"We will not go for a while," Chan-King assured me.
We talked a great deal about my husband's visit, and I gained new light
on the actual facts of his estrangement from his family and the enormous
significance that his marriage assumed in the minds of his Chinese
relatives.
I can hardly exaggerate the importance of the position held by the
eldest son in the higher class Chinese household. After his father, he
is the male head of the family. His wife is the attendant shadow, the
never-failing companion of his mother. Our phrase, "A man marries," is
expressed in Chinese as "He leads in a new woman." Under the old regime
he literally did so, for he invariably brought his bride to his
ancestral home. The phrase for the marriage of a girl is, "She goes
forth from the family." "A new woman" is the term for a bride. The
Western education of many young men of the Chinese upper class has
resulted in some acute readjustment in the ancestral households. Often
these elder sons return, marry according to the old custom and live in
their parental homes. But often, too, they marry advanced Chinese women,
set up establishments and professions of their own, far from their
native cities, and live after semi-foreign ways.
In this respect, our case was somewhat typical. As I have already
related, Chan-King's mother had been looking forward for years to the
marriage of her eldest son with the little Miss Li-Ying. She had
expected in her middle age the usual release of the Chinese woman from
the bonds of youth. Having been a faithful and obedient wife and
daughter-in-law, she rightfully expected to assume authority over her
family, leaning on the arm of her son's wife. This younger woman would
take her place in the long chain of dutiful daughters; she would help to
welcome guests; she would keep up the family shrines; she would perform
all manner of household duties under the supervision of her
mother-in-law. On the death of her husband's mother, she would become
the woman head of the family, responsible for everything, her
privileges and authority growing with her years, especially if she were
the mother of sons. Her great mission would be to furnish children to
the clan, in order that the ancestral shrines might never be without
worshippers. I explain these matters at this point in order that I may
not be mistaken for a moment when I tell the incident that follows. By
this time, I had lived long enough in China to be almost thoroughly
orientalized, in so far as my sympathies were concerned at least, and
yet, when Chan-King, after talking for a while about the events of his
visit home, came to a full pause and said uncertainly, "There is one
thing I wish to tell you, but I am not sure you will understand," I was
a trifle apprehensive.
But I answered at once: "Of course I shall understand. China has been
kind to me. What have I to fear?"
Chan-King then went on deliberately: "Not until I saw my mother again
did I understand that I had done a really cruel thing to her, in
depriving her of a daughter-in-law on whom she could lean in her old
age. Oh, Margaret, woman's lot is not easy, with all the complexities of
parents and brothers and children! And I would have atoned for my share
in all this if I could--but of course there was nothing I could do,
nothing at all."
And very calmly he told me that shortly after his arrival at home his
mother had conferred with him seriously on her need of a
daughter-in-law. In accordance with ancient customs she wished him to
take a Chinese secondary wife, who would live in the family home, who
would be, in a fashion, proxy for me in the rôle of daughter-in-law.
Chan-King's mother offered to arrange this marriage for him and assured
him that the secondary wife and her children would be well cared for and
treated kindly during his long absences.
I listened incredulously, and the question I could not ask was in my
eyes. I knew, of course, that the custom of taking secondary wives was
not unusual among wealthy families in China, even where both wives lived
under the same roof. But I had given it only the most casual thought.
And not once had it occurred to me that the problem would touch my life.
Brought suddenly level with it, I suffered a shock at the very
foundation of my nature. I could not think, of course, in the moment
that followed my husband's recital. I only felt a great roaring tide of
pain rising about me, a sense of complete helplessness, such as I have
never known before or since. I wonder now at my instant subjective
readiness to believe that my husband had conformed to this custom of his
country; that he had shaken off his Western training at his first
renewed contact with the traditional habits of his race.
"Did--you----?" I asked finally, and stopped.
He came to me instantly, his arms about me. When he saw the distress in
my face, he frowned, with an odd, remorseful twist of the brows.
"I wonder that you ask," he said. "How could I come back to you--and to
your loyalty and trust--with the shadow of that deception between us? I
made it very clear to my mother that I would never have any wife but
you. It's you and I together, dear one, and no one else so long as we
both shall live."
And his words had the solemn sound of a vow renewed. This high honesty
of Chan-King's with me was a rock on which I founded my faith. And his
final repudiation of an accepted form among his people represented a
genuine sacrifice on his part, so far as his material welfare was
concerned. As generously and unhesitatingly as he had made the first
one, at our marriage, he laid the second votive offering on the altar
of our love. He had, you see, according to the view of his father and
mother, hopelessly injured them in his marriage. Above all, he had
denied in himself the great racial instinct of the Chinese to obey his
parents. If he wished to please them, here was his last opportunity. The
taking of a Chinese secondary wife would have been a complete atonement
in their eyes. At the same time it would have meant his instant
restoration to his rightful place among them--first in their affections
and inheritance. The family assistance would have placed him at once in
the position towards which, without it, he would probably have to
struggle for years.
And later I understood how very easily he might have complied without my
needing ever to know of the fact. Indeed, I could have lived in his
mother's house with a second wife and never have suspected that she was
there in that position, so securely welded and impassive is the clan
sense, the reserve and remoteness of the personal relation when the
family peace and dignity are to be considered.
Some of these matters I had been aware of since my life in China began,
some of them I learned that day in talking with Chan-King, and others,
as I have said, I discovered gradually afterwards. But from that day,
certainly, our relation subtly shifted and settled and crystallized. We
both became for ever certain that we could not fail each other in any
smallest thing. Into my heart came a warmth of repose, like a steadily
burning lamp. We were assured of our love beyond any possibility of
doubt, ever again. And for a time we experienced a renascence of
youthful happiness, a fine fervour of renewed hopes and ambitions, as
though spring had come again miraculously, when we had expected October.
The family letters came now regularly to Chan-King, with always a
kindly message for me. Evidently relations were to be resumed on the
plane of a good friendship, nothing more. But that was so much more than
we had dared to hope for that we were perfectly happy to have it so.
Chan-King must have mentioned his slowly failing health, for his mother
sent a worried letter to him and asked him to come home for a while once
more. Chan-King decided that his affairs would not warrant his absence
and wrote to her to that effect.
One morning as I sat in the sun-porch, sewing, Ah Ching appeared
suddenly before me.
"Master's mother, he downstairs," he announced calmly.