My Lady of the Chinese Courtyard — Part 1 Letters 1 - 5

1 My Dear One, The house on the mountain-top has lost its soul.

It is nothing but a palace with empty windows.

I go upon the terrace and look over the valley where the sun sinks a golden red ball, casting long purple shadows on the plain.

Then I remember that thou art not coming from the city to me, and I stay to myself that there can be no dawn that I care to see, and no sunset to gladden my eyes, unless I share it with thee.

[Illustration: Mylady02.

] But do not think I am unhappy.

I do everything the same as if thou wert here, and in everything I say, "Would this please my master?"

Meh-ki wished to put thy long chair away, as she said it was too big;

but I did not permit.

It must rest where I can look at it and imagine I see thee lying it, smoking thy water pipe; and the small table is always near by, where thou canst reach out thy hand for thy papers and the drink thou lovest.

Meh-ki also brought out the dwarf pine-tree and put it on the terrace, but I remembered thou saidst it looked like an old man who had been beaten in his childhood, and I gave it to her for one of the inner courtyards.

She thinks it very beautiful, and so I did once; but I have learned to see with thine eyes, and I know now that a tree made straight and beautiful and tall by the Gods is more to be regarded than one that has been bent and twisted by man.

Such a long letter I am writing thee.

I am so glad that though madest me promise to write thee every seventh day, and to tell thee all that passes within my household and my heart.

Thine Honourable Mother says it is not seemly to send communication from mine hand to thine.

She says it was a thing unheard of in her girlhood, and that we younger generations have passed the limits of all modesty and womanliness.

She wishes me to have the writer or thy brother send thee the news of thine household; but that I will not permit.

It must come from me, thy wife.

Each one of these strokes will come to thee bearing my message.

Thou wilt not tear the covering roughly as thou didst those great official letters; nor wilt thou crush the papers quickly in thy hand, because it is the written word of Kwei-li, who sends with each stroke of brush a part of her heart.

2 My Dear One, My first letter to thee was full of sadness and longing because thou wert newly gone from me.

Now a week has passed, the sadness is still in my heart, but it is buried deep for only me to know.

I have my duties which must be done, my daily tasks that only I can do since thine Honourable Mother has handed me the keys of the rice-bin.

I

realise the great honour she does me, and that at last she trusts me and believes me no child as she did when I first entered her household.

Can I ever forget that day when I came to my husband's people?

I had the one great consolation of a bride, my parents had not sent me away empty-handed.

The procession was almost a li in length and I watched with a swelling heart the many tens of coolies carrying my household goods.

There were the silken coverlets for the beds, and they were folded to show their richness and carried on red lacquered tables of great value.

There were the household utensils of many kinds, the vegetable dishes, the baskets, the camphor-wood baskets containing my clothing, tens upon tens of them; and I said within my heart as they passed me by, "Enter my new home before me.

Help me find a loving welcome."

Then at the end of the chanting procession I came in my red chair of marriage, so closely covered I could barely breathe.

My trembling feet could scarce support me as they helped me from the chair, and my hand shook with fear as I was being led into my new household.

She stood bravely before you, that little girl dressed in red and gold, her hair twined with pearls and jade, her arms tiny finger, but with all her bravery she was frightened-- frightened.

She was away from her parents for the first time, away from all who love her, and she knew if she did not meet with approval in her new home her rice-bowl would be full of bitterness for many moons to come.

After the obeisance to the ancestral tablet and we had fallen upon our knees before thine Honourable Parent, I then saw for the first time the face of my husband.

Dost thou remember when first thou raised my veil and looked long into my eyes?

I was thinking, "Will he find me beautiful?"

and in fear I could look but for a moment, then my eyes fell and I would not raise then to thine again.

But in that moment I saw that thou wert tall and beautiful, that thine eyes were truly almond, that thy skin was clear and thy teeth like pearls.

I was secretly glad within my heart, because I have known of brides who, when they saw their husbands for the first time, wished to scream in terror, as they were old or ugly.

I thought to myself that I could be happy with this tall, strong young man if I found favour in his sight, and I said a little prayer to Kwan-yin.

Because she has answered that prayer, each day I place a candle at her feet to show my gratitude.

I think thine Honourable Mother has passed me the keys of the household to take my mind from my loss.

She says a heart that is busy cannot mourn, and my days are full of duties.

I arise in the morning early, and after seeing that my hair is tidy, I take a cup of tea to the Aged One and make my obeisance; then I place the rice and water in their dishes before the God of the Kitchen, and light a tiny stick of incense for his altar, so that our day may begin auspiciously.

After the morning meal I consult with the cook and steward.

The vegetables must be regarded carefully and the fish inspected, and I must ask the price that has been paid, because often a hireling is hurried and forgets that a bargain is not made with a breath.

I carry the great keys and feel much pride when I open the door of the storeroom.

Why, I do not know, unless it is because of the realisation that I am the head of this large household.

If the servants or their children are ill, they come to me instead of to thine Honourable Mother, as they be too rare or heavy for one of my mind and experience.

Then I go with the gardener to the terrace and help him arrange the flowers for the day.

I love the stone-flagged terrace, with its low marble balustrade, resting close against the mountain to which it seems to cling.

I always stop a moment and look over the valley, because it was from here I watched thee when thou went to the city in the morning, and here I waited thy return.

Because of my love for it and the rope of remembrance with which it binds me, I keep it beautiful with rugs and flowers.

It speaks to me of happiness and brings back memories of summer days spent idling in a quite so still that we could hear the rustle of the bamboo grasses on the hillside down below; or, still more dear, the evenings passed close by thy side, watching the brightened into jade each door and archway as it passed.

I long for thee, I love thee, I am thine.

Thy Wife.

3 My Dear One, The hours of one day are as like each other as are twin blossoms from the pear-tree.

There is no news to tell thee.

The mornings are passed in the duties that come to all women who have the care of a household, and the afternoons I am on the terrace with thy sister.

But first of all, thine August Mother must be made comfortable for her sleep, and then the peace indeed is wonderful.

Mah-li and I take our embroidery and sit upon the terrace, where we pass long hours watching the people in the valley below.

The faint blue smoke curls from a thousand dwellings, and we try to imagine the lives of those who dwell beneath the rooftrees.

We see the peasants in their rice-fields; watch them dragging the rich mud from the bottoms of the canal for fertilizing; hear the shrill whistle of the duck man as, with long bamboo, he drives the great flock of ducks homeward or sends them over the fields to search for insects.

We see the wedding procession far below, and can but faintly follow the great covered chair of the bride and the train of servants carrying the possessions to the new home.

Often the wailing of the mourners in a funeral comes to our ears, and we lean far over the balcony to watch the coolie scatter the spirit money that will pay the dead man's way to land of the Gods.

But yesterday we saw the procession carrying the merchant Wong to his resting-place of sycee spent upon his funeral.

Thy brothers tell me his sons made great boast that no man has been buried with such pomp in all the province.

But it only brings more clearly the remembrance that he began this life a sampan coolie and ended it with many millions.

But his millions did not bring him happiness.

He laboured without ceasing, and then without living to enjoy the fruit, worn out, departed, one knows not whither.

[Illustration: Mylady03.

] [Illustration: Mylady04.

] Yesterday we heard the clang-clang of a gong and saw the Taotai pass by, his men carrying the boards and banners with his official rank and virtues written upon them, and we counted the red umbrellas and wondered if some poor peasant was in deep trouble.

It is beautiful here now.

The hillside is purple with the autumn bloom and air is filled with a golden haze.

The red leaves drift slowly down the canal and tell me that soon the winter winds will come.

Outside the walls the insects sing sleepily in grass, seeming to know that their brief life is nearly spent.

The wild geese on their southward flight carry my thoughts to thee.

All is sad, and sad as the clouded moon my longing face, and my eyes are filled with tears.

Not at twilight nor at grey of dawn can I find happiness without thee, my lord, mine own, and "endless are the days as trailing creepers."

Thy Wife.

4 My Dear One, I have much to tell thee.

My last letter was unhappy, and these little slips of paper must bring to thee joy, not sorrow, else why the written word?

First, I must tell thee that thy brother Chih-peh will soon be married.

Thou knowest he has long been betrothed to Li-ti, the daughter of the Governor of Chih-li, and soon the bride will be here.

We have been arranging her apartments.

We do not know how many home servants she will bring, and we are praying the Gods to grant her discretion, because with servants from a different province there are sure to be jealousies and the retailing of small tales that disturb the harmony of a household.

Many tales have been brought us of her great beauty, and we hear she has much education.

Thine August Mother is much disturbed over the latter, as she says, and justly too, that over-learning is not good for women.

It is not meet to give them books in which to store their embroidery silks.

But I-- I am secretly delighted, and Mah-li, thy sister, is transported with joy.

I think within our hearts, although we would not even whisper it to the night wind, we are glad that there will be three instead of two to bear the burden of the discourses of thine Honourable Mother.

Not that she talks too much, thou understandest, nor that her speech is not stored full of wisdom, but-- she talks-- and we must listen.

We have other news.

A new slave-girl has come into our household.

As thou knowest, there has been a great famine to the north of us, and the boats, who follow all disaster, have been anchored in our canal.

I do not know why August One desired to add one more to take of rice beneath our rooftree; but she is here.

She was brought before me, a little peasant girl, dressed in faded blue trousers and a jacket that had been many times to the washing pool.

Her black hair was coiled in the girlhood knot at the side of the head, and in it she had stuck a pumpkin blossom.

She was such a pretty little country flower, and looked so helpless, I drew her to me and questioned her.

She told me there were many within their compound wall: grandmother, father, mother, brothers, sisters, uncles and cousins.

The rice was gone, the heavy clothing and all of value in the pawn-shop.

Death was all around them, and they watched each day as he drew nearer-- nearer.

Then came the buyers of girls.

They had money that would buy rice for the winter and mean life to all.

But the mother would not listen.

She was told over and over that the price of one would save the many.

Her nights were spent in weeping and her days in fearful watching.

At last, worn out, despairing, she went to a far-off temple to ask Kwan-yin, the Mother of Mercies, for help in her great trouble.

While she was gone, Ho-tai was taken to the women in the boat at the water-gate, and many pieces of silver were paid the father.

When the stomach is empty, pride is not strong, and there were many small bodies crying for rice that could only be bought with the sacrifice of one.

That night, as they started down the canal, they saw on the tow-path a peasant women, her dress open far below her throat, her hair loose and flying, her eyes swollen and dry from over-weeping, moaning pitifully, stumbling on in the darkness, searching for the boat that had been anchored at the water-gate; but it was gone.

Poor little Ho-tai!

She said, "It was my mother!"

and as she told me, he face was wet with bitter rain.

I soothed her and told her we would make her happy, and I made a little vow in my heart that I would find that mother and bring peace to her heart again.

The summer wanes and autumn is upon us with all its mists and shadows of purple and grey.

The camphor-trees look from the distance like great balls of fire, and the eucalyptus-tree, in its dress of brilliant yellow, is a gaily painted court lady.

If one short glimpse of thee my heart could gladden, then all my soul would be filled with the beauty of this time, these days of red and gold.

But now I seek thee the long night through, and turn to make my arm thy pillow-- but thou art gone.

I am thy wife who longs for thee.

5 My Dear One, We have a daughter-in-law.

Not only have we a daughter-in-law, but we have servants and household furnishings and clothing-- and clothing-- and clothing.

I am sure that if her gowns could be laid side by side, they would reach around the world.

She is as fair as the spring blossoms, and of as little use.

An army encamped upon us could not have so upset our household as the advent of this one maiden.

She brought with her rugs to cover the floors, embroideries and hangings for the walls, scrolls and saying of Confucius and Mencius to hang over the seats of honour-- to show us that she is an admirer of the classics-- screens for the doorways, even a huge bed all carved and gilded and with hangings and tassels of gay silk.

Thine Honourable Mother, after viewing the goods piled in the courtyards, called her bearers and told us she was taking tea with a friend in the village of Sung-dong.

I think she chose this friend because she lives the farthest from our compound walls.

I alone was left to direct the placing of this furniture.

Li-ti was like a butterfly, flitting hither and thither, doing nothing, talking much.

The bed must be so placed that the Spirits of Evil passing over it in the night-time could not take the souls of sleepers away with them.

The screens must stand at the proper angle guarding the doorways from the spirits who, in their straight, swift flight through the air, fall against these screens instead of entering the house.

She gravely explained to me that the souls who dwell in darkness like to take up their abode in newly organised households, and many precautions must be made against them.

She even seriously considered the roof, to see if all the points curved upward, so that the spirits lighting upon them be carried high above the open courtyards.

I do not know what would have happened to thine ancestral rooftree if it had not met with her approval.

I was many heartfuls glad that thine August Mother was taking tea in a far-off village, as Li-ti even wanted to install a new God in the kitchen.

This I would not permit.

Canst thou imagine thy Mother's face if a God from a stranger family was in the niche above the stove?

Happily all was over when thine Honourable Mother returned.

She is not pleased with this, her newest, daughter-in-law, and she talks-- and talks-- and talks.

She says the days will pass most slowly until she sees the father of Li-ti.

She yearns to tell him that a man knows how to spend a million pieces of money in marrying off his daughter, but knows not how to spend a hundred thousand in bringing up his child.

If this great Governor of Chih-li has much wisdom, he will stay long within his province.

I have just heard for the hundredth time the saying of Confucius, "Birth is not a beginning, nor is death an end."

In my despair I said deep down within my breast, "I am sure it will not be an end for thee, O Mother-in-law.

Thou wilt go to the River of Souls talking, talking, always talking-- but the Gods will be good to me.

Thou must pass before me, and I will not hasten so as to overtake thee on the way."

I beg thy pardon, dear one.

I lack respect to thy Most Honourable Parent, but my soul is sore tried and I can find no quite.