“Oh, yes, you cunning little rogue,” Pan Jinlian said, “you are always acting as a go-between for him, so of course you know him well.”
“I have served my master ever since I was a child,” Daian said. “I can’t help knowing what is in his mind.”
“Who is with him now?” Yueniang asked.
“The two uncles have just come,” the boy said. “Master Wen is there, Uncle Ying, Uncle Xie, Clerk Han and brother-in-law. There are eight of them altogether.”
“Ask your brother-in-law to come here to have something to eat,” Yueniang said. “Why should he have to join that crowd?”
“He has already sat down,” Daian said.
Yueniang told him to take some other boys and go to the kitchen for food. “Take some porridge for him,” she said, “I don’t suppose he had any rice this morning.”
“But who is there to go with me?” Daian said. “I am the only one at home. Some of the boys have gone shopping, and others have gone with messages about our lady’s death. Wang Jing has gone to Zhang’s place to borrow a funeral gong.”
“What about Shutong? Are you afraid of upsetting his dignity?”
“Shutong and Huatong are both in the death chamber. One is beating the gong, the other attending to the burning of incense and paper offerings. Father sent Chunhong with Ben the Fourth to change some silk. He didn’t like the silk they brought. He is going to pay six qian a roll.”
“I should have thought five qian a roll was quite enough,” Yueniang said. “Why should he change it? Go and get Huatong and take the food to them at once. Don’t waste time like this.”
Daian and Huatong carried large plates and large bowls to the outer court and set them out on a square table. While the men were eating, Ping’an came with a large card. “His Lordship Xia has sent his secretary and a guard of honor to do your bidding,” he said. Ximen Qing went to inspect them and gave orders that the man should be given three qian of silver and a card of thanks with the name in mourning. He asked the man to express his thanks to Xia.
They had finished their meal and everything was cleared away when the artist Han, whom Ximen Qing had sent for, came. Ximen greeted him and said: “May I trouble you to paint a portrait for me?” Han said he would do his best.
“You must not be too long setting to work,” Uncle Wu said. “Her appearance may change.”
“That does not matter in the least,” Han said, “I can paint it without seeing her if necessary.”
When they had finished their tea, Ping’an said that Uncle Hua had come. Ximen Qing and Hua Ziyu went together before the body and cried there. Then they greeted each other and sat down with the rest. Uncle Hua asked when Li Ping’er had died.
“It was about the hour of the Ox when she breathed her last,” Ximen said. “She spoke quite sensibly up to the last. She went quietly to sleep, and when the maid got up to look at her, she was dead.”
Uncle Hua saw the artist and a boy carrying a palette. He was taking brushes and colors from his sleeve. “I see you are having her portrait painted,” Hua Ziyu said.
“I loved her so much that I must have one,” Ximen Qing said. “It will remind me of her whenever I look at it.”
He warned all the womenfolk to withdraw. Then the curtain was raised, and Ximen Qing took the artist, Uncle Hua and the others to the death chamber. The artist put aside the coverings and looked at Li Ping’er. A green handkerchief was bound about her head. Though she had been ill so long, her face still seemed as beautiful as when she was alive. Her pale yellow cheeks and her scarlet lips were as delightful as ever. Ximen Qing could not help weeping again. Laibao and Qintong stood beside the artist with his brushes and colors. Han looked once only, but that was enough for him. Those who were standing around asked him to begin his painting. “Sir,” Ying Bojue said, “you will bear in mind that this is the face of an invalid. When she was in health, the lady’s face was rounder. She was very beautiful.”
“I need not trouble you for instructions,” the artist said, “I think I know. May I ask if this is not the lady who went to the temple on the first day of the fifth month? I saw her then.”
“Yes,” Ximen said, “at that time she was still quite well. If you can remember her, paint two portraits, one full-length and one half-length. Then we can make our offerings before her picture. I will give you a roll of silk and ten taels of silver.”
“I will do my best,” the artist said. He sketched out a half-length figure, and it looked very handsome, the flesh like jade and almost fragrant. He showed them the sketch and they thought it very good indeed.
When Ximen Qing had examined it he told Daian to take it and show it to the ladies. “Let them see whether they think it good or not,” he said. “If there is any little point they don’t like about it, they have only to say so and it shall be put right.”
Daian took the sketch to the inner court. “Father told me to bring this to you,” he said. “He says if there is anything about it that seems to you not exactly like the Sixth Lady, you must say so, and he will get the artist to correct it.”
“This seems to me very unnecessary,” Yueniang said. “We do not know where the dead woman has gone. What need was there to have a portrait painted?”
“And where are the children to kowtow before it?” Jinlian said. “I suppose, when all six of us are dead, he will have six portraits made.”
Meng Yulou and Li Jiao’er examined the picture. “Mother,” they said, “it looks bright and lifelike, but the lips seem rather flat.”
“Yes,” said Yueniang, looking at it, “and the left side of her brow is not quite high enough. Her eyebrows were more curved. But how could the man draw such a picture when he had only glanced at her dead body?”
“He saw the Sixth Lady at the temple once and he has drawn her chiefly from memory,” Daian told them.
Then Wang Jing came and asked the ladies if they had done with the portrait: his master wished to have it back. “Master Qiao has come,” the boy said, “and he is anxious to see it.”
Daian took the picture back to the outer court and told the artist that the ladies thought the lips too flat and the eyebrows not sufficiently arched. They thought, too, that the left side of the forehead was not high enough. Han said: “I can easily put that right.” He took his brush and corrected the sketch. Then he showed it to Master Qiao.
“A fine portrait!” Qiao said. “It only lacks breath.”
Ximen Qing was perfectly satisfied. He offered the artist three cups of wine, and entertained him. Then he gave him a roll of silk and ten taels of silver, telling him to finish the half-length portrait first, because he wished to put that up at once, and to complete the larger one in time for the funeral. Both were to be painted in green with ceremonial headdress and robes. They were to be on silk, and the rollers were to have ivory ends. The artist took the silver and told his boy to bring his things. Then he went away.
Master Qiao and the others went to look at the coffin. It was now finished. “I suppose that the informal ceremony of encoffining will take place today?” he said.
“Yes,” said Ximen, “the undertakers are coming and we shall have the informal ceremony today. The formal ceremony will take place three days hence.”
Qiao finished his tea and went away. Then the undertakers came. They rolled up the papers and set out the clothes. Ximen Qing himself performed the rite of “lighting the eyes” for Li Ping’er, and appointed Chen Jingji to take the part of her son and dry them for her. He took a bright pearl and put it into her mouth. So the informal ceremony was performed. The body was set up again, and the whole household bewailed the dead woman. Laixing had ordered various things to be made at the paper shop, four sets of gilt paper offerings, a washing basin, towels, combs, and figurines. These were set on either side of the body. Before it were incense burners, vases, candlesticks and incense boxes that the metal smiths had made. They were placed upon a table and looked very fine and bright. Ten taels of silver were given to the sil
versmith to make three sets of silver goblets.
Ximen Qing asked Ying Bojue to look after the account books and records for the funeral. He gave out five hundred taels of silver and a hundred strings of coppers. Clerk Gan was detailed to keep the accounts; Ben the Fourth and Laixing to buy what was necessary and keep in touch with the kitchen. Ying Bojue, Xie Xida, Master Wen and Clerk Gan were to act in turn as ushers. Cui Ben’s duty was to attend to the accounts for the purchase of mourning. Laibao was to have charge of the temporary stores, Wang Jing to attend to the cellar, and Chunhong and Huatong were to be in attendance at the coffin. Ping’an and the soldiers of the guard were to sound the funeral gong, and bring incense and paper offerings for the guests who came. A writer and four soldiers were detailed to keep the visitors’ book at the gateway, to see that the dates were correctly given when the religious ceremonies took place, and to hold the canopies and banners.
These orders were written on a sheet of paper and posted upon a screen, and all the different members of the household went about the duties that were appointed them.
Eunuch Xue sent men with sixty long poles, thirty bamboos, three hundred pieces of matting, and a hundred hempen ropes. Ximen Qing gave the man who brought them five qian of silver and a card of thanks for his master. He gave orders that a great shelter should be set up, which was to have a lofty center ridge and an entrance on either side. In the middle was to be a screen: in front of it a kitchen, and behind, a smaller shelter about the size of three rooms. Outside the great gateway was to be another temporary building, seven rooms wide.
Twelve priests from the Temple of Thanksgiving were summoned to sing the dirge. Two servants each day were to be employed doing nothing else but serve tea and water.
Uncle Hua and the younger Wu went away. Ximen Qing asked Master Wen to compose an obituary notice to be printed. Ximen Qing told him to write: “My humble wife has died.” Master Wen wrote it without comment, then showed it to Ying Bojue.
“This will not do at all,” Ying Bojue said. “It is contrary to polite usage. His wife is still alive and, if this is sent out in the way he wishes, people will talk. Uncle Wu, especially, will be offended. Don’t do anything about it for the moment. I will speak to him later.” They sat down again with Ximen Qing and, after a while, Ying Bojue went away.
That evening, Ximen Qing did not go to the inner court. He had a bed set up beside the body of Li Ping’er, put a screen around the bed, and so passed the night alone. The two boys Chunhong and Shutong attended him. The next morning he got up and went to Yueniang’s room to wash. He dressed in a white hat and gown, with white shoes, white socks, and a white girdle.
Magistrate Xia came to offer his condolences. When Ximen Qing had greeted him, Master Wen came and they had tea together. When the magistrate went out and passed through the gate, he bade the writer do his work well and keep an eye on the soldiers of the guard. If any of them should absent himself, word must be brought him and he would have the man punished. When he had given these instructions, he mounted his horse and rode home.
Ximen Qing asked Master Wen to send out invitations for the funeral and sent servants around to ask the relatives to come on the third day after the death.
In the afternoon, the temple servants came and set out the place for the ceremony. They hung up pictures of Buddha and made other preparations.
When the news was brought to Wu Yin’er, she got into a sedan chair and came to bewail and burn paper offerings. She kowtowed to Yueniang and said, weeping: “How sorry I am that nobody told me sooner. I never knew my Sixth Mother was dead. It has upset me terribly.”
“You were her ward,” Yulou said, “and you ought to have come as soon as you knew that she was ill.”
“Good Lady,” Wu Yin’er said, “I swear I had no idea. If I had known, I should certainly have come.”
“Well,” said Yueniang, “whether you came or whether you did not, she did not forget you. She left a keepsake for you and I have put it aside.” She told Xiaoyu to get the things that Li Ping’er had left for Wu Yin’er. Xiaoyu went to the inner room. When the parcel was opened, it was found to contain silken dresses, two gold pins, and a golden flower. Wu Yin’er looked at them and cried so bitterly that her tears fell like drops of rain.
“If I had only known that she was ill,” she cried, “I would have come to wait on her.” She thanked Yueniang. Yueniang gave her tea and asked her to stay until the third day after the death.
On the third day the priests beat their gongs and chanted a dirge. Paper money was hung up and everyone in the household put on mourning clothes. Chen Jingji, dressed in the deepest mourning, made obeisance before the pictures of Buddha. Neighbors, friends, kinsmen and the gentlemen from the office came to offer their sympathy and to make paper offerings. Not a few indeed made special offerings. Xu, the Master of the Yin Yang, was there early. When the great offering was over, the body was lifted into the coffin. Ximen Qing asked Yueniang for four more complete dresses to put into the coffin. In each corner of it was placed a piece of silver.
“Brother-in-law,” Hua Ziyu said, “I should leave the silver out. Neither gold nor silver will stay there long.”
But Ximen Qing would not listen. He insisted on placing the silver in the coffin. Then the board of the seven stars was placed in position and the lid of the coffin put in its place. The undertakers nailed it down with longevity nails on every side, and all the people cried aloud. Ximen Qing cried so much that he seemed demented. “Oh, my sweet sister,” he sobbed repeatedly, “I shall never see you again.” It was long before they finished their lamentations. They entertained Master Xu with vegetarian dishes, and he went away.
All the people belonging to the household and all who served in the shop wore mourning, and the incense wafted from the gate seemed like a white cloud. Master Wen acted as Master of the Ceremonies, and Du, a writer of the Great Secretariate, came to write the Sixth Lady’s name upon the banner. Du’s name was Zichun. In the reign of Zhenzong he had been an official at the Ninghe palace, but now he was living in retirement. Ximen Qing had sent a present of gold and silk and asked him to come. Special delicacies were prepared for his refreshment. When he arrived, Ximen offered him three cups of wine, and Ying Bojue and Master Wen sat down to keep him company. A piece of red silk was set before him, and upon this he was to write the obituary title for the dead lady.
Ximen Qing wished him to write: “The coffin of the Lady of Ximen, Captain of the Royal Guard.”
“But we can’t say that,” Bojue objected. “The ‘lady’ is still alive.”
“This lady bore a son,” Master Du said. “It is perfectly in order. There can be no possible objection to the title.”
They discussed the matter for some time and finally decided to write “wife” instead of “lady.”
“‘Lady’ is the word used to designate one of official rank,” Master Wen said, “and ‘wife’ one who lives in your apartments. Both are commonly used in a very wide sense.”
Master Du wrote the inscription in white, except for the word “Royal,” which he wrote in gold. Then the silken banner was hung before the coffin, and Du was asked to write the tablet. Afterwards, Ximen Qing thanked him very heartily, entertained him with food and wine, and he went away.
The same day, Master Qiao and the three uncles, Wu, Hua and Shen, came to make their offering of the three carcasses. Mistress Qiao, Aunt Hua, and the two ladies Wu came in sedan chairs to express their condolences. They wailed before the coffin, and Wu Yueniang and the others cried with them. Then they were asked to go to the inner court and there given tea and something to eat. They were all dressed in mourning, Uncle Hua and his wife in very deep mourning. Li Guijie had been sent word, and she came in a sedan chair to make paper offerings. When she found Wu Yin’er there, she said: “When did you come? Why didn’t you tell me? You are a fine one, always looking out for yourself.”
“I did not know my mother was dead,” Wu Yin’er said. “If I had known, I should hav
e been here before this.” Yueniang took them to the inner court and entertained them there.
The seventh day came. Sixteen priests came from the Temple of Thanksgiving. Priest Lang was in charge of them and presided over the ceremony. They recited the Lotus Sutra and performed the ritual for the dead. The relatives, friends, and those who served in the shops attended again. Abbot Wu of the Temple of the Jade King came to make an offering, and also to secure an invitation for the second week’s mind. Ximen Qing asked him to stay and gave him vegetarian food.
A boy came and said: “The artist has brought the portrait.” Everybody examined it. The painting showed Li Ping’er in a golden ceremonial head-dress, wearing pearl ornaments and a scarlet embroidered gown. Her face was as fair as though she lived. Ximen Qing was delighted. He set the picture up beside the coffin, and everybody said that the only thing it lacked was breath. Ximen entertained the artist and asked him to take even more pains with the large portrait.
“Be assured that I will take the utmost care over it,” said the artist. Ximen gave him a handsome present, and he went away.
About noon, Master Qiao came to make his offering. He brought a pig, a sheep, and other things for sacrifice, gold and silver mountains, and paper offerings of all sorts, paper money and incense. There were fifty loads in all, and they created a great impression as they were brought with carriages and music. Ximen Qing and Chen Jingji, standing before the body, made reverence in return. Then Master Qiao invited Scholar Shang, President Zhu, Uncle Wu, Scholar Liu, Captain Hua, and his relative Duan, one after the other to offer incense. When the three offerings had been made, they all knelt down on the floor to hear the Master of the Yin Yang read the panegyric:
On the twenty-second day of the ninth month of the seventh year of the reign Zhenghe, Qiao Hong and the other relatives, with all due reverence, offer the stiff-bristled and the soft-haired animals and other sacrifice of food before the coffin of the deceased lady, the wife of Ximen, and there bewail her loss.
The Golden Lotus, Volume 2 Page 18