo, and I felt
that if it were my misfortune to spend many moons in this great alien
city, my heart would break with longing for the beautiful home I love.
I felt sympathy with Kang Tang-li, of my father's province, who heard
of a new God in Anhui. He had eaten bitter sorrow and he felt that the
old Gods had forgotten him and did not hear his call, so he walked
two long days' journey to find this new God who gave joy and peace to
those who came to him. He arrived at eventime, the sun was setting
in a lake of gold, but even with its glory it could not change the ugly
square-built temple, with no curves or grace to mark it as a
dwelling-place of Gods. Kang walked slowly around this temple,
looked long at its staring windows and its tall and ugly spire upon the
rooftree which seemed to force its way into the kindly blue sky; then,
saddened, sick at heart, he turned homeward, saying deep within him
no God whom he could reverence would choose for a dwelling-place a
house so lacking in all beauty.
Is this a long and tiresome letter, my Honourable Mother? But thou art
far away, and in thy sheltered walls yearn to know what has come to
us, thy children, in this new and foreign life. It is indeed a new life for
me, and I can hardly grasp its meaning. They are trying hard to force
us to change our old quietude and peace for the rush and worry of the
Western world, and I fear I am too old and settled for such sudden
changes.
Tell Mah-li's daughter that I will send her news of the latest fashions,
and tell Li-ti that the hair is dressed quite differently here. I will write
her more about it and send her the new ornaments. They are not so
pretty in my eyes, nor are the gowns so graceful, but I will send her
patterns that she may choose.
We all give thee our greetings and touch my hand with love.
Kwei-li.
2
My Dear Mother,
I have not written thee for long, as my days have been filled with
duties new and strange to me. The wives of the foreign officials have
called upon me, as that appears to be their custom. It seems to me
quite useless and a waste of time; but they come, and I must return
the calls. I do not understand why the consuls cannot transact their
business with the Governor without trying to peer into his inner life. To
us a man's official life and that which lies within his women's
courtyard are as separate as two pathways which never meet.
The foreign woman comes and sits upon the edge of her chair in great
discomfort, vainly searching for a subject upon which we may have a
common bond. I sit upon the edge of the chair from necessity, as
these chairs are far too high for me, and my tiny feet hang helplessly
in the air. Although the chairs are not so high or so straight and stiff
as are our seats of honour, they have no footstools, and no small
tables on which to lean the arm. Thou wouldst laugh at our poor feeble
efforts to be agreeable one to the other. Our conversation is as foolish
and as useless as would be the using of a paper lantern for the
rice-mill. With all desire to be courteous and to put her at her ease, I
ask about her children, the health of her honourable mother, and the
state of her household. I do not ask her age, as I have learned that,
contrary to our usage, it is a question not considered quite
auspicious, and often causes the flush of great embarrassment to rise
to the cheek of a guest. Often she answers me in "pidgin" English, a
kind of baby-talk that is used when addressing servants. These
foreign women have rarely seen a Chinese lady, and they are
surprised that I speak English; often I have been obliged to explain
that when I found that my husband's office brought him close to
foreigners, and that my sons and daughters were learning the new
education in which it is necessary to know other than their mother
tongue, I would not be left behind within closed doors, so I too learned
of English and of French enough to read and speak. I am to them a

curiosity. It has not been correct in former times to know a Chinese
lady socially; and to these ladies, with their society, their calls, their
dinners, and their games of cards, we within the courtyards are
people from another world. They think that Chinese women are and
always have been the closely prisoned slaves of their husbands, idle
and ignorant and soulless, with no thoughts above their petty
household cares and the strange heathen gods they worship.
Of course, these foreign women do not say these things in words, but
their looks are most expressive, and I understand. I serve them tea
and cake, of which they take most sparingly, and when the proper
time has come they rise, trying not to look relief that their martyrdom
is over. I conduct them to the doorway, or, if the woman is the wife of
a great official, to the outer entrance. Then I return to my own rooms
midst the things I understand; and I fear, I fear, Mother mine, that I
gossip with my household upon the ways and dress and manners of
these queer people from distant lands.
I have been asked to join a society of European and Chinese ladies
for the purpose of becoming acquainted one with the other, but I do
not think that I will do so. I believe it impossible for the woman of the
West to form an alliance with the woman of the East that will be
deep-rooted. The thoughts within our hearts are different, as are our
points of view. We do not see the world through the same eyes. The
foreign woman has children like myself, but her ambitions and her
ideals for them are different. She has a home and a husband, but my
training and my instincts give my home and my husband a different
place in life than that which she gives to those of her household. To
me the words marriage, friendship, home, have a deeper meaning
than is attached to them by a people who live in hotels and public
eating-places, and who are continually in the homes of others. They
have no sanctity of the life within; there are no shrines set apart for
the family union, and the worship of the spirits of their ancestors. I
cannot well explain to thee, the something intangible, the thick grey
mist that is always there to put its bar across the open door of
friendship between the woman of the Occident and those of Oriental
blood.
I would ask of thee a favour I wish that thou wouldst search my rooms
and find the clothing that is not needed by thy women. My house is
full to overflowing. I had no idea we had so many poor relations. The
poor relation of our poor relation and the cousin of our cousin's cousin
have come to claim their kinship. Thy son will give no one official
position nor allow them money from the public funds; but they must
have clothing and rice, and I provide it. I sometimes feel, when looking
into the empty rice-bin, that I sympathize with His Excellency Li
Hung-chang who built a great house here, far from his home province.
When asked why, unlike the Chinese custom, he builded so far from
kith and kin, he answered, "You have placed the finger upon the
pulse-beat the first instant. I built it far away, hoping that all the
relatives of my relatives who find themselves in need, might not find
the money where-with to buy a ticket in order to come and live
beneath my rooftree." (With us, they do not wait for tickets; they have
strong and willing feet.) I am afraid that His Excellency, although of
the old China that I love, was touched with this new spirit of each
member for himself that has come upon this country.
It is the good of the one instead of the whole, as in the former times,
and there is much that can be said upon both sides. The family
should always stand for the members of the clan in the great crises of
their lives, and help to care for them in days of poverty and old age. It
is not just that one should prosper while others of the same blood
starve; yet it is not just that one should provide for those unwilling to
help themselves. I can look back with eyes of greater knowledge to
our home, and I fear that there are many eating from the bowl of
charity who might be working and self-respecting if they were not
members of the great family Liu, and so entitled to thy help.
It is the hour for driving with the children. We all are thine and think of
thee each day.
Kwei-li.
3
My Mother,
I have such great news to tell thee that I hardly know where to begin.
But, first, I will astonish thee-- Ting-fang is home! Yes, I can hear thee
say, "Hi yah!" And I said it many times when, the evening before last,
after thy son and the men of the house-hold had finished the evening
meal, and I and the women were preparing to eat our rice, we saw a
darkness in the archway, and standing there was my son. Not one of
us spoke a word; we were as if turned to stone; as we thought of him
as in far-off America, studying at the college of Yale. But here he
stood in real life, smiling at our astonishment. He slowly looked at us
all, then went to his father and saluted him respectfully, came and
bowed before me, then took me in his arms in a most disrespectful
manner and squeezed me together so hard he nearly broke my
bones. I was so frightened and so pleased that of course I could only
cry and cling to this great boy of mine whom I had not seen for six
long years. I held him away from me and looked long into his face. He
is a man now, twenty-one years old, a big, strong man, taller than his
father. I can hardly reach his shoulder. He is straight and slender, and
looks an alien in his foreign dress, yet when I looked into his eyes I
knew it was mine own come to me again.
No one knows how all my dreams followed this bird that left the nest.
No one knows how long seemed the nights when sleep would not
come to my eyes and I wondered what would come to my boy in that
far-off land, a strange land with strange, unloving people, who would
not care to put him on the pathway when he strayed. Thou
rememberest how I battled with his father in regard to sending him to
England to commence his foreign education. I said, "Is not four years
of college in America enough? Why four years' separation to prepare
to go to that college? He will go from me a boy and return a man. I will
lose my son." But his father firmly said that the English public
schools gave the ground-work for a useful life. He must form his code
of honour and his character upon the rules laid down for centuries by
the English, and then go to America for the education of the intellect,
to learn to apply the lessons learned in England. He did not want his
son to be all for present success, as is the American, or to be all for
tradition, as is the Englishman, but he thought the two might find a
happy meeting-place in a mind not yet well formed.
But thoughts of learning did not assuage the pain in my mother-heart.
I had heard of dreadful things happening to our Chinese boys who are
sent abroad to get the Western knowledge. Often they marry strange
women who have no place in our life if they return to China, and who
lose their birthright with the women of their race by marrying a
Chinese. Neither side can be blamed, certainly not our boys. They go
there alone, often with little money. They live in houses where they
are offered food and lodging at the cheapest price. They are not in a
position to meet women of their own class, and being boys they crave
the society of girls. Perhaps the daughter of the woman who keeps
the lodging-house speaks to them kindly, talks to them in the evening
when they have no place to go except to a lonely, ugly room; or the
girl in the shop where they buy their clothing smiles as she wraps for
them their packages. Such attentions would be passed by without a
thought at ordinary times, but now notice means much to a heart that
is trying hard to stifle its loneliness and sorrow, struggling to learn in
an unknown tongue the knowledge of the West; in lieu of mother,
sister, or sweetheart of his own land, the boy is insensibly drawn into
a net that tightens about him, until he takes the fatal step and brings
back to his mother a woman of an alien race.
One sorrows for the girl, whatever may be her station, as she does
not realize that there is no place for her in all the old land of China.
She will be scorned by those of foreign birth, and she can never
become one of us. Dost thou remember the wife of Wang, the
secretary of the embassy at London? He was most successful and
was given swift promotion until he married the English lady, whose
father was a tutor at one of the great colleges. It angered Her Majesty
and he was recalled and given the small post of secretary to the
Taotai of our city. The poor foreign wife died alone within her Chinese
home, into which no friend had entered to bid her welcome. Some say
that after many moons of solitude and loneliness she drank the strong
drink of her country to drown her sorrow. Perhaps it was a bridge on
which she crossed to a land filled with the memories of the past which
brought her solace in her time of desolation.

But I have wandered, Mother mine; my mind has taken me to
England, America, to Chinese men with foreign wives, and now I will
return and tell thee of thine own again, and of my son who has
returned to me. When at last the Gods gave us our breath, we asked
the many questions which came to us like a river that has broken all
its bounds. Thy son, the father of Ting-fang, was more than angry-- he
was white with wrath, and demanded what Ting-fang did here when he
should have been at school. My son said, and I admired the way he
spoke up boldly to his father, "Father, I read each day of the progress
of the Revolution, of the new China that was being formed, and I could
not stay on and study books while I might be helping here." His father
said, "Thy duty was to stay where I, thy father, put thee!" Ting-fang
answered, "Thou couldst not have sat still and studied of ancient
Greece and Rome while thy country was fighting for its life;" and then
he added, most unfilially, "I notice thou art not staying in Sezchuan,
but art here in Shanghai, in the centre of things. I am thy son; I do not
like to sit quietly by the road and watch the world pass by; I want to
help make that world, the same as thou."
His father talked long and bitterly, and the boy was saddened, and I
crept silently to him and placed my hand in his. It was all I could do,
for the moment, as it would not be seemly for me to take his part
against his father, but-- I talked to thy son, my husband, when we
were alone within our chamber.
The storm has passed. His father refused to make Ting-fang a
secretary, as he says the time is past when officials fill their Yamens
with their relatives and friends. I think that as the days go on, he will
relent, as in these troublous times a high official cannot be sure of the
loyalty of the men who eat his rice, and he can rely upon his son. A
Liu was never known to be disloyal.
There is too much agitation here. The officials try to ignore it as much
as possible, believing that muddy water is often made clear if allowed
to stand still. Yet they must be ready to act quickly, as speedily as
one springs up when a serpent is creeping into the lap, because now
the serpent of treachery and ingratitude is in every household. These
secret plottings, like the weeds that thrust their roots deep into the
rice-fields, cannot be taken out without bringing with them some grain,
and many an innocent family is now suffering for the hot-headedness
of its youth.
I sometimes think that I agree with the wise governor of the olden time
whose motto was to empty the minds of the people and fill their
stomachs, weaken their wills and strengthen their bones. When times
were troublous he opened the government granaries and the crowds
were satisfied.
But the people are different now; they have too much knowledge. New
ambitions have been stirred; new wants created; a new spirit is
abroad and, with mighty power, is over-turning and recasting the old
forms and deeply rooted customs. China is moving, and, we of the old
school think, too quickly. She is going at a bound from the dim light of
the bean-oil brazier to the dazzling brilliance of the electric light; from
the leisured slowness of the wheelbarrow pushed by the patient coolie
to the speed of the modern motor-car; from the practice of the seller of
herbs to the science of the modern doctor. We all feel that new China
is at a great turning-point because she is just starting out on her
journey that may last many centuries, and may see its final struggle
to-morrow. It is of great importance that the right direction shall be
taken at first. A wrong turn at the beginning, and the true pathway
may never be found. So much depends upon her leaders, on men like
Yuan, Wu, and thy son, my husband; the men who point out the road
to those who will follow as wild fowl follow their leader. The Chinese
people are keen to note disinterestedness, and if these men who have
risen up show that they have the good of the people at heart much
may be done. If they have the corrupt heart of many of the old-time
officials, China will remain as before, so far as the great mass of her
men are concerned.
I hear the children coming from their school, so I will say good-by for a
time. Ting-fang sends his most respectful love, and all my household
join in sending thee good wishes.
Kwei-li.
4
My Dear Mother,
Dost thou remember Liang Tai-tai, the daughter of the Princess
Tseng, thine old friend of Pau-chau? Thou rememberest we used to
laugh at the pride of Liang in regard to her mother's clan, and her care
in speaking of her father who was only a small official in the governor's
Yamen. Thou wert wont to say that she reminded thee of the mule
that, when asked who was his father, answered, "The horse is my
maternal uncle." She comes to see me often, and she worries me
with her piety; she is quite mad upon the subject of the Gods. I often
feel that I am wrong to be so lacking in sympathy with her religious
longings; but I hate extremes. "Extreme straightness is as bad as
crookedness, and extreme cleverness as bad as folly." She is ever
asking me if I do not desire, above all things, the life of the higher
road-- whatever that may mean. I tell her that I do not know. I would
not be rare, like jade, or common, like stone; just medium. Anyway,
my days are far too full to think about any other road than the one I
must tread each day in the fulfillment of the duties the Gods have
given me.
Some people seem to be irreverently familiar with the Gods, and to be
forever praying. If they would only be a little more human and perform
the daily work that lies before them (Liang's son is the main support of
the Golden Lotus Tea-house) they might let prayer alone a while
without ceasing to enjoy the protection of the Gods. It is dangerous to
over-load oneself with piety, as the sword that is polished to excess is
sometimes polished away. And there is another side that Liang
should remember, her husband not having riches in abundance: that
the rays of the Gods love well the rays of Gold.
But to-day she came to me with her rice-bowl overflowing with her
sorrows. Her son has returned from the foreign lands with the new
education from which she hoped so much, but it seems he has
acquired knowledge of the vices of the foreigner to add to those of the
Chinese. He did not stay long enough to become Westernised, but he
stayed long enough to lose touch with the people and the customs of
his country. He forgets that he is not an American even with his
foreign education; he is still an Oriental and he comes back to an
Oriental land, a land tied down by tradition and custom, and he can
not adapt himself. He tries instead, to adapt China to his
half-Europeanised way of thought, and he has failed. He has become
what my husband calls an agitator, a tea-house orator, and he sees
nothing but wrong in his people. There is no place in life for him, and
he sits at night in public places, stirring foolish boys to deeds of
treason and violence. Another thing, he has learned to drink the
foreign wines, and the mixture is not good. They will not blend with
Chinese wine, any more than the two civilisations will come together
as one.
Why did the Gods make the first draught of wine to curse the race of
men, to make blind the reason, to make angels into devils and to
leave a lasting curse on all who touch it? "It is a cataract that carries
havoc with it in a road of mire where he who falls may never rise
again." It seems to me that he who drinks the wine of both lands
allows it to become a ring that leads him to the Land of Nothing, and
ends as did my friend's son, with the small round ball of sleep that
grows within the poppy. One morning's light, when he looked long into
his own face and saw the marks that life was leaving, he saw no way
except the Bridge of Death; but he was not successful.
His mother brought him to me, as he has always liked me, and is a
friend (for which I sorrow) of my son. I talked to him alone within an
inner chamber, and tried to show to him the error of his way. I quoted
to him the words spoken to another foolish youth who tried to force
the gates of Heaven: "My son, thou art enmeshed within these world's
ways, and have not cared to wonder where the stream would carry
thee in coming days. If thou mere human duties scorn, as a worn
sandal cast aside, thou art no man but stock-stone born, lost in a
selfish senseless pride. If thou couldst mount to Heaven's high plain,
then thine own will might be thy guide, but here on earth thou needs
must dwell. Thou canst well see that thou art not wanted in the Halls
of Heaven; so turn to things yet near; turn to thy earthly home and try
to do thy duty here. Thou must control thyself, there is no escape
through the Eastern Gateway for the necessity of self-conquest."
He wept and gave me many promises; and I showed him that I
believed in him, and saw his worth. But-- we think it wiser to send him
far away from his companions, who only seek to drag him down. Thy
son will give to him a letter and ask the Prefect of Canton to give him
work at our expense.
I felt it better that Liang Tai-tai should not be alone with her son for
several hours, as her tongue is bitter and reproaches come easily to
angry lips, so I took her with me to the garden of a friend outside the
city. It was the Dragon Boat Festival, when all the world goes
riverward to send their lighted boats upon the waters searching for the
soul of the great poet who drowned himself in the olden time, and
whose body the jealous Water God took to himself and it nevermore
was found. Dost thou remember how we told the story to the children
when the family all were with thee-- oh, it seems many moons ago.
The garden of my friend was most beautiful, and we seemed within a
world apart. The way was through high woods and over long green
plots of grass and around queer rocks; there were flowers with stories
in their hearts, and trees who held the spirits of the air close 'neath
their ragged covering. Pigeons called softly to their mates, and doves
cooed and sobbed as they nestled one to the other. We showed the
children the filial young crow who, when his parents are old and
helpless, feeds them in return for their care when he was young; and
we pointed out the young dove sitting three branches lower on the tree
than do his parents, so deep is his respect.