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I WAS born in 1763, at a time of peace and unusual prosperity, in the reign
of the Emperor Ch’ien Lung, on the twenty-second day of the eleventh month, in the winter of the year of the sheep.Mine was a full-dress
family, one of scholars and gentlepeople, who lived near the gardens of the Ts’ang-lang Pavilion, in the city of Soochow.
The gods, I should say, have always been more than generous to me; but, as the poet Su Tung-p’o wrote:
By setting down this story of my life, then, I hope to show my gratitude for Heaven’s many favours.
The first of the three hundred poems in the
Classic
of Poetry
is a wedding song and I too shall begin with memories of my married life, letting other events follow as they may.My only regret is that as a boy I neglected
my studies and acquired such a superficial
education that now I find it impossible to do more than record the bare facts of my life as I remember them.Examining my work for elegance of style, therefore, would be like expecting brilliance from a tarnished mirror.
I remember that when I was a small boy I could stare into the sun with wide-open eyes.I remember, too, that I could see very clearly such minute autumn hairs as the down on plants and the markings on the tiniest insects.I loved to look closely at anything delicate or small; examining the grains of pieces of wood, the veins and patterns of leaves or the streaks and lines on some insignificant trifle
, gave me an almost magical delight.
In summer when the mosquitoes were buzzing like thunder, I used to pretend they were a company of cranes dancing in the air.My imagination transformed them into real birds, into hundreds and thousands of actual cranes; and I would keep my eyes on them, entranced, until I had a crick in my neck from looking upwards so intently.Once I trapped some mosquitoes behind a thin white curtain and carefully blew smoke around them until their humming became the crying of the cranes and I could see the white birds flying through the azure
clouds of highest heaven.How happy I was at that moment!
I often used to crouch in the hollow of a ruined wall or squat
on my heels beside one of the raised flower terraces, my eyes on a level with the plants and grasses, and with rapt attention
stare at some minute object until, in my mind, I had transformed the grass into a dense forest and the insects and ants into wild beasts.With my spirit wandering happily in this world of my imagination I would then see the small stones as towering mountains, the slight depressions in the earth as deep ravines
.
One day, as I watched two insects fighting in the grass, a huge and terrible monster burst upon the scene, toppling the mountains and flattening the trees as it came.Suddenly, I saw it swallow the fighting insects with one flick of its enormous tongue! And so far away was my childish spirit at that moment that I failed to recognize the monster as just an ordinary toad.I opened my mouth and screamed with terror.When I finally came to my senses, seeing then that it was nothing but a toad, I picked the animal up, beat it several tens of times and chased it off the terrace.
Years later, in thinking of this incident, I realized that the two insects had not been fighting but that I had been witness to an act of rape.The ancient proverb says:‘Destruction follows fornication
.’This would seem to apply to insects also!
Another time, while I was enjoying a secret pleasure in the garden, my egg (we call the male organ an ‘egg’in Soochow slang
), was nipped by an earthworm and soon became so badly swollen that I could not urinate.After a duck had been caught for the purpose, a servant was told to hold the animal so that the saliva
from its open mouth would drip onto my swollen egg.When the girl carelessly loosened her grip on its neck for a moment, the duck tried to swallow my egg, and I—scared out of my senses—set up a tremendous hullabaloo
.Tongues wagged over all this, you may be sure.
Such were the idle
pastimes of my childhood.
When I was still a small boy I became engaged to a daughter of the Yu family of Chin-sha; but, as the little girl died before her eighth birthday, I eventually married one of my cousins, the daughter of my mother’s brother Ch’en Hsin-yu.My wife’s intimate name was Yuen, meaning Fragrant Herb.Her literary name, by which we often called her, was Shu-chen, Precious Virtue.
Even as a baby Yuen had shown signs of unusual intelligence and understanding.Not long after she had learned to talk her parents taught her to recite Po Chu-i’s long narrative poem ‘The Song of the Lute
’.After hearing it once or twice, the child could repeat the whole poem from beginning to end, word for word, without making a single mistake.
Yuen’s father died when she was four years old, leaving his family—wife, son, and daughter—with nothing but the four bare walls of an empty house.But as she grew up the girl became a skilful needlewoman, able to fill three mouths from the work of her ten clever fingers, and to pay the school fees for her brother, K’e-chang, when he commenced
to study with a tutor.
One day, in a waste-paper basket, Yuen found a copy of
The Song of the Lute
.From the tattered pages of the discarded
book, with her memory of the words of the poem to guide her, she learned to recognize the characters and in this way taught herself to read.Stealing moments now and then from her embroidery
, she not only learned to read poetry but soon began writing verses herself.I have always particularly liked these two lines from one of her early poems:
‘Invaded by autumn, men are lean as shadows；
Fattening on frost, chrysanthemums
grow lush
.’
When I was thirteen I went with my mother to visit the home of her parents and there I met my cousin Yuen for the first time.Two equally ingenuous children, we were drawn to each other at once.Yuen trusted me enough, from the beginning, to show me the poems she had written.Reading them, I realized that hers was a very unusual talent, but the knowledge made me afraid that, in this world, such a clever girl would be neither happy nor fortunate.
After I returned to my own home, finding that I could not put my cousin out of my mind or my heart, I decided to talk to my mother about her.
‘In case you are thinking of choosing a wife for me soon,’I said, ‘I must tell you that I cannot marry anyone but my cousin Shu-chen.’
Fortunately for me, my mother had also grown fond of her niece.Yuen’s grace and beauty and the gentleness of her manner had so pleased my mother that she now took off her own gold wedding-ring and decided to send it to my cousin as a token
of our engagement.This took place in 1775, on the sixteenth day of the seventh month of the year of the sheep.
Some months later, in the winter of that same year, when one of my girl cousins was about to be married, I once again accompanied my mother to her family home for the wedding celebrations.
Now that we were together again, Yuen and I continued to call one another ‘Younger Brother’and ‘Elder Sister Precious’, just as we had done before, although my cousin was only ten months my elder.
The house was gay, on this ceremonious occasion, with the rainbow-hued
new robes of the family and the wedding guests.Yuen alone, looked her quiet, simple self, having added nothing to her everyday dress but a pair of bright new shoes.When I had admired the artistry
of their embroidery and learned that she had made the shoes herself, I began to understand that Yuen was extremely capable and practical; that reading, writing, and composing poetry were only a few of her many accomplishments.
The simplicity of her robe seemed to accentuate
her fragile beauty and the slenderness of her graceful figure, with its sloping shoulders and long, delicate neck.Her eyes looked very dark beneath the curving wings of her brows.Her glance sparkled with intelligence and humour, and I could find no flaw in her loveliness except that her two front teeth sloped forward ever so slightly under short upper lip; an unimportant defect, but one that was regarded as a sign of bad luck.Above all else, a clinging
softness in her manner, an indefinable air of tenderness and vulnerability
about her, touched my heart deeply, making me wish to stay forever by her side.
I had asked Yuen to let me read the rough drafts of her latest poems, but found, when she gave me the manuscript, that most of the verses were unfinished, being couplets
, or at most, stanzas of only three or four lines.
‘Why do you never finish them, Sister Shu?’I asked her.
‘Without a teacher, I have never learned to finish them correctly,’she answered.‘I wish I had an intimate friend who would also be my teacher and help me with my poetry.’
Taking the book of poems from her hand I playfully wrote on the label:
I could not know, then, that hidden within those covers were the reasons for her early death!
That evening I formally escorted
the bridal party to a celebration outside the city walls and before I reached home again the watchman at the water-clock had called the third watch of the night.I was feeling very hungry.Entering the house, I called a servant and asked her to bring me some meat dumplings, but the old woman came back with some dates and dried meats from the wedding feast, sweets which I do not like and will not eat.
Yuen heard my voice.She came out and pulled me by the sleeve, motioning me to follow her to her room, where I was delighted to find that she had hidden some rice-gruel
and vegetables for my supper.I was raising the chop-sticks to my mouth, when I heard Yuen’s cousin, Yu-heng, calling:
‘Sister Shu.Sister Shu.Come quickly.’Yuen rose at once and shut the door.
‘I’m very tired,’she called to Yu-heng.‘I was just going to bed.’
Yu-heng pushed hard against the door and managed to squeeze into the room.When he saw me, chop-sticks in air, he grinned at Yuen and laughed maliciously
.
‘A little while ago I asked you to bring me some congee
,’he said, ‘but you told me it was all gone.But now I see that you were saving it to serve to your husband!’
Tearful and embarrassed, Yuen looked as if she wanted to run away and hide.A crowd of relatives and servants, attracted by Yu-heng’s noisy laughter, began crowding into the room, joining in the fun at Yuen’s expense.I too became very excited and upset.I called my personal servant and left for my own home at once, in a very bad humour.After this distressing incident, Yuen tried to avoid me whenever I visited her home, but I understood that she was keeping out of my way because she dreaded
being ridiculed again on my account.
前述之事至乾隆庚子
正月二十二日花烛之夕，又经过五年。这一晚，我见芸踏下花轿，模样如昔，瘦怯身材恰似梦中时常所见。她终于揭起头巾后，我们相互注视良久；芸于是莞尔一笑——她仍同过去一样迷人，丝毫未变。
喝罢合卺酒后，我们在桌前并肩坐下。我在桌下暗暗去握芸的手腕，顺势将她纤细的五指笼进手心；她的皮肤光洁、温暖且柔软，我一时恍惚，胸中砰砰作跳。
我请她动筷吃饭；她却悄声同我讲自己吃斋已有多年。一问缘由，芸脸微微一红，说自己是从我出天花时起，悄悄开始吃斋的。
“可是，”我笑着央她，“现在我的脸已经光洁无恙，淑姐就从此开戒了吧。”芸点一点头，笑眼盈盈地看着我。
正月二十四日本是我姐姐的婚期，但二十三日是国忌不能奏乐，于是将喜宴改在了二十二日晚与我的婚礼同办。芸在堂上陪宴时，我在洞房与伴娘拇战为乐。
拇战若是讲错了数字，便要照规矩罚酒。我连着输了好几次，罚下许多杯，不久便大醉而卧，起不来身。酒醒睁眼时已是次日；晨曦正把窗户慢慢点亮，芸恰好将要理完晨妆。
这一日亲朋好友络绎不绝，上灯后才奏乐开宴。二十四日凌晨，我作为大舅子送嫁，回来时是夜晚三点，庭院阒寂，灯残人静。
我悄然进了洞房，伴娘卧在地上打盹儿；芸已卸了礼服首饰，还未睡下。室中点着一对高脚银烛，芸在这烛光中坐着，粉颈低垂，正入神地读一本书，浑然不知我进来。
我将手轻轻放在她的肩上。
“过去几天姐姐连日辛苦，”我说，“可怎么还在读书，这样孜孜不倦呢？”
芸急忙起身，抬起头解释道：“正准备睡时，在书橱中看到了这本书，一读便忘了疲倦。我听说《西厢记》已很久，直到今天才真正读到。作者确实不愧才子之名，不过风格略有些尖酸刻薄了。”
“也只有才子，才懂得如何尖酸刻薄。”我回答说。
一旁的伴娘打着呵欠提醒我们该休息了，我便让她先走。门在她身后一关，屋内第一次只剩下我和芸二人。我们如同故友久别重逢，并肩站着不说话，只轻轻地笑。我笑着用手去探芸的心跳，觉得她胸中砰砰作响，便俯身耳语道：“姐姐的心，怎么跳得这样快？”
芸以笑眼回答的瞬间，我仿佛看见有情丝将我的魂魄同芸的紧紧相缠，浓烈的情意使我们微微颤抖。是夜，我将芸拥入帷帐，缠绵怜爱，不知东方之既白。
芸做了新娘子后，起初总是很沉默寡言，从不见她愠怒动气。她侍奉长辈很恭敬，对待下人很温和，家中事务也都处理得井井有条。每日太阳刚刚上窗，芸就披衣起身，仿佛有人催促着她似的。
“姐姐已是结了婚的人，”我笑着说她，“如今的情况与当年我吃粥时已大不相同，你怎么还这样怕受指摘呢？”
“当时为夫君你藏粥，确实给了人话柄。”芸答道，“如今不是怕被嘲笑，是不想让公婆觉得新娘懒惰呀。”
我虽贪恋卧榻，想多留她在怀中片刻，却也被她端正的品德感动而放下此意，随她一同早起。我们终日耳鬓厮磨，形影不离，此间情意之浓、欢乐之深，没有语言能够形容。然而欢娱的时光转瞬即逝，眨眼间新婚足月了。
我的父亲当时在会稽郡做幕僚，专门派了巡官来接我回去，以继续在武林赵省斋先生门下的学业。（赵先生授课循循善诱、一丝不苟，我时至今日仍能握笔写文章，全赖先生教导。）尽管我一直知道结婚后就要回馆学习，接到父亲的信仍怅然万分，唯恐芸因此落泪。
芸听了消息后，却强颜欢笑，勉励我精进学问，并立刻代我收拾起前往会稽的行装。仅在当晚，我才觉得她神色稍异，有些木然。临行前她上前来，轻轻嘱咐我：“出门在外，没人照顾你，请务必小心，照顾好自己。”
我刚一登船，船夫便解缆出发，来不及再同芸多说几句。河两岸的桃李开得正盛，我见了却只觉得孤独凄凉；自己恍若林鸟失群，感到天地皆冷峻陌生。
一到会稽，父亲因需渡河到江东办事，同我告了别。之后与亲人相隔的三个月，过得好像十年一样漫长。芸虽时常写信来，但往往我寄出两封才能收到一封回信；内容半是一些勉励之词，其余则是一些琐碎套话。我终日怏怏不乐。每每听着风穿过院中竹林，看着月光爬上窗边蕉叶，总会想起过去的夜晚与月亮，不由得梦魂颠倒，思绪万千。赵先生得知了这其中情由，立刻写信告知我父亲，将留十题给我作文，让我暂时回到芸身边去。
我再次登船时喜悦无比，如同战俘得赦
。登船后，又嫌时间好像在倒着走，一刻时光仿佛有一年之久。
一到家，我急匆匆向母亲问过安，便径直进了自己的房间；芸已在里面等我了。我们相互依偎，激动万分，不必多说一字；两人好像只有一个魂魄，一副身体，恍恍然如入烟雾之境。
当时正值六月炎暑，室内闷热熏蒸，所幸我们的住处西侧便是沧浪亭爱莲居，过了板桥，临水有一小轩，名曰“我取”，取的是“清斯濯缨，浊斯濯足”之意。轩檐下生着一株盘曲多节的老树，浓阴覆窗，将人脸也映上绿色。隔岸游人往来不绝，因此父亲若是有客人来访，会将这侧的帘子垂下。向母亲请示过后，我携芸搬进了“我取”，打算在此过完夏天。
芸也因暑热停了绣事，伴我课书论古，品月评花，一同度过漫长的夏日。
芸不习惯饮酒，但必要时也能喝上两三杯；我就教她行酒令一类的游戏，寻些乐趣。
那时我们都认为，人间至乐，无过于此。
芸初到沧浪亭时非常安静，不过很快便不再羞赧，能够自如地表达自己的想法了。一日在古树下纳凉时，芸同我讨论起古文来。
“领会古文机要，”芸说，“需要见识广博、洞察事理，对于女子来说恐怕并非易事。唯独对诗，我稍微有些领悟。”
“唐朝以诗选拔官员，而诗歌的宗匠，必推李白和杜甫。”我告诉她，“卿更喜欢哪一位呢？”
“我以为杜诗格律精巧，无可置疑，”芸答道，“杜诗锤炼精纯，李诗则潇洒落拓，神采奕奕。我钦慕杜诗庄严古朴，但更爱李诗自由活泼。”说罢一笑。
“杜甫为诗家之大成，”我说，“后世学诗的人大多要以之为范本的。你听听这首《秋兴》：
玉露凋伤枫树林，
巫山巫峡气萧森。
江间波浪兼天涌，
塞上风云接地阴。
丛菊两开他日泪，
孤舟一系故园心。
寒衣处处催刀尺，
白帝城高急暮砧。
而唯独卿更喜欢李白，这是为什么呢？”
“要说格律谨严，词旨老当，杜诗的确无可比拟。”芸承认道，“李诗则宛如姑射仙子，行文有一种落花流水之趣。我因此觉其可爱。
“《春夜洛城闻笛》一直是我最爱的诗作之一：
谁家玉笛暗飞声，散入春风满洛城。此夜曲中闻折柳，何人不起故园情。
“我并非认为李白不如杜甫，”她继续道，“我对杜诗是敬重欣赏，对李诗却是万分喜爱。”
“谁能想到，卿与李白是这样的知己呢！”我笑道。
“我最爱的还有一位，白居易，他可以说是我的启蒙老师。”芸也一笑，“我会在心里永远感激他的。”
“这是什么意思呀？”我问。
“他不是《琵琶行》的作者吗？”
“多么神奇！”我笑道，“李白是知己，白居易是启蒙老师，你的丈夫又字三白；你似与‘白’字缘分颇深。”
“若真与‘白’字有缘，”芸又一笑，“作诗恐怕要白字连篇了。”（苏州话里称别字为白字）此话一出，我俩都不禁笑了起来。
我性情率直，落拓不羁；芸则像迂腐儒生，拘泥多礼，生活中也遵从着许多旧规矩。有时我为她披衣整袖，她定会连声道“得罪”；若我递巾授扇，她也定会起身来接。我起初对这些规矩很是烦厌，同她说：
“卿何必用这些礼节来束缚我呢？有言道‘礼多必诈’。”
芸两颊发烫，回答说：
“我怀着敬意，用礼节来对待夫君你，你怎会说这是‘诈’呢？”
“恭敬在心，可不在虚文浮礼。”我反驳说。
“至亲莫如父母；在心里敬重父母，言行却傲慢不拘，这样难道可以吗？”芸回应道。
我忙说：“我说的是玩笑话，请姐姐别放在心上。”
“夫妻反目多由戏起，”芸正色道，“下次请别再冤枉我了，我会郁结而死的。”
我于是将芸挽入怀中抚慰，直到她肯看向我，解颜而笑。之后我们说话，“劳驾”“得罪”“见谅”竟成了口头禅。我与芸鸿案相庄仅二十三年，相敬和睦之甚却与梁鸿与孟光夫妇无异。孟梁的典故出自《后汉书》，大致如是：
大学士梁鸿同乡有一孟氏女，尽管无美人之色，但生性坚强，以高节闻名。当时梁鸿因不曾遇到才德合心意的人选，仍未娶妻。孟氏女告诉她的父母，除梁学士之外，世上没有她足够敬重、愿意嫁之为妻的男人。她三十岁时，梁鸿知其心意坚定不移，遂娶她为妻。
婚后，梁鸿见向来素朴的妻子也同寻常女子一样梳妆打扮起来，感到不快。孟氏意识到自己冒犯了丈夫，立刻又换回往日的粗缯大布，从此以往一心一意、恭恭敬敬地侍奉梁鸿。后二人到山中隐居，对朴陋的生活她同样安之若素，每每侍奉丈夫吃饭，总要将饭碗举到与眉毛齐平的位置。故事大概是这么说的。
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FIVE years were to pass before our wedding candles burned, at dusk, on the twenty-second day of the first month of the year of the rat—1780.As Yuen stepped from her bridal
chair I saw at once that she had not changed, that hers was still the same delicate, sensitive figure I knew so well in my dreams.When, at last, she raised the wedding veil which had hidden her face, we looked at one another long and steadily; then Yuen smiled at me—and I found her as enchanting as before.
After drinking together from the ceremonial nuptial
cup, we took our places side by side at the wedding banquet.I felt for Yuen’s wrist, under the table, then closed my hand over her slender fingers.The touch of her smooth skin, so warm and soft, made my head swim and my heart beat violently.
I begged her to begin eating but she whispered that she was keeping a vegetarian fast
, and had eaten no meat for several years.When I questioned her, she told me shyly that she had begun her secret fast at the time when I had smallpox
.
‘But Sister Shu,’I said teasingly, ‘now that my face is clear and smooth again, without a single scar, won’t you please break your fast?’Yuen’s eyes smiled into mine as she nodded her head.
One of my sisters was to be married on the twentyfourth, but, as the twenty-third was a day of national mourning when no music could be played, her wedding banquet, also, took place on my wedding night.While Yuen watched my sister’s entertainment in the banquet hall I was playing the guess-fingers game with the bride’s attendant
in my bridal chamber.
As penalty for shouting a wrong number in this fast guessing game, the loser is required to drink a cup of wine.Being consistently defeated, drinking cup after cup of wine, I was soon so very drunk that I collapsed on the floor in a stupor
.Before I was sober enough to open my eyes again, my wedding night had passed; dawn was whitening the window and Yuen was nearly dressed.
We spent the long day entertaining relatives and friends, who kept coming and going, in a continuous stream, until after the lamps had been lighted and the musicians were again permitted to play.Soon after midnight, on the morning of the twenty-fourth, in my ceremonial capacity as brother of the bride, I formally escorted my sister to her new husband’s home.Returning about three o’clock, I found the courtyards deserted and silent.The last guest had gone home.The last candles were flickering out.
Quietly, I entered my bridal chamber, where the bride’s attendant lay dozing on the floor.Yuen, who had taken off her wedding finery
, was not yet in bed.She was sitting, in the light from a pair of tall silver candles, with her delicate white neck bent over a book, so completely absorbed in her reading that she was unaware I had come into the room.
I put my hand on her shoulder.
‘The past few days have been tiring and difficult for you, Sister,’I said.‘Why are you still reading? Aren’t you worn out
?’
Quickly raising her head, Yuen rose respectfully to her feet.
‘I was ready to go to bed when I went to the cupboard and picked out this book,’she explained.‘As soon as I started to read it I forgot how exhausted I was.For years I have been hearing about
The West Chamber
, but this is the first time I have ever really seen a copy.The author was certainly a genius—though I find his style a little too biting
, too satirical
.’
‘But only a writer who is really a genius can write good satire,’I answered.
The bride’s attendant interrupted, yawning
, to suggest that it was time we went to bed.When I told her to leave us, she went out and closed the door behind her.Left alone for the first time, Yuen and I stood side by side, laughing softly, feeling as excited as two old friends who meet again after a long separation.Playfully, I put my hand on her breast and felt the wild beating of her heart.Bending close, I whispered softly,
‘Shu-chen, why does your heart beat like this?’Yuen’s eyes smiled into mine, and in that moment our souls were closely bound with the silken strands
of love; our quivering
bodies knew the intensity of desire.
So, at last, I led her to the bed, nor were we aware when dawn began to whiten the horizon.
Though she was at first reserved and silent, Yuen, as a young bride, was never angry nor sullen
.She was respectful to her elders and treated her inferiors with gentle kindness, nor could the slightest fault be found with the work she did in the household
.Every morning, as the sun sent its first rays through the window, Yuen would get out of bed, hastily putting on her clothes as if she heard someone ordering her to do so.
‘You are a married woman now,’I laughed at her.‘Your position is very different from the time when I ate your congee.Why are you still so afraid of being criticized?’
‘When I hid the rice-gruel for you, I really did give cause for gossip,’she answered.‘Now, although I am no longer afraid at being laughed at, I don’t want to give your parents any occasion to think I am lazy or careless.’
I wanted to make love to her again; to hold her in my arms a little longer; yet I had such respect for her strength of character that I made myself get out of bed as soon as she did, so that all through the day we were inseparable, heads together, as close as a man and his shadow.Words cannot describe the depth of our emotions, the joy we shared, the love and passion we felt for each other.But joy and pleasure make time fly all too swiftly and, in what seemed no more than a flutter of the eyelashes, the month of our honeymoon had passed.
My father, who was then secretary to a high official at Kueich’i, now sent a yamen constable to fetch me back with him, as I was still, at that time, a pupil of the tutor Mr.Chao Sheng-chai of Wu-lin.（It is entirely due to the efforts of this Mr.Chao, a talented and conscientious
teacher, that I am literate at all today.） Although I had known all along that after the wedding I should have to return to my studies, the arrival of my father’s message disturbed and depressed me and my heart sank at the thought that Yuen might break into tears at the news of my going.
But Yuen, to my surprise, presented a cheerful face.She tried to encourage me in my plans and started at once to pack my boxes for the journey to Kuei-ch’i.It was not until evening that I became aware of her unnatural, set expression and realized that she was not her usual self.As I was about to leave she came close to me and whispered:
‘Now you will have no one to take care of you; please try to be careful, and look after yourself.’
The hawser was cast off as soon as I boarded the boat.Along the banks of the canal
the peach and plum trees were in full bloom, the sight of their fragile
beauty filling my heart with loneliness and desolation.Confused as a forest bird that has lost the flock
, I felt that Heaven and earth alike were menacing
and strange.
Immediately after arriving at Kuei-ch’i, I had to say goodbye to my father who was about to cross the river on an official journey to an eastern part of the country.The next three months, as I dragged my way through them, felt like ten years of unendurable separation.Letters from Yuen arrived regularly enough, although for two of mine I received only one in reply; but of these, half were filled with words of caution or encouragement, the rest with mere frivolous
conventionalities.
Sadness and dejection
filled my heart.Every time the wind rustled the bamboos in my courtyard or the moon silvered the leaves of the banana trees beside my window, I remembered other moons and other nights until my soul became entranced with an unreal world of dreams and fancies.My tutor, becoming aware of my condition, wrote at once to my father, saying that he intended to assign me ten themes for composition before sending me back to my wife for the time being.
Happy as a pardoned prisoner of war I boarded the boat again, but now, to my sorrow, it seemed to me that time had begun to run backwards; that every quarter of an hour took a year to go by.
Reaching home at last, I hurriedly paid my respects to my mother before rushing to my own room, where Yuen waited to greet me.We clung
to each other, beyond words; wildly excited, one soul in one body; dizzy with happiness in a world of mist and clouds.
It was then the sixth month; the weather was very sultry
and the whole house was hot and damp.Fortunately, we were living next door to the Lotus Lover’s Retreat of the Ts’ang-lang Pavilion Gardens, which lay to the west of our courtyards.Across a wooden foot-bridge, overlooking the canal, stood a small open pavilion called ‘My Choice’; the allusion
referring to the ‘choices’in the ancient lines:
‘If the water is clear—wash your cap strings；
If it is muddy—wash your feet.’
Beyond the eaves of ‘My Choice’an old tree raised its gnarled
trunk; its branches throwing a dense shade across the windows, dyeing our faces green.People, in an endless line, passed back and forth along the opposite bank of the canal, so that my father, when he was entertaining friends in the pavilion, always lowered the blinds on that side.After asking my mother’s permission, I now moved with Yuen to ‘My Choice’, intending to stay there for the rest of the summer.
Because of the extreme heat, Yuen had put her embroidery aside.We spent the long, hot, summer days together; doing nothing but reading, discussing the classics, enjoying the moonlight, or idly
admiring the flowers.
Yuen was not used to drinking, though she could take two or three cups if she had to, and I would often amuse myself by teaching her to play various literary games in which the loser must empty a cup of wine.
In all the world, we thought, no life could be happier than this!
Yuen was very quiet in those first days at the pavilion but she soon overcame her shyness and learned to express herself clearly and with ease.One day, while resting in the shade of the ancient tree, we began exchanging ideas on the literature of classic times.
‘An appreciation of classical literature,’Yuen said,‘requires a breadth of knowledge and a nobility
of thought that are, I am afraid, too difficult for a woman to attain.I think, though, that I do have some slight understanding and awareness of poetry.’
‘Poetry was used in the selection of scholars for official posts, in the T’ang dynasty,’I told her.‘And of all the T’ang poets, everyone agrees that Tu Fu and Li Po are the greatest masters.Which do you prefer, darling?’
‘Tu Fu, I think, is first of all a master of style,’she answered.‘His work is admired as much for its refinement
of form as for its grandeur
of conception.Li’s poems, on the other hand, are free and unconventional, filled with freshness and vigour.I admire the dignity
and majesty of Master Tu,’she smiled, ‘But I prefer the freedom and liveliness of Master Li’.
‘Nevertheless, Tu Fu is acknowledged to be the greatest of all poets,’I argued.‘His verses are still used as models of form by most students of poetry.Listen to this poem on autumn in the gorges of the Yang-tze River.’
AUTUMN Jade dew of autumn pearls the grove of withered maples
；
Silence and desolation brood
over mountain and gorge
.
Wave after wave of the swiftly-flowing river rises to meet the sky as over the lofty
passes clouds race before the wind to catch their shadows on the earth below.
Chrysanthemums grow rank, like twice-shed tears—a second time in bloom.
Here though my lonely boat is tied my heart looks back to its old home.
Everywhere, with scissors and measure they hurry the winter robes as sunset touches the soaring walls of Po-ti to the hurried pounding of the washing-stones.
‘Since you alone prefer Li Po, my darling,’I continued,‘will you tell me why?’
‘For perfection of form, beauty of phrase, and nobility of thought Tu’s poems are certainly unequalled,’Yuen admitted; ‘but Li’s poems have the lyric charm of fairy maidens
.He seems to write as naturally as petals
fall and waters flow.That is why I love him.
‘“Hearing the Flute on a Spring Night” has always been one of my favourites.
‘Tones of a jade flute—flying from whose hidden garden—Floating on the breeze—scattering
over Lo City.
I listen in darkness to “Breaking of the Willow”—
And memories of home fill my heart.
‘It is not that I consider Tu Fu inferior to Li Po,’she continued; ‘I admire and appreciate Tu’s poems, but I love Li Pos’s.’
‘Who would have thought,’I laughed, ‘that you were so intimate with Li Po—I did not know that you were old friends!’
Yuen smiled.
‘I have still another favourite,’she said, ‘Po Chü-i; my childhood teacher, you might say.In my heart I shall always be grateful to him.’
‘What do you mean?’I asked.
‘Isn’t he the author of “The Song of the Lute”?’
‘How very strange!’I laughed.‘Li Po is your bosom friend; Po Chu-i, your first teacher, and I, with the literary name
of San-po (Three Po’s), am your husband.Your destiny seems linked to the character “po”.’
‘If “po” characters are my fate,’Yuen smiled, ‘I’m afraid there will always be “po” characters in my poems.’（In Soochow we call incorrectly written characters, ‘po’characters.） Finding this very funny, we both burst out laughing.
I am naturally straightforward and easy-going, unhampered
by convention; but Yuen, like a pedantic
old Confucian scholar, firmly believed in propriety and ceremony, and insisted on observing many old-fashioned formalities in our daily life.Whenever I helped her into a robe or adjusted a sleeve
for her she would murmur repeatedly, ‘I’m so sorry to trouble you.I’m so sorry to trouble you.’If I brought her a handkerchief or a fan she would insist on rising to receive it from me.At first, this bored me.I disliked it and one day I mentioned it to her.
‘Darling, must you entangle me in all this ceremony? You know the old saying, “He who is too polite must be deceitful”.’
Cheeks on fire, Yuen replied:
‘When I am trying to be properly respectful and courteous to you, isn’t it ironical that you should accuse me of being deceitful?’
‘Genuine respect is in the heart,’I retorted
, ‘not in empty formalities.’
‘The closest of all relationships is that between parent and child,’Yuen countered; ‘should we then respect our parents in our hearts while behaving outwardly
with bad manners and lack of consideration?’
‘Forget my words,’I begged her.‘I only spoke in fun.’
‘Most quarrels between husbands and wives start in fun,’she answered seriously.‘Please do not be angry with me again, or I shall die of grief.’
Taking her in my arms then, I held her closely, caressing her until she looked into my eyes and smiled again.Our conversation, after this, became full of terms of politeness; of ‘excuse me’s’, ‘so sorry’s’, and ‘I beg your pardon’s’.We lived the years of our short married life with a courtesy and harmony worthy of Liang Hung and Meng Kuang, whose story is told in the Records of the Han Dynasty .Here is the tale as I remember it.
Meng Kuang was a lady of strong mind, renowned
virtue and regrettable lack of beauty, whose family home had been located by Fortune close to that of the wise scholar Liang Hung.Still unmarried, Liang Hung declared that no woman had so far been able to satisfy his ideal of wifely virtue.Meng Kuang also had refused to marry, telling her parents that the only man for whom she had sufficient respect to consider as a husband was the eminent
Liang Hung.She persisted in this course until her thirtieth year, when the scholar, learning of her steadfast
attachment, decided to make her his wife.
After the wedding, he was displeased to see that his plain-featured wife had decked herself out in traditional feminine finery; but Meng Kuang, sensing that she had offended her husband, immediately changed into rough, simple clothing, and from that moment served her lord with a fitting humility
and obedience
.Contented and happy in her poor surroundings, she insisted on showing the respect in which she held her husband by raising the rice bowl to the level of her eyebrows whenever they sat down to a meal.Or so the story goes!