The Bitter Tea of General Yen

Well, if it isn't Amelia, our little

tower of strength from Tientsin.

And Dr. Hansen. Shades

of Canton and Pearl River.

Rain and refugees and shooting

all the way. My, what a country.

Hello, Mrs. Blake.

Hello, Mrs. Jackson.

Come in, Mr. Pettis.

Haven't seen you since the gunboats

rescued us from General Yen.

Yeah.

By the skin of our teeth, wasn't it?

Close one, that, close one, that.

Step into the living room.

Everybody in China is here.

Literally everybody.

And no wonder. No missionary in

China would miss Dr. Strike's wedding.

No, indeed. Step right in.

Where is the bride

and groom?

They're not here yet.

What?

Oh, she's on her way

from the ship

with my husband.

Oh. And Bob?

Oh, Dr. Strike telephoned.

He'll be busy working among the

refugees until the very last moment.

He didn't even have time to

meet the boat. Imagine that.

That's Robert Strike all over.

And you say he hasn't

seen her in three years?

No. They're supposed to be

childhood sweethearts.

I can hardly wait

till I see them kiss.

Amelia.

Who is the bride, Mrs. Jackson?

Megan Davis.

Finest old Puritan family

in New England, my dear.

Her father's a big publisher.

Very old family.

I hope Dr. Strike

isn't making a mistake.

No. I hear she is young,

attractive, full of energy.

She'll need it.

Yes.

Dedicating her life to the

service of mankind in China.

Just what I did 50 years ago

with my own bride, Mary.

Yes, it's glorious.

And yet, I pity her.

Pity her?

I've spent 50 years

in China,

and there are times when I think

we're just a lot of persistent ants

trying to move

a great mountain.

Bishop, how can you say that?

After all that you've done?

Yes, I do pity her.

When I think of what

she has to face, I...

Only last month I learned

a terrible lesson.

I was telling the story

of the Crucifixion

to some Mongolian tribesmen.

Finally, l... I thought

I had touched their hearts.

They crept closer

to my little platform,

their eyes burning with the

wonder of their attention.

Mongolian bandits, mind you,

listening spellbound.

But, alas, I had misinterpreted

their interest in the story.

The next caravan of merchants

that crossed the Gobi Desert

was captured by them

and crucified.

That, my friends, is China.

Miss Davis, please.

Come on. Miss Davis!

You've run down

my rickshaw boy.

Yes.

That Chinaman in the car doesn't

seem to care much. It was his fault.

Aren't you going to send

for an ambulance?

Is he badly hurt?

Aren't you going to do anything

for that boy? He may be dying.

If so, he is very fortunate.

Life, even at its best,

is hardly endurable.

How can you be so unfeeling?

What kind of a man are you anyway?

Oh, I'm so sorry.

Do you want a handkerchief?

Madam, it's raining, and I'm

afraid you are getting wet.

Miss Davis, I've gotten

another rickshaw boy.

Come on, come on!

You shouldn't have

done that, Miss Davis.

Oh, I couldn't help it.

Everybody was so callous.

I know, but human life

is the cheapest thing in China.

Oh, I do hope the bishop's

going to like them.

It is a wonderful event... Yes?

Oh, here comes the bride.

The bride.

Play "Here Comes the Bride."

Here comes the bride.

Megan Davis!

My land, child.

It's been 11 years since I saw

you last. Let me look at you.

Shh!

Folks, this is

Miss Megan Davis.

Take a good look at her,

because in half an hour,

the poor thing will be

Mrs. Robert Strike.

No, no, no, no, you can't

get acquainted with her now.

She's gotta get ready for the

slaughter. Come on, Megan.

But I can't understand it.

The owner of the car

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