Empress Page 5

Heaven and Earth, sun and moon, day and night, man and woman…in this world where yin and yang repel and attract each other, the energy of duality is all-powerful. The heart of the Empire, the Absolute Master’s estate, did not escape cosmic law. The Outer City, which was dedicated to administration, was the very opposite of the Inner Palace, which was devoted to pleasure. In the former, where there were no women, the Son of Heaven governed as leader of all the officials and generals and fulfilled his duties as high priest by performing rites throughout the year. In the second, the male sex was banished, and only the sovereign, relieved of his sacred duties, drank of the exquisite loveliness of the ten thousand beauties.

  In the Outer City, there were soldiers from guards’ regiments stationed beneath awnings, each with his brocade tunic under a bronze breastplate, his saber in his leather belt, his bow bound with rattan, and his arrows dipped in crimson stain. The successions of magnificent buildings with tiles of glazed turquoise and green were a solemn, majestic sight. Their imposing proportions represented celestial harmony, their clean lines symbolized earthly fertility. The architecture in the Inner Palace was less conventional. The more gifted master-builders had tried their hand at fantasy and had ventured into exuberance. Martial strength had stepped down; grace and indolence pervaded everything. My eyes, so accustomed to the dimensions of our rustic homes, had to adapt to the excesses here. My nose, which knew the smells of the countryside, could not recognize the subtle fragrances of exotic fruits and rare flowers. There were birds whose cages were like palaces of gold, dispensing their trills with virtuosity. I discovered the heady pleasures of touch: silk, crêpe, satin, brocade, velvet, muslin, gauze, fine porcelain, the coolness of jade dishes, the warmth of lacquered trays, the shimmer of golden goblets, and showers of petals.

  There were two long narrow courtyards attached to the Inner City, like two arms protecting a body: The Eastern Palace, the residence of the Imperial Heir and his close government; and on the western side, the Side Quarters reserved for the Court ladies.

  The Side Court was a kingdom within the Empire, a painted box inside a golden trunk; it was a labyrinth of tiny rooms separated by walls of adobe clay, bamboo hedges, and narrow passageways. Official pavilions, little gardens, tunnels of wisteria, and countless bedrooms were linked by long covered galleries. Thousands of women came and went with a rustling of sleeves and a murmuring of fans, without ever exposing themselves to the sun or the rain. Imperial hierarchy was scrupulously respected despite the confines of that overpopulated world. The further down someone was on the social scale, the smaller her room, the simpler the décor, and the more modest the furniture. The slave quarter was packed with ramshackle little houses, gloomy rooms, and cold beds; the women there were like insignificant stitches in a vast embroidery.

  Nestling under ancient trees, my room was dark; it gleamed with draperies and opened onto a veranda. From my ivory bed I could look through the gauze curtains held up by gold hooks and watch the square of sky marked out by the little courtyard I shared with three other Talented Ones. At dusk, when the sun lingered behind the double ramparts, I could see scattered sparrows spiraling through the inky blueness.

  IN KEEPING WITH my rank, the Court granted me two servants and a governess—a strict, cold woman who managed to give me orders while still entrenched in her inferior position. Ruby and Emerald were twins. They were the daughters of a poor family, and their father had entrusted them to a dealer called Zhang who ran a flourishing trade in the West of the Capital that supplied the Court and dignitaries’ families with the prettiest young girls. In the evening, as they uncoiled my hair, they whispered the secrets of the Palace to me. This was how I learned that the imperial servants were not real men: Their parents had cut off their virile parts before selling them to Court. I also discovered that Governess, who was of noble birth, had been the wife of a lord who fought under the standard of the Sui dynasty. After their defeat, the men of her clan had been executed, and she had to become an imperial slave.

  In the Palace of Celestial Breath, I followed the training given to new women at Court. The great curtsey, the minor curtsey, greetings of respect, greetings of condescension, greetings from equal to equal, the quick walk, the slow walk…there was no spontaneity in the Forbidden City. Natural responses were considered the premise of the people and of Barbarians; all the elegance of our movements derived from the height of restraint. Looking, eating, drinking, sitting down, sleeping, rising, speaking, listening—the most elementary acts in life were meticulously regulated by superstitious and aesthetic codes.

  Inner thoughts had to be impregnated with the same rigorous austerity. Moral observance exemplified delicacy of mind; perversion was a crime that could lead to death. One hundred prohibitions were written in fine calligraphy on a ten-panel screen. The study of Inner Law was supplemented by reading Behaviour of a Lady at Court by the Empress of Learning and Virtue.

  I was improving my skills in music and dance. The directives for clothing taught me to distinguish between the nine official hierarchies—thanks to the variations in colors and the way things were worn. The moon filled out and wasted away. The trees had already lost their leaves. I lamented my awkwardness, and I envied the more lowly servants who seemed to move around me with such grace and ease. Despite my efforts, my muscles were still taut; I walked too quickly; I could not distribute my weight between my toes and my heels; my inclinations, my prostrations, and my stride lacked reserve—I could not shake off a rough-hewn animal brutality.

  The Palace of Celestial Breath grew busier as more new recruits to inner service arrived. These included Talented Xu, whose reputation preceded her: She was the daughter of a learned family and had started talking at just five months. At four she could already comment on Confucius’ Discussions and recite the poems in the Anthology. At eight she started writing and created this verse in the style of songs favored by the ancient kingdom of Chu: “I contemplate the deep, luxurious forest; caressing the branches of the blossoming cinnamon tree, I address the mountain that has lived a thousand years and ask: why this loneliness?”

  One winter morning, she finally appeared. Buried in a cape of mauve satin lined with silver fox, her face looked tiny and extraordinarily pale. Her eyes were so long and slanting they reached her temples and were like two timid dashes of calligraphy. She coughed a good deal, and her sickly beauty softened even the surliest of the instructors. From the very first day, she was granted the privilege to withdraw when she deemed that she was tired. According to rumor, she was the one in our group who would be favored by the Emperor. She was a year older than me and had a quiet, learned way about her and all the mysterious charm of a woman who is already promised to someone. She had no difficulty carrying out the Court movements accurately and with a delicate grace. A good many girls buzzed around her, and she soon had a devoted band of admirers as well as a collection of rivals who were quick to criticize her. Not knowing how to approach her, I kept my distance; I feigned indifference.

  At night, in my dreams, my former life went on. I walked those strange corridors of time and went back to my childhood. On the banks of the River Long, the wind danced with the huge waves. On my horse, I would fly higher and freer than the seagulls. Waking was brutal. My heart would stop. I was so dazed I would forget who I was and where I was. Then, gradually, the distress would intensify and become harrowing. The chill of the Forbidden City would overrun me.

  The pages of life that had already turned could not be opened again.

  SINCE THE DEATH of the Empress of Learning and Virtue two years previously, the title of Mistress of the World was still unclaimed. In the Side Court, it was said that Great Chancellor Wu Ji, who was the brother of the noble deceased, had such a tight hold on the government that he would never allow another family to sully her throne. The sovereign had in fact wanted to invest Precious Wife, the daughter of Emperor Yang of the overthrown dynasty and already the mother of two princes, but the ministers of the Outer Court refused to swear loy
alty to a descendant of the enemy clan. Then the Emperor’s favorite, Yang, was singled out and promoted to Gracious Wife after giving birth to a son. Once again the ministers criticized her because, while in the gynaeceum, she had served the King of Qi who was later killed in a coup. A sullied woman would never be sovereign of China.

  But even the most powerful of men could not contain the ambitions of women obsessed with childbearing and fascinated by the dignity of rank. The ten thousand women in the Side Court were ten thousand flowers desperately dreaming of spring. Whether carefully planted out in pots or crudely sown in wasteland, they wilted in the harsh atmosphere of constant waiting, the deprivation of an endless winter. A sniffle, a shiver, a migraine, or a stomachache was enough to cull these souls so worn down with hoping. There were no old women with white hair in the Side Court. Every day the dead were left by the North Gate. Somewhere, far from the ramparts of the Capital, in the cemetery for Imperial Serving Women, slumbered adolescents who had never seen anything of the world and mature women who, poor creatures, had been too familiar with melancholy.

  The pathways in the Side Court wound around like the never-ending threads of a vast spider web. Our pavilions were like dead insects, and the survivors still believed in miracles. Princesses, nobles, and commoners had lost their names and were recognized only by the titles they had been given. I was Talented One Wu, an intruder in the land of gods, a pebble on a tray of fine pearls. I too aspired tentatively to the imperial bed, to be favored by the Son of Heaven.

  Rumor had it that the sovereign liked fat women with double chins: I was upset that I was thin. The young girls competed over their jewels, their dresses, and their extravagances. They spent the money given to them by their families on frenzied orders. I had been robbed of my jewels to pay for my cousins’ careers. My brothers had sent me nothing. When Mother managed to send me a few small coins, I knew she had secretly sold another of her Buddhist statuettes, the only things of value she still owned. This money made me weep. How could I spend it to buy a pretty hairpin?

  Winter came, and the first snow fell on the Side Court. Icicles hanging from the awnings and footprints left in the frost by the birds awakened my dormant energy. Our timetable recommended practicing sport in this season. With my coat thrown off, my sleeves pushed up, and wearing my Tatar boots, I launched myself into the snow. My strength and enthusiasm amazed the Palace intendant instructing us. He suggested I take the archery lessons that were offered to volunteers accompanying the sovereign on his hunting trips.

  All the suffering I had endured melted away when I mounted a horse with the brand of the imperial stables. On the archery range, which had been swept of snow, I galloped with the urgency of a blind man hurtling toward a distant thread of light. The wind slapped my face, and the sky whipped up my thoughts. The speed freed me from the torments of frustration, and I felt my pride blossoming once more. Far from the crowd of women, the painted faces, and the affected smiles, I rediscovered the powerful pleasure of being alone.

  Before the end of the year, I received my official gowns. In the absence of an Empress, the Precious Wife led the Ladies of the Inner Court and the Ladies of the Outer Court7 in prostrating themselves before His Majesty to give him their best wishes. Palace etiquette required us to walk with small steps and lowered eyes. Because my rank entitled me to a place far from the throne, during the salutation, I could just see a dark smudge with something resembling a face obscured by a glittering crown.

  Back in the Side Court, everyone said that the Emperor wanted to meet his new mistresses and would name a date on which he would receive them. The thought of this put the Pavilion of Celestial Breath into a frenzy of excitement. Soon, one of the Great Intendants told us of the imperial summons. The day before the presentation I could not sleep. Even though I had galloped all afternoon and shot two quivers of a dozen arrows, I felt neither tired nor appeased. A thousand times I went over what I would wear, practiced my walk, and prepared answers in case His Majesty deigned to ask me anything. A thousand times I imagined my joy and pride if I were the chosen one. Mother could forget her poverty and sorrow: No one would dare humiliate her any more. As an imperial favorite and promoted to a superior rank, I would ask for permission for her to visit with Little Sister. When I bore a prince, Mother, as Royal Grandmother, would be given a palace with countless servants. As I shared my pillow with the Son of Heaven, I would remind him that Father had been a Veteran of the dynasty, companion in war to the Noble Emperor Lordly Forebear. I would beg him to grant him a posthumous title as Great Lord of the first rank.

  I tried in vain to calm my teeming hopes. The more I laughed at my extravagant dreams, the more desperately I longed to reach this man coveted by his ten thousand serving women. No, I wanted neither privilege, nor favor, nor glory. I was indifferent to gold, pearls, and sumptuous palaces. I would ask nothing of the sovereign other than to be saved from this fate that condemned me to wither in silence and die, drowning in a swamp of women.

  The Son of Heaven was an invincible warrior. Thanks to his dazzling victories, Emperor Lordly Forebear had been able to dethrone Sovereign Yang and inaugurate our Tang dynasty. Throughout the Empire, the people sang of his eventful battles. Recently, during the campaign against the Turks of the East, he had subjugated the barbarian leader with just one war cry. I imagined His Majesty to be powerfully built with a square face and a wide forehead. I pictured him with an intimidating glare, forceful gestures, a loud voice, and a long, well-tended beard. I did not know what I should do once in the imperial bed. We had been told we had to allow him to undress us. Would I have the strength to hold the gaze of a man who had looked Tatars in the eye? What would I feel when he touched my body with the hand that had severed thousands of heads?

  I wanted him to be my freedom; I wanted him to be the luminous star throwing its light on my forehead; I wanted him to be that height toward which all my energy would be drawn so that all my ardor and devotion would be beautiful and pure.

  THE OFFICERS OF protocol shouted orders in their shrill voices. The Beauties of the fourth rank, the Talented Ones of the fifth rank, and the Treasures of the sixth rank lined up in hierarchical order.

  Then silence descended. We stood and waited for the Emperor who was on his way back from the Morning Salutation. Rays of sunlight filtered through the lattice-work of the closed windows and fell on the gleaming black paving stones of the floor, hundreds of wilted flowers.

  At the foot of the throne, on a scarlet carpet embroidered with dragons in gold thread, sandalwood burned in three-legged bronze stoves. But the cold was a powerful eagle hovering between the beams and columns, breathing icily over us, scouring our cheeks with its wings of iron. Eyes lowered, hands clasped inside my sleeves, and bent slightly forward, I stood rigidly in the pose of respectful expectation. Time dripped past in the hydraulic clock. My hair was woven together with false hair and wound so tightly around a structure with bronze thread that it tugged at my scalp. My topknot, a cubit and a half high and decorated with five tree-shaped jewels in gold, rubies, sapphires, and other gemstones, symbols of my rank, was weighing me down. The pain crept down my back, my legs, and my arms. I shook from head to toe.

  The sounds of a great commotion began, far away at first. Footsteps, coughing, then someone came into the hall. The officer of protocol announced, “The sovereign is preparing to leave the Palace of Audiences!” A wave of panic ran through the group of women who struggled to keep still. Little cries escaped from a few constricted throats. One young girl fainted. Another started to sob. Both were carried out by eunuchs.

  Suddenly the musicians struck the bronze bells and sounding stones. The side doors were drawn aside, and two servants dressed in yellow brocade raised the curtains and held them back with gold-plated forked rods. An ice-cold wind filled the hall. After a long time had passed, two valets came in with incense burners and stood to the left and right of the throne. There was another long pause. Two more eunuchs appeared, carrying long-handled, r
ound fans. The imperial servants filed in two by two, then a strident voice cut through the silence: “The Noble Sovereign of the great Tang dynasty!”

  My blood froze. I fell to my knees with my forehead on the ground. The accelerated fluttering of my heart mingled with the endless rustling of satin and silk soles rubbing against the carpet, like an impetuous and inexhaustible mountain stream. At the request of the caller, I stood back up but fell to my knees again before making the great curtsey. When I recovered from the dizzying effect of the salutations, I could see through the corners of my eyes that all the candelabras had been lit. There were countless eunuchs around the throne, some carrying the long-handled fans that denoted imperial rank, others holding more everyday objects: towels, boxes of food, glasses, jugs, and bowls.

  The General Intendant of the Side Court called forward the ladies of the Court by order of hierarchy and seniority. Waves of heat surged through me. I was covered in sweat. I was afraid my makeup would run, afraid I would not hear my name, afraid I would faint. I was afraid the Emperor would choose a girl ranked before me and that my one chance would vanish before it even arrived.

  All of a sudden I heard: “Daughter of Wu Shi Yue, from the district of Wen Shui, in the province of Bing, Talented One Wu.”

  My head buzzed. I stepped forward, eyes lowered. I made my way slowly toward the throne, and my thighs quaked beneath my dress. At the exact distance required by protocol, facing the imperial dais, I carried out the three great prostrations. At some stage in the proceedings—and I have no idea how because to look at the sovereign constituted a crime punishable by death—I glimpsed a man wrapped in a yellowish brown tunic. He wore a simple headdress of glazed white linen. I managed to make out his features in his puffy, listless face. I was overcome by a feeling of disappointment more icy than the North Wind.

  One after another, all the girls were presented to the sovereign who remained silent through the entire ceremony. Each of us was accorded the same amount of time; no one was gratified with a nod, a smile, or a request to come forward and show her face. Once back in the Side Court, I spent the whole rest of the day thinking of that huge, tall hall full of mysterious frescoes. Had the Son of Heaven looked at us at all? I was not sure he had. In any event, up on his throne, how could he have seen the women’s faces under their imposing headdresses when they had to keep their heads lowered and their eyes fixed humbly on the ground?