The second wife — a wife taken anew後娶

Jifu was a worthy father and Boqi was a filial son. A worthy father had charge of a filial son, and it should have gone on to the end as their natures intended; but the second wife came between them, and Boqi was cast out at last. When Zeng Shen's wife died he said to his son, "I am not the equal of Jifu, and you are not the equal of Boqi." When Wang Jun lost his wife he too said to someone, "I am not the equal of Zeng Shen, and my sons are not the match of Hua and Yuan." Both of them went to the end of their lives without marrying again. Cases like these are warning enough. Since then, stepmothers who have used the children left behind with cruelty, who have set flesh and blood against each other and broken hearts and cut through bowels, are past all counting. Be careful of this. Be careful of this.

In Jiangzuo no shame is attached to children born of concubines. After a man loses his wife, he commonly lets a concubine see the household through to the end. Small frictions, no worse than an itch or a mosquito, may not be avoided, but the great divisions of standing hold, and so the disgrace of open quarrels is rare. In Hebei children born on the side are held to be base and are not counted among people of standing, and so a man must marry again, sometimes three or four times, until there are mothers younger than their sons. The younger son of the second wife and the elder son of the first are set apart in clothes and in food, and on to marriage and office, until the gap between gentleman and commoner, between high and low, opens between them; and custom takes this for ordinary. After the father dies, lawsuits fill the gate of the magistrate's office and slander and abuse are heard along the road. A son falsely calls his mother a concubine, a younger brother puts down his elder brother as a hired hand, and everywhere there are men who drag up the words and the doings the dead left behind and lay bare the faults of their ancestors, all to prove themselves in the right. How sad this is. From ancient times treacherous ministers and flattering concubines have brought men down with a single word, and they have been many. How much more so when the bond of husband and wife shifts a heart morning and evening, and servants seeking favor lend their help and draw the man along. Let the years and the months pile up, and what filial son is left? This cannot but be feared.

By the common run of nature, a second husband often loves the orphan of the first husband, while a second wife is sure to be cruel to the children of the first wife. It is not only that a woman harbors jealousy and that a man has the weakness of being besotted; the shape of things makes it so. The first husband's orphan cannot presume to dispute the household with his own son. He leads him and raises him, and as the habit builds, love grows, and so he loves him. The children of the first wife always stand above the ones she has borne, and there is nothing in office, in learning, or in marriage that she does not block, and so she is cruel to them. When a child of another surname is loved, the parents draw resentment. When a stepmother is cruel, brothers become enemies. Where a household holds such a thing, it is a calamity for the whole house.

Yin Waichen, cousin to the maternal uncle of Silu and his brothers, was a man of wide learning. His sons Ji and Chen had both grown up when he married again, taking a woman of the Wang family. Whenever Ji bowed before his stepmother he longed for his own mother and sobbed and could not hold himself together, and no one in the house could bear to look up. The lady Wang too was grieved and desolate and did not know where to put herself, and after ten days or so she asked to withdraw, and was sent away with all due rite. This too is a thing to regret.

The Book of the Later Han says, "In the time of Emperor An, Xue Bao of Runan, whose courtesy name was Mengchang, loved learning and was steady in conduct, and when he lost his mother he became known for the utmost filial devotion. When his father took a second wife, the father came to hate Bao and divided the property and sent him out. Bao cried aloud day and night and would not go, until he was beaten with a staff. Having no choice, he built a hut outside the house, and each morning he came in to sprinkle the ground and sweep it. His father grew angry and drove him out again, so he built a hut at the village gate, and did not leave off his morning and evening greetings. After a year and more his parents were ashamed and called him back. Later he wore mourning for six years, and his grief went past all measure. Before long his younger brother's son asked to divide the property and live apart. Bao could not stop him, and so he split the property in two. Of the servants he took the old ones, and said, 'They have worked with me a long time, and you would not be able to make use of them.' Of the fields and the houses he took the rough and ruined ones, and said, 'These are what I tended when I was young, and my heart clings to them.' Of the vessels he took the worn and broken ones, and said, 'These are what I have always used and eaten from, and my body and my mouth are at ease with them.' When his brother's son ran through the property again and again, Bao helped him out once more. In the Jianguang years he was called up specially by the Public Carriage office (公車) and appointed Palace Attendant. Bao was quiet and unassuming by nature. He pleaded illness and did not take up the post, and begged to be released even unto death. An edict was issued granting him leave to go home."