Stories by English Authors: The Orient (Selected by Scribners)

Poor Jasmine was so upset by the whole affair that she lacked some of the courtesy that was habitual to her, and in her confusion very nearly seated her guest on her right hand. Fortunately this outrageous breach of etiquette was avoided, and the pair eventually arranged themselves in the canonical order.

“This old son of Han,” began Mr. King, “would not have dared to intrude himself upon your Excellency if it were not that he has a matter of great delicacy to discuss with you. He has a cousin, the daughter of Vice-President King, for whom for years he has been trying to find a suitable match. The position is peculiar, for the lady declares positively that she will not marry any one she has not seen and approved of. Until now she has not been able to find any one whom she would care to marry. But the presence of your Excellency has thrown a light across her path which has shown her the way to the plum-groves of matrimonial felicity.”

Here King paused, expecting some reply; but Jasmine was too absorbed in thought to speak, so Mr. King went on:

“This old son of Han, hearing that your Excellency is still unmarried, has taken it upon himself to make a proposal of marriage to you, and to offer his cousin as your ‘basket and broom.’ [wife] His interview with you has, he may say, shown him the wisdom of his cousin’s choice, and he cannot imagine a pair better suited for one another, or more likely to be happy, than your Excellency and his cousin.”

“I dare not be anything but straightforward with your worship,” said Jasmine, “and I am grateful for the extraordinary affection your cousin has been pleased to bestow upon me; but I cannot forget that she belongs to a family which is entitled to pass through the gate of the palace [a family of distinction], and I fear that my rank is not sufficient for her. Besides, my father is at present under a cloud, and I am now on my way to Peking to try to release him from his difficulties. It is no time, therefore, for me to be binding myself with promises.”

“As to your Excellency’s first objection,” replied King, “you are already the wearer of a hat with a silken tassel, and a man need not be a prophet to foretell that in time to come any office, either civil or military, will be within your reach. No doubt, also, your business in Peking will be quickly brought to a satisfactory conclusion, and there can be no objection, therefore, to our settling the preliminaries now, and then, on your return from the capital, we can celebrate the wedding. This will give rest and composure to my cousin’s mind, which is now like a disturbed sea, and will not interfere, I venture to think, with the affair which calls you to Peking.”

As King proceeded, Jasmine felt that her difficulties were on the increase. It was impossible that she should explain her position in full, and she had no sufficient reason at hand to give for rejecting the proposal made her, though, as the same time, her annoyance was not small at having such a matter forced upon her at a moment when her mind was filled with anxieties. “Then,” she thought to herself, “there is ahead of me that explanation which must inevitably come with Wei; so that, altogether, if it were not for the deeply rooted conviction which I have that Tu will be mine at last, when he knows what I really am, life would not be worth having. As for this inn-proprietor, if he has so little delicacy as to push his cousin upon me at this crisis, I need not have any compunction regarding him; so perhaps my easiest way of getting out of the present hobble will be to accept his proposal and to present the box of precious ointment handed me by Wei for my sister to this ogling love-sick girl.” So turning to King, she said:

“Since you, sir, and your cousin have honoured me with your regard, I dare not altogether decline your proposal, and I would therefore beg you, sir, to hand this,” she added, producing the box of ointment, “to your honourable cousin, as a token of the bond between us, and to convey to her my promise that, if I don’t marry her, I will never marry another lady.”

Mr. King, with the greatest delight, received the box, and handing it to the waiting-woman, who stood expectant by, bade her carry it to her mistress, with the news of the engagement. Jasmine now hoped that her immediate troubles were over, but King insisted on celebrating the event by a feast, and it was not until late in the afternoon that she succeeded in making a start. Once on the road, her anxiety to reach Peking was such that she travelled night and day, “feeding on wind and lodging in water.” Nor did she rest until she reached a hotel within the Hata Gate of the capital.

Jasmine’s solitary journey had given her abundant time for reflection, and for the first time she had set herself seriously to consider her position. She recognised that she had hitherto followed only the impulses of the moment, of which the main one had been the desire to escape complications by the wholesale sacrifice of truth; and she acknowledged to herself that, if justice were evenly dealt out, there must be a Nemesis in store for her which would bring distress and possibly disaster upon her. In her calmer moments she felt an instinctive foreboding that she was approaching a crisis in her fate, and it was with mixed feelings, therefore, that on the morning after her arrival she prepared to visit Tu and Wei, who were as yet ignorant of her presence.

She dressed herself with more than usual care for the occasion, choosing to attire herself in a blue silk robe and a mauve satin jacket which Tu had once admired, topped by a brand-new cap. Altogether her appearance as she passed through the streets justified the remark made by a passerby: “A pretty youngster, and more like a maiden of eighteen than a man.”

The hostelry at which Tu and Wei had taken up their abode was an inn befitting the dignity of such distinguished scholars. On inquiring at the door, Jasmine was ushered by a servant through a courtyard to an inner enclosure, where, under the grateful shade of a wide-spreading cotton-tree, Tu was reclining at his ease. Jasmine’s delight at meeting her friend was only equalled by the pleasure with which Tu greeted her. In his strong and gracious presence she became conscious that she was released from the absorbing care which had haunted her, and her soul leaped out in new freedom as she asked and answered questions of her friend. Each had much to say, and it was not for some time, when an occasional reference brought his name forward that Jasmine noticed the absence of Wei. When she did, she asked after him.

“He left this some days ago,” said Tu, “having some special business which called for his presence at home. He did not tell me what it was, but doubtless it was something of importance.” Jasmine said nothing, but felt pretty certain in her mind as to the object of his hasty return.

Tu, attributing her silence to a reflection on Wei for having left the capital before her father’s affair was settled, hastened to add:

“He was very helpful in the matter of your honoured father’s difficulty, and only left when he thought he could not do any more.”

“How do matters stand now?” asked Jasmine, eagerly.

“We have posted a memorial at the palace gate,” said Tu, “and have arranged that it shall reach the right quarter. Fortunately, also, I have an acquaintance in the Board of War who has undertaken to do all he can in that direction, and promises an answer in a few days.”

“I have brought with me,” said Jasmine, “a petition prepared by my father. What do you think about presenting it?”

“At present I believe that it would only do harm. A superabundance of memorials is as bad as none at all. Beyond a certain point, they only irritate officials.”

“Very well,” said Jasmine; “I am quite content to leave the conduct of affairs in your hands.”

“Well then,” said Tu, “that being understood, I propose that you should move your things over to this inn. There is Wei’s room at your disposal, and your constant presence here will be balm to my lonely spirit. At the Hata Gate you are almost as remote as if you were in our study at Mienchu.”

Jasmine was at first startled by this proposal. Though she had been constantly in the company of Tu, she had never lived under the same roof with him, and she at once recognised that there might be difficulties in the way of her keeping her secret if she were to be constantly under the eyes of her friend. But she had been so long accustomed to yield to the present circumstances, and was so confident that Fortune, which, with some slight irregularities, had always stood her friend, would not desert her on the present occasion, that she gave way.

“By all means,” she said. “I will go back to my inn, and bring my things at once. This writing-case I will leave here. I brought it because it contains my father’s petition.”

So saying, she took her leave, and Tu retired to his easy-chair under the cotton-tree. But the demon of curiosity was abroad, and alighting on the arm of Tu’s chair, whispered in his ear that it might be well if he ran his eye over Colonel Wen’s petition to see if there was any argument in it which he had omitted in his statement to the Board of War. At first, Tu, whose nature was the reverse of inquisitive, declined to listen to these promptings, but so persistent did they become that he at last put down his book – “The Spring and Autumn Annals” – and, seating himself, at the sitting-room table, opened the writing-case so innocently left by Jasmine. On the top were a number of red visiting-cards bearing the inscription, in black, of Wen Tsunk’ing, and beneath these was the petition. Carefully Tu read it through, and passed mental eulogies on it as he proceeded. The colonel had put his case skilfully, but Tu had no difficulty in recognising Jasmine’s hand, both in the composition of the document and in the penmanship. “If my attempt,” he thought, “does not succeed, we will try what this will do.” He was on the point of returning it to its resting-place, when he saw another document in Jasmine’s handwriting lying by it. This was evidently a formal document, probably connected, as he thought, with the colonel’s case, and he therefore unfolded it and read as follows:

“The faithful maiden, Miss Wen of Mienchu Hien, with burning incense reverently prays the God of War to release her father from his present difficulties, and speedily to restore peace to her own soul by nullifying, in accordance with her desire, the engagement of the bamboo arrow and the contract of the box of precious ointment. A respectful petition.”

As Tu read on, surprise and astonishment took possession of his countenance. A second time he read it through, and then, throwing himself back in his chair, broke out into a fit of laughter.

“So,” he said to himself, “I have allowed myself to be deceived by a young girl all these years. And yet not altogether deceived,” he added, trying to find an excuse for himself; “for I have often fancied that there was the savour of a woman about the ‘young noble.’ I hope she is not one of those heaven-born genii who appear on earth to plague men, and who, just when they have aroused the affections they wished to excite, ascend through the air and leave their lovers mourning.”

Just at this moment the door opened, and Jasmine entered, looking more lovely than ever, with the flush begotten by exercise on her beautifully moulded cheeks. At sight of her Tu again burst out laughing, to Jasmine’s not unnatural surprise, who, thinking that there must be something wrong with her dress, looked herself up and down, to the increasing amusement of Tu.

“So,” said he at last, “you deceitful little hussy, you have been deceiving me all these years by passing yourself off as a man, when in reality you are a girl.”

Overcome with confusion, Jasmine hung her head, and murmured:

“Who has betrayed me?”

“You have betrayed yourself,” said Tu, holding up the incriminating document; “and here we have the story of the arrow with which you shot the hawk, but what the box of precious ointment means I don’t know.”

Confronted with this overwhelming evidence, poor Jasmine remained speechless, and dared not even lift her eyes to glance at Tu. That young man, seeing her distress, and being in no wise possessed by the scorn which he had put into his tone, crossed over to her and gently led her to a seat by him.

“Do you remember,” he said, in so altered a voice that Jasmine’s heart ceased to throb as if it wished to force an opening through the finely formed bosom which enclosed it, “on one occasion in our study at home I wished that you were a woman that you might become my wife? Little did I think that my wish might be gratified. Now it is, and I beseech you to let us join our lives in one, and seek the happiness of the gods in each other’s perpetual presence.”

But, as if suddenly recollecting herself, Jasmine withdrew her hand from his, and, standing up before him with quivering lip and eyes full of tears, said:

“No. It can never be.”

“Why not?” said Tu, in alarmed surprise.

“Because I am bound to Wei.”

“What! Does Wei know your secret?”

“No. But do you remember when I shot that arrow in front of your study?”

“Perfectly,” said Tu. “But what has that to do with it?”

“Why, Wei discovered my name on the shaft, and I, to keep my secret, told him that it was my sister’s name. He then wanted to marry my sister, and I undertook, fool that I was, to arrange it for him. Now I shall be obliged to confess the truth, and he will have a right to claim me instead of my supposed sister.”

“But,” said Tu, “I have a prior right to that of Wei, for it was I who found the arrow. And in this matter I shall be ready to outface him at all hazards. But,” he added, “Wei, I am sure, is not the man to take an unfair advantage of you.”

“Do you really think so?” asked Jasmine.

“Certainly I do,” said Tu.

“Then – then – I shall be – very glad,” said poor Jasmine, hesitatingly, overcome with bashfulness, but full of joy.

At which gracious consent Tu recovered the hand which had been withdrawn from his, and Jasmine sank again into the chair at his side.

“But, Tu, dear,” she said, after a pause, “there is something else that I must tell you before I can feel that my confessions are over.”

“What! You have not engaged yourself to any one else, have you?” said Tu, laughing.

“Yes, I have,” she replied, with a smile; and she then gave her lover a full and particular account of how Mr. King had proposed to her on behalf of his cousin, and how she had accepted her.

“How could you frame your lips to utter such untruths?” said Tu, half laughing and half in earnest.

“O Tu, falsehood is so easy and truth so difficult sometimes. But I feel that I have been very, very wicked,” said poor Jasmine, covering her face with her hands.

“Well, you certainly have got yourself into a pretty hobble. So far as I can make out, you are at the present moment engaged to one young lady and two young men.”

The situation, thus expressed, was so comical that Jasmine could not refrain from laughing through her tears; but, after a somewhat lengthened consultation with her lover, her face recovered its wonted serenity, and round it hovered a halo of happiness which added light and beauty to every feature. There is something particularly entrancing in receiving the first confidences of a pure and loving soul. So Tu thought on this occasion, and while Jasmine was pouring the most secret workings of her inmost being into his ear, those lines of the poet of the Sung dynasty came irresistibly into his mind:

‘T is sweet to see the flowers woo the sun,To watch the quaint wiles of the cooing dove,But sweeter far to hear the dulcet tonesOf her one loves confessing her great love.

But there is an end to everything, even to the “Confucian Analects,” and so there was also to this lovers’ colloquy. For just as Jasmine was explaining, for the twentieth time, the origin and basis of her love for Tu, a waiter entered to announce the arrival of her luggage.

“I don’t know quite,” said Tu, “where we are to put your two men. But, by-the-bye,” he added, as the thought struck him, “did you really travel all the way in the company of these two men only?”

“O Tu,” said Jasmine, laughing, “I have something else to confess to you.”

“What! another lover?” said Tu, affecting horror and surprise.

“No; not another lover, but another woman. The short, stout one is a woman, and came as my maid. She is the wife of ‘The Dragon.’”

“Well, now have you told me all? For I am getting so confused about the people you have transformed from women to men, that I shall have doubts about my own sex next.”

“Yes, Tu, dear; now you know all,” said Jasmine, laughing. But not all the good news which was in store for him, for scarcely had Jasmine done speaking when a letter arrived from his friend in the Board of War, who wrote to say that he had succeeded in getting the military intendant of Mienchu transferred to a post in the province of Kwangsi, and that the departure of this noxious official would mean the release of the colonel, as he alone was the colonel’s accuser. This news added one more chord of joy which had been making harmony in Jasmine’s heart for some hours, and readily she agreed with Tu that they should set off homeward on the following morning.

With no such adventure as that which had attended Jasmine’s journey to the capital, they reached Mienchu, and, to their delight, were received by the colonel in his own yamun. After congratulating him on his release, which Jasmine took care he should understand was due entirely to Tu’s exertions, she gave him a full account of her various experiences on the road and at the capital.

“It is like a story out of a book of marvels,” said her father, “and even now you have not exhausted all the necessary explanations. For, since my release, your friend Wei has been here to ask for my daughter in marriage. From some questions I put to him, he is evidently unaware that you are my only daughter, and I therefore put him off and told him to wait until you returned. He is in a very impatient state, and, no doubt, will be over shortly.”

Nor was the colonel wrong, for almost immediately Wei was announced, who, after expressing the genuine pleasure he felt at seeing Jasmine again, began at once on the subject which filled his mind.

“I am so glad,” he said, “to have this opportunity of asking you to explain matters. At present I am completely nonplussed. On my return from Peking I inquired of one of your father’s servants about his daughter. ‘He has not got one,’ quoth the man. I went to another, and he said, ‘You mean the “young noble,” I suppose.’ ‘No, I don’t,’ I said; ‘I mean his sister.’ ‘Well, that is the only daughter I know of,’ said he. Then I went to your father, and all I could get out of him was, ‘Wait until the “young noble” comes home.’ Please tell me what all this means.”

“Your great desire is to marry a beautiful and accomplished girl, is it not?” said Jasmine.

“That certainly is my wish,” said Wei.

“Well then,” said Jasmine, “I can assure you that your betrothal present is in the hand of such a one, and a girl whom to look at is to love.”

“That may be,” said Wei, “But my wish is to marry your sister.”

“Will you go and talk to Tu about it?” said Jasmine, who felt that the subject was becoming too difficult for her, and whose confidence in Tu’s wisdom was unbounded, “and he will explain it all to you.”

Even Tu, however, found it somewhat difficult to explain Jasmine’s sphinx-like mysteries, and on certain points Wei showed a disposition to be anything but satisfied. Jasmine’s engagement to Tu implied his rejection, and he was disposed to be splenetic and disagreeable about it. His pride was touched, and in his irritation he was inclined to impute treachery to his friend and deceit to Jasmine. To the first charge Tu had a ready answer, but the second was all the more annoying because there was some truth in it. However, Tu was not in the humour to quarrel, and being determined to seek peace and ensue it, he overlooked Wei’s innuendos and made out the best case he could for his bride. On Miss King’s beauty, virtues, and ability he enlarged with a wealth of diction and power of imagination which astonished himself, and Jasmine also, to whom he afterward repeated the conversation. “Why, Tu, dear,” said that artless maiden, “how can you know all this about Miss King? You have never seen her, and I am sure I never told you half of all this.”

“Don’t ask questions,” said the enraptured Tu. “Let it be enough for you to know that Wei is as eager for the possession of Miss King as he was for your sister, and that he has promised to be my best man at our wedding to-morrow.”

And Wei was as good as his word. With every regard to ceremony and ancient usage, the marriage of Tu and Jasmine was celebrated in the presence of relatives and friends, who, attracted by the novelty of the antecedent circumstances, came from all parts of the country to witness the nuptials. By Tu’s especial instructions also a prominence was allowed to Wei, which gratified his vanity and smoothed down the ruffled feathers of his conceit.

Jasmine thought that no time should be lost in reducing Miss King to the same spirit of acquiescence to which Wei had been brought, and on the evening of her wedding-day she broached the subject to Tu.

“I shall not feel, Tu, dear,” she said, “that I have gained absolution for my many deceptions until that very forward Miss King has been talked over into marrying Wei; and I insist, therefore,” she added, with an amount of hesitancy which reduced the demand to the level of a plaintive appeal, “that we start to-morrow for Ch’engtu to see the young woman.”

“Ho! ho!” replied Tu, intensely amused at her attempted bravado. “These are brave words, and I suppose that I must humbly register your decrees.”

“O Tu, you know what I mean. You know that, like a child who takes a delight in conquering toy armies, I love to fancy that I can command so strong a man as you are. But, Tu, if you knew how absolutely I rely on your judgment, you would humour my folly and say yes.”

There was a subtle incense of love and flattery about this appeal which, backed as it was by a look of tenderness and beauty, made it irresistible; and the arrangements for the journey were made in strict accordance with Jasmine’s wishes.

On arriving at the inn which was so full of chastening memories to Jasmine, Tu sent his card to Mr. King, who, flattered by the attention paid him by so eminent a scholar, cordially invited Tu to his house.

“To what,” he said, as Tu, responding to his invitation, entered his reception-hall, “am I to attribute the honour of receiving your illustrious steps in my mean apartments?”

“I have heard,” said Tu, “that the beautiful Miss King is your Excellency’s cousin, and having a friend who is desirous of gaining her hand, I have come to plead on his behalf.”

“I regret to say,” replied King, “that your Excellency has come too late, as she has already received an engagement token from a Mr. Wen, who passed here lately on his way to Peking.”

“Mr. Wen is a friend of mine also,” said Tu, “and it was because I knew that his troth was already plighted that I ventured to come on behalf of him of whom I have spoken.”

“Mr. Wen,” said King, “is a gentleman and a scholar, and having given a betrothal present, he is certain to communicate with us direct in case of any difficulty.”

“Will you, old gentleman,” [a term of respect] said Tu, producing the lines which Miss King had sent Jasmine, “just cast your eyes over these verses, written to Wen by your cousin? Feeling most regretfully that he was unable to fulfil his engagement, Wen gave these to me as a testimony of the truth of what I now tell you.”

King took the paper handed him by Tu, and recognised at a glance his cousin’s handwriting.

“Alas!” he said, “Mr Wen told us he was engaged, but, not believing him, I urged him to consent to marry my cousin. If you will excuse me, sir,” he added, “I will consult with the lady as to what should be done.”

After a short absence he returned.

“My cousin is of the opinion,” he said, “that she cannot enter into any new engagement until Mr. Wen has come here himself and received back the betrothal present which he gave her on parting.”

“I dare not deceive you, old gentleman, and will tell you at once that that betrothal present was not Wen’s but was my unworthy friend Wei’s, and came into Wen’s possession in a way that I need not now explain.”