The French soldier--Clothes and eatables--A touching incident--The
Russian troops--Not quite so black as they are painted--A fancy for
jewellery and perfumery--The manner of the Russian soldier--An untidy
looter--Musical boxes spared--Italian opera selections refreshing but
out of place--A marvellous work of art--Evil spirits and their ways.
A contrast to the business capabilities of the American soldier, and
the enterprise of the British and Japanese in the appropriation of
other people’s goods, was furnished by the apparent reluctance of
the French to take any article of value. They occasionally selected
some small trifle, in a sort of half-apologetic way, and their taste
seemed to run particularly towards valueless old clothing, which they
evidently proposed to adapt to their own wear. Cheap Chinese cotton
pyjamas were carried away in preference to more precious fabrics, while
eatables of all kinds, and tobacco, were in great demand.
On the day when Tientsin fell, I happened to be in the centre of the
town when I perceived some Frenchmen in a state of great agitation.
In my best Parisian I asked them what was the matter. Whereupon with
hoarse voices they shouted, waving their arms dangerously over my
head:--
“_Mais vas donc, vas donc en prendre là, il y en a tant!_” (“But go
on, go and take some over there, there is such a lot of it!”)
[Sidenote: HAMS AND HAPPINESS]
“_Mais tant de quoi?_” (“But such a lot of what?”) queried I,
circumspectly, led to presume by their excitement that they had struck
silver or gold bar.
“_Mais vas donc; je te dis. C’est du jambon, du jambon, comprends-tu?
et il est excellent!_” (“But go, I tell you, there is ham, ham, do you
understand? and it is delicious!”) So saying, the Frenchman who had
talked loudest smacked his lips and his companions did the same. With
apologies I said that I intended travelling in the opposite direction,
but they shoved me towards the place of the ham. Down a lane we came
upon another crowd of Frenchmen who were enraptured over the find, and
exclamations of complacency poured forth on all sides as ham after
ham was passed out of the shop and laid on the pile in the middle of
the road. Two or three of the younger folks gazed in ecstasy at the
ever-growing mountain of cured pork, and the joy was little short of
delirious when, the pile outside having grown to colossal proportions,
the news came from within the shop that there were as many more hams
still hanging in a newly discovered room! A discussion arose on the
difficulty of transport, and among deafening howls they decided that
they could not carry more than they had already taken. Here came the
nicest part of the story, which touched me greatly. Knowing that there
were a number of British soldiers close by, they sent one of their men
to tell them of their discovery, and to ask them whether they wanted to
partake of the booty.
“_Je crois qu’ils en mangent aussi, les Anglais, du jambon!_” (“I think
the English eat ham too,”) remarked one of the soldiers, “_ça leur fera
plaisir d’en avoir_” (“they will probably be glad to have it”), he
added good-naturedly.
As provisions had been very scarce in Tientsin, this was indeed a
gracious thought, and goes to show that, notwithstanding the animosity
supposed to exist between British and French, none was felt by soldiers
in the field.
[Illustration: A CHARRED BODY]
[Sidenote: MUSICAL BOXES]
The Russian troops, being mostly drawn from Siberia, were somewhat more
brusque and wild than the rest, most of the men having strong Mongolian
features and general characteristics. But even they were not half as
bad as they have been represented. The accounts one hears of them in
America and Europe are indeed too ludicrous, and it is astonishing to
find so many people who believe them. Like the American, the Russian
smashes what he cannot carry away. He particularly fancies jewellery;
rings and bracelets he keeps for personal ornament. He has a great
objection to the inside works of a clock, and never seems satisfied
until he hears the mainspring give way and jump out of the case. His
happiness is complete when on his looting expeditions he strikes a
perfumery shop; then, with nostrils wide open, he rejoices in pouring
bottle after bottle of scent on his coat and trousers. He is silent,
serious, and yet very polite, courteous, and full of humour. With a
mad craving for destroying china vases as well as clocks, the Russian
is probably the most untidy of all the Allied looters, throwing about
everything that is of no use to him. He too values nothing except
silver, gold, and furs. There is one thing, nevertheless, that he will
respect. That is a musical box. He will wind it carefully, sit down
quietly, listen attentively to its entire list of selections, keeping
time with his foot, and when he has done with it and his musical ear
is satisfied, he dusts it carefully, packs it in the handsomest piece
of brocade within reach, and carries it triumphantly to camp, where
he makes a present of it to one of his officers. In their homes the
richer Chinese had quantities of musical boxes of all sizes and shapes.
Some played Chinese popular airs, others gave selections from European
operas and favourite songs. It often seemed strange to hear the soft
melody of the old “Traviata” or “Trovatore” go on at full speed, wound
out by the muscular arm of a Cossack, in the midst of heaps of silk
garments piled together, pigskin trunks with their picturesque brass
locks smashed open, cabinets torn down, windows smashed, furniture
broken, fragments of what was once invaluable pottery strewn on the
floor; cloisonné pieces and enamel dishes battered about and trodden
upon; a few dead bodies scattered in the courtyard of the house.
Inadequate as a musical box may be in reproducing the beauty of any
opera, people have no idea what pleasure it gave, and how restful it
was to hear some sweet familiar tune which in a fashion brought back
to the senses everything pleasant, artistic, and refreshing, and for a
moment--only a moment--made the hearer forget the horrors of war, and
even the extra horrors of this particular war.
A marvellous work of art was found by a Cossack in the house of
a mandarin. It was an ivory box no larger than a cigarette case.
On touching a spring the lid sprang open and a nightingale--most
beautifully proportioned and no bigger than a fly--leaped out and stood
perched on the edge of the box, where it whistled most beautifully like
a real bird. The beak opened and closed as it sang, the tail wagged,
and the wings flapped. Even the neck and legs were articulated. The
miniature bird had been made in Switzerland. An inscription on the
outside cover of the box stated that it had been in various well-known
European collections, large sums having been paid for it. Probably the
mandarin had disbursed, I dare say, two or three hundred pounds for it,
as the Chinese are great admirers of works of patience and skill, and
will pay very large sums to obtain them.
Looking-glasses, large and small, played a very important part in the
internal decoration of the larger and better houses, but the prettiest
part of all of a Chinese house was generally the court, with its front
door screen to prevent evil spirits from entering the precinct. Evil
spirits, according to Chinese notions, always travel in a straight
line, and are unable to turn corners. In that court, generally paved
with slabs of stone, are pots of rare plants and gracefully distorted
trees. A large earthenware receptacle full of water is never absent,
and stands generally in front of the screen at the front door, or in
the centre of the courtyard. Long poles are to be seen everywhere, and
are used in summer-time, when mats are put up to shade the plants and
people from the broiling sun.