婦人邀入 The Widow Receives Them
那婦人見了他三眾,更加欣喜,以禮邀入廳房。一一相見禮畢,請各敘坐看茶。那屏風後,忽有一個丫髻垂絲的女童,托著黃金盤、白玉盞,香茶噴暖氣,異果散幽香。那人綽彩袖,春筍纖長;擎玉盞,傳茶上奉。對他們一一拜了。茶畢,又吩咐辦齋。三藏啟手道:「老菩薩,高姓?貴地是甚地名?」婦人道:「此間乃西牛賀洲之地。小婦人娘家姓賈,夫家姓莫。幼年不幸,公姑早亡,與丈夫守承祖業。有家貲萬貫,良田千頃。夫妻們命裡無子,止生了三個女孩兒。前年大不幸,又喪了丈夫。小婦居孀,今歲服滿。空遺下田產家業,再無個眷族親人,只是我娘女們承領。欲嫁他人,又難捨家業。適承長老下降,想是師徒四眾,小婦娘女四人,意欲坐山招夫,四位恰好。不知尊意肯否如何。」三藏聞言,推聾妝啞,瞑目寧心,寂然不答。那妇人见了他三众,更加欣喜,以礼邀入厅房。一一相见礼毕,请各叙坐看茶。那屏风后,忽有一个丫髻垂丝的女童,托著黄金盘、白玉盏,香茶喷暖气,异果散幽香。那人绰彩袖,春笋纤长;擎玉盏,传茶上奉。对他们一一拜了。茶毕,又吩咐办斋。三藏启手道:「老菩萨,高姓?贵地是甚地名?」妇人道:「此间乃西牛贺洲之地。小妇人娘家姓贾,夫家姓莫。幼年不幸,公姑早亡,与丈夫守承祖业。有家赀万贯,良田千顷。夫妻们命里无子,止生了三个女孩儿。前年大不幸,又丧了丈夫。小妇居孀,今岁服满。空遗下田产家业,再无个眷族亲人,只是我娘女们承领。欲嫁他人,又难舍家业。适承长老下降,想是师徒四众,小妇娘女四人,意欲坐山招夫,四位恰好。不知尊意肯否如何。」三藏闻言,推聋妆哑,瞑目宁心,寂然不答。
逐句解 Line by line
When the woman had seen his three companions, she was the more delighted, and with all courtesy invited them into the hall.
三眾 “the three (disciples).” 以禮邀入 “to invite in according to propriety.” The widow's mounting pleasure at the sight of four men is the engine of the scene to come.
One by one they exchanged greetings, and when the courtesies were done she asked each to take his seat and sip tea.
一一相見 “to greet one another one by one,” 相 xiāng (“mutually”). 禮畢 “the salutations finished”; 敘坐 “to be seated in order.”
From behind the screen there suddenly appeared a serving-girl with looped side-buns and dangling tresses, bearing a golden tray and white-jade cups; the fragrant tea breathed a warm vapor, and rare fruits gave off a delicate scent.
丫髻垂絲 “twin buns and hanging silk-threads (of hair),” the coiffure of a young maid. 托著 reads the durative zhe (“holding”). 盞 a small cup; 異果 “exotic fruits.”
The girl swept back her colored sleeves — her fingers slender as spring bamboo-shoots — raised the jade cups, and passed the tea up in offering.
綽彩袖 “to draw aside the bright sleeves.” 春筍纖長 “slender and long as spring bamboo-shoots,” a set image for a woman's fingers; here 長 reads cháng (“long”), not the zhǎng of 長老 below. 擎 “to hold up.”
To each of them in turn she made her bows.
一一拜了 “bowed to them one by one.” The maid's formal reverence underscores the household's studied hospitality.
The tea over, the woman gave orders besides to prepare a vegetarian meal.
辦齋 “to lay on a meatless (Buddhist) meal,” the proper fare for monks — a courtesy that keeps the seduction within the forms of piety.
Tripitaka, raising his folded hands, said, “Aged bodhisattva — your honored surname?”
三藏 reads zàng (Tripitaka's name). 啟手 “to raise the clasped hands” in polite address; 高姓 “your esteemed surname.” 老菩薩 is a flattering honorific for the householder.
“And what is the name of this fine place?”
貴地 “your esteemed locale.” 甚地名 “what place-name”; 甚 here reads shén (= 什, “what”), the interrogative, not the intensifier shèn.
The woman said, “This region is a land of the Western Continent of Cattle-Gift.”
西牛賀洲 (Xīniú Hèzhōu), Aparagodānīya, the western of the four continents of Buddhist cosmology — where the pilgrims now travel, and where Vulture Peak lies.
“This poor widow's maiden family is surnamed Jia, and her husband's family surnamed Mo.”
小婦人 “this humble woman,” the widow's self-deprecating first person. 娘家 “the natal family”; 夫家 “the husband's family.” The surnames 賈 (Jiǎ) and 莫 (Mò) will prove pointed — a homophone game the chapter plays on 假 “false” and 莫 “none.”
“In my youth, by misfortune, my father- and mother-in-law died early, and my husband and I kept and carried on the ancestral estate.”
公姑 “husband's parents (father- and mother-in-law).” 守承祖業 “to guard and inherit the family patrimony.” The widow's tale of loss frames the wealth she is about to offer.
“We had family wealth by the myriad strings of cash, and good fields by the thousand qǐng.”
家貲萬貫 “a household fortune of ten thousand strings (of coin).” 千頃 a 頃 (qǐng) is a land-measure of one hundred 畝 (mǔ); the round figures are the language of fabulous wealth.
“In our fate as man and wife there was no son; we bore only three girls.”
命裡無子 “fated to have no son”; here 子 is the noun zǐ (“son”), not a suffix. 止生 “bore only”; 女孩兒 “daughters.” The sonlessness is the pretext for the coming offer of live-in husbands.
“The year before last, in great misfortune, I lost my husband as well.”
大不幸 “a great calamity.” 喪了丈夫 “was bereaved of her husband.” The second loss completes the widow's studied pathos.
“I have kept my widowhood, and this year my mourning is fulfilled.”
居孀 “to remain a widow.” 服滿 “the mourning-period completed” — the ritual pretext that makes remarriage now permissible, and so cues the proposal.
“There is left behind, to no purpose, all this land and estate, with no kin or relative besides — only we, mother and daughters, to take it in charge.”
空遺下 “left behind in vain,” 遺 yí; 眷族親人 “kinfolk and relations.” 娘女們承領 “we womenfolk receive and manage it.” The emphasis on an heirless fortune is the bait's sharpest hook.
“I would marry out to another, yet I cannot bear to give up the estate.”
嫁 jià “to marry (a woman) out.” 難捨 “hard to part with,” 難 nán (“difficult”). The dilemma sets up her solution — a husband who marries in.
“Now that the elder has graced us with his coming — you being, I suppose, a master and three disciples, four in all, and we a mother with daughters, likewise four — I have a mind to keep the estate and take in husbands: the four of you would suit exactly.”
長老下降 “the elder condescends to come,” 長 zhǎng; 降 jiàng (“descend”). 坐山招夫 “to keep to the mountain (estate) and recruit husbands” — the live-in, uxorilocal marriage the widow now proposes. 恰好 “fit exactly.”
“I do not know whether your honored wishes would consent, or how you would have it.”
尊意 “your esteemed intention.” 肯否如何 “whether willing, and how” — the widow's demure close to a startling proposition.
Tripitaka, hearing this, played deaf and feigned dumb; he closed his eyes and stilled his heart, and sat wordless, making no reply.
三藏 zàng. 推聾妝啞 “to feign deafness and sham muteness”; here 啞 reads yǎ (“mute”), not the exclamatory yā. 瞑目寧心 “to shut the eyes and calm the mind” — Tripitaka's first line of monastic defense.
The passage stages the opening move of the temptation as a scene of impeccable hospitality. The widow seats the pilgrims, sends out a maid with golden tray and jade cups, orders a vegetarian meal — every gesture within the forms of piety — and only then, in the guise of a poor lone woman confiding her troubles, lays out her proposal: heirless, mistress of a great estate, with three daughters and no kin, she would take the four travelers as live-in husbands.
The surnames are a quiet joke the reader is meant to catch: the natal 賈 (Jiǎ) puns on 假 “false,” the marital 莫 (Mò) on “none, not” — a signal that this household and its mistress are precisely what they are not. The whole self-portrait of loss and lonely wealth is a script, the estate itself a stage-prop in the bodhisattvas' contrivance.
Against the flood of the widow's words Tripitaka does the only thing his discipline allows: 推聾妝啞, he feigns deaf and dumb, shuts his eyes, and refuses to answer. His silence is not incomprehension but defense — the counter to temptation is simply to give it no purchase — and it sets the pattern the next passages will test to the breaking point.