Evening Star Newspaper, April 7, 1935, Page 86

GO OFTEN to the shop of T'sao Chun. It is by faru\emostmtaesung place in an otherwise dingy Chinese quarter. No- where cise, even in the Celes- tial City, are there such clear jades and intricate carvings cleverly set mthttona and heart of a Manchu princess of that never-to - be - forgotten oourt. One afternoon while I was fingering a tray of jade charms, T'sao Chun himself appeared and, pleased with my appre- ciation of his treasures, said graciously : “l'he goldm tea bowls, which am infinitely un- worth po.eumg would ful such an illus- sence of the tea plant from I accepted eagerly, for this was in reality a mark of great esteem, and preceded by my host I entered a door at the hckofdledaboratenlwp you know the histories of many of the treas- ures in your shop,” I said a few minutes later, as I sipped cup. My host was lost for a mo- ment in dreamy contemplation of the lofty room. Weird shadows shifted over the silk hung walls, weaving strange patterns upon the soft rugs wood cabinets, carved opium stands, and tall urns of blue porcelain clustered in the cor- ners, and gradually I too feit the soft peace of the room steal over me like an incense- laden spell. “Yes, my son,” T’sao Chun replied musingly. ‘“One of your great writers says, ‘Every Ming vase, every porcelain called T’ch’ai-yo, every figure of the Genius of the Hearth, of the blessed Lao-Tse of the the feet of a horse and the face of a woman has a story of strife and warfare, an in- u'ldmonofloveand Mtcll' lhappenedtonot:oeforthc first time an exquisitely carved bird whoee cage of gold Far, far across the yellow water, in the city of Hax'l(t:how,u:mely.ld umt pttilaalu‘e ydom; upon the prison y promise O summer was fulfilled and the noonday heat “0 Thou Perfectly Awakened, "hemoaned as one craving solace from the Sacred Book, “all forms are but temporary, all are subject to pain! Help me to bear the ignominy of my THIS WEEK Willow Ware A tale of love in a flower-fragrant gam’en and of courage | on a peril-haunted river by HILDA BOTTOMLEY “] dream of her at night, more beautiful than that lovely one who held an emperor in thrall” queueless pate. Bestow upon Thy Ho Nan a back of stone to endure the whip! Nothing is permanent — pain is not permanent —grant, O Merciful, that I but crawl to the shadow of ue‘l‘ahlwdenwalletelnekthespmtsof my ancestors.’ Once more, for the fourth time, the coolies flayed the young man, the leather thong cut- ting deep into the soft flesh of his bare back again and again. Then as it drew near night- fall, they departed, leaving him in a dusky solitude little cooler than the burning day. Some time during the first writhing hours he had relapsed into a stupor-like sleep when the mh'i)xfna low voice calling his name a i “Ho Nan! Ho Nan!" he heard, and lifting himself painfully, he saw, coming toward him throuhthegloom his benchmate in the jade- carving shop of Chen T'si. The touch of cool water on his shaven pate somewhat revived him, a cloth of protectmg linen eased his raw , and in mute gratitude he drained a ptofiered cup of tea. ‘“Thou art indeed a benefactor, Wen Chu!” sighed Ho Nan. Block Print, Copyright by Bertha Lum April 7, 1935 Wen Chu squatted beside him, a look of sympathy on his usually expressionless face. ‘“And thou art a fool, Ho Nan,” he said crossly, ‘‘to look so high for thy wife. Dost thou not know that our employer'sdaughter, Lee Tah, is betrothed to His Excellency the Tao-tai, Wu T'sa?"” Ho Nan, despite his weak- ened ‘oondition. spoke with asperity. “I but went to her garden ““Thou art twice a fool to have spent the hours of even- windows of her father's shop. First a tender sprout, she grew into a delicate plant, a swaying willow branch twin- ing itself into my very life. When she was but a child, it was | who guided her coral hands, like frail petals of the Moon Blossom, teaching them to select the yellow jade — to know precious gems. Each day, since my father appren- ticed me to her father, Chen T'si, | have dreamed of a betrothal between us and of that day when in her red laquered marriage chair she should take her glorious way to my unworthy house.” The eyes of Wen Chu had grown very round. “Thou art mad, Ho Nan!" he whispered. “Thou, a poor jade carver, and she a rich man's daughter! How couldst thou dream of such a be- trothal? Can the lark mate with the fieldmouse?” Ho Nan’s voice was the voice of the man who sees visions: “She is the mate of all mydays. In the heart of the emerald, I see her beckon- ing form—in the ruby, her carmine lips. Blacker than polished onyx is the sheen of her glistening hair, fairer than ivory, the perfection of her brow. I dream of her at night, more beautiful than that lovely one who held an emperor in thrall.” Wen Chu shuddered fear- somely. “Surely some evil kwei has possessed thee that thou shouldst desire the be- trothed of another.” Ho Nan's voice shook as he replied: “Wen Chu, that she should be promised to the loathsome Wu T’sa is more than I can bear. He is of even greater age than her father, with loose mouth, heavy jowls and beadlike eyes that mask not the lust in them. Why should the youth and beauty, of my beloved be bartered for a red-button-cap for her father?"” “Hast thou forgotten, Ho Nan, that the dig- nity of years and wisdom is beautiful in what- ever guise?” reproved his friend. “Thou art wrong. Wu T'sa has many lesser wives. He is a ceaseless smoker of the pipe of dreams, and it is common talk that his taels are wrung from the bleeding backs of the coolies. Is this honorable in the Tao-tai of the , province?"’ “The engagement papers have been ex- changed. Why didst thou enter her garden? ( Continued on page 9)