Although she was astonished that the momentary object of her desire should not show more eagerness, Blanche was now completely reassured as to the final victory. If necessary she could force his attentions, his devotion and …. the rest. The difficulties she was meeting with only enhanced the value of the prize. In short, resistance made her keener.
All these things flitted through her mind as her husband came to tell her it was time to go downstairs to receive her guests. The “boys” were waiting silently in the hall, clothed in long robes of tussore, their waists encircled by a sash with an enamelled buckle. They wore ceremonial hats of straw with red horse hair.
Young Graziolli of the customs service arrived first. He began talking at once about the various race courses in China. He was better acquainted with them than any one else because he had won a good many prizes; he was one of the best jockeys of that time. Other guests soon streamed in and finally came the beautiful Mrs. Brixton, her husband with her, though he had never even sent word that he had returned from his trip that very morning. The two women exchanged the usual politenesses with the exaggerated show of friendship always shown by two rivals to hide their real feelings.
Beaurelois, going from group to group, offered cocktails and pressed his guests to taste the sandwiches made of the yolk of egg and stuffed olives. The lady of the house began to feel uneasy; Jean Maugrais had not yet arrived. Would he desert at the last moment? No, here he was, followed closely by the Maricourts, always the last everywhere. The husband, of course, said it was his wife’s fault. She got home from tennis at 8 o’clock; she always did things like that; she would never learn to be punctual.
“Now, old man,” said Maugrais, annoyed at all this fuss, “don’t talk nonsense, you weren’t home early either, because at 8 you were still playing bridge at the Club.”
The first “boy” announced dinner.
They went into the dining room, passing through the suite of drawing rooms, with their inviting divans and discreet lights.
This discretion showed that the mistress of the house was a past master in the art of flirting and knew its needs.
Beaurelois had carefully followed Maugrais’ advice and put Chatours next to Mrs. Brixton. Already before they had finished the soup, the pretty American opened fire: “Is all they say about you true,” she said suddenly, “I am told you live over by the Bell Tower in the Chinese City near the Wall. Your house is full of mystery, and if I am to believe all I am told, very strange things happen there.”
“Good Heavens, Mrs. Brixton, people are very kind to take such an interest in me and in what I do. Of course like all good globe trotters, I ought to stay at the Hotel de Pekin, but I can assure you that nothing strange or mysterious happens in the Chinese house that shelters me. I am stupid enough to be interested in China, so naturally I avoid the Legation Quarter where my old friends the bonzes would fear to venture. I prefer my solitude to the noisy comings and goings on the scented shores of the Jade Canal, which, by the way I regret to learn is going to be transformed into a smart boulevard.” This allusion to the stench of the sewer poetically named “Jade Canal” made his neighbour smile. She was on the point of continuing her questions when Jean Maugrais, who had been watching her, joined in the conversation.
“Don’t believe him, Mrs. Brixton, look at him, he is just a mass of vice; he goes in for all sorts of orgies. It certainly was not for nothing that he fled from France where he had made himself quite impossible. Here he can gratify his strange appetites and satisfy all his curiosity.”
He did not seem to relish the joke. Mrs. Brixton, on the contrary, her eyes shining, hastened to draw from her neighbour in an aside, some details of that life, full of mystery, therefore so exciting.
Sandwiched between two Ministers, Blanche lent only half an ear to the description of the purchase of the last batch of curios that Maricourt was giving with much satisfaction. He had discovered in a shop on Hatamen street two vases of the Ming period without a chip. Gaillard, who buys Chinese works of art for Paris houses, had guaranteed they were authentic. The price was only three hundred dollars; it was really for nothing, they must have been stolen from the Palace.
Then every one waxed enthusiastic over a duck’s liver pate being handed round. Questioned about it, Blanche answered with modesty that it was made in the house. Mme. de Beaurelois boasted and rightly too, that they had the best cook in Peking. She could not resist the pleasure of recalling how, some weeks earlier, the wife of a South American Minister, newly arrived in China, had tried to get him. All the guests smiled, for the tale had already spread. The lady in question, dining at the Beaurelois, had frankly confided in her table neighbour, the Russian Minister, and expressed her surprise at the refusal she had encountered. He, without a minute’s hesitation, repeated it in Russian to his neighbour, a fellow-country woman, who hastened to circulate it.
For some time the conversation turned on culinary matters. Maricourt observed that his cook had an extraordinary receipt for tournedos with a Bearnaise sauce. The French Legation had given it to him, for a certain Minister there in the Boxer time, had brought to Peking a Cordon bleu who had been trained at the Maison Doré. This led the conversation to the Legation siege and the hardships undergone, and for a few minutes an old resident was allowed to air his reminiscences.
Meanwhile, at the other end of the table, Maxwell talked politics and mourned over China’s senility. In spite of the Republic, nothing was changed and the same faults were repeated. Chatours, who began to feel embarrassed at Mrs. Brixton’s questioning, joined in this conversation: “I find,” he said, “that it is wrong to criticize what is actually happening in China or to wish to impose on this unfortunate country our own so-called superior method of governing. On the contrary, Europe has much to learn from China. The latter was civilized long before the former. Is it not marvellous to see how this huge country is governed; its population is more than 400 millions! The number of officials is infinitesimal in comparison, so the public scarcely suffer from their unnecessary zeal.
“Although all European Powers have crushing budgets showing every year the inevitable deficit, and thus worrying the minds of those who think of the future, China, in its greater wisdom, has such a simple governing machine that it does not even feel the need of establishing its debit and credit accounts every year.
“Of course you have no taxi cabs crowding the streets, nor homicidal autobuses, that terror of the pedestrian, but are they essential to the happiness of the majority? On the other hand, see how good the police service is here, you can go anywhere without fear, at any hour of the day or night whilst in Paris even in broad day-light you may be attacked on the Boulevards by Hooligans.”
This paradox amused them all and other talk ceased.
Jean Maugrais, astonished to see the unusual turn the conversation had taken, answered. “That’s all very well, but you would have great difficulty in getting us to admit the corruption that flourishes in all ranks is a thing we should envy China.”
“The squeeze,” said Chatours, “is certainly not the best thing in the organization of the country, but after all, it is just as good a system of government as many others. The officials buy their jobs, certainly, but then, they thus procure, directly or indirectly, important sums for the Treasury. Is it not just they should recover their expenditure by taking a percentage of the taxes they collect? The administration of China is in a way farmed out to the Mandarins, that is all. But did we not employ the same methods up to the time of the Revolution?”
“Yes,” said Maugrais, “but that was the cause of the Revolution.”
The women, who had been amused for a minute or two, ceased to listen.
Jean noticed this and so did Chatours, but he could not resist the pleasure of adding: “The Revolution took place here too, but it was better managed than in France, without a scaffold, without any taking of the Bastille. A simple decree from the young Emperor who, acknowledging himself unworthy to reign, took upon his sh
oulders the responsibility of the country’s ills and declared to his people a Republic would henceforth be the form of Government in China! That sufficed to change the established order. After that, can you pretend that China is not a country of progressive ideas?”
They all laughed and the conversation fell back into the usual trend of gossip. That good sort, Graziolli, talked scandal as willingly as he told stories of ponies. He counted the women who would spend the hot season in Pei Tai Ho or Shan Hai Kwan and the young sparks who would join them there later.
The “boys” with their noiseless steps, handed round the savoury. Dinner was finished. Blanche signed to her husband and they all went on to the verandah where coffee was served. Unconsciously the party formed itself into groups. As a consolation for Maugrais’ indifference, Blanche exerted herself to amuse Chatours. She showed him a Kosseu she had just bought. Mrs. Brixton, abandoned by Chatours, suddenly perceived she was near Maugrais. Having nothing to say to her, he found the situation awkward. A cold and inimical expression in her eyes astonished him. He did not want to break the silence so pretended to be listening interestedly to a dissertation on Hans dynasty bronzes begun by Maricourt, who liked to be considered the greatest authority on curios in Peking.
In one corner of the verandah, those whom Blanche irreverently called “the bores” talked finance and politics. Every one felt a little weary from the heat of the day. No one wanted to start a game of bridge, it was better out of doors in the fresh air.
A distant sound of brass instruments was wafted nearer by the light breeze rising. Some one suggested going on the Wall to listen to the Wagons Lits Orchestra playing that evening.
“What a good idea,” exclaimed Mrs. Brixton, “up there it will be cool, don’t you think so, dear,” she added to Blanche, and as Maugrais approached, she turned her back on him abruptly. She took Maxwell’s arm and went out.
Beaurelois rang and ordered rickshaws; soon the whole party was on its way to the slope leading to the Wall near the Water Gate.
CHAPTER III
THE Baroness’ guests wandered about among the decidedly mixed crowd on the Wall where white shirt fronts rubbed against more democratic clothes and against soldiers dressed in khaki. Surrounded by electric lamps, a Chinese orchestra played one of Meyerbeer’s overtures. The sounds penetrated the dark night. They spread towards the vast and sombre structure of the Chienmen Gate, lost themselves near the Hatamen, whose outline was hardly visible. The flow of people was less dense as the distance from the music became greater, the promenaders slackened their pace and lowered their voices into intimate whispers. Maugrais hastened to leave the crowd. He could hardly distinguish the faces of the people he jostled and he tried to make himself unrecognizable by jamming his hat over his eyes. He wanted to dream peacefully far from the crowd, to sit on the edge of the Wall, to light a cigarette and to listen to the music from so far away that it would sound beautiful. Hardly had he gone a few steps, however, than a powerful athletic form approached. He received a friendly blow that nearly broke his collar bone. Some one bellowed like a bull: “Hello, what the devil have you been doing lately, we never see anything of you.” It was the Norwegian Minister, a huge blonde, addressing him. The best sportsman in China, he spent his life playing tennis, polo and doing calisthenics in his garden, professing great contempt for all people suffering from nerves or melancholy, all poets, philosophers or epicures. “They are just riff-raff,” he would say, “I would soon cure them of their fads; a good ten mile walk at 5 in the morning, a ride in the afternoons and, between times, a few calisthenics. Believe me, old man, a thirty pound dumb bell in each hand, arms outstretched for fifteen minutes, and the most stubborn hypochondriac would be cured.”
“Now then, dreamer,” he roared, “here all alone. Come and keep my wife company; she is over there, near the orchestra.”
But Maugrais mumbled vague excuses and literally tore himself from the grasp of the powerful athlete. He always tried to avoid Mrs. Immersteht as much as possible. She was famed for her stupidity but loved to discuss serious subjects. She would look wise and ask: “What do you think of the latest political events?” or else, “I should very much like to have your opinion on the Vice-President of the Republic.” Maugrais avoided her like the plague. He hurried along and was soon rid of the crowd. Now he was alone on that part of the Wall; above him, a sky studded with stars; beneath him, on both sides of the Wall the dark nocturnal city of Peking; a strange murmur rose from the immense town; distant voices mingled with the noise of heavy carts rolling over the stony road; the braying of donkeys, the cries of camels, the barking of wretched dogs wandering in and out of the Hutungs. Rising like the tide to the top of the Wall, the noise increased sometimes to such an extent that one could pick out the voice of a peddler calling his wares and striking a gong, or the shrill notes of a street singer, on the crumbling walls, singing of the legendary splendour of bye gone centuries. Then the noise gradually lessened like the ebbing tide, finally dying away in a confused rumour. Maugrais walked slowly now. Suddenly he heard steps behind him. Several persons seemed to be following and gaining upon him. He waited for them to pass. Two outlines appeared and stopped in front of him. He recognized Mrs. Brixton and Maxwell.
“Thank you,” said the American to her escort, “you may leave us now.” The young man did not even look surprised at being dismissed like that. Bowing slightly, he turned on his heel and disappeared into the night. “I saw you coming this way alone, so I followed you. Are you surprised?”
“Nothing surprises me any more,” answered Maugrais.
“At least you might say you feel flattered.”
“Please allow me to be silent and to offer my arm.” She took it, pouting a little. After a minute, she added:
“Sometimes I don’t know what to think of you; there are times when you are a mixture of great tenderness and icy coldness, of an almost insolent indifference and an attentive warmth. You did not welcome me very kindly a moment ago and now you are squeezing my bare arm as if it were the arm of your wife or mistress.”
“Or my friend or sister,” said Maugrais.
“What does that mean?”
“Nothing, I am only stating a fact.”
She hesitated, seeming to collect her thoughts. “Yes,” she said all at once. “I couldn’t sleep all night after what took place between us in the blue room when Melle de Frissonges came upon us suddenly. What about you?”
“I, oh, I slept like a top.” He hastened, however, to add, “but strong emotions always tire me out.”
“I am afraid, yes, afraid, I know it is silly of me, but I can’t help it….”
“Good Heavens, of what?”
“I am afraid you will make me suffer and I don’t want to suffer. I am not built for that sort of thing.”
“Oh, you are quite wrong about yourself,” said Maugrais gravely, “Mme. de Beaurelois, for instance, is a woman not made for suffering. She is cut out for love and passion; she gives herself wholly in a wave of abandon, of charitable feeling and self sacrifice. She is at the same time the mother and the mistress of the man she loves. She gives all she can, that is why she is happy. You, on the contrary, give nothing to the men you love; you only take from them. You are a ghoul for love, a vampire for passion. Besides, your love is simply jealousy, vice, desire and pain. Therefore, if I made you suffer, I should only be a blind tool in the hands of Fate.”
They had reached the old guard house of a Manchu guard; its walls were dilapidated, there was no roof but at the back of the room, there were the remains of a Kang. Mrs. Brixton stopped for a minute; she hesitated, then she entered and sat on the wooden plank that was all that was left of the Kang. Maugrais seated himself beside her. The orchestra could no longer be heard. The couple were alone on the Wall; below them lay the immense city of Peking, the murmur of the restless town rising in the night like a long wail of distress. For some time neither spoke. Mrs. Brixton rested her head on Maugrais’s shoulder and presently her
lips sought his. “Jean, why do you treat me like that. Your words are cruel and sarcastic, and I, at least for to-night, am sincere and tender.” Maugrais, his mouth clinging to hers, seemed about to speak when he realized she was on the point of abandoning herself. So, sure of himself and her, he gently pushed her down on to the Kang and with his free hand, caressed almost mechanically the firm flesh of her limbs. He could feel the delicate lace of the open work stocking that moulded her leg. She was already panting; suddenly ungluing her mouth from his, she began to whisper things to him that were in some language he did not know, but he guessed they were both obscene and tender. At that minute, Jean raised his eyes; overhead he glimpsed the vast dark firmament, and in that distant sky baby stars shone out like a thousand timid smiles. He stared at one of those heavenly visions, and suddenly he saw it detach itself from the sky and slowly glide towards him, leaving a trail of light behind. As the star slipped towards the earth, shining brightly, Jean felt himself filled with joy, but as it gradually reached the horizon, his heart strings tightened. The star disappeared suddenly behind the Temple of Heaven, sending in a flare of light a farewell kiss. Maugrais’s arms relaxed and a feeling of utter boredom overwhelmed him. He did not move, and after a few seconds that seemed like centuries, he saw two great eyes filled with astonishment and wrath fixed on him. A wave of intense fatigue swept over him and in a sudden movement he loosed the woman, and, placing his arms behind his head, lay on his back looking upwards at the sky. He fancied that he was thousands of miles from the city, and that the sounds which reached him were the rustling of the trees in an enormous forest where he dwelt as a hermit, dreaming the prehistoric dream of beasts and plants. Mrs. Brixton sat up and looked at him. She decided it would be better to laugh at this extraordinary adventure, but her laugh sounded false, a harsh discord in the stillness of the night.
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