Two Tall Tigers

The rambles of M. Pierre Benoit, famed French novelist-globe trotter, took him recently to Mukden, war base and capitol of the great Super-Tuchun of Manchuria, Marshal Chang Tso-lin (TIME, July 12 et ante). From M. Benoit there arrived by mail last week an account, intriguing, vivid, exotic of his reception at the court of Chang:

"The interpreter of Marshal Chang Tso-lin came in and handed me ceremoniously a huge red envelope. The marshal invited me 'to come and sit this evening on his mats.' In other words, I was invited for dinner.

"In Mukden the old part of the town is walled in by a double row of ramparts, and the palace of Chang Tso-lin is in the very center. My car traversed a labyrinth of stone and dark streets. Of a sudden there were shouts, sentinels, a noise, light, guardians. I was in front of the palace. . . . "What I thought in that moment, was that it was better to come into this palace as a friend than otherwise. It seems that those are quite numerous who passed this threshold only once alive. . . . "I am hustled forward. I climb up a brightly illuminated platform, where I find a small man who bows to me. How? Can this be Chang? I am almost disappointed. "We went to a big salon with divans and numerous cushions. The divan on which Chang Tso-lin invited me to sit down stood between two tigers--dead ones, of course-- two huge Manchurian tigers, the tallest and most dangerous of all, with a thick fur. I told the Marshal how grateful I was for the invitation. . . . "

He was by no means a tough hero of soldiers. He looked like a sort of school teacher, thin, emaciated, in a garment of black brocade. His hands were extraordinarily fine and delicate. His ambiguous smile looked as though he were constantly about to excuse himself. Chang Tso-lin speaks sweetly, quietly, with now and then a dainty gesture of thanks. I did not regret not to have seen him in uniform with the shoulder pieces and the decorations which must weigh too much on this frail body. And this is the man who makes all China tremble at present! How amiably he offered me a cup of tea! "The Marshal was proud of his cook, the best one in the northern provinces. For the benefit of gourmets I copy the list of dishes which I had to eat with my sticks. Any comment would weaken the picturesque characer of this menu:

"Swallows' nest soup, "Small wings of sharks, "Dragon beard in a white sauce, "Lacquered Peking duck, "Silver ears of Seu Tchuan, "Gizzards of fowl, "Bamboo mark of Seu Tchuan, "Pigeon eggs in tiger skin, "Chaoshing salted slices of fish, "Crab pancakes, "Duck kidneys, "Anabas with cauliflower, "Spring rolls, "Doornail flowers with hot cream.

"And then here were the wines, three sorts of wines, served in minuscule cups which were never allowed to be empty--white Chaoshing wine, rose wine and that strange Oukiapi wine which is composed of five simple wines.

"The Marshal waited on me himself, helping me to this or that dish with his eternal modest smile. What placidity! What an always stable mood! Who would believe that this man interrupted that same morning around 4 o'clock his railway trip toward Mukden to have one of his prefects shot, a man who did not seem to work satisfactorily?"