The Heartless Husband

In the story’s Hanchow, the capital of southern China, many people lived by begging. They chose a chief who was officially placed in charge of all the begging in town. His job was to make sure the beggars did not pester the townspeople, and in return he collected a tenth of everything his beggar subjects took in. On days of snow or rain, when no one could go out to beg, he had to make sure they had food, and he also had to arrange their weddings and their funerals. In everything, the beggars did as he said.

In Hanchow there was such a beggar-king named Gin. The office had passed from father to son in his family for seven generations. Whatever the family collected in beggars’ coppers it lent out at interest, so that little by little it grew comfortable, and in the end even wealthy.

Old Gin had lost his wife when he was fifty, but he had one child, a daughter called Little Golden Daughter. She was unusually lovely and the treasure of his heart. From girlhood she had studied books, and she could write, make up poems on the spot and compose essays. She was skilled at needlework, danced and sang well, and played both the flute and the zither. More than anything, her father wished her to marry a scholar. But because he was a beggar-king, the good families kept away from him, and he would have nothing to do with anyone of lower standing than his own. So Little Golden Daughter reached eighteen without being promised to anyone.

At that time a scholar named Mosu lived in Hanchow near the Bridge of Peace. He was twenty, handsome and gifted, and everyone liked him. Both his parents were dead, and he was so poor he could barely stay alive. His house and land had long ago been pawned or sold; he lodged in a deserted temple and many nights went to bed hungry.

A neighbor who felt sorry for him said one day, “The beggar-king has a daughter called Little Golden Daughter, and she is more beautiful than words can say. The old man is rich, but he has no son to inherit. If you were willing to marry into his family, all his money would come to you in the end. Isn’t that better than starving as a penniless scholar?”

Mosu was at his wits’ end, so he was delighted to hear it and begged the neighbor to arrange the match. The neighbor called on the beggar-king and spoke with him, and the beggar-king discussed it with his daughter. Mosu came of a good family, he was clever and well read, and he did not object to marrying into their house; father and daughter were both very pleased. They accepted, and the wedding took place.

So Mosu became part of the beggar-king’s family. He delighted in his wife’s beauty, always had plenty to eat and fine clothes to wear, and counted himself luckier than he deserved. For a time husband and wife lived together in peace and happiness.

The beggar-king and his daughter felt their low station like a thorn, and they urged Mosu again and again to study hard. They hoped he would win fame and bring honor to their family as well. They bought him books, old and new, whatever the price, and kept his purse full so that he could mix with people of rank. They paid for his examinations too. His learning grew day by day and his reputation spread through the whole district. He passed one examination after another in quick succession, and at twenty-three he was named mandarin of the district of Wu We. He came home from his audience with the emperor in official robes, riding high on a horse.

Because Mosu was a native of Hanchow, the whole city soon heard of his success, and people packed both sides of the street to watch him ride to his father-in-law’s house. Old and young, women and children turned out for the sight, and some idler shouted at the top of his voice, “The old beggar’s son-in-law is a mandarin now!”

Mosu went red with shame. Without a word he shut himself sulkily in his room. But the old beggar-king, overjoyed, did not notice his son-in-law’s bad temper. He laid on a great feast and invited all his neighbors and friends. Most of the guests, though, were beggars and poor people, and he insisted that Mosu dine with them. It took a great deal of coaxing to get Mosu out of his room, and when he saw the poor guests around the table, he turned his back on them in contempt and withdrew again. Little Golden Daughter understood how he felt and tried a hundred ways to cheer him, but it was no use.

A few days later Mosu set out with his wife and servants for the district he was to govern. The way from Hanchow to Wu We goes by water, so they boarded a ship and sailed out onto the Yangtze-kiang. At the end of the first day they anchored by a city. The night was clear, moonlight sparkled on the river, and Mosu sat at the bow enjoying it.

All at once he thought of the old beggar-king. His wife was wise and good, that was true. But if heaven gave them children, those children would always be a beggar’s grandchildren, and there would be no escaping the disgrace. As he brooded, a plan came to him. He called Little Golden Daughter out of the cabin to admire the moonlight, and she came out gladly. The servants and the boatmen had long since gone to sleep. Mosu looked all around; no one was in sight. Little Golden Daughter stood at the front of the ship, suspecting nothing, when a hand suddenly shoved her into the river.

Then Mosu pretended to be terrified and shouted, “My wife has slipped and fallen overboard!” The servants came running and wanted to pull her out. “The current has already carried her off,” said Mosu. “There is no point in your trying.” And he ordered the crew to set sail again as soon as they could.

Who could have guessed it? By a lucky chance Sir Hu, the mandarin in charge of the province’s transport, was on his way to take up his post and had anchored in the very same place. He was sitting with his wife at the open window of his cabin, enjoying the moon and the cool air, when he heard someone weeping on the riverbank. It sounded like a girl. He quickly sent people to help her, and they brought her aboard. It was Little Golden Daughter.

When she fell into the water, she had felt something under her feet that held her up and kept her from sinking. The current had carried her to the bank, and she had crawled out. Then she understood that her husband, now that he was a great man, had forgotten how poor he used to be. Though she had not drowned, she felt utterly alone and abandoned, and before she knew it she was in tears. When Sir Hu asked what had happened, she told him everything.

“Do not cry any more,” Sir Hu said kindly. “If you would like to become our adopted daughter, we will look after you.” Little Golden Daughter bowed her thanks. Sir Hu’s wife had her maids bring dry clothes and make up a bed for her. The servants were strictly ordered to call her “Miss” and to say nothing about what had happened.

The journey went on, and a few days later Sir Hu took up his office. Wu We, Mosu’s district, came under his authority, so Mosu soon came to pay his respects to his superior. When Sir Hu saw him, he thought, “What a pity that a man of such talent should be so heartless.”

After some months had passed, Sir Hu said to his officials, “I have a daughter who is pretty and good, and I would like to find a son-in-law to marry into my family. Do any of you know of a suitable man?” All of them knew that Mosu was young and had lost his wife, and with one voice they proposed him.

“I had thought of that gentleman myself,” said Sir Hu, “but he is young and has risen very fast. I fear he aims higher and would not wish to marry into my family as my son-in-law.”

“He was poor to begin with,” they answered, “and he serves under you. If you offer him such a kindness, he is sure to accept with joy and will not mind marrying into your house.”

“Well, if you all think it can be done,” said Sir Hu, “go and find out how he feels. But do not tell him that I sent you.”

Mosu, who had just been wondering how to win Sir Hu’s favor, jumped at the idea. He pressed them to act as go-betweens and promised them a handsome reward once the match was made. They went back and reported to Sir Hu.

“I am very glad the gentleman does not scorn this marriage,” Sir Hu said. “But my wife and I love this daughter dearly and can hardly bear to part with her. Sir Mosu is young and of high rank, and our girl has been spoiled. If he were to treat her badly, or one day regret marrying into our family, my wife and I would never get over it. So everything must be settled plainly beforehand. Only if he firmly agrees to my conditions can I take him into my family.”

Mosu was told all the conditions and declared himself ready to accept them. He sent gold, pearls and colored silks to Sir Hu’s daughter as betrothal gifts, and a lucky day was chosen for the wedding.

Sir Hu asked his wife to speak with Little Golden Daughter. “Your adopted father feels sorry that you are so lonely,” she told the girl, “so he has chosen a young scholar to be your husband.”

But Little Golden Daughter answered, “I may be humbly born, but I know what is right. I happened to join my fate to Mosu’s for good or ill. Even though he has shown me little kindness, I will marry no one else as long as he lives. I cannot bring myself to make another match and break my word.” And as she spoke, tears streamed down her face.

When Sir Hu’s wife saw that nothing would change the girl’s mind, she told her the truth. “Your adopted father is angry at Mosu’s cruelty. He means to bring the two of you together again, but he has told Mosu nothing that would make him think you are anyone but our own daughter. That is why Mosu was so eager to marry you. When the wedding is held this evening, you must do such-and-such, so that he gets a taste of the anger he deserves.”

Hearing this, Little Golden Daughter dried her eyes and thanked her adopted parents. Then she dressed herself for the wedding.

Late that same evening Mosu arrived with golden flowers on his hat and a red sash across his chest, riding a richly harnessed horse and followed by a long train of attendants. All his friends and acquaintances came along to join the celebration.

Sir Hu’s house was hung with colored cloths and lanterns. Mosu got down from his horse at the door of the hall, where Sir Hu had laid out a feast for him and his friends. When the wine cup had gone around three times, maids came to lead Mosu into the inner rooms. The bride, wearing a red veil, was brought in by two serving-women. As the master of ceremonies directed, the couple bowed together to heaven and earth and then to the bride’s parents. After that they went into another room, where bright candles burned and a wedding supper was waiting. Mosu felt as if he had been lifted into the seventh heaven.

But when he tried to step out of the room, seven or eight maids holding bamboo canes appeared on either side of the doorway and began beating him without mercy. They knocked his wedding hat off his head, and blows rained down on his back and shoulders. When Mosu cried for help, he heard a soft voice say, “There is no need to kill my heartless bridegroom outright. Ask him to come in and greet me.”

The maids stopped and gathered around the bride, who lifted off her veil. Mosu bowed with his head down. “But what have I done?” he asked. Then he raised his eyes and saw that the woman standing before him was none other than his wife, Little Golden Daughter.

He jumped back in fright. “A ghost! A ghost!” he cried, and all the servants burst out laughing.

At last Sir Hu and his wife came in. “My dear son-in-law,” said Sir Hu, “you may rest easy. My adopted daughter, who joined us on our way here, is no ghost.”

Mosu threw himself on his knees. “I have sinned and I beg for mercy!” he said, and he knocked his head on the floor again and again.

“That is none of my business,” Sir Hu remarked. “As long as our little daughter is content with you, all will be well.”

But Little Golden Daughter cried, “You heartless wretch! When you started out you were poor and in want. We took you into our family and let you study so that you could become someone and make a name for yourself. But the moment you were a mandarin and a man of rank, your love turned to hatred. You forgot your duty as a husband and pushed me into the river. By good fortune I found my dear adopted parents that way. They pulled me out and made me their own child; otherwise I would have been buried in the bellies of the fish. How can I live honorably with a man like you again?” And she wept aloud and called him one hard-hearted villain after another.

Mosu lay at her feet, speechless with shame, and begged her to forgive him.

When Sir Hu judged that Little Golden Daughter had scolded enough to ease her heart, he raised Mosu to his feet. “My dear son-in-law,” he said, “if you are truly sorry for what you did, Little Golden Daughter’s anger will cool little by little. Of course you two are an old married couple. But since you have renewed your vows tonight in my house, do me the kindness of hearing what I have to say. Mosu, you carry a heavy load of guilt, so you must not resent it if your wife is somewhat angry. You must be patient with her. I will send my wife in to make peace between you.”

With that Sir Hu went out and sent in his wife, and after a great deal of effort she brought the two of them to agree to take up their married life anew. From then on they honored and loved each other twice as dearly as in the past, and their life was full of happiness. Years later, when Sir Hu and his wife died, the couple mourned them as though they had truly been their own parents.

Where this story comes from

“The Heartless Husband” opens the section of literary fairy tales that closes Richard Wilhelm’s The Chinese Fairy Book, translated by Frederick H. Martens (New York: Frederick A. Stokes, 1921), where it is chapter LXX.

Wilhelm’s note describes the marriage arrangements assumed by this story: instead of a bride joining her husband’s household, a family without a son may bring a son-in-law into its home to continue its line. Wilhelm says this was not thought very honorable in China, and he points out the neat irony: Mosu, who despised marrying into one family, is punished by having to marry into a second one. He adds that Little Golden Daughter must show her anger before the matter can be settled, so that she can keep face.

Read the original: The Chinese Fairy Book (Project Gutenberg)

For older readers: attempted murder by a spouse, class prejudice, a beating and pressure to resume a dangerous marriage. Its reconciliation is a fictional ending, not an obligation to forgive or return to someone who has caused harm.

Reading the story closely

Mosu is willing to join either household when the connection benefits him. What changes is the rank he thinks the bride can confer: a beggar’s daughter first provides money and education, then a superior official’s supposed daughter offers advancement. Compare the two proposals and the wedding gifts. His rejection is not based on a discovery about his wife’s character but on public shame over the family that supported him.

Little Golden Daughter’s clearest speech lists the support she gave and names the attempted murder. Sir Hu initially says her wishes should settle matters, but he then decides she has scolded enough and sends his wife to obtain reconciliation. Read those two interventions together: how much choice does the rescue actually return to her? The final claim of lasting happiness is the narrator’s conclusion; the story supplies no later scenes that would let a reader assess changed behavior.

Talk about it

• Why does the shout in the street hurt Mosu so much, and how does his shame turn into cruelty?
• Why does Little Golden Daughter refuse to marry the “young scholar” before she knows who he is?
• Do you think Sir Hu’s wedding-night trick is a fair punishment? Why does the story end in forgiveness?

Related stories

• Giauna the Beautiful — another of Wilhelm’s literary fairy tales of love and loyalty
• Rose of Evening — a Wilhelm love story with a river at its heart
• The Frog Princess — another story from the same section involving marital cruelty and a reported reconciliation