I slept that night like a log, untroubled by dreams, and woke late the
next morning. It was then that, as the saying is, I got it in the neck.
"Wow!" I half-shouted, half-groaned, as I turned to meet the Chinese
valet with the morning cup of tea. My whole body seemed one bruise, my
joints turned to pith, and, what was worse than all, my brain--a pretty
active organ, take it all in all--seemed stuffed with wool.
It was the reaction, only to be expected, as the Richmond doctor said to
me some three hours later. For the next two or three days I was to do
nothing at all, after my "bad fall," which was the way my state had been
explained to him. Whether he believed it or not, I cannot tell. It was
certainly odd that Mr. Mendoza Morse, whom he also attended, should be
in very much the same state of shock and semi-collapse. But he was a
discreet, clean-shaven gentleman, with a comfortable manner, and in the
seventh heaven at being admitted to the mysterious City in the Clouds,
his eyes everywhere as he was being conducted through its wonders to our
bedsides--so Rolston told me afterwards. At any rate, he was right. It
was certainly necessary to go slow for a few days, and fortunately, now
that the search was over and no trace of Midwinter discovered, we felt
we could do this.
The preliminary arrangements for our final effort were left in Rolston's
hands, who descended with the doctor, and I did not rise till mid-day.
I met Morse at lunch--_piano_, and distinctly under the weather from a
physical point of view. We neither of us talked of important matters,
but enjoyed a stroll round the City during a bright afternoon. At
tea-time we met Juanita, and I had a long and happy talk with her. She
knew, of course, that the search had proved satisfactory, and--as we had
all agreed together--I led her to think that all danger was now
practically over. Indeed, as far as Morse and she were concerned, I
believed it myself. I knew that there was yet a grim tussle ahead for
the rest of us, but that was all. I did not see her at dinner, but took
the meal alone in my own house. Rolston was still absent, and as I did
not want to talk to any one, failing Juanita, I was quite happy by
myself.
About nine o'clock I was rung up on the telephone. Morse spoke. He said
he was now thoroughly rested, and was ready for a chat. If I hadn't seen
the treasures of the library yet, he and Pu-Yi would be pleased to show
them to me. And so, slipping on a coat over my evening clothes, and
taking a light cane in my hand, I started out for Grand Square. It was
again, I may mention here, a fine and calm night.
My host and the Chinaman were waiting for me in the great, Gothic room,
and we inspected the treasures in some of the glass-fronted shelves. I
was surprised and delighted to find that my future father-in-law had a
real love for, and a considerable knowledge of, books. It was a side of
him I had not seen before. I had not connected him with the arts in any
way, which, when you come to think of it, was rather foolish. Certainly
he had the finest expert advice and help to be found in the whole world
in the building of the City in the Clouds. But I should have remembered
that the initial conception was his own and that many of the details
also came entirely from his brain. Certainly, in his way, Mendoza Morse
was a creative artist.
My own collection of books at Stax, my place in Hertfordshire, is, of
course, well known, and always mentioned when English libraries are
under discussion. But Morse could boast treasures far beyond me. During
the last year or two I had been so busy in working up the _Evening
Special_ that I had quite neglected to follow the book sales, but I
learned now that some of the rarest treasures obtainable had been
quietly bought up on Morse's behalf. He had all the folios, and most of
the quartos, of Shakespeare, a fine edition of Spenser's "Faerie Queene"
with an inscription to Florio, the great Elizabethan scholar; there was
Boswell's own copy of Johnson's "Lives of the Poets," with a ponderous
Latin inscription in the sturdy old doctor's own hand, and many other
treasures as rare, though not perhaps of such popular and general
interest.
Pu-Yi made us some marvelous tea in the Chinese fashion, with a sort of
ritual which was impressive as he moved about the table and waved his
long pale hands. It was of a faint, straw color, with neither sugar,
milk, or lemon, and he assured me that it came from the stores of the
Forbidden City in Pekin. Certainly, it was nasty enough for anything,
and I praised it as I had praised Morse's rose-colored champagne the
night before--but with less sincerity.
I don't know if my friend had a touch of homesickness or not, but he
began to tell us of his home by the waters of the Yang-Tse-Kiang. His
precise and literary English rose and fell in that great room with a
singular charm, and though I don't think Morse listened much, he smoked
a cigar with great good-humor while Pu-Yi expounded his quaint, Eastern
philosophy. We did not refer to the grim scenes of the night before, but
something I said turned the conversation to the funeral customs of
China.
"Indeed, Sir Thomas," said Pu-Yi, "the death of a man of my nation may
be said to be the most important act of his whole life. For then only
can his personal existence be properly considered to begin."
This seemed a somewhat startling proposition, and I said so, but he
proceeded to explain. I shall not easily forget his little monologue,
every word of which I remember for a very sad and poignant reason. Well,
he knows all about it now, and I hope he is happy.
"It is in this way," he said. "By death a man joins the great company of
ancestors who are, to us, people of almost more consequence than living
folk, and of much more individual distinction. It is then at last," he
continued, delicately sipping his tea, "that the individual receives
that recognition which was denied him in the flesh. Our ancestors are
given a dwelling of their own and devotedly reverenced. This, I know,
will seem strange to Western ears, but believe me, honorable sir, the
cult is anything but funereal. For the ancestral tombs are temples and
pleasure pavilions at the same time, consecrated not simply to rites and
ceremonies, but to family gatherings and general jollification."
This was quite a new view to me, and certainly interesting. I said so,
and Pu-Yi smiled and bowed.
"And the fortunate defunct," he went on, "if he is still half as
sentient as his dutiful descendants suppose, must feel that his earthly
life, like other approved comedies, has ended well!"
His voice was sad, but there was a faint, malicious mockery in it also,
and as I looked at him with an answering smile to his own, I wondered
whether that keen and subtle brain really believed in the customs of his
land. That he would be studious and rigid in their outward observance, I
knew.
I never met, as I have said before, a more courteous gentleman than
Pu-Yi.
"Ever been in South Germany?" said Morse suddenly--he had evidently been
pursuing a train of his own thought while the Chinaman held forth.
"Yes, Mr. Morse, why?"
"Then in some of those quaint, old-fashioned towns you have seen the
storks nesting on the roofs of the houses?"