The Washington times., 1902-12-13
Lott in Pekin

'The Last Days of Pekin'' is a now
book by Pierre Lott Julian Viaud). who
in his capacity Of naval officer. march
ed into Pekin with the allied troops.
and in his capacity of correspondent and
elobe-trotter saw an that there was to
be seen His sketches. sent TO "Fi-
CARO- are now published in book
form. and have been translated by Nvrta
T. Jones.
Those who read Lofts Book Of Pity
and Of Death" published several years
ago. and were amazed TO find it a chrou-
icic of the lives Of pussy-Cats. are aware
that this French genius is extremely
fond of cats There is battle. murder and
sudden death enough in this book on
Pekin TO satisfy the readers Of the most.
sensational journal but though the.
smell OF decaying corpses and the mys-
terry and horror OF unknown and Un-
pleasant palaces are on almost every
page. Lott finds his cat and promptly
adopts the animal. which thencefOrth
makes itself at home I'm these peculiarly
coueenial surroundings. Cat, palaces and
author are described with a power and
vividness which make this book one Of.
the unique and fascinating specimens Of
war literature.
There Is grucsomcness and grue-
somoness in this book. e reads like q
Chinese chamber of horrors transla ed
into French and presented. with all the
Gallo vivldnes.s OF detail. to shrinking
AngIo-Saxon nerves. The people Of our
blood I'm spite Of their reputation for
brutality. do not revel in horror when
Il comes to imagination. Lott does. To
be sure. there was not n1ch other ma
terial for reveling in the last days Of
Pekin.
one Of the less Horrible pages
describes a meal which he and a COM
panion took I'm a palace Of the Yellow
City. near the Lake of the LOtus-the
lotuses. incidentally. being dead and de-
caying. like most other things in that
vicinity. Here is the description OF the
meal.
'It is almost totally dark. At an
ebony table my companion and I are
seated. wrapped in our military cloaks,
with collars turned up. our teeth chat
tering with cold. and are served by our
orderIies with trembling limbs. A feeble
little Chinese candle or red wax, stuck
in a bottle-a candle picked Up in the
debris from some ancestral altar-sheds
a dim light. blown as &c is by the wind
Our plates. i'm fact. an the dishes. are
Of porcelain OF inesumable value. i'm
periaI yellow. marked with the cipher Of
a fastidious emperor, who was a con-
temporary OF Louis XIV. But our wine
and our muddy water-boiled and re-
boiled for fear OF poison In the wells
are in horrible old bottles. with bits OF
potato. cut into shape hy the soldiers.
fer corks.
"The gallery where this scene takes
place IS very long; The distance rs lost
in obscurity where the splendors OF an
Asiatic tale are dimly perceived. Its
sides are OF glass up 10 the height OF a
man. and this frau wall IS an that sepa-
rates us from the sinister darkness
which surrounds Us; one has a feeling
that the wandering forms outside. the
phantoms attracted by our small light.
may from a distance see us az table. and
this IS disturbing. Above tho glass there
Is a series OF light frames containing
rice paper. which reach TO the ceiling
from which marvellous ebony sculptures
depend delicate as lace-work; this rice
paper is torn. and allows the mortally
cold night wind 10 strike us. Our frozen
feet rest on imperial yellow carpets Of
the finest wool, with the fye-horned