_September 13th_.
This evening Yves is off duty three hours earlier than myself; from
time to time this is the case, according to the arrangement of the
watches. On those occasions he lands the first, and goes up to wait
for me at Diou-djen-dji.
From the deck I can see him through the glasses, climbing up the green
mountain path; he walks with a brisk, rapid step, almost running; what
a hurry he seems in to rejoin little Chrysanthème.
When I arrive, at about nine o'clock, I find him seated on the floor,
in the middle of my rooms, with naked torso (this is here a
sufficiently proper costume for private life, I admit). Around him are
grouped Chrysanthème, Oyouki, and Mdlle. Dédé the maid, all eagerly
rubbing his back with little blue towels decorated with storks and
humorous subjects.
Good heavens, what can he have been doing to be so hot, and have put
himself in such a state?
He tells me that near our house, a little higher up the mountain, he
has discovered a fencing gallery: that till nightfall he had been
engaged in a fencing bout against Japanese, who fought with two-handed
swords, springing like cats, as is the custom of their country. With
his French method of fencing he had given them a thorough good
drubbing. Upon which, with many a low bow, they had shown him their
admiration by bringing him a quantity of nice little iced things to
drink. All this combined had thrown him into a fearful perspiration.
Ah, very well. Nevertheless this did not quite explain to me.
He is delighted with his evening; intends to go and amuse himself
every day by beating them; he even thinks of taking pupils.
Once his back dried, they all together, the three mousmés and himself,
play at Japanese "_pigeon vole_." Really I could not wish for anything
more innocent, or more correct in every respect.
Charles N---- and Madame Jonquille his wife, arrived unexpectedly at
about ten o'clock. (They were wandering about in the dark shrubberies
in our neighborhood, and, seeing our lights, came up to us.)
They intend to finish the evening at the tea-house "of the Toads," and
they try to induce us to go and drink some iced sherbets with them. It
is at least an hour's walk from here, on the other side of the town,
half way up the hill, in the gardens of the large pagoda dedicated to
Osueva; but they stick to their idea, pretending that in this clear
night and bright moonlight, we shall have a lovely view from the
terrace of the temple.
Lovely, I have no doubt, but we had intended going to bed. However,
be it so, let us go with them.
We hire five djins and five cars down below, in the principal street,
in front of Madame Très-Propre's shop, who, for this late expedition,
chooses for us her largest round lanterns,--big, red balloons,
decorated with star-fish, seaweed, and green sharks.
It is nearly eleven o'clock when we make our start. In the central
quarters the virtuous Niponese are already closing their little
booths, putting out their lamps, shutting the wooden framework,
drawing their paper panels.
Further on, in the old-fashioned suburban streets, all is shut up long
ago, and our carts roll on through the black night. We cry out to our
djins: "Ayakou! ayakou!" ("Quick! quick!") and they run as hard as
they can, uttering little shrieks, like some merry animal full of wild
gayety. We rush like a whirlwind through the darkness, all five in
Indian file, dashing and jolting over the old uneven flagstones, dimly
lighted up by our red balloons fluttering at the end of their bamboo
stems. From time to time some Niponese, night-capped in his blue
kerchief, opens a window to see who these noisy madcaps can be,
dashing by so rapidly and so late. Or else some faint glimmer, thrown
by us on our passage, discovers the hideous smile of a large stone
animal seated at the gate of a pagoda.
At last we arrive at the foot of Osueva's temple, and, leaving our
djins with our little gigs, we clamber up the gigantic steps,
completely deserted at this hour of the night.
Chrysanthème, who always likes to play the part of a tired little
girl, of a spoilt and pouting child, ascends slowly between Yves and
myself, clinging to our arms.
Jonquille, on the contrary, skips up like a bird, amusing herself by
counting the endless steps:
"Hitôts'! F'tâts'! Mits'! Yôts'!" ("One! two! three! four!") she
exclaims, springing up by a series of little light bounds.
"Itsôôts! Moûts'! Nanâts! Yâts! Kokonôts!" ("Five! six! seven! eight!
nine!")
She lays a great stress on the accentuations, as though to make the
numbers sound even more droll.
A little silver aigrette glitters in her beautiful black chignon; her
delicate and graceful figure seems strangely fantastic, and the
darkness that envelops us conceals the fact that her face is almost
ugly, and almost without eyes.
This evening Chrysanthème and Jonquille really look like little
fairies; at certain moments the most insignificant Japanese have this
appearance, by dint of whimsical elegance and ingenious arrangement.
The granite stairs, immense, deserted, uniformly gray under the
nocturnal sky, seem to vanish into the empty space above us, and when
we turn round, to disappear in the depths beneath, to fall with the
dizzy rapidity of a dream into the abyss below. On the sloping steps
the black shadows of the gateways through which we must pass stretch
out inordinately; and the shadows, which seem to be broken at each
projecting step, bear on all their extent the regular creases of a
fan. The porticos stand up separately, rising one above the other;
their wonderful shapes are at once remarkably simple and studiously
affected; their outlines stand out sharp and distinct, having
nevertheless the vague appearance of all very large objects in the
pale moonlight. The curved architraves rise up at each extremity like
two menacing horns, pointing upwards towards the far-off blue canopy
of sky bespangled with stars, as thought they would communicate to the
gods the knowledge they have acquired in the depths of their
foundations from the earth, full of sepulchers and death, which
surrounds them.
We are, indeed, a very small group, lost now in the immensity of the
colossal acclivity as we move onwards, lighted partly by the wan moon
on high, partly by the red lanterns we hold in our hands, ever
floating at the end of their long sticks.
A deep silence reigns in the precincts of the temple, the sound of the
insects even is hushed as we ascend higher. A sort of reverence, a
kind of religious fear steals over us, and, at the same moment, a
delicious coolness suddenly pervades the air, and passes over us.
On entering the courtyard above, we feel a little daunted. Here we
find the horse in jade, and the china turrets. The enclosing walls
make it the more gloomy, and our arrival seems to disturb I know not
what mysterious council held between the spirits of the air and the
visible symbols that are there, chimeras and monsters lit up by the
blue rays of the moon.
We turn to the left, and go through the terraced gardens, to reach the
tea-house "of the Toads," which this evening is our goal; we find it
shut up--expected as much--closed and dark, at this hour! We drum all
together on the door; in the most coaxing tones we call by name the
waiting-maids we know so well: Mdlle. Transparente, Mdlle. Etoile,
Mdlle. Roséematinale, and Mdlle. Marguerite-reine. Not an answer.
Goodbye perfumed sherbets and frosted beans!
In front of the little archery-house, our mousmés suddenly start on
one side, terrified, and declaring that there is a dead body on the
ground. Yes, indeed, someone is lying there. We cautiously examine the
place by the light of our red balloons, carefully held out at arm's
length for fear of this dead man; it is only the marksman, he who on
the 14th of July chose such magnificent arrows for Chrysanthème; and
he sleeps, good man, with his chignon somewhat dishevelled, a sound
sleep, which it would be cruel to disturb.
Let us go to the end of the terrace, contemplate the roadstead at our
feet, and then return home. To-night the harbor looks only like a dark
and sinister rent, which the moonbeams cannot fathom,--a yawning
crevasse opening into the very bowels of the earth, at the bottom of
which lie faint and small glimmers, an assembly of glow-worms in a
ditch--the lights of the different vessels lying at anchor.