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The Lo-Cha country and the
sea-market (4)
That evening the princess and Ma talked over their wine of
their approaching separation. Ma said they would soon meet
again; but his wife averred that their married life was at an end.
Then he wept afresh, but the princess said, "Like a filial son you
are going home to your parents. In the meetings and separations
of this life, a hundred years seem but a single day; why, then,
should we give way to tears like children? I will be true to you; do
you be faithful to me; and then, though separated, we shall be
united in spirit, a happy pair. Is it necessary to live side by side in
order to grow old together? If you break our contract your next
marriage will not be a propitious one; but if loneliness' overtakes
you then choose a concubine. There is one point more of which I
would speak, with reference to our married life. I am about to
become a mother, and I pray you give me a name for your child."
To this Ma replied, "If a girl I would have her called Lung-kung;
if a boy, then name him Fu-hai."
The princess asked for some token of remembrance, and Ma
gave her a pair of jade lilies that he had got during his stay in the
marine kingdom. She added, "On the 8th of the 4th moon, three
years hence, when you once more steer your course for this
country, I will give you up your child." She next packed a leather
bag full of jewels and handed it to Ma, saying, "Take care of
this; it will be a provision for many generations." When the day
began to break a splendid farewell feast was given him by the
king, and Ma bade them all adieu. The princess, in a car drawn
by snow-white sheep, escorted him to the boundary of the marine
kingdom, where he dismounted and stepped ashore. "Farewell!"
cried the princess, as her returning car bore her rapidly away, and
the sea, closing over her, snatched her from her husband's sight.
Ma returned to his home across the ocean. Some had thought
him long since dead and gone; all marveled at his story. Happily
his father and mother were yet alive, though his former wife had
married another man; and so he understood why the princess had
pledged him to constancy, for she already knew that this had
taken place. His father wished him to take another wife, but he
would not. He only took a concubine.
Then, after the three years had passed away, he started across
the sea on his return journey, when he beheld, riding on the wave-crests and
splashing about the water in playing, two young children. On
going near, one of them seized hold of him and sprang into
his arms; upon which the elder cried until he, too, was
taken up. They were a boy and girl, both very lovely, and
wearing embroidered caps adorned with jade lilies. On the
back of one of them was a worked case, in which Ma found the
following letter : --
"I presume my father and mother-in-law are well. Three years
have passed away and destiny still keeps us apart. Across the great ocean, the letter-bird could find no path.' I have been with
you in my dreams until I am quite worn out. Does the blue sky
look down upon any grief like mine? Yet Chang-ngo lives solitary
in the moon, and Chih Nu laments that she cannot cross the
Silver River. Who am I that I should expect happiness to be
mine? Truly this thought turns my tears into joy. Two months
after your departure I had twins, who can already prattle away in
the language of childhood, at one moment snatching a date, at
another a pear. Had they no mother they would still live. These I
now send to you, with the jade lilies you gave me in their hats, in
token of the sender. When you take them upon your knee, think
that I am standing by your side. I know that you have kept your
promise to me, and I am happy. I shall take no second husband,
even unto death. All thoughts of dress and finery are gone from
me; my looking-glass sees no new fashions; my face has long been
unpowdered, my eyebrows unblacked. You are my Ulysses, I am
your Penelope; though not actually leading a married life, how
can it be said that we are not husband and wife. Your father and
mother will take their grandchildren upon their knees, though
they have never set eyes upon the bride. Alas! there is something
wrong in this. Next year your mother will enter upon the long
night. I shall be there by the side of the grave, as is becoming in
her daughter-in-law. From this time forth our daughter will be
well; later on she will be able to grasp her mother's hand. Our
boy, when he grows up, may possibly be able to come to and fro.
Adieu, dear husband, adieu, though I am leaving much unsaid."
Ma read the letter over and over again, his tears flowing all the
time. His two children clung round his neck, and begged him to
take them home. "Ah, my children," said he, "where is your
home?" Then they all wept bitterly, and Ma, looking at the great
ocean stretching away to meet the sky, lovely and pathless, embraced his
children, and proceeded sorrowfully to return. Knowing, too,
that his mother could not last long, he prepared every-
thing necessary for the ceremony of interment, and planted a
hundred young pine-trees at her grave.
The following year the old lady did die, and her coffin was
borne to its last resting-place, when there was the princess
standing by the side of the grave. The lookers-on were much
alarmed, but in a moment there was a flash of lightning, followed
by a clap of thunder and a squall of rain, and she was gone. It
was then noticed that many of the young pine-trees which had
died were one and all brought to life. Subsequently, Fu-hai went
in search of the mother for whom he pined so much, and after
some days' absence returned. Lung-kung, being a girl, could not
accompany him, but she mourned much in secret.
One dark day her mother entered and bade her dry her eyes,
saying, "My child, you must get married. Why these tears ?" She
then gave her a tree of coral eight feet in height, some Baroos
camphor,' one hundred valuable pearls, and two boxes inlaid
with gold and precious stones, as her dowry. Ma having found
out she was there, rushed in, and, seizing her hand, began to
weep for joy, when suddenly a violent peal of thunder rent the
building, and the princess had vanished.
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