fetching, for all that, in a blue silk gown such as the Manchoo ladies wear, in which there are three or four skirts of varying lengths, with huge hanging sleeves, and her hair done up in high buns. She was one of your round-faced Chinese beauties, and none the worse for that, but my attention was distracted by the black-cowled figured at my elbow throwing back his hood, and I found myself gaping at General Lee Hsiu-chen.
'I apologise. It was necessary,' says he, and I wasted no time in babbled questions. He'd tell me what he wanted me to know. He was breathing hard, and I saw a trickle of blood on the back of his hand. He nodded to the girl, and she walked away to a curtained arch at the end of the short, carpeted passage in which we stood. She waited there, head averted, and Lee spoke rapidly, getting his breath back.
'You are to be granted audience of the Heavenly King. It is a highly unusual honour. Few foreigners have seen him for many years. He understands that you are from the London Missionary Society. Say nothing of how you came here. Listen to him.' He smiled, an odd, dreamy smile that sent chills up my back. 'Yes. Listen to him. Do not be surprised if he talks all night. He does not tire as mortals do.'
He gestured me towards the archway, and as I approached, the Bearer of Heavenly Decrees turned and held out a red silk robe—I was in the sarong I wear in bed—slipping it over my shoulders. Then she pulled back the curtains, beckoning me to follow.
The heavy smell of incense struck my nostrils as I saw we were in a small, low chamber hung round with dragon silks. At the far end was a deep divan caught in a pool of light from two tall candlebranches, and on it reclined a short, stocky figure in white silk embroidered in gold. He was nodding sleepily in that joss-laden air, while a female voice recited high and clear:
'The Heavenly Father, the Elder Brother, the Heavenly King, and the Junior Lord shall be Lords forever. The Heavenly Kingdom is established everywhere, and the effulgence of the Heavenly Family is spread upon all the Earth for all eternity.'
The voice stopped, and the Bearer of Heavenly Decrees rustled forward, dropped to her knees half-way to the divan, kow-towed several times, and addressed the chap on the couch. I caught the words '. . London Missionary Society …' and then she was hurrying back to me, motioning me forward, indicating that I too should kow-tow. Well, the hell with him, Heavenly King or not. I walked forward, and got a close look at him as I began to make a half-bow—a tubby little Chink, with long dark hair framing a round, amiable face, a short sandy beard, and great dark eyes that shone in his pasty face like a hypnotist's, but with none of the force of your professional mesmeriser. They were placid, dreamy eyes, friendly and kind … and what the devil was I doing, kow-towing? I jumped up, vexed, and the big eyes smiled sleepily, holding mine. So that was his secret; you couldn't help looking at him. With an effort I tore my glance away—and realised that we were not alone. And I can pay no higher tribute to the Tien Wang's magnetic personality than to say that only now did I notice those others present.
One was kneeling on the couch, holding a scroll from which she had been reading. She wore a towering gilt headdress, like a pagoda, and a little fringe of gold threads round her hips. That was all her attire, and out of deference to royalty I modestly lowered my eyes, and found myself contemplating another naked female reclining at my feet—one more step and I'd have trod on her buttocks. I half-started back, afraid to look in case there were more bare houris perched on the candelabra. But there were just the two, twins by the look of them, still as superbly-shaped statues, lovely faces intent on the man on the couch, and apparently unaware of my existence. Reluctantly, I looked back at him, and he smiled vacantly.
'Welcome, in the peace of God,' says he, and indicated a silken stool by the couch. It was a deep, liquid voice, with a curious husky quality. I sat, uncomfortably aware that the reclining poppet was only inches from my foot, and that if I looked straight ahead my horizon was voluptuously filled by the charms of the kneeling nymph. It's hell in the Taiping, you know. Not that I bar contemplating the undraped female form, but there's a time and a place, and heaven knew what I'd interrupted. I wondered if these were two of his reputed eighty-eight wives, or if he, too, had been voted a few spares, next week being his birthday and all. Good heavens—was it possible one of them was for me? I didn't like to ask, and I didn't get the chance, for he fixed me with those luminous, empty eyes and his melancholy smile, and began to speak to me. My heart was hammering, what with the knowledge that this was the Tien Wang, the Chinese Messiah, one of the most powerful men on earth, and that what passed between us might be vital … Bruce's instructions … my mission … That, and the nearness of those mouth-watering little flesh-traps—d'you wonder I was sweating? It was like a wild dream: the sweet, husky voice, pausing every now and then as though to compel an answer, the blindly shining eyes, the heavy reek of incense, the silk edges of the stool hot under my hands, the satin gleam of bums, bellies and boobies in the candle-shine, the soft lunatic babble which I'd not believe if I didn't remember every word:
Tien Wang: … The London Missionary Society. Ah, yes but I do not remember you … only Dr Sylvester, my dear old friend … (Long pause)
Flashy: Ah, yes … your majesty. Sylvester. To be sure. T.W.: Dr Sylvester … how long? How long? (Goes into trance)
F. (helping matters along): Couple of months, perhaps?
T.W. (reviving vaguely): You have spoken with Dr Sylvester recently? Then you are greatly blessed. (Beatific smile) For you have made the Journey. I felicitate you.
F.: Sorry?
T.W.: The Journey to the Celestial Above. I, too, have spoken with Dr Sylvester in Heaven, since his earthly death in 1841. Soon the portals will open for us all, and we shall rest in the Divine Halls of Eternal Peace. Have you visited Heaven often?
F.: Not to say often. Nothing like your majesty … weekends, that sort of thing. Just to see Sylvester, really … oh, God …
T.W.: How well I recall his discourse … illuminating … constructive … wise …
F.: Absolutely. Couldn't get enough of it. (Long pause, during which F.'s attention wanders)
T.W.: His humanity was equalled only by his scholarship. Was there a fruit of learning that he had not plucked? Divinity … philosophy … theology … metaphysics …
F. (musing): Tits. (in confusion) No, I mean metaphysics! Geometry, anything … he knew it all!
T.W. (benignly): Soon we shall join him, when we have made the final Journey, but only after long and laborious struggle. When you first visited Heaven, were you given new bowels?
F.: Eh? Oh … no, no, I wasn't. I wasn't considered worthy, you see … your majesty. Not then. Not for new bowels.
T.W.: Take heart. I too was rebuked when I first entered the Golden Doors. Jesus, my Elder Brother, was angry because I had not learned my Bible lessons well. He was correct. We must all learn our Bible. (Long pause)
F. (desperate): Moab is my washpot, over Edom will I cast out my shoe. Er … Genesis, Exodus, Leviticus, thing …
T.W.: I remember how kind Jesus's wife was … and when my heart and entrails had been removed, I was given new ones, of shining red.
F.: Red, eh?
T.W.: And God gave me a sword to exterminate demons … and a seal of authority. The demons transformed themselves eighteen times, as they have power to do.
F.: Yes, yes … eighteen. Shocking.
T.W.: But I drove them down to Hell, and the Heavenly Mother gave me fruits and sweets. As I ate them, marvelling at their savour, God traced the Devil's misdeeds to errors in Confucius, and rebuked him. But Confucius defended himself vehemently.
F. (indignant): He did, did he?
T.W.: Then Jesus and the Angels joined in against Confucius, who tried to sneak away to join the Devil, Yen- lo, but he was caught and brought back and beaten. (Smiling blankly) But at last God allowed him to sit in Heaven, in recognition of past merits.
F. (doubtful): Well …
T.W.: Yen-lo is the Serpent-Devil of the Garden of Eden … F.: Is he? Ah!
T.W.: … and when Eve heeded his words, she was driven forth, and her children were drowned in the Great Rain. But Yen-lo seeks ever to steal men's souls, ensnaring their senses with beautiful temptations … there were beautiful hand-maidens in Heaven …
This seemed to give him an idea, for the husky voice, which had been droning away as at a lesson learned,
