Saigon (10 page)

“We believe that living in harmony with natural forces of life is o the highest importance,” said Tran Van Hieu gently, waving his hand towards the golden-roofed temples and palaces of the Imperial City inside the Hue citadel. “That is why the location for the Thai Hoa, the Palace of Perfect Concord, was chosen with such care.” 

Joseph gazed up wide-eyed at the snarling ceramic dragons that writhed along the ridges and cornices of the Thai Hoa; in the bright sunlight of the first morning of the Year of the Buffalo they glittered and shimmered like real gold. “It’s very beautiful,” said Joseph in a hushed voice. “But why was this particular spot found to be so favorable?” 

They were crossing the Bridge of the Golden Waters and entering the ornamental esplanade in front of the palace where shaded, tree-lined walks led past lotus pools and balustraded flower gardens. Joseph was dressed in a formal gray knickerbocker suit and the Annamese at his side was already wearing the stepped Ming dynasty bonnet, curly-toed boots and embroidered silk gown in which he would pay homage to the emperor of Annam along with hundreds of other mandarins at the annual Tet ceremony. 

“This was where the strongest forces of all were found to meet in perfect union,” said Tran Van Hieu quietly. “The white tiger and the blue dragon, which are often in conflict, rest peacefully with one another on the precise spot where the emperor’s throne stands inside the palace.” 

“What are the white tiger and the blue dragon?” 

The mandarin hesitated, then smiled at the American boy. “We believe they are the male and female principles of existence. The white tiger is the female principle, which is negative and threatening, but the blue dragon, the male principle, is positive and benign. They also symbolize East and West.” 

“But how exactly can you tell that they are in harmony right here?” asked Joseph, glancing curiously about him. Other mandarins in bright silk gowns, booted and bonneted like Tran Van Hieu, were hurrying through the ornamental gardens towards the palace. Around the inner walls the Annamese soldiers of the imperial guard, who looked as if they’d stepped out of the pages of one of his adventure-story books, stood sentinel with their muskets. They wore mushroom-shaped hats topped with glittering brass spikes, and white cloths fluttered at their necks to protect them from the sun; all of them were barefoot, but Joseph noticed that their leg wrappings were yellow— the color, as Tran Van Hieu had already pointed out, which was worn only by the emperor and his immediate entourage. 

“It is very difficult to explain quickly, Monsieur Joseph,” said the mandarin. “Some wise Annamese sages devote their whole lives to the study of feng-shui. Those are the Chinese characters meaning ‘wind’ and ‘water.’ A dwelling for the living or a tomb for one’s ancestors should be sited only where it harmonizes completely with the forces of nature.” lie smiled again. “Let us start with something easy. You have already seen the serene beauty of the River of Perfumes that flows past the citadel walls. The scents of its rare grasses and reeds drift gently on the wind bringing calm and tranquility to its banks, And many lotus flowers grow in our waters. The lotus is the symbol of purity, the symbol of Flue. Although ii grows from mud, it turns into a thing of great beauty and smells very sweet. Under its influence we believe good men can resist evil. And see there!” He paused and pointed above the vermilion walls of the citadel to the dark bulk of an isolated mountain rising to the south. “That peak is called the Ngu Binh. It means the ‘Emperor’s Screen.’ All bad spirits travel in straight lines from the south, and that mountain prevents them from entering the Imperial City.” He paused again and waved his hand in several directions in succession. “But there are many other good signs all around us. 

a maiden holding a spray of blossoms ... a serpent entwined around the root of a lotus. . . a phoenix in a prayerful attitude.” 

Joseph peered in the directions indicated by the mandarin but saw only the scented shrubs and trees of the formal gardens. “1 can’t see anything, Monsieur Hieu,” he said smiling delightedly. “But it is very beautiful here. I’m sure what you say is true.” 

The American boy had begun to fall under the spell of the old Annamese city soon after crossing the lotus-choked moat into the Kinh Thanh, or Capital City, the first of three concentric “cities” within the citadel modeled on the ancient walled quarters of Peking. Although the citadel had been rebuilt by the Emperor Gia Long in 1802, its palaces and temples had been designed and constructed faithfully in the style favored by China’s Ming emperors and at the entrance to the Dai Noi, the Imperial City itself, Tran Van Hieu had been waiting for him in the shadow of the Ngo Mon, the multi-tiered “Bull Gate” roofed in gold tiles like the Gate of Heavenly Peace in Peking. The governor of Cochin-China had arranged the meeting; on hearing of Mrs. Sherman’s arrival in Hue he had invited them to join his official entourage for the imperial New Year ceremony and had also arranged for Tran Van Hieu to show Joseph the palaces beforehand. 

Joseph’s melancholy had begun to evaporate for the first time since leaving the hunting camp as the goateed mandarin, walking ponderously beside him in ceremonial boots, reeled off the mystical-sounding names of the shimmering buildings: the Can Chanh, the Great Mansion . . the Palace of the Spirits of the Six Emperors . the Temple of Generations . . . the Halls of the Splendors and the Moon and the Glory of the Sun — and most mysterious of all to his young impressionable mind, the guarded heart of the citadel, the Tu Cam Thanh, the Purple Forbidden City named after the Purple or Pole Star, the symbolic ruler of the heavens. As had been the case in Peking, Tran Van Hieu explained, the emperor dwelled in utter seclusion behind the walls of the Forbidden City, and no European ever entered those precincts. 

Bronze griffins and gilded chimera stood guard outside the palace doors, and life-sized stone mandarins appeared silently among the scented trees as they walked. In a temple courtyard they came unexpectedly upon a troupe of imperial singers and dancers rehearsing a performance; garbed in dazzling costumes of gold, red, green and turquoise, the expressionless boys and girls were indistinguishable from one another in their close-fitting bonnets as they performed the mannered steps of a delicate oriental dance to the plaintive accompaniment of gongs and ancient stone lithophones. 

All these sights and sounds alone would have fascinated Joseph’s young mind, but the murmured talk of deities and devils beyond his imaginings coming from the grave-faced little mandarin pacing at his side established the walled city of palaces lastingly in his mind as a place of deep mystery and enchantment, and by the time Tran Van Hieu delivered him to the governor’s aide outside the Palace of Perfect Concord he was almost ready to believe he would see a live white tiger curled up contentedly with a blue dragon around the emperor’s feet. 

His mother and the governor of Cochin-China were already waiting by the entrance with the Resident Supérieur of Annam and his official suite of guests. The military officers among them wore full dress uniform of horizon blue while civilians wore frocked coats and chapeaux hauts de forme -—top hats. The rule that normally barred women from the ceremony had been waived after representations on her behalf by the governor, and in response Flavia Sherman had chosen het most sober clothes for the occasion. The full-length skirt of her modest navy blue suit brushed the ground arid a veil and matching, narrow-brimmed hat of the same color partly hid her face. She was relieved to see that her son’s tour of the palaces had left his eyes shining and he greeted her with something approaching his normal smile. 

“It’s all a little bit like a fairy tale, isn’t it?” she whispered as they filed into the throne room with the other guests, and he nodded eagerly in reply. To Joseph’s delight the Resident Supérieur led his entourage to the very front of the audience chamber and the American boy found himself standing only a few feet away from the throne where the Emperor Khai Dinh, a slender, almost feminine figure, sat swathed in a golden robe of richly embroidered silk. His feet, shod in the long black leather boots of China’s Ming rulers, rested in the embrace of two reclining golden dogs carved in the throne’s base and in his hands he held an ivory wand bearing a tiny mirror, which, Tran Van Hieu had explained, he used to shield his face and demonstrate his symbolic humility before the spirits of his ancestors, On either side of the throne two liveried Annamese eunuchs stood at attention holding long.. handled fans of decorated feathers which they waved in slow, synchronized strokes above the emperor’s head to cool the air that he breathed. 

in the wall opposite the throne, screen doors had been drawn back and a blaze of early morning sunlight flooded into the chamber from the flagstoned courtyard, causing the emperor’s gem-encrusted crown of beaten gold to flash and glitter with every movement of his head. Outside, all the foremost mandarins of the court were already assembled in lines that reflected their rank, In the first row Joseph spotted ‘Tran Van Hieu’s father standing just behind the two red-robed royal princes who were to lead the annual act of homage. 

“You’ll notice that we are standing to the left of the throne,” said the governor, addressing Joseph and his mother in a stage whisper. “The heart side of the emperor, you see, is the place of honor in the Orient.” 

Joseph glanced quickly at the emperor to see if he’d heard and was surprised to find his expression uneasy beneath the bonnet like crown that fitted close around his face. Once or twice as they waited for the ceremonial to begin he saw the eyes of the Annamese sovereign shift anxiously in their direction and he dabbed occasionally at his pale perspiring face with a silken handkerchief that he held concealed in one of his voluminous sleeves. When the Resident Supérieur finally stepped forward to face the throne, the Annamese emperor dropped his gaze to his brightly polished boots and listened without looking at him directly. 

“Your imperial majesty,” boomed the Frenchman in his own language, “it is my singular honor as representative of the Nation Protectrice to extend the felicitations of the president of France to your highly esteemed imperial person and all your court on this auspicious and sacred occasion The Resident Supérieur, a tall, barrel-chested man who wore a monocle in his left eye, was an imposing figure in his official blue and gold uniform. A ceremonial sword hung at his left side in a gilded scabbard and clusters of beribboned medals and star-pointed orders festooned both sides of his tunic. As he spoke, he let one hand rest on the hilt of his sword as though to emphasize subtly the ever-present might of French arms. “In the nine years since your majesty ascended the throne of Annam in 1916, your kingdom has continued to enjoy the unselfish and benevolent protection ,of France and it is our sincere hope that this mutually rewarding state of affairs will continue far into the distant future to the benefit of both our peoples 

From time to time as he read his salutation from a sheet of paper held before him in a white-gloved hand, the Resident Supérieur squinted at the emperor through his monocle; his voice was loud and confident and betrayed little outward sign of the extreme deference implied in his spoken words. In contrast, the Annamese monarch seemed to shrink deeper into the embrace of his gilded throne as though he was only too well aware that the diplomatic niceties of the Frenchman’s address did nothing to alter the fact that he and his people were irretrievably beholden to the will and whim of France. 

These subtleties, however, were lost on Joseph because the dryness of the speech had caused his attention to wander and he gazed round the richly furnished audience chamber with awe- struck eyes. A forest of scarlet, lim-wood pillars supported the roof, and the five-clawed golden dragons entwined around the length of each of them seemed to snarl fiercely at their reflections in the floor of polished ceramic tiles. Delicately wrought Ming urns and vases stood on tables at the foot of every pillar and to Joseph’s surprise an impassive young mandarin appeared silently from a place of concealment behind one of them as the Resident Supérieur finished speaking. In a singsong tone he translated the address into Annamese for his emperor. When he had finished the mandarin disappeared again as silently as he had come, and Joseph saw the emperor take a rolled Chinese scroll from one of his sleeves. 

In a sibilant, fluttering voice he read his reply from the throne in Annamese, but his delivery, unlike the Frenchman’s, was hesitant and nervous and once or twice he stopped to swallow in mid-sentence. The moment he finished, an elderly mandarin with a white, whispy goatee appeared from behind another pillar beside the throne and translated the emperor’s brief address into melodiously accented French. Several times the Resident Supérieur dipped his chin an inch and lowered his eyes in acknowledgment of a dutiful reference to “the great protecting nation of France,” and when the translation ended he inclined his head more formally without bowing. lie watched closely as the emperor rose from his throne, and when he saw him bow low in his direction, he allowed a little smile of polite acknowledgment to play across his face before he turned and strode majestically back to join his entourage. 

With a little wave of his hand he indicated that his officials and guests should take a pace or two backward into the aisle between the adjoining rows of pillars to clear the way between the throne and the open doors, and the next moment the ranks of singers and musicians drawn up around the walls of the courtyard outside burst into a plaintive musical chant. On hearing this, the two royal princes prostrated themselves in the doorway of the throne room and pressed their foreheads to the floor tiles in a reverent attitude. The mandarins behind them, who all carried mirror wands like the emperor’s, followed their lead and stretched themselves full length on the flagstones of the courtyard.