My Lady of the Chinese Courtyard

by Elizabeth Cooper

We discussed the past, the present, and the future; and then, as
always when mothers meet, the talk would turn to children. How we
are moved by our children! We are like unto the Goddess of the
Pine-tree. She came out from her rugged covering and bore a
man-child for her husband's house, and then one day the overlord of
all that land sent to cut down the pine-tree, that its great trunk might
form the rooftree of his temple. At the first blow of the axe the soul
glided back into its hiding-place, and the woman was no more. And
when it fell, three hundred men could not move it from its place of
falling; but her baby came and, putting out his hand, said, "Come,"
and it followed him quite quietly, gliding to the very doorway of the
temple. So do our children lead us with their hands of love.
On the second day we went to the temple to offer incense at the
family shrine of Ang Ti-ti. We Chinese ladies love these pilgrimages to
these shrines of our ancestors, and it is we who keep up the family
worship. We believe that it is from the past that we must learn, and
"the past is a pathway which spirits have trodden and made
luminous." It is true, as Lafcadio Hearn has written, "We should be
haunted by the dead men and women of our race, the ancestors that
count in the making of our souls and have their silent say in every
action, thought and impulse of our life. Are not our ancestors in very
truth our souls? Is not every action the work of the dead who dwell
within us? Have not our impulses and our tendencies, our capacities
and our weaknesses, our heroisms and our fears, been created by
those vanished myriads from whom we received that all-mysterious
gift of life? Should we think of that thing which is in each of us and
which we call 'I' should it be 'I' or 'they'? What is our pride or shame
but the pride or shame of the unseen in that which they have made?
And what is our conscience but the inherited sum of countless dead
experiences with all things good and evil?"
"In this worship that we give the dead they are made divine. And the
thought of this tender reverence will temper with consolation the
melancholy that comes with age to all of us. Never in our China are
the dead too quickly forgotten; by simple faith they are still thought to
dwell among their beloved, and their place within the home remains
holy. When we pass to the land of shadows we know that loving lips
will nightly murmur our names before the family shrine, that our faithful
ones will beseech us in their pain and bless us in their joy. We will
not be left alone upon the hillsides, but loving hands will place before
our tablet the fruits and flowers and dainty food that we were wont to
like, and will pour for us the fragrant cups of tea or amber rice-wine."
"Strange changes are coming upon this land, old customs are
vanishing, old beliefs are weakening, the thoughts of to-day will not be
the thoughts of to-morrow; but of all this we will know nothing. We
dream that for us as for our mothers the little lamp will burn on
through the generations; we see in fancy the yet unborn, the children
of our children's children, bowing their tiny heads and making the filial
obeisance before the tablets that bear our family name."
This is our comfort, we who feel that "this world is not a place of rest,
but where we may now take our little ease, until the landlord whom we
never see, gives our apartment to another guest."
As I said to thee, it is the women who are the preservers of the family
worship and who are trying hard to cling to old loved customs.
Perhaps it is because we suffer from lack of facility in adapting
ourselves to new conditions. We are as fixed as the star in its orbit.
Not so much the men of China but we women of the inner courtyards
seem to our younger generation to stand an immovable mountain in
the pathway of their freedom from the old traditions.
In this course we are only following woman nature. An instinct more
powerful than reason seems to tell us that we must preserve the thing
we know. Change we fear. We see in the new ideas that our
daughters bring from school, disturbers only of our life's ideals. Yet
the new thoughts are gathering about our retreats, beating at our
doorways, creeping in at the closely shuttered windows, even winning
our husbands and our children from our arms. The enclosing walls and
the jealously guarded doors of our courtyards are impotent. While we
stand a foe of this so-called progress, a guardian of what to us seems
womanhood and modesty, the world around us is moving, feeling the
impulse of a larger life, broadening its outlook and clothing itself in
new expression that we hardly understand. We feel that we cannot
keep up with this generation; and, seeing ourselves left behind with
our dead Gods, we cry out against the change which is coming to our
daughters with the advent of this new education and the knowledge of
the outside world. But--.
All happy days must end, and we floated slowly back to the busy life
again. As we came down the canal in the soft moonlight it recalled
those other nights to me upon the mountain-side, and as I saw the
lights of the city before us I remembered the old poem of Chang Chili
Lo:
"The Lady Moon is my lover,
My friends are the Oceans four,
The Heavens have roofed me over,
And the Dawn is my golden door.
I would liefer follow a condor,
Or the sea-gull soaring from ken,
Than bury my Godhead yonder,
In the dust and whirl of men."
Thy daughter,
Kwei-li.
22
My Dear Mother,
I have not written thee for many days. I came back from my happy
country trip to find clouds of sorrow wrapping our home in close
embrace. We hear Ting-fang is in deep trouble, and we cannot
understand it. He is accused of being in league with the Southern
forces. Of course we do not believe it, my son is not a traitor; but
black forebodings rise from deeps unknown and the cold trail of fear
creeps round my heart.
But I cannot brood upon my fears alone; this world seems full of
sorrow. Just now I have stopped my letter to see a woman who was
brought to the Yamen for trying to kill her baby daughter. She is
alone, has no one to help her in her time of desolation, no rice for
crying children, and nothing before her except to sell her daughter to
the tea-house. She gave her sleep; and who can blame her?
Mother, send me all that thou canst spare from out thy plenty. I would
I could give more. I would be a lamp for those who need a lamp, a bed
for those who need a bed; but I am helpless. O, He who hears the
wretched when they cry, deign to hear these mothers in their sorrow!
Thy daughter,
Kwei-li.
23
I know that thou hast heard the news, as it is in all the papers.
Ting-fang is accused of throwing the bomb that killed General Chang. I
write to reassure thee that it cannot be true. I know my son. Thouv
knowest thy family. No Liu could do so foul a deed.
Do not worry; we will send thee all the news. The morrow's tidings will
be well, so rest in peace.
Kwei-li.
24,a.
I thank thee from my heart for the ten thousand taels telegraphed for
the use of our son. Father has sent fifty thousand taels to be used in
obtaining his freedom. I am sure it will not be needed, as my son is
not the culprit. And if he were, it is not the olden time when a life
could be bought for a few thousand ounces of silver, no matter how
great the crime. We will not bribe the Courts of Law, even for our son.
But I am sure it will pass with the night's darkness, and we will wake
to find it all a dream. I know, my mother's heart assures me, that my
boy is innocent.
Do not speak or think of coming down. We will let thee know at once
all news.
Kwei-li
24,b.
[-Telegram_]
We are leaving to-night for Canton.
25
We are entering Canton. The night denies me sleep, and my brain
seems beating like the tireless shuttles upon a weaving-loom. I
cannot rest, but walk the deck till the moon fades from the dawn's
pale sky, and the sun shows rose-coloured against the morning's
grey. Across the river a temple shines faintly through its ring of
swaying bamboo, and the faint light glistens on the water dripping
from the oars that bring the black-sailed junks with stores of
vegetables for all that greedy city of living people. The mists cling
lovingly to the hill-tops, while leaves from giant banyan-trees sway idly
in the morning wind, and billows of smoke, like dull, grey spirits, roll
up-ward and fade into a mist of clouded jade, touched with the golden
fingers of the rising sun.

I see it all with eyes that do not see, because the creeping hours I
count until I find my son.
26
Ting-fang has been tried and found guilty. The runners have brought
me hour by hour the news; and even his father can see nothing that
speaks in favour of his innocence. It is known and he confesses to
having been with the men who are the plotters in this uprising. He was
with the disloyal officers only a few hours before the bomb was
thrown, but of the actual deed he insists that he knows nothing. All
evidence points to his guilt. Even the official who sentenced him, a
life-long friend of ours, said in the open court that it hurt him sorely to
condemn a man bearing the great name of Liu, because of what his
father and his father's father had been to China, but in times such as
these an example must be made; and all the world is now looking on
to see what will be done.
I will write thee and telegraph thee further news; I can say no more at
present; my heart is breaking.
Kwei-li.
27 A man came to us secretly last night and offered to effect my son's
escape for fifty thousand taels. He said that arrangements could be
made to get him out of the country-- and we have refused! We told
him we could give no answer until the morning, and I walked the floor
the long night through, trying to find the pathway just.
We cannot do it. China is at the parting of the ways; and if we, her
first officials, who are taking the stand upon the side of justice and
new ideas of honour, do not remain firm in hours of great temptation,
what lesson have we to give to them who follow where we lead? It
ust not be said that our first acts were those of bribery and corruption.
If my son is a traitor, we let him pay. He must give his life upon the
altar of new China. We cannot buy his life. We are of the house of Liu,
and our name must stand, so that, through the years to come, it will
inspire those who follow us to live and die for China, the country that
we love.
28
My Mother,
From the red dawn until the dense night fell, and all the hours of
darkness through, have my weary feet stumbled on in hopeless
misery, waiting, listening for the guns that will tell to me my son is
gone. At sunset a whispered message of hope was brought, then
vanished quite again, and I have walked the lengthened reach of the
great courtyard, watching as, one by one, the lanterns die and the
world is turning into grey. Far away toward the rice-fields the circling
gulls rise, flight on flight, and hover in the blue, then fly away to life
and happiness in the great beyond. In the distance, faint blue smoke
curls from a thousand dwellings of people who are rising and will greet
their sons, while mine lies dead. Oh, I thought that tears were human
only, yet I see each blade of shining grass weighed down with
dewdrop tears that glimmer in the air. Even the grass would seem all
sorrow filled as is my heart.
The whole night through the only sound has been the long-drawn note
of the bamboo flute, as the seller passes by, and the wind that wailed
and whistled and seemed to bring with it spirits of the other world who
came and taunted me that I did not save my son. Why, why did I not
save him! What is honour, what is this country, this fighting,
quarrelling, maddened country, what is our fame, in comparison to his
dear life? Why did we not accept the offer of escape! It was ours to
give or take; we gave, and I repent-- O God, how I repent! My boy, my
boy! I will be looking for his face in all my dreams and find despair.
.......
Dost thou remember how he came to me in answer to the Towers of
Prayer I raised when my first-born slept so deep a sleep he could not
be wakened even by the voice of his mother? But that sorrow passed
and I rose to meet a face whose name is memory. At last I knew it
was not kindness to mourn so for my dead. Over the River of Tears
their silent road is, and when mothers weep too long, the flood of that
river rises, and their souls cannot pass but must wander to and fro.
But to those whom they leave with empty arms they are never utterly
gone. They sleep in the darkest cells of tired hearts and busy brains,
to come at echo of a voice that recalls the past.
.......
My sleeve is wet with bitter rain; but tears cannot blot out the dream
visions that memory wakes, and the dead years answer to my call. I
see my boy, my baby, who was the gift of kindly Gods. When I first
opened my eyes upon him, I closed them to all the world besides,
and my soul rested in peace beside the jewel within its cradle. The
one sole wish of my heart was to be near him, to sit close by his
side, to have him day by day within my happy sight, and to lay my
cheek upon his rose-tipped feet at night. The sun's light seemed more
beautiful where it touched him, and the moon that lit my Heaven was
his eyes.
As he grew older he was fond of asking questions to which none but
the Gods could give reply, and I answered as only mothers will. When
he wished to play I laid aside my work to play with him, and when he
tired and wished to rest, I told him stories of the past. At evening
when the lamps were lighted I taught him the words of the evening
prayer, and when he slept I brought my work close by his cradle and
watched the still sweetness of his face. Sometimes he would smile in
his dreams, and I knew that Kwan-yin the Divine was playing
shadow-play with him, and I would murmur a silent prayer to the
Mother of all Mercies to protect my treasure and keep him from all
harm.
.......
I can see my courtyard in far Sezchuan; and in the wooden box within
my bedroom are all his baby-clothes. There are the shoes with
worn-out toes and heels that tried so hard to confine restless, eager
feet; the cap with Buddha and his saints, all broken and tarnished
where tiny, baby teeth have left their marks; and, Mother, dost thou
remember when we made him clothing like the soldier at the Yamen?
And the bamboo that the gateman polished he carried for a gun...
O my son, my son! How can I rise to begin the bitter work of life
through the twilights yet to come!
29
How can I tell thee, Mother mine, of the happiness within my heart! It
is passed; it was but a dream, a mirage. He is here, my boy, his hand
in mine, his cheek against my cheek; he is mine own again, my boy,
my man-child, my son.
It was not he; the culprit has been found; and in the golden morning
light my son stood free before me. I cannot write thee more at
present, I am so filled with joy. What matter if the sun shines on
wrinkles and white hair, the symbol of the fulness of my sorrow-- I
have mine own again!
30
My Dear Mother,
I can talk to thee more calmly, and I know thou hungerest for full
news. Dost thou remember Liang Tai-tai, she whom I wrote thee was
so anxious for the mercy of the Gods that she spent her time in
praying instead of looking after household duties and her son? He was
the one who tried to pass the Dark Water and I talked to him and we
sent him to the prefect at Canton. It was he who found the man for
whom my son was accused. It seemed he felt he owed us much for
helping him in his time of trouble, and now he has repaid.
I feel that I have laughed too oft at Liang Tai-tai and her Gods, but now
I will go with her from temple shrine to temple shrine. I will buy for her
candles, incense, spirit money, until the Gods look down in wonder
from their thrones. I am so filled with gratitude that when I see my
friend, I will fall before her feet and bathe them with my happy tears for
having trod the path of motherhood and given to the world a man-child,
who has saved for me my son.
Kwei-li.
31
My Mother,
We are home, and have not written thee for long, but have telegraphed
thee twice daily, so that thou hast been assured that all is well.
We found our dear one, our Li-ti, bending o'er her babe, holding it
safely, nestling it, murmuring, softly, whispers of mother love. This
son, born in the hour of trouble and despair, is a token of the
happiness to come, of the new life that will come forth from grief and
sorrow.
He has learned a lesson, this boy of mine, and he will walk more
carefully, guard more surely his footsteps, now he is the father of a
son.
Kwei-li.
32
O Mother of graciousness, we are coming to thee! When all the hills
are white with blossoms, we shall set forth, our eager hearts and
souls one great, glad longing for the sight of thee standing in the
archway, searching with earnest gaze the road, listening for the
bearers' footsteps as we mount the hillside.

We leave this place of trial and turmoil. I want my children to come
within the shelter of thy compound walls, where safety lies; and with
the "shell of forgetfulness" clasped tightly in our hands, we will forget
these days of anguish and despair. Then only, when my dear ones
are far from here, shall my soul obtain the peace it craves, forgetful of
the hostile, striving, plotting treachery of this foreign world I fear.
We are coming home to thee, Mother of my husband, and I have
learned in life's great, bitter school that the joy of my Chinese
woman-hood is to stand within the sheltered courtyard, with my family
close about me, and my son's son in my arms.
Kwei-li.