He almost shouted the last words, so great was his indignation, and from the expression he put into them one might have been justified in imagining that the Republic was in danger owing to my presence there. I did not become naturalised, and I heard nothing more about the question; and in justice to this cantankerous officer, I must acknowledge that, during the fifteen months he commanded the Brigade, he treated me with consideration on the rare occasions that I had any direct business to transact with him. He had risen from the ranks—indeed, I was told that he began his career as a sailor on a man-of-war—and it is therefore probable that his modest origin and the hard times he experienced at his début accounted for his rough and rude manners.
Our new Brigade Major, Captain Bataille, was a quiet and reserved gentleman, who studied hard at his profession and was a most capable officer, having already brilliantly distinguished himself in the field, for which he had been decorated with the cross of the Legion of Honour.
We had now no Intelligence Department; and all questions formerly dealt with by this branch, together with those relating to active operations by the troops, were treated by the Headquarters Staff at Hanoï.
The Governor had not succeeded in doing away with the Brigade, but he had taken his revenge by reducing its importance to a minimum, and the rôle of its chief now consisted almost entirely in looking after the details of administration and discipline of the regiments under his orders, and in conducting the annual inspection of the troops in French Indo-China. In January, 1893, we received orders to transfer our offices to Hanoï, and we had rather a lively time of it for several days packing up the records and stowing them away, together with all the portable furniture, into a long string of commissariat mule-carts. Our march to Hanoï was not a fatiguing one, for the distance is not great—about 20 miles—and the road is probably the best in Tonquin.
Owing to the numerous carts we were escorting our progress was not as rapid as it might have been, and it was late in the evening when we reached a point on the left bank of the Red River, just opposite the capital. The country we had traversed during the day was perfectly flat and covered with paddy fields, and I do not think we saw the smallest patch that was not cultivated. The weather was bitterly cold, the mercury having descended almost to freezing point (the winter of '92-'93 was a record one in the colony), and thrice along the route we came upon the bodies of natives who had died from exposure. Our convoy was transported over the stream—nearly a mile wide at this point—by a steam ferry. The accommodation on this ferry was so restricted that only two carts could be taken at a time, so that it was quite dark when we reached the citadel, situated some distance from the landing-stage.
Our new offices were inside the fortress—a fine place, constructed on the same plan as that of Bac-Ninh, the difference between the two being that the superficial area of the first was twice that of the second. These fortifications, first captured by the French in 1872, no longer exist, and on the former site of their ramparts and ditches can now be seen one of the finest quarters of the European town.
Hanoï, the capital of Tonquin, was important and imposing when I first saw it in 1893; and to-day, thanks to the enterprise and good taste of its municipal council, it is certainly one of the finest cities in the Far East. Its rapid development and flourishing condition leads one to reflect on what the colony itself might be were its destinies placed, like those of the metropolis, in the hands of a representative chamber of colonists elected by their fellow-citizens, instead of being entrusted to an army of political functionaries. The city was founded in 865 A.D. by the Emperor Cao-bien, and its original name was Dai-la-Thanh. A succeeding monarch, Thay-Son, constructed a palace there in 1028. Hanoï is admirably situated for commercial purposes, being at the extreme northern limit of the Delta provinces, at a point on the river, 82 miles from Haïphong, where communication with lower Tonquin, by means of the numerous estuaries and canals, is easy and rapid. The same may be said with regard to upper Tonquin and Yunan, which can be reached by the Song-Koï itself. The Dutch merchants established factories or trading posts here, and at Hung-Yen, Nam-Dinh and Haïphong, towards the end of the sixteenth century.
Hanoï has the form of an isosceles triangle, the base of which extends along the river bank for about 2 miles. The inhabitants of the capital owe a good deal to M. de Lanessan, who was the first to suggest the demolition of the immense and useless citadel, which, owing to its situation, retarded the growth of the city northwards. The native quarter of the town is extremely picturesque, and the neat whitewashed houses, not two of which are alike in size or height, with their quaintly-curved, red-tiled roofs, and step-like cornices, the numerous pagodas ornamented with dragons, griffins and genii, produce a vista of pleasant aspect and great interest to the European. There are hundreds of small shops, wherein the natives squat on a piece of matting, surrounded by their wares. Workmen of a like craft, merchants in similar lines of business, flock together and live in the same quarter, so that the majority of the streets in the Annamese portion of the town are named after the objects made or for sale there. Thus it is that one sees at the corners of the thoroughfares such indications as "Bamboo Matting Street," "Hat Street," "Fan Street," "Copper Street," etc., etc. The main arteries of this quarter present a crowded appearance, and traffic is continual, but, contrary to the usual state of affairs in most Oriental cities, the streets are clean and odourless, a fact which can be attributed to an excellent system of police supervision.
The riksha is the favourite means of transportation, although an admirable system of electric tramways has now been started. The native inhabitants of the town dress somewhat more carefully than their fellow-countrymen in the villages; that is to say, the merchants and shopkeepers do so. They all wear the big hat made of palm leaves; and the wealthier classes embellish its appearance by applying a light brown varnish to its exterior and surmounting its crest with a cap of silver scroll-work and a small spike of the same metal.