“Please bring me a glass of lemonade, there is some on the tray over there.”
Mme. de Beaurelois wanted some too and as he handed her a glass she asked:
“You have just spent a week in Pei Ta Ho. What is it like this year?”
He needed no pressing and answered immediately:
“It is quite lively, nearly all the British Legation is there. But I did not see much of them. You know, they live all together, somewhat isolated, at the beach. I went to play tennis with them once or twice. But the beautiful Mrs. Brixton is a great success; she is in splendid form and only thinks of arranging parties and picnics.”
“Oh, who is there now?
“Maugrais, of course,” and he smiled to show he was aware of all the intrigues.
“Oh, I forgot to tell you there is much talk about their leaving! Brixton has been appointed somewhere else and they go home via America. Young Maxwell is delighted. He is recalled to Washington and intends to travel with them. By the way, I think he is after her. If I were Maugrais, I should begin to worry. I also saw Chatours. I thought he was tamed, but I find him quite queer again now. He walks on the beach, talking to himself and gesticulating. I joined him one evening to smoke cigar in his company. He told me China was a deceptive country; he had exhausted all its charm, and meant to gather new impressions under different climes. He spoke of travelling, of his nostalgia for the ocean and other nonsense. Do you know, I fancy he must be a little cracked.”
He rambled on, without any idea of the pain he was inflicting on two hearts. Mrs. Immersteht interrupted him to ask what had become of the de Maricourts.
“They are in Japan,” answered Mme. de Beaurelois, glad of an excuse to change the conversation. I received a postcard from them this morning, it bore the Miyajima post mark, you know the Sacred Island of the Inland Sea where tame deer walk about everywhere, even in the village streets. They are delighted with the country and intend to make the grand tour, Kyoto, Nikko and return by way of Kobe and Shanghai.”
Turning to Dr. Borioni, she asked him what he had been doing all day. No one had seen him, he had not been to the Temple with the others. The old man took his inseparable pipe from his lips for a second and answered jokingly: “Good gracious, dear lady, I can keep nothing from you. This is how my day was spent. After lunch I stayed here and took a nap; at four o’clock I bathed; when I came out of the water, I went on the Great Wall and lying down in the wild grasses I mused as I read some Chinese classics.”
“Please,” said Mme. Immersteht, who for nothing on earth would have missed an opportunity to improve her mind, “tell us the history of the Great Wall.” The doctor required a little urging for he hated making a display of his knowledge. But as she insisted he rapped his pipe sharply against the stone table to empty it and began:
“Cheng, coming to the throne in 246 B.C. undertook this great work. Having conquered and annexed all the tributary states, he founded a vast Empire on the ruins of the feudal system prevailing until then. The former dynasty having fire as their emblem, he chose water as his, because water extinguishes fire and as the number six corresponds with the water symbol, all combinations were obliged to have that number as a basis. At the time, the Tartars, Hsung Hou, who later ravaged Europe under the name of the Huns, were making raids on the frontiers. They were a nomad race and, thoroughly warlike, were a menace to the new Empire.”
“Cheng becoming Emperor Shi Hwang Ti, made up his mind to raise an impassable barrier before them. At his call, more than a million men started work and in a comparatively few years they built this Great Wall which begins at the sea and finishes in the Kansu, a distance of nearly 1400 kilometres. The story goes that the Emperor first consulted an oracle before deciding to raise this formidable rampart. The oracle told him that his dynasty would be over-thrown by the Huns, but, as in the time of the ancient Greeks, the gods expressed themselves in ambiguous terms. The character used to designate the Huns could also be employed for the name of the Emperor’s second son. For a long time the Northern hordes dashed themselves against the Great Wall as the waves against the cliff however, the work of the haughty sovereign who had decreed his family should remain in power until the ten thousandth generation, was destroyed but two years after the death of the creator of the New Empire. The oracle spoke truly; the younger son of Shih Hwang Ti assassinated his elder brother and seized the throne. He was killed by a eunuch from the Palace and the new Han dynasty took the place of the one that in the mind of its founder should have reigned over China for centuries.”
Pausing a moment to think, the old man added: Here, at Shan Hai Kwan, ‘The Mountain Toll,’ 1800 years later, that is 1644 of our era, the fate of the Ming dynasty was decided. A rebellion, started in the Western Provinces spread; the chief rebel, General Li, reached the walls of Peking; a traitor opened the gates and the city became the prey of flames. From the top of the Coal Hill the Emperor was anxiously watching, hoping to catch a glimpse of the troops recalled from the North; he looked upon the scene of murder and carnage. Knowing his fate, he returned mournful but quite resigned, to his Palace. He made up his mind that neither he nor his family should fall alive into the hands of the rebels. Calling the Empress he handed her the fatal string and ordered the strangling of his chief concubines; he had the strange courage to kill his daughter with his own hands.”
“He passed the night in prayer; the first thing next morning, he ascended the Coal Hill once more. The sound of the rams beating against the Palace gates could easily be heard. Without flinching, he sent for his writing materials and with a firm hand, he wrote in his own blood a few words asking his happy rival to do what he pleased with his Imperial body, but to spare his people. Then untying his silken sash, he hanged himself on a cypress tree nearby; it can still be seen with a chain placed on it by the Manchu Emperors as a reminder of the sacrilegious murder to which the tree was an accessory.”
“But the rebel chief wished to destroy completely the last defenders of the Empire, who arriving too late to save the Capital had fled to the North. At the head of 100,000 men he followed them and came up to them at Shan Hai Kwan. The head of the Imperial troops had sought refuge here and was negociating with the Manchus for their aid. Their Prince would not commit himself and would promise nothing; the battle began without his abandoning his neutrality. More than 400,000 men met; for a long time the struggle was undecided; towards noon both sides were equal.”
“At this moment from the heights whence he viewed the battle, the Manchu Prince made a sign to his formidable cavalry. They hurled themselves into the fray on the side of the Imperial troops. In a few minutes they had swept the battle field. The rebels were forced back to Peking where the Manchus soon followed and a month after the battle of Shan Hai Kwan, General Li and his troops fled to Shansi; the rebellion was quelled. An impressive funeral was given the last Ming Emperor, but the Throne was empty. A Manchu Prince was called to fill it and founded the Tsing dynasty, made famous later by Kang Hsi and Chien Lung.”
Borioni ceased speaking; he began to fill his everlasting little pipe once more.
Every one was delighted with the story and Mme. Immersteht felt obliged to compliment him.
“What a wonderful memory you have, my dear Doctor,” she said, “you are a perfect well of science. You have unveiled for us just now all the ‘arcanes’ of the history of China.” She said arcades instead of arcanes. She would scatter learned words in her conversation and usually make terrible blunders, to the great joy of her hearers. She went on: “Do you think the people were happier in the time of Kang Hsi or Chien Lung than to-day?” The old man, buried in his thoughts, avoided the question.
De Wolf took upon himself to answer. Dried up, but still alert though over sixty, he had lived nearly 20 years in Peking, without having succeeded in doing any business, but he was still enthusiastic over China’s developement. Always looking for new mining or railway concessions, his pockets were stuffed with contracts that never came to anything. His
wife had only joined him a few years ago; she had stayed in Europe, said de Wolf, to look after the children’s education. Their friends said that her prolonged stay over there had something to do with the constancy of an old admirer who was interested in more ways than one in the husband’s syndicates.
“Dear lady, there is no question about it. Thanks to the foreigners, China is getting accustomed to our ideas of civilization; she is advancing very fast! Merchants and bankers have been followed by engineers; railways already run through part of the country; quite lately thousands of miles of railroad have been conceded and the time is not far off when a ribbon of iron will unite Peking and Canton and open up communications between Chinese Turkestan and the Maritime Provinces.” He waved his arms about as if he was tracing the railway lines on an imaginary map.
“The people are not indifferent to these signs of progress, for they foresee the consequences. They understand that from now the mining resources of the country can be exploited and they know their value. I have just been in the Honan; there are mines of untold richness there; I made a survey for the group I represent.”
He continued speaking, no one paid any attention. Immersteht interrupted him with a grim joke. “All your contracts,” he said, “will never be worth as much as a perpetual grant in a cemetery and while awaiting the eternal slumber, I am going to ask these ladies for permission to retire to bed.”
They were all tired so they followed his example. Mme. de Beaurelois stayed alone with Miss de Frissonges and Axel. The Dutchman asked the girl shyly, “Are you going to bed at once?”
Miss de Frissonges replied “No, it is nice and cool, I shall remain here a little longer with Mme. de Beaurelois if she will allow me.” He wanted to stay with them, but afraid of being in the way, he said good night and vanished behind the boy who took him to the end courtyard where the bachelors had their sleeping quarters.
Blanche had scarcely joined in the conversation at all that evening. She had been languid and mournful, lost in thought. Now every one had departed, she felt an urgent need to talk, to be consoled like a child wanting to be petted to help it forget its troubles. She knew the girl was suffering from Maugrais’ neglect, as she was from Chatours’ deceit. With unconscious selfishness she wanted to be pitied by some one whose heart was bleeding too. But her maternal instinct and also a sort of modesty held her back, she was rather ashamed; some one else’s wounds needed healing. She took the girl’s hand, it was hanging down beside the arm of the wicker chair; pressing it, she said: “Well, my poor dear, you seem quite distressed, I know you are in trouble; you have altered so much this summer. You used to be so cheery and now you have become serious and almost dull. Come, pull yourself together. At your age such behaviour cannot be allowed.”
Miss de Frissonges did not reply, but Mme. de Beaurelois could see an expression of pain flit through her eyes. She grew affectionate. “Look here, little girl, between women, there can never be any secrets. You lost your little fair head over a nice young man, who, after seeming to share the feelings he had awakened, stupidly let himself become entangled with an old woman. Well, is that such a terrible misfortune? You are not yet twenty. If that man could not appreciate you, it was because he was unworthy of you. At your age nothing is lost and you will easily find some one who will understand you and will not hesitate to marry you.”
“Oh, yes, of course, you are right, and I told myself the same thing the day after I discovered the American had taken him from me; but I cannot help it, it is stronger than I am. You see, I did not quite realize the nature of my feelings for him, but I was so happy to be with him and to talk to him. At the same time some instinct made me hate that woman who always seemed to come between us. As soon as I was certain he had given me up, I knew I loved him. Oh, it was awful, I felt as if the ground had given way beneath my feet and I was falling into space. For days I went about mechanically, doing the everyday things of life, but at nights when I went to bed and when I found myself at last alone with my thoughts, I would sob and sob and often the first rays of the morning sun would find me still in tears. After such nights my father would increase my anguish by asking me a thousand questions because I did not look well.” She paused for a moment, then she continued: “If only he had realized how I could have loved him. I would have been his devoted companion and I would have tried to raise myself to his level.”
As she said these last words, her hoarse voice broke as if the vision of the happiness she had missed stopped the words in her throat.
“Poor little thing,” said Blanche very moved, “Time will help you to forget.” Then feeling the need of consolation too, she went on: “You are not the only person here who is in trouble. Others are victims also of the inconstancy and ingratitude of men. As you grow older, you will see how little they deserve the affection we lavish on them. Alas, we women are often led astray by our impulses.” She paused and then as if to herself she added: “I too have been deceived by an ungrateful man and now I am alone, without any one to care for me.”
“But you are young and beautiful,” said Miss de Frissonges. “Every one here admires you and you will always be surrounded by adorers.” Then continuing unconsciously Mme. de Boaurelois’ own arguments, she said: “Time heals many wounds, you will find some other affection to replace the one you have lost!” Blanche sighed, then as if suddenly inspired. “You know, little one, what you need is not a Jean Maugrais. You need a nice young man like the Dutchman who adores you. Don’t deny it, I have watched him lately. Under a cold exterior he hides a heart of gold; he would make you very happy.”
“Yes, may be, but I am still too sore to think of anything but my troubles. Please don’t talk about that sort of thing, it is not kind. My wounds have not yet healed, I don’t want to think of anything else just now.”
Neither spoke; they yielded to the influence of the calm and still night; their nerves relaxed. A kind of numbness, the kind a sick person experiences after a crisis, crept gradually over them. The peace of the darkness took possession of them, veiling their painful memories which were already becoming blurred.
Over the Great Wall, above the Manchurian Hills, the moon, wending its way, suddenly appeared out of the clouds. A soft and gentle light fell over the terrace covering the whole and awakening all sleeping nature.
Both the women had the same feeling; with the pale moon rays, forerunner of more brilliant light, a glimmer of hope entered their hearts, expectant of a triumphant dawn.
But though the girl, her eyes half closed, regretfully allowed herself to be encouraged by consoling thoughts, Blanche, on the contrary, had already forgotten the past and, conscious of her rôle of “Grande Amoureuse” she began to think of her future conquests.
Proving the justice of La Bruyère’s thought — of which she had probably never heard — “A woman forgets all of a man she no longer loves, even to the favours she has bestowed upon him,” she felt quite indifferent to Chatours now and, her thoughts busy about her future choice, she tried visualize his features.
CHAPTER X
MAUGRAIS walked slowly down Legation Street on the shady side, for it was three o’clock and this beautiful autumn afternoon was still hot. The wind from Mongolia had blown for two days, covering all the city in a yellow fog which the feeble rays of an almost blue sun could hardly pierce. When this desert wind descends on the city, the whole of Peking, swept by violent blasts, is smothered in a dusty symphony of blue and yellow.
Maugrais had passed these two days stretched on his sofa, a closed book on his knee, listening to the roaring wind and the noise of the rolled up matting of the pang as it rattled against the bamboo poles like the rustling of the wings of an affrighted bird. He had only been last night to the Chien Men station to bid farewell to the Brixtons. Now that the wind had fallen and Peking had resumed its normal aspect, he had gone out to breathe this reviving pure autumnal air one drinks in like a glass of champagne and which puts into the blood a longing for happiness and a desire to live.
Reaching the Jade Canal, he turned down under the trees to the left opposite the British Legation; the street was empty, it was cool under the acacias. He leant on the parapet and his eyes wandered over the green and muddy water. Then the entire scene of the Brixton’s departure came to his mind. The station was crowded, all Peking had come in spite of the bad weather. The President had sent his orchestra; the musicians in their scarlet clothes, blocking the platform with their instruments, waited for a signal from their conductor. The guard of honour, composed of tall, scraggy Sikhs, was drawn up and a crowd pressed round the special car attached to the back of the train in which the British Councillor was to travel. The whole official world, both Chinese and European was there. Many friends and still more onlookers. He saw Mrs. Brixton in a grey travelling dress standing on the platform of the station, a large blue veil over her hat. She conversed with some of the wives of the diplomats; her arms were full of flowers. Her husband in light brown and a felt hat, both hands in his pockets, his eternal cigar between his lips listened to the last phrases of the three foreign Office Officials who were there.
Maugrais pushed his way through the crowd, shaking hands as he went, and climbed into the train in the hopes of catching Mrs. Brixton alone if only for a few seconds. He entered the narrow corridor full of suit cases and flowers, searching for the American. He found her maid, a hat box in her hand; she looked worried.
“Is this Mrs. Brixton’s compartment?” he asked.
She nodded and he went in. She seemed to understand what he meant to do, for she put the box on the bed and disappeared. Maugrais sat down and waited, a murmur of voices came from outside. He could hear laughter, promises being exchanged, expressions of regret. Lost in thought, regardless of everything around him, he closed his eyes. He opened them again and saw the hat box with two labels on the bed, Nikko - Kanaya Hotel - Shanghai, Astor House.
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