My Lady of the Chinese Courtyard — Part 1 Letters 26 - 39

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.