The Ginger Tree

by Oswald Wynd

  I am sure you are impatient with me for taking such a long time to get to the Empress, but it took us a long time to reach her from the alabaster bridge. Four ladies walked flanked by four Chinese men, who were dressed in long grey silk robes and may have been minor court officials or superior servants. They did not speak amongst themselves or to us, and I had the feeling they did not really approve of what they had to do, all of them wearing little round black caps, and two only with pigtails, the symbol of the Old China that has now become unfashionable, perhaps because most of the heads that were cut off after the Boxer Troubles, and exhibited, had pigtails. Our escort did not so much guide as herd us and I could see that the other ladies were a little unnerved by this. For my part I seemed to have got over nerves, my attention taken up by what I saw at each turning, another vista of garden with a pavilion in one corner, or a moon gate, or a long, long gallery of painted columns with delicate carving at the top of the pillars but a total plainness beneath. In the courtyards, and sometimes out in the gardens, were huge bronze animals, and lamps and what I suppose were enormous incense burners.

  Prince Tai was waiting for us in an open area in front of a heavily roofed building that looked as if all those tiles might soon crush it into the ground, the only thing in the whole palace precincts which didn’t seem light and gay. I had been expecting the Prince to be wearing a gorgeous Mandarin coat, but he was in European morning dress, probably in our honour, a short little man, with very short legs, and Richard would not have thought much of his tailor. He spoke excellent English but at a very slow pace, strange from a Chinese who always seem in their own language to be jabbering away at electric tramcar speed. He told us that Her Imperial Majesty was waiting and we were to follow him, but gave no instructions at all on protocol, perhaps there being none he could give us in a circumstance so outlandish as foreign ladies about to approach the Sacred Throne of the Manchus. He opened one half of huge lacquered doors himself, beyond which I expected to find an antechamber opening into another antechamber and so on, but no, we were in the salon of the audience itself.

  It was a very long room. I am not good at measurements, but perhaps it was as long as our church in Morningside, and like it had side aisles, these beyond wooden columns lacquered bright red. The main part of the hall was completely unfurnished, a huge expanse of polished wooden floor with a raised dais at the far end on which was the dragon throne, or one of them, in this case a carved black ebony chair. The one seated figure was surrounded by at least fifteen court ladies in brilliant embroidered tunics, all of them standing absolutely motionless. The figure in the chair, wearing more sombre colours, didn’t move either.

  As we walked forward bare boards creaked under our feet. They are said to be laid like this to give warning of approaching assassins, and certainly the sound was loud enough, the only sound, until suddenly there was a louder noise from an orchestra of flutes, fiddles and wooden clappers half hidden back in one of the aisles. About six feet from the platform four Hong Kong wicker chairs had been set in a half circle, each with its own table on which were cakes and sweetmeats. The chairs reminded me of the palm court at Peebles Hydro where we holidayed three years ago, tables laid there for tea, too, and the same chairs waiting, with music from behind a screen of greenery. And there was that Prussian aristocratic lady staying at the same time, the Baroness Von something or other, who behaved with such queenly arrogance, special seats reserved for her and her entourage, and everyone kowtowing as she moved down to her throne. This, rather oddly, was what I was thinking of as I approached an Empress, and I did not, as expected, find myself shivering with nerves.

  Just before we reached those chairs Edith Harding must have picked up a signal from Prince Tai which I didn’t see, for she went down into a very low curtsey, followed immediately by the other two, my performance coming rather late. Up on the platform no one moved, as though those glittering figures were taking part in a tableau picture, everyone waiting for the curtain to drop so they could breathe again, only here there was no curtain. Against that rigid stillness a movement from the Empress was startling, one hand lifted from her lap.

  It was not an ordinary hand, but a glittering of gold talons. I had heard about those nail shields but a first sight of them was startling. They were about a foot and a half long, perhaps more on the main fingers, and even if the gold was beaten quite thin those protectors of nails that are never cut must have weighed a great deal. Because of them the Imperial Lady can do nothing for herself, she must be fed, dressed, everything, by court ladies in constant attendance, even put to bed with those nail guards still on. For a minute or two I just stood there thinking what this meant, and staring at those hands which were back in her lap, like ribbed fans folded. Every morsel of food that went into her mouth had to be put there by others; the Empress who, next to King Edward, rules over more people on earth than anyone else, is almost as helpless as a cripple without arms. It is perhaps no wonder that she behaves sometimes like a mad woman.

  The orchestra which had burst out so suddenly went silent again and Prince Tai bade us be seated. Four European ladies sat down in chairs that creaked almost as loudly as the boards had done. We had not been instructed that we were not to look directly at Tsz’e Hsi, so I did this, getting an impression of a very small body under stiff robes covered with dark embroidery. Her face was very white, almost certainly with paint, and there was something quite eerie about that pallor, even her lips almost grey. What seemed to be rather thin black hair was drawn tight to a bun on the neck, exposing ears that were noticeably large against such a small head, and in which she wore what I think were opals. I have never seen Chinese ladies wearing diamonds, perhaps because these are not available in the country.

  It was soon plain that one of the things the Imperial Court simply did not know how to do was be informal. In their lives there is a rule for everything, but this party was completely outside any of those regulations drummed into them and it was my guess that they stood rigid because they were terrified of doing anything at all. Also, a slight mistake in etiquette or procedure, which with our Royal Family would be ignored or dismissed with only a mild rebuke, in China could mean banishment from Court and total disgrace to all the lady-in-waiting’s family. With Tsz’e Hsi’s reputation, a cup of poisoned tea might come into it.

  I had expected the proceedings, whatever they were to be, to be opened by some kind of a speech from Prince Tai, so you can imagine my surprise when, into silence, came a series of squeaks that might have been made by a large mouse. The Empress was talking from the dragon throne, but though I could see those grey lips moving, the sound almost seemed to come from the side aisles somewhere. It was a long message to which we all listened not comprehending one word and then, as abruptly as they had started, the squeaks stopped. Prince Tai, all this time standing to one side looking a little like a funeral director, now moved forward and began a translation. He told us that the Empress welcomed us with her whole heart, and that she was filled with only goodwill towards our countries and the people who came from them to live in the Celestial Capital. It was the Imperial wish that we and her subjects would live in total harmony and deep affection forever, with the mistaken past totally forgotten. Her Imperial Majesty had issued edicts that this was to be the feeling of all her people in all parts of the Chinese Empire.

  There was a lot more in this manner and then the Prince announced that tea would be served, after which would come informal conversation. The tea turned out to be us sipping from too big, handleless cups, while the court watched. With those nail guards the Empress could never take any kind of refreshment in public, so presumably none of her attendants were allowed to either. I felt terribly sorry for those ladies who were still playing living statues in that carefully arranged grouping around an old lady in a chair. Prince Tai didn’t get any tea either, or a seat.

  Informal conversation did not get off to a very good start, one reason for this being that the German wife speaks very little Engli
sh and the Italian wife none at all, and when Prince Tai tried them with French, they both bowed from the sitting position as though they understood all right, but neither uttered one word. Edith Harding, usually so much in control of things, wasn’t very fluent either and could not seem to get beyond some not particularly interesting talk about the weather. This left me with my mind as blank as Edith’s seemed to be but suddenly my good fairy, if I have one, came to my rescue with a topic that ought to interest someone who had spent so much money on it, the Summer Palace. Since I had been so impressed I must have sounded quite convincing, and as Prince Tai’s translation travelled up to the dragon throne I was very conscious of Tsz’e Hsi’s eyes on me, though her head never moved.

  When I had finished about the beauties of her residence, and the Prince had completed his translation, the mouse voice sounded out again, but this time the words had a crackle in them, of command. I was to come up on the platform and approach Her Imperial Majesty, which I did, suddenly very uneasy, by a flight of three steps at the side, the Prince my escort. Without being told to, I went into that low curtsey which really needs a special training I haven’t had, but for some reason I did not want to bow, especially the kind of bow that would have been called for here, amounting to almost total abasement. When I had straightened up again I stayed where I was, about five feet or so from the throne, and in a position which forced the Empress to turn her head to look at me, which she did. What I looked at were her hands. One of the finger guards moved, as though the owner of that fan had been about to open it, then decided not to.

  Prince Tai said Her Majesty had a present for me, and a servant brought it, a box about six inches long covered in padded black silk. The Prince told me to open the box, presumably because Tsz’e Hsi wanted to see my reaction to her gift, so I lifted the lid. On more padded silk, this time white, was a pair of earrings, jade and gold. The jade is obviously of the finest quality, long pendant pears of it, in shape very like those awful dangles Aunt Elsie always wears to go with her boned high-necked collars, and which on me would look even worse. I tried my best to look pleased and said that the earrings would be treasures in my family forever, and, while I got all that out, the Empress stared at me.

  I think it must be enamel on her face that stretches away wrinkles and leaves no expression, and in that mask her eyes seemed terribly alive, not old eyes at all, but full of a kind of dreadful energy and purpose. This may sound ridiculous, but I felt that she was looking at me greedily because I am young, thinking what she could still do if she had my youth, and angry because there was no way even an Empress could steal from me, for her own use, the years I have ahead. I think I understand now why she keeps the Emperor a prisoner and a puppet. He is young, too. She cannot bear to think of a world in which she is dead and gone.

  Richard has just come, I can hear him talking to the houseboy in the front court. This letter has been far too long as it is, so I will just close it quickly as:

  Your ever loving daughter,

  Mary

  157 Hutung Feng-huang, Peking

  July 12th, 1903

  After I had written to Mama about my visit to the Imperial Court, and posted it, I knew that I had said things in the letter that I should not have done. Today this was confirmed by Mama’s reply, reaching us by the swift Trans-Siberian service in which she says she is both angered and distressed by what seems to have happened to me. I appear to her to have suddenly grown hard and worldly, given to making would-be clever remarks about people which do nothing but show up the deficiencies in my own character. At my age I should be showing respect to those who are older, and therefore wiser, than me.

  I am a fool to have written to Mama as though she was a friend, not Mama. It is as if I had forgotten, in half a year, what she is really like and how she has always lived. Fortunately, as usual the post came after Richard had gone to the Legation. He reads all letters that come to me, as a husband’s right. But he will not read this one. I set a match to it and watched it burn in the empty drawing-room stove. In future I will always be the dutiful daughter and write to Mama about the weather and what a lovely evening we had at the Italian Legation. Perhaps it is as well that I have been checked in this way, because if I had not Mama might soon have been reading between the lines that I do not find being married to Richard what I hoped for in coming to China. I was a fool there, too. Why do we have to make such terrible decisions for our whole lives when we are too young to know what we are doing? The big mistakes are hung around your neck and you have to wear them forever.

  157 Hutung Feng-huang, Peking

  July 17th, 1903

  I changed my mind and went after all to see Dr Zimmerman the American who is doing duty while Dr Hotchkiss is on holiday in Japan. He was quite kind, and confirmed what I suspected. I am with child. I shall tell Richard tonight. Perhaps this will end what I do not want. I could not ask the doctor whether this is necessary. Marie, who has no children, can be of no help to me now. Edith would be of too much help. Oh, this house with its high walls holding in the summer heat!

  6

  The Temple of Ultimate Peace, Western Hills, China

  August 9th, 1904

  In spite of its high-flown name this building has rats, huge ones from the noise they make in the ceiling. Beneath the rats we live in near luxury, as one always expects with Marie and Armand, four servants from their Peking house plus Jane’s amah from ours. The camping furniture, or at least what Armand calls camping furniture, is extremely comfortable, all manner of canvas chairs and some smaller wicker ones, folding tables, mattresses inflated by bicycle pumps, even rugs over the worm-eaten floors. Food supplies reach us by pack mule from Peking every second or third day and we drink what Armand says is the only thing for really hot weather, champagne. He has devised a cooling arrangement in a little stream that comes down through the rocks behind us.

  I am beginning now to feel the charm of the Western Hills, though not at all attracted by them at first, wondering what all the fuss was about beyond the fact that they offer an escape from that cooped-up feeling we all get in Peking. I am used enough to bare hills in Scotland, but those are green and these, on approach, a burned-up browny yellow, seeming completely part of a landscape dedicated to dust storms from the Gobi Desert. It is only when you get in amongst them that you discover almost secret-seeming glens in which the natural growth has escaped the terrible woodcutters of China. Great clumps of bamboo flourish up to a height of twenty feet, with tree-sized rhododendrons and magnolias which must be wonderful in bloom. The temple garden here was once cultivated, though long since left to ruin, and Armand has found in it what he says may be a ginkgo tree. He is something of a botanist and has pressed the leaves to have them identified. Apparently the ginkgo is something from another geological age, long since extinct everywhere except in China, a kind of link between conifers and ferns. Armand says fossils of its leaves have been found on the Island of Mull in Scotland. He is a man of strange areas of knowledge suddenly revealed but none of these revelations ever really noticed by Marie. Perhaps he is so kind to me because I do notice, but then again in fairness to Marie she clearly sees things in Richard which I do not, for he is certainly much more light-hearted in her company than he ever seems to be with me. This might be because their backgrounds are similar, both from old families, if in different countries, whereas the Mackenzies of South Edinburgh could not even name a great-grandfather or, indeed, have ever heard much about grandfathers. This is something that Richard will never understand about me, that I live without ancestors, whereas his life at Mannington was surrounded by innumerable generations of them, all in dark paintings watching as he went up the stairs to bed as a boy. It is probably a particularly terrible thing to live in the Far East without ancestors, where they are so highly prized, but in honesty I cannot feel that I miss them.

  In a way this is a rather sad holiday, the first and probably the last I will ever have with the de Chamonpierres who leave for Washington at the end of
September. Since that is an Embassy, not just a Legation, this is real promotion for Armand, and Marie already sees herself as a hostess in America, astonishing the capital with her splendid entertainments and gourmet food, at which I can see Armand wincing a little for, though they must be very well off indeed, he is a man who worries about expenditure, I think. Anyone married to Marie would!