Furthermore, what Ch'i-chao desires to
say relates to what can be likened to the anxiety of one who,
fearing that the heavens may some day fall on him, strives to ward
off the catastrophe. If his words should be misunderstood, it
would only increase his offence. Time and again he has essayed to
write; but each time he has stopped short. Now he is going South
to visit his parents; and looking at the Palace-Gate from afar, he
realizes that he is leaving the Capital indefinitely. The thought
that he has been a protege of the Great President and that dangers
loom ahead before the nation as well as his sense of duty and
friendly obligations, charge him with the responsibility of saying
something. He therefore begs to take the liberty of presenting his
humble but extravagant views for the kind consideration of the
Great President.
The problem of Kuo-ti (form of State) appears to have gone too far
for reconsideration: the position is like unto a man riding on the
back of a wild tiger. ...Ch'i-chao therefore at one moment thought
he would say no more about it, since added comment thereon might
make him all the more open to suspicion. But a sober study of the
general situation and a quiet consideration of the possible future
make him tremble like an autumn leaf; for the more he meditates,
the more dangerous the situation appears. It is true that the
minor trouble of "foreign advice" and rebel plotting can be
settled and guarded against; but what Ch'i-chao bitterly deplores
is that the original intention of the Great President to devote
his life and energy to the interest of the country--an intention
he has fulfilled during the past four years--will be difficult to
explain to the world in future.
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