show my talent, or rather my ignorance, on the piano before the Queen.
In my youth I had been a tolerable musician, but, alas, that was long
ago. For thirty years I had forgotten the instrument. Who would ever
have thought that I should one day be summoned to perform before a queen
and her court, and at the age of sixty, when I fumbled more atrociously
than do children who have had a few months' lessons?... With great
difficulty I forced my old stiff fingers to run through some scales and
exercises. I learned a few waltzes, and some other dance airs, and thus
prepared, ventured to challenge the judgment of the severe Aristarchuses
of Madagascar.
"I sat down at the piano, and began to play; but what were my feelings
at finding it so out of order that not one note was in tune, and that
several of the keys responded to the strongest pressure with an
obstinate silence? And it was upon such an instrument I was to perform!
But the true artist-genius rises above all such difficulties, and
electrified by the thought of displaying my talent before a public of
such enlightened amateurs, I set to work to accomplish the most
unpolished roulades imaginable, to stamp my best on the rebellious keys,
and to play _sans suite et sans raison_.... As a reward, I had the
satisfaction of perceiving that my talent was generally appreciated, and
of obtaining her Majesty's thanks. The same day, as a signal mark of her
gracious favour, I received a number of fowls and a large basketful of
eggs."
* * * * *
Unfortunately, during Madame Pfeiffer's sojourn at Antananarivo, a
conspiracy was formed for the purpose of dethroning the tyrant queen
Ranavala in favour of the next heir, Radama. It failed, however, and
those concerned in it were ruthlessly punished. The Christians, who were
supposed to have encouraged and abetted it, were now exposed to Queen
Ranavala's tempestuous wrath, and Madame Pfeiffer and her companions
found themselves in a position of exceeding peril. She was thrown into
prison, and it seemed impossible that she should escape with her life.
She writes:--"To-day was held in the Queen's palace a great kabar, which
lasted six hours and was very stormy. The kabar concerned us Europeans,
and met to decide our fate. According to the ordinary way of the world,
nearly all our friends, from the moment that they saw our cause lost,
abandoned us, and the majority, to avoid all suspicion of having had a
share in the conspiracy, insisted on our condemnation with even more
bitterness than our enemies themselves. That we deserved the penalty of
death was a point on which the agreement was soon very general; only the
mode in which we were to be dispatched furnished the matter for
prolonged discussion. Some voted for our public execution in the
market-place; others for an attack by night on our house; others, again,
that we should be invited to a banquet, at which we might either be
poisoned, or, on a given signal, massacred.
"The Queen hesitated between these different proposals; but she would
certainly have adopted and carried out one of them, if the Prince Rakoto
had not come forward as our tutelary genius. He protested strongly
against a sentence of death. He implored the Queen not to yield to her
impulse of anger, and laid special stress on the fact that the European
Powers would assuredly not allow the murder of persons so considerable
as we were to pass unpunished. Never, I am told, has the Prince
expressed his opinion before the Queen in so lively and firm a manner.
The news reached us through a few rare friends, who, contrary to our
expectation, had remained faithful to us.
"Our captivity had lasted nearly a fortnight: we had passed thirteen
long days in the most painful uncertainty as to our fate, expecting
every moment a fatal decision, and trembling day and night at the
slightest sound. It was a frightful, a terrible time.
"This morning I was seated at my desk. I had just laid aside my pen, and
was meditating whether, after the last kabar, the Queen would not have
come to a decision. All at once I heard an extraordinary noise in the
court. I was about to leave my room, the windows of which looked in an
opposite direction, to see what was the matter, when Mons. Laborde, one
of the conspirators, came to inform me that another great kabar was to
be held in the court, and that we were summoned to be present.
"We went, and found upwards of a hundred persons, judges and nobles and
officers, seated in a large semi-circle upon chairs and benches, and
some upon the ground. Behind them was drawn up a detachment of soldiers.
One of the officers received us, and assigned us places in front of the
judges. The latter were attired in long white _simboos_; their eyes were
fixed upon us with a sombre and ferocious glare, and for awhile the
silence of death prevailed. I confess that at first I felt somewhat
afraid, and I whispered to M. Laborde, 'I think our last hour has
arrived.' He replied, 'I am prepared for everything.'"
Happily, the balance went down in favour of mercy. Madame Pfeiffer, and
the other six Europeans then in Antananarivo, were ordered to quit the
capital immediately. They were only too thankful to obey the order, and
within an hour were on their way to Tamatave, escorted by seventy
Malagasy soldiers. They had good reason to congratulate themselves on
their escape, for on the very morning of their departure, two Christians
had been put to death with the most horrible tortures.
The journey to Tamatave was not unattended by dangers and difficulties;
and Madame Pfeiffer, who had been attacked with fever, underwent much
suffering. No doubt the recent mental strain had enfeebled her nervous
system, and rendered her more liable to disease. The escort purposely
delayed them on their journey; so that, instead of reaching the coast,
as they should have done, in eight days, the time actually occupied was
three-and-fifty. As the road traversed a low-lying and malarious
country, the consequences of such a delay were as serious as they were
probably meant to be. In the unhealthiest spots, moreover, the
travellers were forced to linger for a week or even a fortnight; and
frequently when Madame Pfeiffer was in agony from a violent access of
fever, the brutal soldiers would drag her from her wretched couch, and
compel her to continue the journey.
* * * * *
At length, on the 12th of September, she arrived at Tamatave; broken
down, and unutterably weary and worn, but still alive. Ill as she was,
she hastened to embark on board a ship that was on the point of sailing
for the Mauritius; and reaching that pleasant island on the 22nd, met
with a warm welcome from her friends--to whom, indeed, she was as one
who had been dead and was alive again.
The suspense, the long journey, the combined mental and physical
sufferings which she had undergone, and the ravages of fever, reduced
her to a condition of such weakness that, at one time, her recovery
seemed impossible. But careful watching and nursing warded off the
enemy; and on her sixtieth birthday, October 14th, the doctors
pronounced her out of danger. But a fatal blow had been given to her
constitution; the fever became less frequent and less violent in its
attacks, but never wholly left her. Her mind, however, recovered its
elasticity, and with its elasticity, its old restlessness; and she once
more began to project fresh schemes of travel. All her preparations were
complete for a voyage to Australia, when a return of her disease, in
February, 1858, compelled her to give up the idea and to direct her
steps homeward.
In the month of June she reached London. After a few weeks' stay she
proceeded to Berlin.
Her strength, formerly exceptional, was now rapidly declining; though at
first she seemed unconscious of the change, or regarded it as only
temporary, and displayed her characteristic impatience of repose. But
about September she evinced a keen anxiety to return home; and her
friends perceived that the conviction of approaching death was at the
bottom of this anxiety. Growing rapidly feeble, she was conveyed to
Vienna, to the house of her brother, Charles Reyer; and, for a few days,
it seemed as if the influence of her native air would act as a
restorative. The improvement, however, did not last, and her malady
(cancer of the liver) returned with increased violence. During the last
days of her life, opiates were administered to relieve her physical
pain; and in the night between the 27th and the 28th of October, she
passed away peacefully, almost as one who sleeps.
MADAME DE BOURBOULON.
We must not omit from our chronicle of female travellers the name of
Madame Catherine de Bourboulon. Of her biography we know no more than
that, a Scotchwoman by birth, she married a French diplomatist, who, in
1860, was serving the State as French ambassador to the Court of Pekin.
* * * * *
In the month of August, 1860, she was temporarily residing at Shanghai.
It would be interesting to know what the Chinese people thought of this
handsome and self-possessed lady; unaccustomed as they were and are to
visits from European women, and unfamiliar as they were and are with the
idea that a person of the _grand monde_ in nowise compromises her
dignity by travelling about as freely and walking as readily as servants
and females of the lower classes. "To see ourselves as others see us" is
always instructive and interesting; and a sketch of Madame de Bourboulon
by the Chinese would not be less valuable than a sketch of the Chinese
by Madame de Bourboulon.
Fortune had not been kind to Madame de Bourboulon in throwing her into
Shanghai during the great Taiping conspiracy, and compelling her to be
an eye-witness of the crimes which sullied it. Beneath her windows were
carried every day the dead bodies of the poor creatures massacred by the
Taipings, and she followed with reluctant gaze these sad "waifs and
strays" as the river conveyed them seawards.
Though her health was not good, she hastened, on the conclusion of
peace, to follow her husband to Pekin. From Shanghai to the Gulf of
Petchi-li, into which the Peiho empties its waters, the distance is two
hundred leagues. Our traveller embarked on board the steam despatch-boat
_Fi-lung_, which was escorted by a man-of-war brig. On crossing the
river-bar, she saw before her the celebrated Taku forts, and higher up
the river the town of Pehtang, with immense plains of sorghum, maize,
and millet spreading as far as the eye could see.
On the 12th of November she arrived at Tien-tsin. The French legation
was established in a rich _yamoun_, which, under the presiding genius of
Madame de Bourboulon, soon become the highly _recherche_ centre of
European society. There, Chinese art displayed all its marvels of design
and workmanship; the colours of the rainbow glittered everywhere; the
walls were emblazoned with pleasant landscapes, azure seas, transparent
lakes, shadowy forests, an imperial hunting party, with antelopes and
roebucks flying before the loud-mouthed hounds; in a word, with all the
delights of a Chinese earthly paradise. But Madame de Bourboulon did
not confine herself to social pleasures; her heart and hand were ever
ready for charitable labours, and the Chinese poor had ample occasion to
acknowledge her beneficence. Among other works of mercy, she adopted a
young orphan girl, of whom she says:--"My little companion eats well and
sleeps well. She is full of mirth, and seems neither to remember nor to
care for the terrible catastrophe which separated her from her parents,
massacred at the capture of Pehtang. Her feet are not yet completely
deformed; however, when we remove the bandages which compress them, she
does not forget to replace them at night. It is not only in China that
coquetry or fashion stimulates its victims to torture and disfigure
God's handiwork: the unnaturally small feet of the Chinese women are at
least not more injurious or unsightly than the unnaturally small waists
of the ladies of Europe!"
What the Chinese think of their women may be inferred from a
characteristic incident, of which Madame de Bourboulon is the narrator.
The cook of the embassy, Ky-tsin, was a man with more years than
gallantry. One day he went to see his wives and children, who resided at
some distance; on his return, Madame de Bourboulon put some questions to
him respecting his family. "The wives," he replied, in his bad French,
and with an air of sovereign contempt, "_pas bon, pas bon, bambou,
bambou!_" The stick seems to be the only, or at least the favourite,
argument of the Chinese in their dealings with the other sex; and in
this contempt for women we shall probably find the cause of the moral
rottenness of the Celestial Empire.
[Illustration: PEKIN.]
The winter of 1860-61 Madame de Bourboulon spent quietly at Tien-tsin,
her health not permitting her, in such rigorous weather, to make the
journey to Pekin; but on the 22nd of March the whole legation set out
for the Chinese capital, Madame de Bourboulon travelling in a litter,
attended by her physician. Fortunately, the change of air and scene, and
the easy movement gradually restored her physical energies. From
Tien-tsin to Pekin the distance is about thirty leagues. On the road
lies Tchang-kia-wang, the scene of the treacherous outrage in 1858 on
the French and English bearers of truce; and almost at the gates of
Pekin, the great town of Tung-tcheou and the famous bridge of Palikao,
where, on the 21st of September, 1860, the Anglo-French army defeated
25,000 Tartar horsemen. This bridge, a curious work of art, measures one
hundred and fifty yards in length and thirty in breadth; the marble
balustrades are skilfully carved, and surmounted by marble lions in the
Chinese taste.
On arriving at Pekin the French embassy was installed in the Tartar
quarter. Five months later the revolution broke out which placed Prince
Kung in power. The prince was well-disposed towards Europeans, and under
his rule Madame de Bourboulon was able to traverse Pekin without fear.
We subjoin some extracts from her journals:--
"I set out on horseback this morning," she says, "accompanied by Sir
Frederick Bruce and my husband, to make a tour of the Chinese town; our
escort consisted only of four European horsemen and two Ting-tchai. We
arrived at a populous carrefour, which derived a peculiar character from
the large numbers of country people who flock there to dispose of all
kinds of provisions, but particularly, game and vegetables; heaps of
cabbages and onions rise almost to the height of the doors of the
houses.
"The peasants, seated on the ground, smoke their pipes in peace, while
the aged mules and bare-skinned asses, which have conveyed their wares,
wander about the market-place, gleaning here and there some vegetable
refuse. At every step the townsfolk, with indifferent bearing, and armed
with a fan to protect their wan and powdered complexion, jostle against
the robust copper-coloured country people, whose feet are thrust into
sandals, and their heads covered with large straw hats. Not knowing how
to guide our horses through the midst of this confused mob, we gained
the precincts of the police pavilion in the hope of enjoying a little
more tranquillity.
"We had been there a few moments only, when my horse showed a determined
unwillingness to remain. Evidently something had frightened him. I
raised my head mechanically, and thought I should have fainted before
the horrible spectacle which struck my eyes. Behind us, close at hand,
was a row of posts to which were fixed cross-beams of wood, and in each
cage were death's heads, which stared at me with fixed, wide-open eyes,
their jaws dislocated with frightful grimaces, their teeth set
convulsively by the agony of the last moment, and the blood rolling drop
by drop from their freshly severed necks!
"In a second we had spurred our horses to the gallop to get out of sight
of this hideous charnel-house, of which I long continued to think in my
sleepless nights.
"Turning to the left, we entered a street which I will call, in allusion
to the trade of its inhabitants, the Toymen's.... But what means this
noisy music, this charivari of flutes and trumpets, drums, and stringed
instruments? It is a funeral ceremony, and yonder is the door of the
defunct, and in front of it the Society of Funerals (there is such an
one at Pekin) has raised a triumphal arch, consisting of a wooden
framework, covered with old mats and pieces of stuffs. The family has
stationed a band at the door to proclaim its grief by rending the ears
of the passers-by.
"We quicken our steps in order to avoid being delayed in the middle of
the interminable procession. The gala-day in a Chinaman's life is the
day of his death. He economizes, he deprives himself of all the comforts
of life, he labours without rest or intermission, that he may have a
fine funeral!
"We do not get out of this accursed street! Here another large crowd
bars our passage; some proclamations and notices have just been
placarded on the door of the chief of the district police; people are
reading them aloud; some declaim them in a tone of bombast; while a
thousand commentaries, more satirical than the text, are uttered amidst
loud bursts of laughter.
"This liberty of mockery, pasquinade, and caricature at the expense of
the mandarins is one of the most original sides of Chinese manners.
"A band of blind beggars, in a costume more than light, pass along, hand
in hand; then an itinerant smith, a barber _al fresco_, and a cheap
restaurateur, simultaneously ply their different trades surrounded by
their customers.
"We dismounted from our horses, and by a covered passage or arcade
proceeded on foot to the legation. This passage, much favoured by
vendors of _bric-a-brac_, is simply a dark lane, 550 to 600 feet long,
where two people can hardly walk abreast. There are no proper shops
here, but collections of old planks, united anyhow, and supported by
piles of merchandise of all kinds, vases, porcelain, bronzes, arms, old
clothes, pipes; from the whole proceeds a foetid and insupportable
odour, tempered by the thick pungent smoke of lamps fed with rice-oil.
"The reader may judge with what pleasure we regained the pure air, the
blue sky, and all the comfortable appliances of our quarters at
Tsing-kong-fou."
* * * * *
Having made the journey from China to Europe five times by sea, Madame
de Bourboulon and her husband resolved that their sixth should be by
land, being desirous of rendering some direct service to science by
penetrating into regions of which little was known. This overland route,
as they foresaw, would involve them in many difficulties, fatigues, and
hardships. It would impose on them a journey of six thousand miles, in
the midst of half-savage populations, and over steppes and deserts
virtually pathless; they would have to climb steep mountain-sides, to
ford broad rivers; and, finally, to sleep under no better roof than that
of a tent, and to live on milk, butter, and sea-biscuit for several
months. Madame de Baluseck, wife of the Russian minister at Pekin, had
already accomplished this journey. Madame de Bourboulon felt capable of
an equal amount of courage, and though accustomed to live amid all the
luxuries and comforts of European civilization, desired to encounter
these privations, and to brave these perils.
Prince Kung, regent of the Chinese Empire, promised the travellers full
security as far as the borders. He did more; for he attached to their
train some mandarins of high rank to ensure the execution of his orders.
A fortnight before the day fixed for departure, a caravan of camels was
despatched to Kiakhta, on the Russian frontier, with wine, rice, and all
kinds of provisions, intended to replace the supplies which would
necessarily be exhausted during the transit of Mongolia.
A captain of engineers, M. Bouvier, superintended the construction of
some vehicles of transport, light enough to be drawn by the nomad
horsemen, and yet solid enough to bear the accidents of travel in the
desert. Bread, rice, biscuit, coffee, tea, wine, liqueurs, all kinds of
clothing, preserved meats and vegetables, were carefully packed up and
stowed away in these carts, which were sent forward, three days in
advance, to Kalgan, a frontier town of Mongolia. And all these
preparations being completed, and every precaution taken, the 17th of
May was appointed as the day of departure.
Thenceforth, and throughout the journey, Madame de Bourboulon adopted a
masculine costume--that is, a vest of grey cloth, with velvet trimmings,
loose pantaloons of blue stuff, spurred boots, and at need a Mongolian
cloak with a double hood of furs. She mounted her favourite horse, which
she had taken with her to Pekin, and it had been her companion in all
her excursions in the city and the surrounding country.
At six o'clock in the morning everybody was assembled in the court of
the yamoun of the French legation. Sir Frederick Bruce, the English
minister; Mr. Wade, the secretary to the English legation; M. Treves, a
French naval lieutenant, and some young French interpreters were
present.
Two Chinese mandarins--one with the red button; the other, his inferior
in rank, with the white--gravely awaited the moment of departure to
escort the travellers as far as Kalgan, and to take care that, upon
requisition being made, they were provided with everything necessary to
their comfort. Numerous Tching-tai, the official messengers of the
legations, and other indigenous domestics, crowded the court, gravely
mounted upon foundered broken-down hacks, their knees raised up to their
elbows, and their hands clutching at the mane of their Rosinante, like
apes astride of dogs in the arena of the circus. A couple of litters,
carried by mules, were also prepared; one was intended for Madame de
Bourboulon, in case of need, the other for the conveyance of five
charming little Chinese dogs which she hoped to transport to Europe. At
length the mandarin of the red button came to take the ambassador's
orders, and gave the signal of departure.
At this moment the air resounded with noisy detonations: fusees,
serpents, and petards exploded in all directions--at the gate, in the
gardens, even upon the walls of the legation. Great confusion followed,
as no one was prepared for this point-blank politeness, so mysteriously
organized by the Chinese servants. In China nothing takes place without
a display of fireworks. About an hour was spent in reorganizing the
caravan. Meanwhile, Madame de Bourboulon, whose frightened horse had
carried her through the town, waited in a great open space some distance
off. It was the first time, she says, that she had been alone in the
midst of that great town. She had succeeded in pulling up her horse near
a pagoda, which she did not know, because she had never visited that
quarter of Pekin; her masculine garb attracted curiosity, and she was
speedily surrounded by an immense crowd. Though its demeanour towards
her was peaceable and respectful, she found the time very long, and it
was with intense satisfaction she rejoined the cavalcade, the members of
which had begun to feel alarmed at her absence.
* * * * *
The whole company being once more reunited, they passed the walled
enclosure of the great city, garrisoned by a body of the so-called
"Imperial Tigers," and entered the northern suburb.
The great road of Mongolia is lined on both sides with pagodas, houses,
and a host of small wayside public inns, painted with stripes of red,
green, and blue, and surmounted by the most attractive signs. There is a
constant succession of caravans of camels, directed by Mongols,
Turcomans, Tibetans; of troops of mules, with clinking bells, bringing
salt from Setchouan or tea from Hou-pai; and of immense herds of horned
cattle, horses, and sheep, in charge of the dexterous horsemen of the
Tchakar, who keep them together by the utterance of loud guttural cries,
and by dealing them smart cuts with their long whips.
About one hour after noon, the caravan arrived at Sha-ho, a village
situated between the two arms of a river of the same name (which means
"the river of sand"). Madame de Bourboulon thus describes the hospitable
reception given to the travellers:--