Mrs. Spring Fragrance
about the Americans that he admired. He also entertained sentiments of
respect for a motto which hung in his room which bore the legend: “When
in Rome, do as the Romans do.”
“What is best for men is also best for women in this country,” he told
Pau Tsu when she wept over his suggestion that she should take some
lessons in English from a white woman.
“It may be best for a man who goes out in the street,” she sobbed, “to
learn the new language, but of what importance is it to a woman who
lives only within the house and her husband’s heart?”
It was seldom, however, that she protested against the wishes of Lin Fo.
As her mother-in-law had said, she was a docile, happy little creature.
Moreover, she loved her husband.
But as the days and weeks went by the girl bride whose life hitherto had
been spent in the quiet retirement of a Chinese home in the performance
of filial duties, in embroidery work and lute playing, in sipping tea
and chatting with gentle girl companions, felt very much bewildered by
the novelty and stir of the new world into which she had been suddenly
thrown. She could not understand, for all Lin Fo’s explanations, why it
was required of her to learn the strangers’ language and adopt their
ways. Her husband’s tongue was the same as her own. So also her little
maid’s. It puzzled her to be always seeing this and hearing that—sights
and sounds which as yet had no meaning for her. Why also was it
necessary to receive visitors nearly every evening?—visitors who could
neither understand nor make themselves understood by her, for all their
curious smiles and stares, which she bore like a second Vashti—or
rather, Esther. And why, oh! why should she be constrained to eat her
food with clumsy, murderous looking American implements instead of with
her own elegant and easily manipulated ivory chopsticks?
Adah Raymond, who at Lin Fo’s request was a frequent visitor to the
house, could not fail to observe that Pau Tsu’s small face grew daily
smaller and thinner, and that the smile with which she invariably
greeted her, though sweet, was tinged with melancholy. Her woman’s
instinct told her that something was wrong, but what it was the light
within her failed to discover. She would reach over to Pau Tsu and take
within her own firm, white hand the small, trembling fingers, pressing
them lovingly and sympathetically; and the little Chinese woman would
look up into the beautiful face bent above hers and think to herself:
“No wonder he wishes me to be like her!”
If Lin Fo happened to come in before Adah Raymond left he would engage
the visitor in bright and animated conversation. They had so much of
common interest to discuss, as is always the way with young people who
have lived any length of time in a growing city of the West. But to Pau
Tsu, pouring tea and dispensing sweetmeats, it was all Greek, or rather,
all American.
“Look, my pearl, what I have brought you,” said Lin Fo one afternoon as
he entered his wife’s apartments, followed by a messenger-boy, who
deposited in the middle of the room a large cardboard box.
With murmurs of wonder Pau Tsu drew near, and the messenger-boy having
withdrawn Lin Fo cut the string, and drew forth a beautiful lace evening
dress and dark blue walking costume, both made in American style.
For a moment there was silence in the room. Lin Fo looked at his wife in
surprise. Her face was pale and her little body was trembling, while her
hands were drawn up into her sleeves.
“Why, Pau Tsu!” he exclaimed, “I thought to make you glad.”
At these words the girl bent over the dress of filmy lace, and gathering
the flounce in her hand smoothed it over her knee; then lifting a
smiling face to her husband, replied: “Oh, you are too good, too kind to
your unworthy Pau Tsu. My speech is slow, because I am overcome with
happiness.”
Then with exclamations of delight and admiration she lifted the dresses
out of the box and laid them carefully over the couch.
“I wish you to dress like an American woman when we go out or receive,”
said her husband. “It is the proper thing in America to do as the
Americans do. You will notice, light of my eyes, that it is only on New
Year and our national holidays that I wear the costume of our country
and attach a queue. The wife should follow the husband in all things.”
A ripple of laughter escaped Pau Tsu’s lips.
“When I wear that dress,” said she, touching the walking costume, “I
will look like your friend, Miss Raymond.”
She struck her hands together gleefully, but when her husband had gone
to his business she bowed upon the floor and wept pitifully.
III
During the rainy season Pau Tsu was attacked with a very bad cough. A
daughter of Southern China, the chill, moist climate of the Puget Sound
winter was very hard on her delicate lungs. Lin Fo worried much over the
state of her health, and meeting Adah Raymond on the street one
afternoon told her of his anxiety. The kind-hearted girl immediately
returned with him to the house. Pau Tsu was lying on her couch, feverish
and breathing hard. The American girl felt her hands and head.
“She must have a doctor,” said she, mentioning the name of her family’s
physician.
Pau Tsu shuddered. She understood a little English by this time.
“No! No! Not a man, _not_ a man!” she cried.
Adah Raymond looked up at Lin Fo.
“I understand,” said she. “There are several women doctors in this town.
Let us send for one.”
But Lin Fo’s face was set.
“No!” he declared. “We are in America. Pau Tsu shall be attended to by
your physician.”
Adah Raymond was about to protest against this dictum when the sick
wife, who had also heard it, touched her hand and whispered: “I not mind
now. Man all right.”
So the other girl closed her lips, feeling that if the wife would not
dispute her husband’s will it was not her place to do so; but her heart
ached with compassion as she bared Pau Tsu’s chest for the stethoscope.
“It was like preparing a lamb for slaughter,” she told her sister
afterwards. “Pau Tsu was motionless, her eyes closed and her lips
sealed, while the doctor remained; but after he had left and we two were
alone she shuddered and moaned like one bereft of reason. I honestly
believe that the examination was worse than death to that little Chinese
woman. The modesty of generations of maternal ancestors was crucified as
I rolled down the neck of her silk tunic.”
It was a week after the doctor’s visit, and Pau Tsu, whose cough had
yielded to treatment, though she was still far from well, was playing on
her lute, and whisperingly singing this little song, said to have been
written on a fan which was presented to an ancient Chinese emperor by
one of his wives:
“Of fresh new silk,
All snowy white,
And round as a harvest moon,
A pledge of purity and love,
A small but welcome boon.
While summer lasts,
When borne in hand,
Or folded on thy breast,
’Twill gently soothe thy burning brow,
And charm thee to thy rest.
But, oh, when Autumn winds blow chill,
And days are bleak and cold,
No longer sought, no longer loved,
’Twill lie in dust and mould.
This silken fan then deign accept,
Sad emblem of my lot,
Caressed and cherished for an hour,
Then speedily forgot.”
“Why so melancholy, my pearl?” asked Lin Fo, entering from the street.
“When a bird is about to die, its notes are sad,” returned Pau Tsu.
“But thou art not for death—thou art for life,” declared Lin Fo, drawing
her towards him and gazing into a face which day by day seemed to grow
finer and more transparent.
IV
A Chinese messenger-boy ran up the street, entered the store of Wan Hom
Hing & Co. and asked for the junior partner. When Lin Fo came forward he
handed him a dainty, flowered missive, neatly folded and addressed. The
receiver opened it and read:
DEAR AND HONORED HUSBAND,—Your unworthy Pau Tsu lacks the courage to
face the ordeal before her. She has, therefore, left you and prays you
to obtain a divorce, as is the custom in America, so that you may be
happy with the Beautiful One, who is so much your Pau Tsu’s superior.
This, she acknowledges, for she sees with your eyes, in which, like a
star, the Beautiful One shineth. Else, why should you have your Pau
Tsu follow in her footsteps? She has tried to obey your will and to be
as an American woman; but now she is very weary, and the terror of
what is before her has overcome.
Your stupid thorn,
PAU TSU
Mechanically Lin Fo folded the letter and thrust it within his breast
pocket. A customer inquired of him the price of a lacquered tray. “I
wish you good morning,” he replied, reaching for his hat. The customer
and clerks gaped after him as he left the store.
Out in the street, as fate would have it, he met Adah Raymond. He would
have turned aside had she not spoken to him.
“Whatever is the matter with you, Mr. Wan?” she inquired. “You don’t
look yourself at all.”
“The density of my difficulties you cannot understand,” he replied,
striding past her.
But Adah Raymond was persistent. She had worried lately over Pau Tsu.
“Something is wrong with your wife,” she declared.
Lin Fo wheeled around.
“Do you know where she is?” he asked with quick suspicion.
“Why, no!” exclaimed the girl in surprise.
“Well, she has left me.”
Adah Raymond stood incredulous for a moment, then with indignant eyes
she turned upon the deserted husband.
“You deserve it!” she cried, “I have seen it for some time: your cruel,
arbitrary treatment of the dearest, sweetest little soul in the world.”
“I beg your pardon, Miss Adah,” returned Lin Fo, “but I do not
understand. Pau Tsu is heart of my heart. How then could I be cruel to
her?”
“Oh, you stupid!” exclaimed the girl. “You’re a Chinaman, but you’re
almost as stupid as an American. Your cruelty consisted in forcing Pau
Tsu to be—what nature never intended her to be—an American woman; to
adapt and adopt in a few months’ time all our ways and customs. I saw it
long ago, but as Pau Tsu was too sweet and meek to see any faults in her
man I had not the heart to open her eyes—or yours. Is it not true that
she has left you for this reason?”
“Yes,” murmured Lin Fo. He was completely crushed. “And some other
things.”
“What other things?”
“She—is—afraid—of—the—doctor.”
“She is!”—fiercely—“Shame upon you!”
Lin Fo began to walk on, but the girl kept by his side and continued:
“You wanted your wife to be an American woman while you remained a
Chinaman. For all your clever adaptation of our American ways you are a
thorough Chinaman. Do you think an American would dare treat his wife as
you have treated yours?”
Wan Lin Fo made no response. He was wondering how he could ever have
wished his gentle Pau Tsu to be like this angry woman. Now his Pau Tsu
was gone. His anguish for the moment made him oblivious to the presence
of his companion and the words she was saying. His silence softened the
American girl. After all, men, even Chinamen, were nothing but big,
clumsy boys, and she didn’t believe in kicking a man after he was down.
“But, cheer up, you’re sure to find her,” said she, suddenly changing
her tone. “Probably her maid has friends in Chinatown who have taken
them in.”
“If I find her,” said Lin Fo fervently, “I will not care if she never