Chuang-tsze remained, for a brief space, absorbed in thought; and, at length, returned slowly homeward, meditating, by the way, upon this extraordinary adventure. He sat down in his apartment, and, for some time, gazed, in silence, upon the fan. At length, he exclaimed—“Who, after having witnessed this occurrence, can hesitate to draw the inference, that marriage is one of the modes, by which the doctrine of the metempsychosis is carried out. People, who have hated each other heartily, in some prior condition of being, are made man and wife, for the purpose of mutual vexation—that is it, undoubtedly.”
The wife of the philosopher had approached him, unobserved; and, hearing his last words, and noticing the fan, which he was still earnestly gazing upon—“Pray, be so good, as to inform me,” said she, “what is the meaning of all this; and where, I should like to know, did you obtain that fine fan, which appears to interest you so much?” Chuang-tsze, very faithfully, narrated to his wife the story of the young widow, and all the circumstances, which had taken place, at the tomb.
As soon as the philosopher had finished the narrative, his wife, her countenance inflamed with the severest indignation, broke forth, with a torrent of contemptuous expressions, and unmeasured abuse, against the abominable, young widow. She considered her a scandal to her sex. “Aye,” she exclaimed, “this vile widow must be a perfect monster, devoid of every particle of feeling.”
“Alas,” said the philosopher, “while the husband is in the flesh, there is no wife, that is not ready to flatter and caress him—but no sooner is the breath out of his body, than she seizes her fan, and forthwith proceeds to dry up his grave.”
This greatly excited the ire of his wife—“How dare you talk in this outrageous manner,” said she, “of the whole sex? You confound the virtuous with such vile wretches, as this unprincipled widow, who deserves to be annihilated. Are you not ashamed of yourself, to talk in this cruel way? I should think you might be restrained, by the dread of future punishment.”
“Why give way,” said Chuang-tsze, “to all this passionate outcry? Be candid—you are young, and extremely beautiful—should I die, this day—do you pretend, that, with your attractions, you would suffer much time to be lost, before you accepted the services of another husband?”
“Good God,” cried the lady, “how you talk! Who ever heard of a truly faithful wuzzeer, that, after the death of his master, served another prince? A widow indeed never accepts a second partner. Did you ever know a case, in which such a wife as I have been—a woman of my qualities and station, after having lost her tenderly beloved, forsook his memory, and gave herself to the embraces of a second husband! Such an act, in my opinion, would be infamous. Should you be taken from me, today, be assured, that I should follow you, with my imperishable love, and die, at last, your disconsolate widow.”
“It is easy to promise, but not always so easy to perform,” replied the philosopher. At this speech, the lady was exasperated—“I would have you to know,” said she, “that women are to be found, without much inquiry, quite as noble-hearted and constant, as you have ever been. What a pattern of constancy you have been! Dear me! Only think of it! When your first wife died, you soon repaired your loss: and, becoming weary of your second, you obtained a divorce from her, and then married me! What a constant creature you have been! No wonder you think so lightly of women!” Saying this, she snatched the fan out of her husband’s hand, and tore it into innumerable pieces; by which act she appeared to have obtained very considerable relief; and, in a somewhat gentler tone, she told her husband, that he was in excellent health, and likely to live, for very many years; and that she could not, for the soul of her, see what could induce him to torment her to death, by talking in this manner.
“Compose yourself, my dear,” said Chuang-tsze, “I confess that your indignation delights me. I rejoice to see you exhibit so much feeling and fire, upon such a theme.” The wife of the philosopher recovered her composure; and their conversation turned upon ordinary affairs.
Before many days, Chuang-tsze became suddenly and severely attacked, by some unaccountable disease. The symptoms