Chan Hen Yen, Chinese Student | ||
II.
When Chan Han Fong learned that his cousin loved a woman of the white race, and was resolved to do as the American men do when they fall in love, his face became pallid.
"What!" he cried, "you will relinquish your sacred ambition to work for China, dishonor your ancestors, disregard your parents' wishes, and set at naught your betrothal to the daughter of Tien Wang—all for sake of a woman of alien blood?"
"Yes," declared Han Yen, his face shining, "love is more than all."
"You have gone mad," cried Chan Han Fong, "think of the sorrow and disgrace which you will bring upon all to whom you are bound by the ties of relationship, gratitude and affection. Is a feeling which obliterates and destroys every virtuous thought and sentiment, worth cherishing?"
"The feeling which possesses me," replied Han Yen, "is divine."
Chan Han Fong stepped to his desk and took therefrom a paper: "Listen," said he, "six months ago you wrote:
What would I not sacrifice,
To see thee uphold thyself,
Among the nations,
For bitterer than death, 'tis to know,
That thou that wert more glorious than all,
Now lieth as low as the lowest,
Whilst the feet of those whom thou didst despise,
Rest insolently upon thy limbs,
The Middle Kingdom wert thou called,
The country that Heaven loves,
Thou wert the birthplace of the arts, the sciences,
And all mankind blessing inventions,
Thy princes rested in benevolence,
Thy wise men were revered,
Thy people happy.
But now, the empire which is the oldest
under the heavens is falling,
And lesser nations stand ready to smite,
The nation that first smote itself,
Truly Mencius has said:
'The loss of the empire comes through
losing the hearts of the people.'
The hearts of the people being lost,
Who shall restore the Empire?"
Silence followed this declamation. Chan Han Yen's face fell, bowed upon his hands.
"Alas for China!" exclaimed Chan Han Fong, his own young eyes glowing with fateful fire. "When those who know how she can and must be saved—the very ones who could and should be her saviours—turn traitor to her."
The bowed head was lifted.
"Oh, Fong," plead Han Yen, "I can no more be as I have been. The aim and purpose of my existence has changed. And what is one student to China?"
"Why are you here?" sternly demanded Chan Han Fong. Then, because his young cousin was dear to him, he went over to where the boy leaned, and laying his arm around his shoulder, pleaded with him thus:
"See, my cousin! The flowers of the fields and of the woods and dales! Those of a kind come up together. The sister violet companions her brother. Only
Han Yen trembled.
At that moment a girl's voice floated through the window.
"Yen, Yen," it called, "I want you to go into town with me."
Han Yen shook off his cousin's detaining hand.
"Pardon me," said he, "but I must go."
"Ah!" soliloquized Chan Han Fong, gazing sadly after him. "A low caste American girl has disordered his mind."
The year before Han Yen had come to the University, Han Fong had been invited, with several other Chinese students, to spend an afternoon at the home of a wealthy and cultured maiden lady who lived on the other side of the river. This lady, who was white haired, soft voiced and comprehending, had entertained the Chinese youths in what to them, was a most delightful fashion. Han Fong had never forgotten that afternoon, nor one who had been a part of and in harmony with it—a young girl, almost a child in years, tall and slender, with thoughtful eyes and quiet ways. That young girl had not belittled the foreign students by flirting with and plying them with numerous personal questions; but Han Fong had taken note that she had listened with interest while their hostess charmed them to talk of their work and aspirations, and that the few remarks which she had made, were intelligent, and proved, that young though she was, she understood the purpose of their lives and sympathised with it.
Because of that young girl, seen and heard but once, Chan Han Fong, called Carrie Bray, "low caste."
Chan Hen Yen, Chinese Student | ||