Courtesans and Opium

by AnonYMous

  Since Yuan You was confined by his illness to the house, Jia Ming and Wei Bi made frequent visits. They also met Paria, but only to exchange greetings, nothing more. Yuan’s condition grew steadily worse, and every morning Paria took a sedan chair to the local monasteries, temples, and shrines to ask for magical prescriptions, fortune slips, and divinations. She also invited famous doctors from all around to come and examine him. She herself decocted the medicine and prepared various kinds of food and drink to build up his strength and help him recuperate. In the evening she would attend on him until he was sound asleep and then, in the middle of the night, go out into the courtyard. There she would set up an incense altar open to the heavens and start burning sandalwood incense, then kneel down on the ground in front of the altar and pray to heaven: “From childhood thy disciple had a cruel fate—she fell into prostitution. Luckily she met Master Yuan, who rescued her from the sea of woe and allowed her to depend on him for the rest of her life. Unfortunately, he has become ill with consumption. He has been seen by doctors and taken their medicines, but to no avail. Thy disciple is alone in the world, without parents, siblings, or children, free of all concerns, and she is willing to die in his place. She beseeches thee to grant her husband a recovery from his illness. Let him serve his parents and have children so that the family line does not die out. O heaven, take pity on thy disciple’s sincere prayer, and she will die without regret.” She wept as she kowtowed.

  Every night she knelt on the ground and prayed in this fashion, ignoring the pain as blood oozed from her forehead as a result of her kowtowing. Not until Yuan You awakened from his sleep and called out to her did she get up and go back inside the house to take him his tea and broth. She did not sleep all night.

  If you are wondering about Yuan’s health, please turn to the next chapter.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

  A husband, dying young, checks his loans and gives final instructions,

  And a wife, crazed with love, takes poison and sacrifices herself.

  Yuan You’s condition grew steadily worse, and after three months he could not even get out of bed. Paria called in well-known and well-regarded doctors from everywhere around, all of whom said that his pulse was extremely weak and his life in danger. They gave a variety of excuses for not writing a prescription, until Paria went down on her knees before them and begged for one. Then, after consulting together, they very reluctantly wrote out a prescription for ginseng broth, after which they collected the money for it, as well as their fares and tips, got into their sedan chairs, and left. Paria hastily took out some money and gave it to Yuan Shou, Yuan You’s father, to take to the shop and buy ginseng. She decocted the medicine and herself gave it to Yuan You, but again to no effect.

  One evening, after his parents had returned home, Yuan You asked Paria to get out the box containing his loan contracts and put it on the bed beside him. Breathing heavily, he opened the box and examined his numerous contracts one by one, then said to her, “It was foolish of me to bring you here. The truth is, I was hoping you and I could be together forever, but my allotted span is over, and I am about to abandon you in the middle of the journey. These contracts result from several years of hard work as well as from the capital you provided. The sum total of all my loans is five or six hundred taels. I realized some time ago that this illness of mine was next to incurable, so I noted on the back of each contract the borrower’s address and occupation. Fortunately, you can read, so you’ll be able to tell at a glance who is involved. Today, while I still have breath in my body, I’ve examined all the contracts and I’m now handing them over to you. After I’m dead, I don’t suppose for one moment that my jealous wife will take you in. You’ll need to be patient in the face of everything that is about to happen. Wait until I’m buried, then make the most of your youth and choose some trustworthy young man for yourself. With these contracts in hand, call the loans in over time; they should give you enough to get by on for the rest of your life. In the months that I’ve been ill, poor dear, you’ve prepared the medicine and brought it to me, getting no rest day or night; you’ve taken great pains in nursing me; and you’ve been worried the whole of the time. I’ve caused you a lot of trouble, and all for nothing. You and I are fated to share only this brief interlude of love. As the saying goes, ‘We can’t escape the day of our death.’ You must take good care of yourself and not pine for me.” As he said this, he could not stop the tears from streaming down his cheeks.

  Paria felt as if a knife were twisting in her heart; she sobbed so hard that she choked and couldn’t speak. But she was afraid that if she sobbed too hard it would only deepen his melancholy mood, so she had to restrain herself. “You’re the one who should take good care of himself,” she said. “I pray that heaven has eyes to see and that it grants you a sudden recovery, that your illness leaves you, and that you father a child or two to continue the family line. But if anything should happen to you, just think how wretched my fate would be. I lost my parents as a child and fell into prostitution. Fortunately, you rescued me from the fiery pit, and I was truly hoping to spend the rest of my life with you and that we would grow old together. But if we are to part halfway, it would fit the saying ‘You can’t recover from a bad beginning.’ With a fate as wretched as mine, how could I even think of marrying anyone else? And as for living out my widowhood in your house, well, forgive me for saying it, but your good lady would never accept me. No, my mind is made up. If you should suddenly abandon me, since I have no children or other responsibilities, I shall follow you to the netherworld to face the judge of hell together and be with you for a hundred years. Isn’t that better than suffering alone here on earth?”

  Yuan You suspected that she was saying these stirring things just to stop him from feeling too depressed. He gave a faint smile. “A young person like you shouldn’t talk such nonsense. You’re in the flower of your youth. This is the right time for you to marry and enjoy the riches and honors that await you. Quickly now, put those loan contracts back in the box. I need to relieve myself.”

  Paria put them in the box and took it away. She called in Maid Wang, and together they helped Yuan You out of bed. Paria pulled down his underwear and sat him on the commode. When he had finished, she pulled up his underwear again and helped him back into bed. He was gasping for breath, and the sweat was running down his face. She wiped off the sweat with a handkerchief and told Maid Wang to get a little ginseng broth and give it to him to drink, after which his breathing gradually returned to normal. Then she helped him lie down again.

  Once more she went out to burn incense and pray in the courtyard, and wept all night. Next morning she noticed that Yuan You’s condition was worse and realized that it was becoming graver by the day, an indication that he was near death. She secretly consulted Yuan Shou about his son’s funeral, in the hope that such preparations might change Yuan You’s fortune.1 She took out some money and gave it to Yuan Shou to go to the coffin shop and choose some sandalwood boards, negotiate a price for them, and have the coffin made. She also bought some material and called in a tailor to make burial garments for her husband. Everything was in readiness.

  One day Yuan You was in an even graver state and fainted several times. Paria almost cried herself into unconsciousness. Yuan Shou concluded from his son’s condition that he would not last many more days and sent a servant home with a message for Mistress Du to come. “Tell the master and mistress that that man doesn’t have me for a wife and I don’t have him for a husband,” she replied. “I went to see him the other day with the best of intentions, but he made out he didn’t know I was there and turned his face to the wall, pretending to be asleep and not saying a word. Since he has no feeling for me, I can hardly be blamed for not showing any loyalty to him. If I go there now, he’ll still have nothing to say to me. I might as well wait until he has breathed his last and then go there in my mourning garments.” The servant returned to Old Lane to report what she had said, and Yuan Shou and his wife were speechle
ss with fury.

  Yuan You was lying on the bed with Paria sitting beside him, not leaving him for an instant. She saw that he couldn’t speak and that his limbs were growing cold. He couldn’t even swallow a sip of boiled water. All that was left was a very faint breathing as if he were in his last throes. Realizing that the end was near, she gave his parents some disingenuous advice, “Sir, Madam, let me make a suggestion: I can see from the master’s condition that he will probably not last the night. Why not take advantage of this quiet spell to go home and see to things there? Once you return, you won’t be able to go home again.”

  “You’re quite right,” they said and went home to make arrangements.

  Paria waited until they had left, then pretended to have a sharp pain in her chest. She told Maid Wang to buy four ounces of sorghum liquor and bring it to her. “It hurts me terribly to breathe,” she said. “I’d like to take a cup or two of liquor and then lie down and rest. See you don’t come in and disturb me. Just keep an eye on the gruel on the stove in case the master wakes up and wants some.” Maid Wang assumed that after days and nights of hard work her mistress really did need to rest.

  Paria opened the trunk in her room, took out the clothes she had always loved to wear, and put them on. She also put on new foot bindings, stocking wrappers, and shoes and fetched brush, ink, and inkstone and placed them on the table. She ground up the ink and took a sheet of bamboo paper and spread it out on the table. Sitting down on a stool in front of the table, she searched her thoughts for what she wanted to say, then picked up the brush and wrote as follows:

  Mine is an unlucky fate; I was born under an evil star. While I was still a child my parents died, as did my brothers and sisters. I regret to say that I descended into prostitution, and I am ashamed to speak of my background. I’ve been like peach blossom at the mercy of the waves or willow floss adrift in the wind. I’ve had my fill of misery, welcoming one man after seeing another off; by sleeping with them, I have repaid all my sins from a previous life. I was lucky enough to meet Master Yuan, who rescued me from the sea of woe. He and his wife were estranged from each other, and, although I was only a concubine, I enjoyed a monopoly of his affection. Others might have found this an enviable situation, but I was saddened by it. I was sorry that I lacked the means to bring them together again—I would gladly have endured the wife’s abuse. For my part, I thought I had someone I could depend on for life, and I was full of hope that we would grow old together. But we cannot shape destiny to our own ends, and my husband fell gravely ill. When medicines had no effect, I foolishly thought that my heartfelt prayers might move the gods, but although I observed a strict fast, heaven and earth did not respond.

  I assumed that when we shared the same bed, our karmic fates had been fulfilled. Why should we not be laid in the same coffin, fulfilling the prediction of a dream I once had? When the trees entwined have withered, what call is there for the woodman’s axe? When the lovebirds’ wings are broken, what need is there for the hunter’s bow? My husband is on the point of death—how dare I eke out a base existence on my own? Were I to carry out my vow to die with him, it would be hard to escape the charge of throwing my life away. But my concern is that on death’s journey he will be afraid. I have always heard that the road to the netherworld is rugged and hard, and my husband has difficulty walking because of his illness; how could he bear to travel that road alone? It would be better if I were to die first and then, even if the way to the netherworld proves hard to travel, I would be able to help him with all the vigor of my youth. Hand in hand, we would go to the City of Wrongful Death and have our karmic debts from this life removed. With heads bowed, we would ascend together to Yama’s palace and beg to be reunited in the next life.

  But no farewell to life can be adequately expressed in prose. I have wept all my tears in writing this, and I now express my passion in verse:

  ETERNAL FAREWELL

  Where is it from, this airy gossamer

  That floats on the wind with nowhere to rest?

  Yancheng town is the place I was born,

  But my parents died and left me alone,

  Like willow floss adrift in a tempest

  Or like peach blossom afloat on a stream.

  Pity my sad fate, my fall into disgrace;

  Instead of the needle, I studied the lute.

  One day I was sent to Yangzhou city,

  To a house of joy where I rued my fate.

  Innocent, yet forced into a life of shame,

  Still shy when I began to receive men,

  Man after man, for some karmic cause.

  Night and day I endured my punishment,

  Resigning myself to the brothel life,

  Where I met by chance the one who saved me.

  Too ashamed to monopolize his love,

  Abashed before his lawful, wedded wife,

  Often I urged him to make up with her

  In the hope that the pair could reconcile.

  But my husband was stubborn and refused,

  Causing me constant distress and pain.

  If he treated his wife as a stranger,

  I would be the one the public would blame.

  Day and night I urged him, but in vain;

  On moonlit nights I forced myself to smile.

  I well recall the moonlight at midautumn,

  When he drank his wine and I sang my songs.

  But the height of joy should never be reached,

  For that is the time when demons are born.

  In the midst of revelry, troubles grew;

  My husband fell ill and could not recover.

  Despite the doctors, he only grew worse;

  My prayers and my vows were all in vain.

  I had hoped we would grow old together;

  Once I dreamt of two ducks on the water,

  Alas, a hunter’s arrow pierced their wings,

  And still they did not part, but stayed as a pair.

  I watched him moaning in pain on the bed,

  Now desperately ill and close to death.

  The netherworld road is hard to travel;

  How could he walk it in his weakened state?

  Better that I go first and wait for him,

  Holding his hand as we enter that world.

  Let people laugh at my too crazy love;

  For the truth is, it’s not crazy at all.

  Their love isn’t crazy to the very end,

  While mine is absolute, without reserve.

  We’ll emulate the deaths of those two ducks;

  In the life to come we’ll be trees entwined.

  Have the best of craftsmen choose a great tree

  And make for us both a double coffin.

  It’s not that I would not be a widow,

  But I fear the lonely nights without him.

  Oh!

  In chanting this “Eternal Farewell,”

  I cry over every word I utter.

  She laid the brush down on the table and chanted the poem to herself in a low voice. Tears welled up in her eyes, but she didn’t dare start sobbing lest Maid Wang hear and come to see how she was. She stood up and took the opium that Yuan You kept for his sworn brothers’ visits, of which four or five qian remained, and mixed it with the liquor. She then looked at Yuan You, who was still unconscious, and went up to the bed and felt his limbs, which were ice-cold although his face was running with sweat. She called out “husband” several times, but he showed no awareness of her. She assumed he was on the point of death, with no hope of surviving, and said to herself, “Walk slowly, husband. Let your ill-starred wife go on ahead. I’ll be waiting for you at the gates. In your weakened state you cannot walk by yourself. Let me take your hand and go with you.” Then she held up the bowl of liquor mixed with opium, put it to her lips, and drained it in a single draft. Flinging the bowl aside, she lay down on the bed and slept, sharing the pillow with Yuan You.

  Maid Wang had been sitting quietly in the reception room watching the brazier for some
time. When she heard nothing from next door, she assumed that Paria had gone to sleep, worn out from her day-and-night labors. Tiptoeing into the room, she found her mistress lying on the bed dressed in new clothes, which at once aroused her suspicions. She rushed to the bedside and called out her name several times, but Paria, her face to the wall, made no reply. This caused Maid Wang to be even more suspicious, and she searched all around until she discovered under the bed a teacup with traces of opium in it. She put it to her nose—it smelled of liquor—and she realized that Paria had taken raw opium.

  In this moment of panic Yuan You’s parents happened to return, and Maid Wang immediately told them what she had found. Alarmed, they at once sent out for liquid manure and a white duck. In looking about the room, Yuan Shou noticed on the table a sheet of bamboo paper covered with writing, and he picked it up and read it. Although he was a military graduate, he had a fair knowledge of literature and was quite a capable poet. He read the sheet from start to finish, and tears came into his eyes. Turning to his wife, he said, “With talent such as hers, and with the determination she has shown today to die with her husband, she’s a paragon among courtesans, as well as a great blessing to our family!”

  As he said this, the servant returned with the liquid manure and the white duck. They killed the duck, drew off its blood, and mixed it with the manure, then tried to get the mixture down Paria’s throat, but she clenched her teeth and refused to open her mouth. Yuan You’s mother and Maid Wang managed to hold her while they tried to force it into her, but as soon as it reached her lips, she frantically spat it out, and they could get none of it down. After further struggle, the opium in poor Paria’s stomach began to work, and she rolled off the bed only to scramble up again. This situation continued for several hours until dusk, when, sad to relate, her body turned purple, blood oozed from her orifices, and she died. At the very moment of her death, the phlegm in Yuan You’s throat shot forth, and they breathed their last together.