Grant had already positioned his guns against the Anting Gate, and the word went to Prince Kung, the Emperor’s brother and regent, that unless Pekin surrendered and the prisoners were released, the bombardment would begin. And still the Chinese put off the inevitable, with futile messages and maddening delays, while Elgin aged ten years under the mortal fear that if he did start shooting, the prisoners would be goners for certain … so he must wait, and hope, and question Parkes and Loch and me again and again about our treatment, and what we thought might be happening to the others.
I’d escaped on the Sunday; Parkes and Loch arrived on the Monday; it was Friday before eight Sikhs and three Frenchmen were set free, and when Elgin had talked to them he came out grey-faced and told Grant that he was to open fire the following noon. At the eleventh hour Kung surrendered – and the following night the first bodies came out.
They came on carts after dark, four of them, two British, two Sikh, and had to be examined by torchlight; when the lids came off the coffins there were cries of horror and disbelief, and one or two of the younger fellows turned away, physically sick; after that no one said a word, except to whisper: “Christ … that’s Anderson!” or “That’s Mahomed Bux – my daffadar!” or “That’s De Normann … is it?” Elgin stopped at each coffin in turn, with a face like stone; then he said harshly to replace the lids, and stood turning his hat in his hands, staring before him, and I saw him biting his lips and the tears shining in the torchlight. Then he walked quickly away, without a word.
The other bodies came two days later; they had been used in the same fashion, fourteen of them, and if Elgin had given the word, our army would have slaughtered every man in Pekin.
Now, I’ve never aimed to horrify you for horrifying’s sake, or revelled in gory detail with the excuse that I’m just being a faithful historian. But I’m bound to tell you what the Chinese had done, if you are to understand the sequel – and judge it, if you’ve a mind to.
The bodies were in quicklime, but it was still easy to see what had happened. I told you the Chinese tie their captives as tightly as possible, so that eventually the hands and feet burst and mortify; some of our people had been bound for weeks, a few au crapaudine (hands and feet in the small of the back), some hung up, some with heavy chains; many had had their bonds soaked to make them tighter, others had been flogged. I’ll add only that if, in a Chinese prison, you get the least cut or scratch … good-night; there’s a special kind of maggot, by the million, and they eat you alive, agonisingly, sometimes for weeks. So you see, as I said earlier, there’s nothing ingenious about Chinese torture; there don’t need to be. They just rot you slowly to death, and the lucky ones are Brabazon and the little French padré, who were beheaded at Pah-li-chao, like Nolan.
“It is the uselessness of it that defeats me. If they had wanted to wring information from us, at least torture would be understandable. But this had no purpose. It was the wanton cruelty of men who enjoyed inflicting pain for its own sake, knowing that if retribution followed, it would not fall on them personally. I mean the Emperor, and Sang, and Prince I, and the like. For the Emperor certainly knew; De Normann’s torture began in the royal apartments. Indeed they knew.”
This was Harry Parkes, lean and pale but as stubbornly urbane as ever, although his drawl shook a bit when he told me how Loch, when he was sure he was going to die, had sung “Rule, Britannia” to let the others hear; and of Trooper Phipps, who’d kept everyone’s spirits up with jokes when he was dying in agony; and Anderson, telling his sowars not to cry out, for the honour of the regiment; and old Daffadar Mahomed Bux, with no hands left, damning his torturers for giving him pork to eat. Even so, Parkes and Loch had more Christian forgiveness towards their captors than I care for; given my way, I’d have collared Sang and Prince I and the whole foul gang, and turned ’em over to the wives and daughters of our Afghan troopers, if I’d had to drag ’em the whole way to Peshawar to do it.43
What riled everyone was that the Chinks had been careful to surrender on terms before we’d seen the bodies, so there was no hope of the mandarins being punished as they deserved. How to make ’em pay – that was the question that ran through the army camped before Pekin, and Elgin sent word to Kung that there’d be no talk of treaty-singing, or indeed any talk at all, until he’d decided how to avenge our people. Diplomatic claptrap, thinks I; we’ll let the swine get away with it, as usual. I didn’t know the Big Barbarian.
He took a day to think about it, brooding alone under the trees in the temple garden, wearing a face that kept us all at a distance, except Grant. He and Elgin talked for about an hour – at least Elgin did, while Grant listened and nodded and presently retired to his tent to put his bull fiddle through its paces something cruel. “That’s his way of beating his wife,” says Wolseley. “Summat’s in the wind that he don’t like – who’s going to inquire, eh?” No one else volunteered, so during a pause in the cacophony I loafed in and found him staring at the manuscript on his music stand, with his pencil behind his ear. I asked what was up.
“Finished,” says he. “Not right. Can’t help it.”
“What’s finished and not right?”
“Quartet. Piano, violins, and ’cello.” He grunted impatiently. “Journeyman work. Just to have to perform it. See what’s amiss then.”
“Oh, absolutely,” says I. “It’ll come right, I daresay, if you keep whistling it to yourself. But, general sahib … what’s Elgin going to do?”
He turned those bright eyes and tufted brows on me, for about three minutes, and picked up his bull fiddle. “Man’s in torment,” says he. “Difficult.” He began to saw away again, so I gave up and went back to the mess to report failure.
We weren’t kept long in suspense. The last bodies came in next day, and after he’d seen them Elgin called an immediate meeting of all the leading men from both armies, with Baron Gros, the French envoy, sharing the table-top with him, and Parkes, Loch, and myself sitting by. He was wearing his frock-coat, which was a portent, since he was used to roll about in flannels and open neck, with a cricket belt and a handkerchief round his head. But he seemed easy enough, pouring a lemonade for Gros, asking if Montauban’s cold were any better, making his opening statement in a quiet, measured way – just from his style, I was positive he’d memorised it carefully beforehand.
“It is necessary,” says he without preamble, “to mark in a manner that cannot soon be forgotten, the punishment we are bound to award for the treachery and brutality which have characterised the Chinese Emperor’s policy, and which have resulted in the cruel murder of so many officers and men. Of the Emperor’s personal implication, and that of his leading mandarins, there can be no doubt. So, while the punishment must be apparent to the whole Chinese Empire, I am most anxious that it should fall, and be seen to fall, only on the Emperor and his chief nobles, who were fully aware of, and responsible for, these atrocious crimes.”
He paused, looking round the table, and I wondered for a moment if he was going to propose hanging the pack of ’em, Emperor and all; the same thought may have been exercising Gros (a genial snail-eater who’d endeared himself to our troops by calling out: “’Allo, camarades, cheer-o!” whenever they saluted him). He was wearing a worried frown, but Elgin’s next words should have put his mind at rest.
“It is manifestly impossible to proceed directly against the persons of the culprits, even if we wished to, since they are beyond our reach. Considering the temper of the army – which, I confess, expresses my own feeling – that is perhaps as well. It remains to punish them by other means. Them and them alone.”
He glanced at Gros, who came in nineteen to the dozen to say that milor’ was bowling a perfect length, it leaped to the eye, the offenders must be made to account for their conduct unpardonable, and no nonsense. It remained only to determine a suitable method of expressing the just indignation of the Powers, and to –
“Precisely, monsieur le baron,” says Elgin. “And I have so determined. After
careful deliberation, I can see only one way to mark to the Chinese Empire, and to the whole world, our abhorrence of these wanton and cruel acts of treachery and bloodshed. I am therefore requesting the Commander-in-Chief –” he nodded towards Grant – “to take the requisite steps for the complete destruction of the Summer Palace.”
My first thought was that I hadn’t heard right; my second, what a perfectly nonsensical idea: someone murders twenty people, so you plough up his garden. Others seemed to share my thoughts: Gros and Montauban were staring blank bewilderment, Parkes was looking thoughtfully at the sky, Hope Grant was pursing his lips, which in him was the equivalent of leaping up and beating his forehead; Loch’s mouth was open. Gros was just drawing breath when Elgin went on:
“Before you respond, gentlemen, permit me to observe that this is no hasty decision. It is based on what seem to me to be compelling reasons.” The bulldog face was expressionless, but he tapped a finger to emphasise each point. “Bear in mind that we have no quarrel with the people of China, who are in no way to blame; they do not suffer by this penalty. The Emperor and nobles suffer by the loss of their most precious possession; they suffer also in their pride because their punishment, and their sole guilt, are made plain for the world to see, and the Chinese people are made aware of their Emperor’s shame. Nothing could show more clearly that he is not omnipotent, as he pretends; nothing could demonstrate so clearly our detestation of his perfidy and cruelty.”
He sat with his hands flat on the table, waiting for the storm of protest which he guessed was coming from Gros, and perhaps as much from pique at not being consulted beforehand, as from genuine disapproval, the normally amiable little Frenchman weighed in like a good ’un.
“Milor’! I am astonished! It grieves me extremely to have to disagree with your lordship before these gentlemen assembled, but I cannot accept this … this extraordinary proposal! It … it … appears to me to have no relevance, this! It is … unthinkable.” He took a deep breath. “I must beg your lordship to reconsider!”
“I have, monsieur le baron,” says Elgin quietly. “With great care, I assure you.”
“But … forgive me, milor’, you appear to contradict yourself! You say we must punish the Emperor – with which I and all agree – but not the people of China! Yet you propose the destruction, the desecration of a … a national shrine of China, the repository of its ancient civilisation, its art, its culture, its genius, its learning!” He was in full Gallic spate by now, all waving hands and eyebrows, bouncing in his chair. “What is this but an insult, of the most gross, to the very soul of China?”
“If it were that, I should not have proposed it,” says Elgin. “The Summer Palace is not a shrine of any kind, unless to Imperial luxury and vanity. It is the Emperor’s private pleasure park, and not one of the millions of ordinary Chinese has ever been inside it, or cares a straw for it and its treasures. If they think of it at all, it must be as a monument to human greed, built on extortion and suffering. China has bled to make that place, and China will not weep for its loss, believe me, monsieur le baron.”
The fact that he said this as though he’d been reading the minutes of the last meeting, did nothing to cool Gros’s indignation. He gasped for breath, and found it.
“And the treasures, then? Are they nothing? The irreplaceable works of art, the sublime craftsmanship, the priceless carvings and paintings and jewellery? Are they to be vandalised, to signal our abhorrence of the crime of a few guilty noblemen? Are we to punish their barbarism by an act infinitely more barbaric? By destroying a thing of infinite beauty, of incalculable value? It is … it is out of all proportion, milor’!”
“Out of proportion?” For the first time there was a touch of colour on Elgin’s cheek, but his voice was even quieter than before. “That is a matter of opinion. A few moments ago you and I, monsieur le baron, looked on something which had been infinitely more beautiful, and of incalculably greater value than anything ever created by a Chinese architect: the body of a soldier of the Queen. His name was Ayub Khan. You saw what Chinese civilisation had done to him –”
“Milor’, that is not just!” Gros was on his feet, white-faced. “You know very well I am as enraged as yourself at the atrocities committed upon our people! But I ask you, what can it profit your good soldier, or any other of those martyred, to take revenge in this fashion, by destroying … something with which they, and their deaths, had nothing to do?”
“Please, sir, take your seat again,” says Elgin rising, “and with it my assurance that I intended no reflection on your humanity or your concern for our dead comrades.” Didn’t you, though, thinks I. He waited until Gros had sat down again. “There is no way to profit, or adequately to avenge them. My purpose is to punish their murderers in a way that will best bring down their pride and publish their infamy. That is why I shall burn the Summer Palace, unless your excellency can suggest a suitable alternative.”
Poor Gros stared at him helplessly, and waved his hands. “If it seems good to destroy some building – why, then, let it be the Board of Punishments, where the crimes were committed! What could be more fitting?”
“I’ve heard that suggestion,” says Elgin dryly. “It emanated, I believe, from the Russian Mission at Pekin – to burn the Board and erect a suitable memorial on the site to Chinese perfidy. I can think of nothing better calculated to inflame hatred of our two countries among ordinary Chinese. I hesitate, of course, to conclude that that is why the Russians suggested it. You would say, monsieur le baron?”
“Only … only …” Gros shrugged in real distress. “Ah, milor’, you think only of the effect on the Emperor and the others! But consider another effect – on the honour of our countries and ourselves! Think how such an act will be regarded in the world! It is not the Emperor of China who will be disgraced by what all civilised peoples must see as a … as a barbarism, grossier, incivilisé! Are we to bear the brand of Attila and Alaric, merely to punish the Emperor’s vanity?” And possibly encouraged by the approving cries of his own folk, and the doubtful looks of some of ours, the silly ass put his great Frog foot right in it. “Ah, surely, milor’, you of all men must be aware of what … of what public opinion …” Realising his gaffe, he broke off, shaking his head. “Ah, Dieu! The destruction of precious works of art is not well regarded!” he finished snappishly.
Even the other Frogs were trying to look elsewhere; Parkes, beside me, sighed and murmured something about “Gros by name and nature, what?” Well, everyone knew how Elgin’s guvnor had stripped half Greece of statuary; even then Elgin Marbles was a slogan of outrage among Hellenic enthusiasts. The only person present who didn’t seem to mind was Elgin himself. For the first time in days, he absolutely grinned.
“I had no notion,” says he affably, “from the conduct of your troops at the Ewen-ming-ewen, that such a sentiment prevailed in France –”
“Milor’!” Montauban was wattling furiously, but Elgin didn’t mind him.
“If stigma there be,” he went on, talking straight to Gros, “I shall be content to bear it alone, if I must. It will be a small thing compared to the wound dealt to the pride and false glory of the creature who calls himself Emperor of China.”
“And if it wounds him, as you hope,” cries Gros. “If you so disgrace him in the eyes of his subjects, have you considered it may mean the downfall of the Manchoo dynasty?” He was on his feet again, all frosty dignity. Elgin rose with him, all John Bull.
“If I thought that, monsieur le baron,” says he, “I should be in the Summer Palace this minute, with a torch and a bundle of straw. Alas, I fear it will have no such consequence.”
Gros bowed stiffly. “Milor’ Elgin, I must officially inform you that my government cannot associate itself with a policy which we must consider ill-advised, disproportionate, and – I have to say it, deeply as I deplore the necessity … uncivilised.” He looked Elgin in the eye. “Monsieur, it is cruel.”
“Yes, sir,” says Elgin quietly. “It’s me
ant to be.”
When the French had stalked off, Elgin sat down and passed a hand across his forehead; suddenly he looked very tired. “Aye, weel,” says he heavily, “a stoot he’rt tae a stae brae – eh, Loch? Now, Grant, which troops shall do the work?”
They settled on Michel’s division, the destruction to begin two days hence. Loch was instructed to write the letter of information to Prince Kung, and the proclamation for general distribution; I was interested that neither referred to the deaths of our people, but only to the Emperor’s treachery and bad faith – that, officially, was why the Summer Palace was to be destroyed, to show “that no individual, however exalted, could escape the responsibility and punishment which must always follow acts of falsehood and deceit.”
“Here endeth the lesson,” says Parkes to me. “He means to rub it into the Emperor, rather.”
“The Emperor don’t know a dam’ thing about it,” says I. “The fellow’s an idiot – probably a dead idiot, by now.”
“You don’t really care for this, do you?” says he, eyeing me.
“Me?” I shook my head. “Tain’t my house and flower-beds.”
He laughed. “I don’t like it, much, myself. My suggestion was for a thumping fine, and the surrender to our justice of the actual murderers – the jailers and tormentors who did the work, and in particular one gross brute who took the keenest satisfaction in pulling my hair out by the roots. H.E. pointed out, correctly, that a fine would inevitably fall on the populace, and that the jailers were merely doing what they were bidden by fiends like Sang. Also, that they probably wouldn’t be handed over – they’d send us a batch of condemned convicts, and who would know the difference?” He looked to where Elgin was sitting, hands in pockets, talking to Grant. “In fact, he’s dead right. This will accomplish what he wants to do.”
The Flashman Papers: The Complete 12-Book Collection Page 366