A bridge of white marble across the reeds and lotus gives access to the
Island of Jade. Both ends of the bridge are guarded, needless to say,
by marble monsters who leer and squint at any one who has the audacity
to pass. The shores of the island rise abruptly underneath the cedar
branches, and one begins immediately to climb by means of steps and
rock-cut paths. Among the severe trees is a series of marble terraces
with bronze incense-burners and occasional pagodas, out of whose
obscurity enormous golden idols shine forth.
This Island of Jade, on account of its position of strategic
importance, is under military occupation by a company of our marines.
As there is no shelter other than the pagodas, and no camp beds other
than the sacred tables, our soldiers have had to put out of doors the
entire population of secondary gods in order to make room to lie down
on the beautiful red tables at night, and have left only the big,
solemn idols on their thrones. So here they are by the hundreds, by the
thousands, lined up on the white terraces like playthings. Inside the
temples the guns of our men are lying about, and their blankets and
their clothing hang on the walls, all around the big idols who have
been left in their places. What a heavy smell of leather they have
already introduced into these closed sanctuaries, accustomed only to
the odor of sandalwood and incense!
* * * * *
Through the twisted branches of the cedars the horizon, which is
occasionally visible, is all green, turning to an autumn brown. It is
a wood, an infinite wood, out of which here and there roofs of yellow
faience emerge. This wood is Pekin; not at all as one imagines it, but
Pekin seen from the top of a very sacred place where no Europeans were
ever allowed to come.
The rocky soil grows thinner and thinner as one rises toward the "big
devil of China," as one approaches the peak of the isolated cone known
as the Island of Jade.
This morning I meet, as I climb, a curious band of pilgrims who are
coming down; they are Lazarist missionaries in mandarin costume,
wearing long queues. With them are several young Chinese Catholic
priests who seem frightened at being there; as though, in spite of the
Christianity superimposed upon their hereditary beliefs, they were
committing some sacrilege by their very presence in so forbidden a spot.
At the foot of the dungeon which crowns these rocks is the kiosk of
faience and marble where the "big devil" dwells. It is high up on a
narrow terrace in the pure, clear air, from which one overlooks a mass
of trees scarcely veiled to-day by the usual mist of dust and sun.
I enter the kiosk where the "big devil" stands, the sole guest of this
aerial region. Oh, horrible creature that he is! He is of superhuman
size, cast in bronze. Like Shiva, god of death, he dances on dead
bodies; he has five or six atrocious faces whose multiplied grins are
almost intolerable; he wears a collar of skulls, and is gesticulating
with forty arms that hold instruments of torture or heads severed from
their bodies.
Such is the protecting divinity chosen by the Chinese to watch over
this city, and placed high above all their pyramidal faience roofs,
high above all their pagodas and towers, as we in times of faith would
have placed the Christ or the Blessed Virgin. It is a tangible symbol
of their profound cruelty, the index of the inexplicable cleft in the
brain of these people ordinarily so tractable and gentle, so open to
the charm of little children and of flowers, but who are capable all
at once of gleefully becoming executioners and torturers of the most
horrible description.
At my feet Pekin seems like a wood! I had been told of this
incomprehensible effect, but my expectations are surpassed. Outside
of the parks in the Imperial City, it has not seemed to me that there
were many trees around the houses, that is, in the gardens and in
the streets. But from here all is submerged in green. Even beyond the
walls whose black outlines may be seen in the distance there are more
woods,--endless woods. Toward the east alone lies the gray desert
which I came through that snowy morning, and toward the north rise the
Mongolian mountains, charming, translucent, and purple against the pale
blue sky.
The great straight arteries of the city, drawn according to a singular
plan, with a regularity and an amplitude to be found in none of the
European capitals, resemble, from the point where I stand, the avenues
in a forest,--avenues bordered by various complicated, delicate
little fretwork houses of gray pasteboard or of gilt paper. Many of
these arteries are dead; in those which are still living, this fact
is indicated from my point of view by the constant moving of little
brown animals along the earth, recalling the migration of ants; these
caravans, which move slowly and quietly away, are scattered to the four
corners of China.
* * * * *
A feeling that is akin to regret is mingled with my afternoon's work
in the solitude of my lofty palace,--regret for what is about to end,
for I am now on the eve of departure. And it will be an end without any
possible beginning again, for if I should return to Pekin this palace
would be closed to me, or, in any case, I should never again find here
such charming solitude.
Yet this distant, inaccessible spot, of which it once would have seemed
madness to say that I should ever make it my dwelling-place, has
already become very familiar to me, as well as all that belongs here
and all that has happened here,--the presence of the great alabaster
goddess in the dark temple, the daily visit of the cat, the silence of
the surroundings, the mournful light of the October sun, the agonies
of the last butterflies as they beat against my window-panes, the
manoeuvres of the sparrows whose nests are in the enamelled roofs, the
blowing of the dead leaves, and the fall of the little balsam needles
on the pavement of the esplanade whenever the wind blows. What a
strange destiny, when you think of it, has made me master here for a
few days!
The splendors of our long gallery in the Palace of the North are a
thing of the past. It is already divided by light wooden partitions
which may be removed without difficulty if ever the Empress thinks
of returning, but which, for the time being, cut it up into rooms
and offices. There are still a few magnificent bibelots in the part
which is to be the general's salon, but elsewhere it has all been
simplified; the silks, the pottery, the screens, the bronzes, duly
catalogued, have been removed to a storehouse. Our soldiers have even
found European seats among the palace reserves, which they have taken
to the future apartments of the staff to make them more habitable. They
consist of sofas and arm-chairs, vaguely Henry II. in style, covered
with old-gold plush that reminds one of a provincial hotel.
I expect to leave to-morrow morning. When the dinner hour unites us
once again, Captain C. and I, seated at our little ebony table, both
feel a touch of melancholy at seeing how things have changed about us,
and how quickly our dream of being Chinese sovereigns is over.
MONDAY, October 29.
I have postponed my departure for twenty-four hours in order to meet
General Vayron, who returns to Pekin this evening, and undertake his
commissions for the admiral. So I have an unexpected half-day to
spend in my high mirador, and hope for a last visit from my cat, who
will find me no more in my accustomed place, neither to-morrow nor
ever again. It is now growing colder each day, so that in any case my
work-room would not be possible much longer.
Before the doors of this palace close behind me forever I want to
take a last walk into all the windings of the terraces, into all
the kiosks, so dainty and so charming, in which the Empress no doubt
concealed her reveries and her amours.
* * * * *
As I go to take leave of the great white goddess,--the sun already
setting, and the roofs of the Violet City bathed in the red golds of
evening,--I find the aspect of things about here changed; the soldiers
who were on guard at the gate have climbed to the top and are putting
her house in order; they have carried off the thousand and one boxes of
porcelains and girandoles, the broken vases and the bouquets, and have
carefully swept the place. The alabaster goddess, deliciously pale in
her golden robes, still smiles, more than ever solitary in her empty
temple.
The sun of this last day sets in little wintry clouds that are cold to
look at, and the Mongolian wind makes me shiver in my thick cloak as I
cross the Marble Bridge on my return to the Palace of the North, where
the general with his escort of cavalry has just arrived.
TUESDAY, October 30.
On horseback, at seven in the morning, a changelessly beautiful sun and
an icy wind. I start off with my two servants, young Toum, and a small
escort of two African chasseurs, who will accompany me as far as my
junk. We have about six kilometres to cover before reaching the dreary
country. We first cross the Marble Bridge, then, leaving the great
Imperial wood, pass through ruined, squalid Pekin in a cloud of dust.
At length, after going through the deep gates in the high outer
ramparts, we reach the outside desert, swept by a terrible wind; and
here the enormous Mongolian camels, with lions' manes, perpetually file
past in a procession, making our horses start with fear.
We reach Tong-Tchow in the afternoon, and silently cross it, ruined
and dead, until we come to the banks of the Pei-Ho. There I find my
junk under the care of a soldier,--the same junk that brought me from
Tien-Tsin with all the necessities for our life on the water intact.
Nothing has been taken during my absence but my stock of pure water,--a
serious loss for us, but a pardonable theft at a time like this, when
the river water is full of danger for our soldiers. As for us, we can
drink hot tea.
We call at the office of the commissary to get our rations and to have
our papers signed; then we pull up our anchor from the infected bank
that breathes of pestilence and death, and begin to float down the
river toward the sea.
Although it is colder than it was coming up, it is almost amusing to
take up a nomadic life again in our little sarcophagus with its matting
roof, and to plunge once more, as night falls, into the immense green
solitude of the dark banks as we glide along between them.
WEDNESDAY, October 31.
The morning sun shines on the bridge of a junk that is covered with a
thin coating of ice. The thermometer marks 8° above zero, and the wind
blows, cruel and violent, but health-giving, we feel sure.
We have the swift current with us, so that the desolate shores, with
their ruins and their dead, slip by much more rapidly than on our other
journey. We walk on the tow-path from morning until night in order to
keep warm, almost abreast of the Chinese who are pulling the rope.
There is a fulness of physical life in the wind; one feels light and
full of energy.
THURSDAY, November 1.
Our boat trip lasts only forty-eight hours this time, and we have but
two frosty nights to sleep under a matting roof through which the
shining stars are visible, for toward the end of the second day we
enter Tien-Tsin.
Tien-Tsin, where we have to find a shelter for the night, is horribly
repopulated since our last stay here. It takes us almost two hours to
row across the immense city, working our way amongst myriads of canoes
and junks. Both banks are crowded with Chinese, howling, gesticulating,
buying, and selling, in spite of the fact that few of the walls or
roofs of the houses are left intact.
FRIDAY, November 2.
In spite of the cold wind and the dust, which continues to blow
pitilessly, we arrive at Taku,--horrible city,--at the mouth of the
river, by mid-day. But alas! it will be impossible to join the squadron
to-day; the tides are unfavorable, the bar in bad condition, the sea
too high. Perhaps to-morrow or the next day.
I had almost had time to forget the difficulties and uncertainties of
life in this place,--the perpetual anxiety in regard to the weather,
the concern for this or that boat laden with soldiers or supplies,
which is running some danger outside or which may founder on the bar;
complications and dangers of all sorts connected with the disembarking
of troops,--a thing which seems so simple when looked at from a
distance, but which is surrounded by a world of difficulties in such
places.
SATURDAY, November 3.
_En route_ this morning for the squadron out on the open sea. At the
end of a half hour the sinister shore of China disappears behind us,
and the smoke-stacks of the iron-clads begin to pour forth their black
smoke upon the horizon. We fear we shall have to turn back, the weather
is so bad.
Dripping with fog, however, we arrive at last, and I jump aboard the
_Redoutable_, where my comrades, with no taste of high life in China to
break the monotony, have been at work for forty days.