He looked truly majestic. His Robe of Ceremony was pale yellow, to shimmer in the artificial light at the audience he had granted at dawn to the chief men of the Great Empire. Writhing dragons were embroidered in brilliant gold thread. She herself wore a simple blue silk gown, since she was not required to endure another ceremonial banquet to celebrate the close of her month of enforced seclusion and the Prince Tsai Chün’s attainment of full human status. After hovering for thirty days in limbo, her son’s spirit was now securely united with his flesh. Man Yüeh, the passage of the Full Month, gave reasonable assurance that the infant would survive—as so many did not.
“I was joking, Majesty, since we are alone for a moment.” Despite her recent resolution, she slipped into self-parody in the hope of amusing him. “Your slave beseeches her Lord to smile. Can Your Majesty not cast off his cares on this auspicious day?”
“It’s hard, Nala, hard,” he sighed. “Have you seen the latest Memorials from the Army South of the Yangtze? We sent you copies.”
“I’m deeply disturbed, Your Majesty. But no one can correct in a few days the errors of many years. Today Your Majesty should be happy.”
“We shall try, Nala. We shall try to forget how badly served We are.”
“The commander of the Army South of the Yangtze is brave and loyal. Besides, he’s a good strategist. Your Majesty possesses at least one Manchu commander of talent.”
“The Army of the South was routed a week ago, Nala. We received the Memorial yesterday. The army disintegrated when its headquarters were overrun. So much for that commander of talent.”
“In her concern for the prince, your slave failed to read that Memorial, Majesty.” Yehenala was puzzled. “But the commander had besieged Nanking for three years, always drawing closer. How could the Army of the South disintegrate in a single day?”
“It all began with the relief of Chenkiang two months ago. The rebel lout they call the Four-Eyed Dog destroyed the loyal armies ringing the Citadel of the River. Incidentally, Our field commander there was killed. A cannon ball squashed him. What can We do when the oceanic barbarians sell cannon to the Long Hairs?”
“He was no great loss, Majesty, even if he was a Manchu,” Yehenala consoled him. “He was just a civilian playing at commanding troops. No more a general than I am.”
“You could do better, Nala!”
“Your slave does not merit such praise, Majesty. But tell me, how did the defeat of the siege of the Citadel lead to this latest catastrophe?”
“Simple, Nala. When the rebels attacked other key cities, the commander dispatched most of his forces to help those cities. He believed his remaining troops could hold the Great Headquarters Camp. And then, disaster. The Long Hairs concentrated their forces and overran the Great Camp. The commander has fled, and his troops are dispersed. We now have no effective force south of the Long River.”
“What’s to be done, Your Majesty?”
“This Orphan has beseeched Heaven for guidance, but has been vouchsafed no reply. The Taipings are celebrating their greatest victory in the five years since they rose in rebellion, cut off their queues, and let their hair grow long. It is a catastrophe, worse for Us even than the fall of Nanking. This Orphan asks you: What is to be done?”
“Your slave has given much attention to all Memorials except that last one, Majesty.” Yehenala spoke cautiously; when he called himself Orphan, the Son of Heaven was volatile—and dangerous. “Your slave believes there is good reason for hope.”
“Do not humor Us,” the Emperor snapped. “Nothing can be done until We find men of true talent.”
“The Army North of the Yangtze is intact, is it not?”
“That’s true. Things could be worse.”
“They could, Majesty, when one considers that the Army of the North is brilliantly led. General Tseng Kuo-fan, Governor Tseng, is truly a man of talent.”
“Your words aren’t totally empty, Nala,” the Emperor conceded. “You would, We assume, advise Us to give Governor Tseng command of the Army of the South? If he can find those remnants, of course!”
“Majesty, your slave would suggest that you place Governor Tseng in command of all the troops fighting the Long Hairs.” She disregarded his gasp. “The Army of the South and the Army of the North. Your Majesty’s forces would thus be unified.”
“A remarkable thought, Nala. Brilliant!” The volatile Emperor was enthusiastic, then cautious. “Yet is it wise to give such great power into the hands of one man? A Chinese, at that. However, We’ll think on the matter.”
“Majesty, please condescend to search for other men of talent, as well. They need not hold sweeping authority, as Your Majesty has so wisely pointed out. But fresh talent is essential.”
“Do you have anyone else in mind?” the Emperor asked suspiciously. “You’re remarkably well informed, Nala.”
“Your slave is only a woman, an idle, useless woman,” she replied carefully. “I have lately been idle, remaining in seclusion. But I have not entirely wasted my month of enclosure. I’ve read the Memorials from the field with great care. As far as my limited ability permits, I have grasped the details as well as the general situation.”
“What else do you recommend, Nala?” He was mollified by her strenuous self-abasement. “I’m sure that’s not all.”
“Very little more, Majesty. But it has struck me that one of Governor Tseng’s subordinates is himself very able. The Mandarin Li Hung-chang passed high in the doctoral examination when he was only twenty-one. He is now thirty-three and a most capable field commander. Your Majesty might care to keep an eye on him.”
“Another Chinese, Nala? If We did not know better, We would suspect you of plotting to turn the Empire over to the Chinese.”
The Emperor laughed at his own jest, and Yehanala joined him in relief. He had cut a little too close to the bone. Both Governor Tseng Kuo-fan and the Mandarin Li Hung-chang were, of course, highly competent. She had satisfied herself as to their competence after accepting the handsome presents Li Hung-chang offered upon her elevation to concubine of the third rank the preceding year. Governor Tseng’s offerings had not been as lavish, no more than prudent tribute to a lady who was rising rapidly in the favor of the Son of Heaven. But the Baronet Jung Lu had assured her that Governor Tseng would soon be wealthy—and appropriately grateful for her patronage.
Both would be discreetly informed that she had spoken for them when they were next promoted. The Forbidden City was not the world, and some day she might need allies who wielded military power. A pity they were Chinese, but she, like the Empire itself, required the services of men of talent regardless of race. It would be foolhardy, she decided reluctantly, to press for Jung Lu’s advancement just now.
“Well, Nala, We shall grant one request on this auspicious day.” The Emperor was again amiable. “We’ll make the Mandarin Li Hung-chang a prefect. As for Governor Tseng’s appointment as commander-in-chief against the Taipings, We’ll consider it. But now We must leave for the great banquet.”
Yehenala rose and bowed. When she made to kneel, the Emperor’s hand under her elbow restrained her.
“No need for such obeisances when We’re alone with you,” he said gently.
She watched the Dragon Robe pass through the doorway. Her own interests and the Emperor’s interests, as well as the interests of the Great Empire, were for the moment identical. She hoped that they would always remain so.
Glowing under the immense octagonal lanterns suspended from the gilt-and-scarlet beams of the Hall of Supreme Harmony, the lonely golden figure of the Hsien Feng Emperor descended cautiously from the throne dais. He had taken off his conical hat, and his cheeks were flushed with the drinks he had consumed since the banquet began five hours earlier. Firmly planting one foot before lifting the other, he shuffled down the four steps that separated the dais from the hall where the grandees of the Manchu Empire were still dining. His guests were all male, while he had been the only male at Yehenala’s banquet f
or the Court ladies.
The grandees toyed with the dishes that flowed from the Imperial kitchens, where stout eunuch cooks swore at mischievous eunuch scullery boys. As the rectangular tables were cleared for the two hundred thirty-sixth course amid the clatter of utensils, the rulers of China joked and laughed, shouting boisterously as they played the finger-matching game. Having failed to best his quicker—or less inebriated—opponent in predicting the sum of their extended fingers, the loser happily downed another cup of spirits.
Some Mandarins had already surrendered to the liquors. Sliding from their lacquer stools, they lay peacefully on the floor till the eunuchs carried them to their sedan chairs. The clamor within the Hall of Supreme Harmony, filled this day with vinous good will, was punctuated by explosions on the walls of the Imperial City. Rockets whistled into the clouds; prolonged salvos of firecrackers rattled; grenades erupted; Catherine wheels whirled in torrents of sparks; and brushes of flame painted evanescent pictures of dragons and phoenixes against the darkening sky. The din did not awaken the wrinkled Minister of Finance, who sat miraculously upright, his elbows propped on the table. Even his conical hat with its ruby button of rank and its peacock plumes of distinction remained square on his long head. Gentle belches occasionally interrupting his snores, he slept on.
The jaded diners had, the waiters saw, left the crackling skin of suckling pigs and roast ducks virtually untouched. Many leftover delicacies would supplement the portions the cooks had put aside for the staff. A hundred pairs of eunuchs entered bearing enormous double dishes filled with boiling water to keep warm great yellow fish steamed with shrimp and conch. When one waiter slipped on a discarded bone, the domed lid of a silver serving platter, gold-chased with mythical sea denizens, clanged on the floor.
The befuddled Emperor did not reproach his servants when the unfortunate waiter’s partner overbalanced and fell. The Emperor grinned when the double platter crashed on the flagstones and the boiling water scalded the prostrate waiters. He laughed when the enormous fish skidded across the floor to glare reprovingly at the pompous Minister of Justice. It was a pity, the Emperor mused blearily, that this was not an old-fashioned Manchu banquet at which the hounds gorged themselves on morsels flung to the floor.
Still, it was the next-best thing. A staid Imperial banquet of the first class, the menu prescribed to the last grain of rice by Dynastic Law, was normally stultified by court etiquette. Even the streams of liquors were normally consumed so solemnly they made men sodden rather than jolly. Today, gaiety was stoked by drafts of fermented mare’s milk called kumiss; by rice wine and grape wine; by brandies of plums, peaches, and cherries; by spirits distilled from millet, sorghum, and wheat. Today’s was not only a state feast but a family feast, and the Mandarins who governed China on behalf of the Lord of Ten Thousand Years roistered in good fellowship. The new father, who was also the father of the nation, felt he was entertaining hundreds of unruly but good-humored sons.
The Emperor halted at each table to hold out his porcelain thimble cup to the Imperial Wine Steward. When the amber rice wine brimmed, he raised his cup in salutation. Burbling congratulations, the Mandarins joined their sovereign in a toast to the Prince Tsai Chün.
“Ten thousand years!” they cried with unaware irony. “May Your Majesty live ten thousand times ten thousand years!”
The Emperor took no notice of the piece de résistance, camel’s hump braised with wild garlic. He was already replete, though he had taken no more than the obligatory bite of each dish. His distended paunch rumbled beneath his stained robe, and he felt queasy. Besides, he found the camel hump tough, stringy, and invariably overdone.
As the Mandarins picked at that dish of kings, the Emperor continued his peregrination. Court etiquette required him to toast all his guests. Balanced with precarious dignity, he shuffled toward a table of four men wearing the five-clawed dragon of Imperial Princes on their surcoats. The Manchus broke off their argument as the Emperor approached. They rose leisurely, bowed, and lifted their cups.
“Give me kumiss!” the Emperor commanded the Imperial Wine Steward. “A true Manchu drink for a true Manchu prince! Kumiss for Manchu warriors.”
The steward filled deep bowls with the frothy white fluid. Kneeling on one knee he offered each Imperial Prince a bowl before genuflecting to the Emperor. The Princes raised their cups, and the Emperor responded. Heads thrown back, they drained their bowls and tossed them to the wine steward.
“Brother, is’t you?” The Emperor blinked at the nearest Prince. “S’you, isn’ it?”
“Your slave ventures to celebrate the birth of his nephew, Majesty,” the Prince replied, “and Your slave begs for forgiveness.”
“S’all right … s’all right, Little Brother.” The Emperor waved his arms expansively. “Come’n drink ’nother cup with Us.”
The Emperor genially clutched the arm of the Prince, whose square face was almost as drink-flushed as his own. Together they stumbled out of earshot of the three remaining Princes, who stared in amazement.
Twenty-one-year-old Prince Kung, the sixth son of the previous Tao Kwang Emperor, had a year earlier been relieved of all his offices by his half-brother, the Hsien Feng Emperor, who was the fourth son of the Tao Kwang Emperor. The ostensible reason was Prince Kung’s failure to observe the full ceremonies of mourning for his mother, the Dowager Empress, who had reared the Hsien Feng Emperor after his own mother’s death. The true reason for the breach between the half-brothers, who had been closer than most full brothers, was bitter disagreement on strategy against the Taipings, compounded by rivalry over a Chinese flower girl.
All the Princes and Mandarins lowered their eyes to their cups. By the Emperor’s own decree, his half-brother should have been excluded from the banquet. If the Son of Heaven was now pleased to greet him and drink with him, it behooved lesser men to behave as if they did not see Prince Kung, who was, officially, not present.
“Well, Little Brother, how goes’t?” the Emperor slurred. “Ver’ glad t’ see you.”
“I pray that Your Majesty will relent and relieve this slave of the burden of the just punishment Your Majesty imposed.” Prince Kung, a shade more sober, enunciated with painful clarity. “Though that punishment is less than I deserve.”
“We … We’ll … think about it, Little Brother. Meanwhile, no talk about that Chinese tart. Got something … something else … talk about.”
“Your Majesty commands.”
“Nala, my Small Orchid, she’s come up with an idea. What do you think about one commander for all the armies fighting the Taipings? ’S not bad idea, is’t?”
“The idea has merit, Majesty,” Prince Kung replied magisterially. “Yet such great power in one subject’s hands? Who would the man be, Majesty?”
“The Governor, you know, Governor Tseng Kuo-fan, she thinks.”
“A Chinese, Your Majesty? A Chinese commanding the combined armies? The Virtuous Concubine is a lady of much wisdom.” Prince Kung was circumspect, having already ingratiated himself by presenting Yehenala with two dozen solid gold serving dishes. “Your slave would not presume to question her advice. But I wonder …”
“So do We, Brother, so d’ We …’ At’s why We asked.”
“Majesty, perhaps better to postpone that decision? The Sacred Dynasty has need of men of talent, but Governor Tseng is a Civil Mandarin. The Dynasty requires a commander, preferably a Manchu, who understands modern weapons. I do not believe Governor Tseng has such knowledge.”
“Saying no, Brother, are you?” the Emperor probed. “Don’t wan’ Us do it? ’S that it?”
“Your Majesty’s slave counsels serious consideration, not immediate rejection. The matter should be …”
“We understan’,” the Emperor interrupted. “‘S ver’ … ver’ clear. Don’t wan’ Chinese take over from inside, do We?”
“Not when Chinese rebels are fighting to establish a Chinese dynasty. The Great Pure Dynasty will soar high with Your Majesty’s wis
e guidance now that an heir is born. Heaven smiles upon Your Majesty!”
“You want the job?” the Emperor asked brusquely.
“I am unworthy, Majesty. My talent is small, and I do not have knowledge of modern weapons.”
“’S right, you don’.” The Emperor’s speech grew more slurred in his perplexity. “But who does? ’S a big problem, y’ see.”
“Your slave does not oppose the appointment, but advises profound consideration.”
“We know what ’at means, Little Brother.” The Emperor chuckled. “Any … anyway’s worth thinking ’bout. We’ll just think ’bout it.”
The Hall of Supreme Harmony reverberated as twenty giant sky rockets exploded above the Forbidden City and an enormous orchid flamed purple and white against the clouds. From the square south of the Gate of Heavenly Peace, the common people gazed in awe at that gigantic flower in the sky. An heir was vouchsafed to the Emperor, and the symbol of the mother of the heir was emblazoned across the face of Heaven.
“What are we celebrating?” A stout merchant condescendingly addressed a grimy beggar as an equal. “The first month of the heir to the Dragon Throne? Or the elevation of his mother?”
CHAPTER 27
June 26, 1856
SHANGHAI
Saul Haleevie slipped off the stiff leather oxfords and wiggled his long toes in relief. Replete after lunch, he drowsily admired the round rose bed bisected by the gravel path leading from the gate of the compound to the veranda of the house on Szechwan Road. Gauzy wings whirring to support their bulbous bodies, yellow-striped bumblebees buzzed among the concentric circles of orange, white, and red flowers. How could such minute wings, Saul wondered idly, possibly lift such ponderous insects? For that matter, how could any creature fly, even the graceful herons with their compact bodies, long necks, and broad wings?
Rhythmic droning from a second-story window reminded him that his adopted sons, Aaron and David, were assiduously studying the Chinese Classics in anticipation of the first civil service examination in the autumn. Perhaps the cumulative wisdom of more than two millennia of Chinese sages offered answers to questions that had vexed mankind since Adam and Eve were expelled from the Garden of Eden. Since he doubted that, he turned his mind to more practical concerns.
Mandarin Page 24