“Doubtless you have no money,” Zhang said. “I am quite ready to agree. But in the presence of these good people, let the boxes be opened so that everyone can see for himself. Even if they turn out to be full of silver, you can take it away. I don’t want it.”
“Perhaps you would like to see my shoes too,” Mistress Meng cried.
They were in the midst of this dispute when Aunt Yang came in, leaning on her stick. “Here comes the aunt,” all the neighbors cried. They saluted her respectfully. She returned their greeting and sat down. Then she began.
“Honorable neighbors here present. I am her aunt, and it is natural that I should have something to say about all this. He who is dead was my nephew, and he who lives is just as much my nephew. If any one of our fingers is bitten, it is no less painful than any other. It has been stated that her husband was rich. Well, even if he had a hundred thousand taels, you should still treat her fairly. She has no children and she is young. What right have you to prevent her marrying again?”
“Quite right, quite right,” said all the neighbors.
“Do you claim the things that came to her from her own family?” the old lady continued, addressing Zhang the Fourth. “She has had no secret understanding with me. All I want is justice.” She turned again to the bystanders. “If my niece had not always been so good-hearted and sweet-natured, honorable neighbors, I should not be bothering my old bones about her. I hate to see her leave this place.”
Zhang the Fourth glared at the old lady. “Oh,” said he, “I know how full of fine ideas your mind is. I also know that the phoenix does not lay his head where there is no treasure.”
This remark infuriated the old lady. Her face became purple. She shook her finger at Zhang the Fourth. “Don’t talk such rubbish, Zhang the Fourth. I may not be the rightful representative of the Yang family, but as for you, old slippery tongue, what have you to do with the Yangs?”
“Even if I am not a Yang, these two nephews are my sister’s sons. You biting old reptile, a woman ought to consider her husband’s family. What is the use of lighting a fire with one hand and pouring water on it with the other?”
“You good-for-nothing old dog bone,” the old lady cried. “She is a young and helpless woman. You wish to keep her in this house, but what is it you are really after? Either you have nasty lustful designs upon her yourself, or you are devising some scheme to grow fat upon her money.”
“I don’t want her money,” Zhang the Fourth retorted, “but there will be nothing for Yang Zongbao when he grows up. I am not your sort, ripe for the slaughter, one who takes up with the rich and deceives the humble. You are like a yellow cat with a black tail.”
“Zhang the Fourth, you offshoot of generations of beggars, you miserable old slave, you old mealy mouth, how dare you be such a humbug and talk like this? What utter nonsense! There will be no cords to tie your coffin when you die.”
“You garrulous old whore, you want the money yourself to put a little warmth under your tail. No wonder you never had any children!”
The old lady became more and more wild.
“Zhang the Fourth, you son of a bawd. Pig! Dog! So I have no children, eh? Well, that’s better than having an old woman who goes to the temple to sleep with the monks and carry on with the priests. You don’t know what you’re talking about.”
By this time the pair were on the point of coming to blows. Fortunately, the neighbors stopped them. “Uncle, let the lady have her say,” they said to Zhang the Fourth.
Old woman Xue, while the dispute was at its height, told Ximen’s servants and the soldiers to hurry in. They carried out all the chests and beds, some on their shoulders and others on poles. It was like a whirlwind. Zhang the Fourth was furious, but he could only look on, speechless. The neighbors could not understand what the trouble was all about. They tried to make peace, and finally they went away.
On the second day of the sixth month Ximen Qing sent a large sedan chair, with four pairs of lanterns, for Mistress Meng. Yang Zongbao, his hair dressed in a knot, wearing green clothes, rode on a horse and acted as his sister-in-law’s escort. Ximen Qing gave him a roll of silk and a piece of jade. Lanxiang and Xiaoluan, the two maids, went with her to be her chambermaids. Qintong, her boy, was now fifteen years old, and he too went to serve her. On the third day after the marriage Aunt Yang and Mistress Meng’s sisters-in-law called to offer their congratulations. Ximen Qing gave Aunt Yang seventy taels of silver and two rolls of silk, and from that day forward their friendship was never broken. He prepared three rooms in the western wing for Mistress Meng, and established her there as his third wife, calling her “Yulou” [Tower of Jade] and giving orders to his household that she must be spoken of as the Third Lady. For two nights he slept in her room. The golden hangings seemed to indicate the coming of a new bride, but the story told by the scarlet silk coverlets was not new.
CHAPTER 8
The Magic Diagrams
Higher and yet higher the red dawn
Creeps slowly up the casement.
She wakes and throws her silken wrapper
Carelessly across one breast.
Is it not strange
This rising while the sun is not yet high?
Blown by the gentle breeze
The hastening flowers wander through the tower of jade.
She could not sleep
The image of her loved one lingered always with her.
Now that Ximen Qing had married Meng Yulou, their love was so deep that they could not bear to be away from one another even for a moment. One day old woman Wen came on behalf of the Chen family to propose that the marriage arranged between their son and Ximen’s daughter should be celebrated on the twelfth day of the sixth month. Ximen Qing, in a great state of excitement, took one of his new wife’s gilded Nanjing beds for his daughter. For more than a month he was so busy preparing for the ceremony that he could not find time to go and see Pan Jinlian. Day after day she leaned upon the door, and looked out for him till her eyes could see no longer. At last she asked old woman Wang to go to his house. The old woman went, but the servants knew whence she had come and paid no attention to her. Jinlian waited and waited, but still Ximen did not come and, after old woman Wang’s fruitless visit, she told Ying’er to go to the street and see if she could see him. The girl did not venture to enter the great house, or even the courtyard, but stood in the gateway and peeped inside. But she too could see no sign of Ximen Qing and had to go back again. When she got home, Jinlian spat in her face, cursed and beat her, because, she said, she was no use. She made the child kneel down until midday, and would give her nothing to eat. Then, finding the hot weather very trying, she told Ying’er to heat some water that she might take a bath, and to cook some little meat pasties for Ximen Qing to eat if he should come.
Jinlian was wearing a thin gossamer shift, and she sat on her little bed. When her lover did not come, she cursed him for a fickle rogue. This made her only the more sad. With her slender fingers she took off her red embroidered shoes, and began to use them for working out the magic diagrams of love. There was no one she could talk to, and she used coins to try and find out what her absent lover was thinking of.
Jinlian played at the love diagrams for a long time. Then she tired of them and lay down to sleep. An hour later she awoke in a very bad temper. “Mother,” Ying’er said, “the water is hot now; will you take your bath?”
“Are the pasties cooked?” Jinlian asked. “Bring them here and let me see.” Ying’er hastily brought them, and Jinlian counted them with her dainty fingers. She had made a tray of thirty but, though she counted again and again, she could not find more than twenty-nine.
“Where is the other one?” she cried.
“I haven’t seen it,” Ying’er said; “you must have counted wrong.”
“I have counted them twice. I want thirty for your father to eat. How dare you steal one? You are an impudent, whorish little slave. I suppose you were dying of starvation, and couldn’t d
o without one of these particular pasties! A bowl of rice, whether large or small, is not good enough for you. Do you imagine I made them for you?”
Without giving the girl a chance to say a word, she stripped off her clothes and beat her twenty or thirty times with a whip, till she squealed like a pig being killed. “If I have to ask you again, and you still lie to me, I will most certainly beat you a hundred times.”
The girl could bear no more. “Mother, don’t beat me,” she cried, “I was so hungry I had to take one.”
“Why did you say I’d counted them wrongly, when you knew you’d stolen one? I knew it was you, you little whore, you thief. When that turtle was alive, you knew one or two things, and told him a great deal more than you really knew. Now he is not here. You play your tricks right in front of my eyes. I will break every bone in your whorish little body.”
She beat the girl for some time longer, then made her put on her drawers, and told her to stand beside her and fan her. When the girl had fanned her for a long time, Jinlian cried, “Turn your face to me, you little strumpet, and I’ll pinch it.” Ying’er turned and the woman, with her long sharp nails, pinched it till the blood came. Then she let go. After a while, she went to the dressing table to dress again before going to stand at the door.
At last the Heavens relented. Daian on horseback, carrying a parcel, passed her door.
“Where are you going?” she cried.
The boy was by no means lacking in intelligence, and he had often come with his master to this house. Jinlian was in the habit of giving him little presents. He knew her quite well. He dismounted and said, “I have been with a present to one of the officers and now I’m going home.”
“What is happening at your Father’s?” Jinlian said. “Why hasn’t he been here? It looks as though he had another sweetheart.”
“He has no new sweetheart. But for the last few days everybody in the house has been very busy, and he couldn’t get away.”
“If he has been so busy, why didn’t he send me word? I have been worried about him for ever so long. Tell me, what is he really doing?”
The boy smiled. He did not answer, and this made Jinlian think there must be something behind it all. Once again she asked him eagerly, “What has been happening?”
“Well, if there was anything,” Daian said, smiling, “why should you want to know all about it?”
“If you don’t tell me, little oily mouth, I will hate you all your life.”
“If I tell you,” the boy said, “you mustn’t let my master know I did so.”
Jinlian promised, and Daian told her how his master had married Meng Yulou. The woman could not prevent the tears from falling over her beautiful face. Daian was very much embarrassed. “Oh, Aunt,” he said, “how easily upset you are. That is just why I didn’t want to tell you.” Jinlian leaned upon the door and sighed deeply.
“You don’t understand,” she said, “you don’t know how fond of one another we used to be. And now he has cast me aside.” Her tears fell faster and faster.
“You shouldn’t let yourself be so distressed,” Daian said. “Even our Great Lady can’t keep him in order.”
“Listen to me, Daian,” said Jinlian. She sang a song to him about the fickleness of men.
Then she began to cry again. “Please don’t cry,” Daian said, “I’m sure he will come and see you very soon. Write him a short note and let me take it to him. He will certainly come when he gets it.”
“I will, indeed,” Jinlian said, “and, if you will be so kind, you shall have a fine pair of shoes for your pains. I should like him to come in time for me to congratulate him on his birthday, but whether he comes or not will depend absolutely on your little oily tongue.”
She told Ying’er to put some of the pasties onto a dish, and asked Daian to have some tea. Meanwhile she went into her room, took a sheet of flowered paper, and wrote with a sheep’s-hair brush in a jade holder. In a few minutes she had written this poem:
The words upon this flowered paper come from my heart.
I remember that our hair once mingled on the pillow.
How often I have leaned upon the door, under the lattice, filled with countless fears.
Now, if you are false to me, if you will not come
Give back to me my dainty handkerchief.
When she had written this, she folded the paper in a lover’s knot and gave it to Daian. “Tell him he must come on his birthday. I shall be waiting most anxiously for him.”
When the boy had eaten the cakes and the pasties, Jinlian gave him a handful of coins. As he was about to mount his horse, she said, “When you get home and see your Father, tell him that I am very angry with him. Tell him that if he does not come here, I shall get a sedan chair and come to him.”
“Lady,” the boy said, “you mustn’t do anything of the sort. You would be like a dumpling seller trying to do business with a fortune-teller. You would never get a fair deal.” He rode away.
Day after day, early and late, Jinlian waited for Ximen Qing, but he did not come. It was the end of the seventh month and his birthday was approaching. To Jinlian every day seemed like three autumns and every night like half a summer. Still no word came from him. She clenched her pearly teeth and rivers of tears flowed from her eyes. One evening she prepared a meal, and asked old woman Wang to come and see her. She took a silver pin from her hair and gave it to the old woman, entreating her to go to Ximen’s house and ask him to come.
“This is no time to go,” the old woman said, “he will certainly not be able to come now. I will go and see him tomorrow morning.”
“You must not forget, Stepmother.”
“I am not unused to such business,” the old woman said. “I’m not likely to lose any time in a matter of this sort.”
Old woman Wang never did anything without being paid. This time the pin was her reward. She drank till her face was very red, and then went home.
Jinlian burned incense to perfume the bedclothes, and lighted the silver lamp. Long and softly she sighed to express the inmost feelings of her heart. All through the long night she played the lute, till the silence and loneliness of the empty house made her feel that she could play no longer. And as she played, she sang.
She tossed about all night, unable to sleep. As soon as it was light, she sent Ying’er to see whether old woman Wang had gone to see Ximen Qing. The little girl came back and told her that the old woman had gone.
It was still early when old woman Wang reached Ximen’s gate. She asked the servants about him, but they all said they knew nothing. She waited a long time, standing by the wall opposite the gate, till Clerk Fu came out and opened the shop. She went over and greeted him respectfully. “Excuse me,” she said politely, “but is his Lordship at home?’’
“What do you want with him?” Fu said. “Yesterday his Lordship entertained a number of guests to celebrate his birthday and, after drinking all day here, they went to the bawdy house last night. He has not come back yet, and you will probably find him still there.”
The old woman thanked him and set off down East Street to the lane in which the bawdy house was. There she met Ximen, on horseback, coming from the opposite direction, and two boys attending him. He was half drunk, nodding to and fro upon his horse, and his bleary eyes could hardly see. “You ought not to get as drunk as this, Sir,” old woman Wang shouted. She took hold of his bridle.
“Hello, Stepmother Wang, is that you?” Ximen Qing drunkenly mumbled. “I suppose Sister Wu has sent you to look for me?”
The old woman whispered something. “My boy said something about it some time ago,” Ximen said. “I hear she is very angry with me. I’ll go and see her now.” He chatted with the old woman as they went along. When they came to the door, old woman Wang went in first.
“Now you ought to be happy, Lady,” she said. “In less than half an hour I’ve brought his Lordship to you.”
Jinlian was so delighted that he seemed like a visitor from Heaven. She ra
n downstairs to meet him. Ximen Qing waved his fan airily and went in, still neither drunk nor sober. He gave the woman a nod, and in return she made a profound reverence.
“You are indeed a nobleman, my Lord, and not the sort of man who is to be gazed upon any day. Where have you been all this time? I suppose you have been so taken up with your new wife that you haven’t had time for me?”
“My new wife!” Ximen said. “What do you mean? Surely you don’t believe all the tittle-tattle you hear. I have not had time to come and see you. I have been busy making arrangements for my daughter’s wedding.”
“Still trying to deceive me, are you?” Jinlian cried. “Well, if this is not a case of off with the old love and on with the new, you must take oath upon your body.”
“If I have forgotten you,” Ximen Qing said, “may my body become the size of a bowl of rice and may I suffer for three years or more from yellow sickness. May a caterpillar as large as a carrying pole bite a hole in my pocket.”
“You fickle rascal, what harm will it do you if a caterpillar as large as that does bite a hole in your pocket?” She went up to him and, snatching off his hat, threw it on the floor. Old woman Wang hastily picked it up and put it on the table.
“Lady,” she cried, “you were angry with me because I didn’t make his Worship come, and, when he does come, you treat him like this.”
Jinlian pulled a pin from his hair, held it up, and looked at it. It was of gold, with two rows of characters engraved upon it.
The horse, with golden bridle, neighs on the sweet turf.
In the season of apricot blossoms, they who dwell in the jade tower drink till they are merry.
The Golden Lotus, Volume 1 Page 16