"'Twas spring—the air was redolent
With many a sweet and grateful scent;
The peach and plum bloomed side by side,
Like blushing maid and pale-faced bride;
Coy willows stealthily were seen
Opening their eyes of living green—
As if to watch the sturdy strife
Of nature struggling into life.
"One sunny morn a Mr. Chuang
Was strolling leisurely along;
Viewing the budding flowers and trees—
Sniffing the fragrance-laden breeze—
Staring at those who hurried by,
Each loaded with a good supply
Of imitation sycee shoes,
To burn—for friends defunct to use—
Of dainty viands, oil, and rice,
And wine to pour in sacrifice,
On tombs of friends who 'neath them slept.
(Twas '3d of the 3d,' when the graves are swept.)
"Chuang sauntered on. At length, on looking round,
He spied a cozy-looking burial-ground;
'I'll turn in here and rest a bit,' thought he,
'And muse awhile on life's uncertainty;
This quiet place just suits my pensive mood,
I'll sit and moralize in pleasant solitude.'
So, sitting down upon a grassy knoll,
He sighed—when all at once upon him stole
A smothered sound of sorrow and distress,
As if one wept in very bitterness.
"Mr. Chuang, hearing this, at once got up to see,
Who the sorrowing mourner could possibly be,
When he saw a young woman fanning a grave.
Her 'three-inch gold lilies'[29] were bandaged up tight
In the deepest of mourning—her clothes, too, were white.[30]
Of all the strange things he had read of or heard,
This one was by far the most strange and absurd;
He had never heard tell of one fanning a grave.
"He stood looking on at this queer scene of woe,
Unobserved, but astounded, and curious to know
The reason the woman was fanning the grave.
He thought, in this case, the best thing he could do
Was to ask her himself; so without more ado,
He hemmed once or twice, then bowing his head,
Advanced to the woman and smilingly said,
'May I ask, madam, why you are fanning that grave?'
"The woman, on this, glancing up with surprise,
Looked as though she could scarcely believe her own eyes,
When she saw a man watching her fanning the grave.
He was handsome, and might have been thirty or more;
The garb of a Taoist he tastefully wore;
His kind manner soon put her quite at her ease,
So she answered demurely, 'Listen, sir, if you please,
And I'll tell you the reason I'm fanning this grave.
"'My husband, alas! whom I now (sob, sob) mourn,
A short time since (sob) to this grave (sob) was borne;
And (sob) he lies buried in this (sob, sob) grave.'
(Here she bitterly wept.) 'Ere my (sob) husband died,
He called me (sob) once more (sob, sob) to his side,
And grasping my—(sob) with his dying lips said,
"When I'm gone (sob, sob) promise (sob) never to wed,
Till the mold is (sob) dry on the top of my grave."
"'I come hither daily to (sob) and to weep,
For the promise I gave (sob) I'll faithfully keep,
I'll not wed till the mold is (sob) dry on his grave.
I don't want to marry again (sob), I'm sure,
But poverty (sob) is so hard to endure;
And, oh! I'm so lonely, that I come (sob) to try
If I can't with my fan help the mold (sob) to dry;
And that is the reason I'm fanning his grave.'
"Hearing this, Chuang exclaimed, 'Madam, give me the fan.
I'll willingly help you as much as I can
In drying the mold on your poor husband's grave.'
She readily handed the fan up to Chuang
(Who in magic was skilled—as he proved before long),
For he muttered some words in a low under-tone,
Flicked the fan, and the grave was as dry as a bone;
'There,' said he, 'the mold's dry on the top of the grave.'
"Joy plainly was seen on the poor woman's face,
As she hastily thanked him, ere quitting the place,
For helping her dry up the mold on the grave.
Chuang watched her go off with a cynical sigh,
Thought he, 'Now suppose I myself were to die,
How long would my wife in her weeds mourn my fate?
Would she, like this woman, have patience to wait
Till the mold was well dry on her poor husband's grave?'"