“I know you’re worried, Lionel,” she conceded. “But aren’t you being too honorable. I just feel I must …”
“Of course you do, my dear. Don’t worry yourself. I won’t be long away, and afterward we’ll talk about a journey to London.”
“Now, Lionel, that’s better.” She touched his arm in gratitude. “You are a dear, and I’m so spoiled. It’s so nice that we’ll … afterward. Afterward? … Not long away? What do you mean?”
“I’d planned to tell you when it was all fixed, but I suppose I’d better do it now,” he said carefully. “You know Lord Elgin and the Expeditionary Force are close to Peking. I’ll be leaving within a few days to join them as an observer. It’s an excellent opportunity to assess prospects for trade in North China after their victory. Besides, a little time apart will be good for both of us.”
The more Lionel turned the new idea over in his mind, the more he liked it. Saul Haleevie prided himself on his alertness to political developments, which, he asserted, were the shifting sands upon which the foundations of commerce unfortunately rested. His father-in-law would certainly agree that he should go north—and the journey would give him a breathing spell from domesticity.
“Perhaps you’re right, Lionel,” Fronah mused. “I really should be grateful. You’re always thinking of what’s best for us.”
Was there a hint of mockery in her reply? No, there could not be. Sometimes, he felt, it was too easy to deceive her. Her expression changed, and she looked narrowly at him.
“Will there be more killing in the North?” she asked quietly. “More slaughter?”
“Slaughter? Hardly, my dear. Naturally, John Chinaman must be kept in his place. But slaughter? No more than there was here the other day.”
“No more, Lionel?” Her temper flared. “No more? Are you going north for the shooting?”
“Now look here, Fronah. You’re talking as if I enjoyed the killing the other day.”
“Well, didn’t you? You safe on the wall and the Taipings huddled like sheep for the slaughter. You certainly seemed to enjoy it. Didn’t you really?”
“I assure you I did not. Besides, it was necessary.”
“Just as it’ll be necessary in Peking, Lionel?”
“Your precious friend Hyde,” Lionel demanded. “Do you reproach him with his appetite for slaughter?”
“He doesn’t enjoy it, Lionel. Besides, it’s his profession. He’s a naval officer and must do as he’s ordered.”
“He’s not ordered to spend quite so much time in my house, is he?” A display of jealousy might be useful. “I don’t like his lounging about as if this were his own house.”
“Lionel, you know there’s nothing … nothing amiss. Why, you’re always here. Perhaps it will be good if you find some proper employment in the North. Gabriel simply comes to see Papa and then, sometimes, drops in to chat.”
“Do see that it’s only a chat. I don’t know what they’re up to, Saul and that American. But I sometimes fear the worst.”
“At least they’re up to something, Lionel.” Her composure pinked his vanity. “Some men aren’t up to anything most of the time.”
She compressed her lips severely, and he thought it wiser not to pursue the quarrel, particularly in view of her implied slur on his virility. They sat in silence, turning over the pages of books, till it was time to dress for Jardines’ masked ball. Despite her discontent, Fronah still loved the gaiety of two orchestras, champagne, and guests frolicking in costumes that ranged from Roman senators to Watteau shepherdesses.
Lionel was as jolly as his cold temperament permitted when they climbed the teak staircase to their bedroom at two in the morning. Fronah was muzzy after two bottles of champagne, but still bubbling. She hummed “Drink to Me Only with Thine Eyes” as she stepped out of her panniered skirts in her dressing room. When he joined her in the big rosewood bed under the azure satin coverlet, which matched the watered silk covering the walls, she smiled with remembered pleasure.
Yet she was sad when he turned down the oil lamp on the rosewood bed table, distressed by the prospect of his leaving. She knew she would miss him badly. He did put up with her moods so patiently, the poor dear.
Lionel kissed Fronah and drew her close. She was surprised at the haste with which he lifted the skirt of her white lawn nightdress. He was not often so ardent. His infrequent lovemaking was always gentle and considerate. He did not press her with the terrible urgency she had read about—and experienced just once.
CHAPTER 36
September 21, 1860
The Park of Radiant Perfection
THE SUMMER PALACES NEAR PEKING
“Majesty, it would not be well done.” Yehenala pleaded. “Your Majesty ought not …”
The Virtuous Concubine of the Second Grade paused prudently when the Hsien Feng Emperor’s small eyes rolled threateningly in their fleshy sockets. She was momentarily taken aback by her own temerity. The Son of Heaven notoriously allowed the mother of the Heir Presumptive great latitude, not only because her unique contribution to the Dynasty set her above all other women, but because he valued her forthright counsel. Yet even she might not tell him flatly that he could not pursue the rash course upon which he had decided. Not even she might say: “Your Majesty ought not—must not flee before the barbarian invaders.”
Thanking Heaven that she had checked her tongue before uttering the fatal imperative, Yehenala glanced out the latticed window of the reception chamber at the clock tower. The squat red-brick structure was capped by a three-tiered tile roof in the traditional Chinese manner, but the round clock under the second tier, like the miniature spires studding the roof, revealed the hand of the alien architect. The insolently misshapen tower designed for the great Chien Lung Emperor by an Italian priest of the Yehsu Hui, the Society of Jesus, seemed to Yehenala to have portended the desperate peril the Great Pure Dynasty faced on the evening of September 21, 1860.
Muttering a Manchu oath, she cursed the day the first barbarian priests had come across the seas into the Great Empire with their holy books, their science, and their green-bronze cannon. They had been the vanguard, but their strategy and the strategy of the other barbarians who followed them was always the same—always monstrous. They began with ingratiating words and ingenious mechanical gifts. Afterward, they presented humble entreaties to trade. Then they made demands, muted at first, but later imperious. Finally came the soldiers in scarlet coats like monkeys—with their long rifles and their barking cannons.
Warships with bellying white sails had first assaulted Canton in the eighteenth year of the Tao Kwang Emperor, when she was only seven, and she was now twenty-five. They had again bombarded Canton only four years ago and carried off to India that fool, the Viceroy who, as the popular jingle mocked, “would not make war and would not make peace; would not mount a defense and would not flee; would not surrender and would not die.” During the past three years, the barbarians had dared to strike toward Peking itself, demanding that their so-called ambassadors must reside in the Northern Capital permanently.
She smiled, recalling that the barbarians with the flag of three crosses had been decisively defeated fifteen months earlier when the Son of Heaven, emboldened by her encouragement, sent an overwhelming array against them. But the barbarians were now approaching the outskirts of the Northern Capital in force, and several barbarian prisoners lay a hundred yards from the clock tower. She smiled again, recalling that one of the prisoners seized when they came under a flag of truce was Harry Parkes, whose insolence regarding the matter of the lorcha Arrow had led to the present crisis.
Her smile faded. This time, she feared, the barbarians with the flag of crosses could be neither lured away nor driven away. They were, moreover, supported by other barbarians under a flag of three red-white-and-blue stripes. Above all, the cowardice of the father of her child was shameful before Heaven and mankind. She would herself be pulled down by her enemies if her four-year-old son did not some day ascend the Drago
n Throne. If she could not sway the Lord of Ten Thousand Years in this critical hour, his pusillanimity would imperil her son’s future.
Yehenala regained her composure. “Your slave, Majesty, abjectly regrets her intemperate tone. Your slave pleads with Your Majesty to reconsider. Your Majesty’s troops are fighting with inspired valor. Think, Majesty, of the effect upon their spirits if you withdraw the radiance of the Imperial Countenance.”
“You really believe We can still win, Nala?” the Emperor asked dubiously. “The barbarians seem to sweep all before them. If only We had not been misled by false counselors. If only We had hurled them into the sea when we could.”
“It is not too late, Majesty,” she insisted. “The Sage said: Those who flee a horde of demons often fall and break their legs, but those who face them will see the demons dissolve into mist. The barbarian demons appear fierce, but are really no more than mist.”
“Well, Nala, We shall see.” The Son of Heaven was cheered by that spurious counsel from the Master Confucius. “But We could not bear their spying, Nala. You understand, it is not Our life for which we fear, but our Imperial dignity. Allowing the barbarians to spy on Us would be intolerable. The one demand above others We cannot grant is allowing the barbarians to establish embassies in the capital.”
“Of course, Majesty. Permanent embassies are contrary to the usages of the Sacred Dynasty.”
“Worse, Nala, far worse. They would erect tall towers, as they have in Shanghai. From their towers overlooking the Forbidden City they would spy on Us … on Our Court … through their far-seeing glasses.”
“All the more reason to face them, Majesty, and destroy them.” Even the seasoned Yehenala was astonished by his frivolousness. “If Your Majesty leaves the capital, the barbarians will enter and settle and build their towers.”
Sometimes she wondered if his wits were addled, as the street balladeers blasphemously hinted. At this supreme crisis of the Ching Dynasty, the Son of Heaven was concerned above all that the barbarians might catch a glimpse of his palanquin before the Hall of Supreme Harmony. She had seen those strange devices with glass lenses for making distant things appear near, and she had heard that the barbarians used them on the battlefield or to watch horses race each other. She wondered if it was true, as she had also heard, that the magical science of the barbarians had as well devised lenses that could look through the panels of palanquins and the walls of palaces.
“When such desecration threatens,” she added, “it is essential that Your Majesty remain to inspire his people.”
“You don’t really care about Our person, do you, Nala?” he asked, with disconcerting shrewdness. “You only think of Us as the Son of Heaven who must sacrifice all—Our life if necessary—for Our people.”
“Your Majesty has had many proofs of this slave’s devotion, not only to the Son of Heaven but to Your Majesty’s person.” She wondered whether his habitual suspicion might not in this case be correct. “Your slave lives only to serve Your Majesty. But should such words be spoken … now and here?”
Yehenala glanced around meaningfully. In the lingering summer twilight only a few candles were lit, their flames pale against green-and-gold walls painted with spreading white chrysanthemums and full-blown scarlet peonies. However, the Emperor’s inquisitive entourage could see that he and the mother of the Heir Apparent were locked in disagreement. The reception chamber was heaped with red-leather chests, ebony jewel caskets, and lacquered coffers, as well as straw valises and cloth-wrapped bundles. The eunuchs’ eyes were decorously cast down, but their ears were alert as they carried their burdens to the rows of carts, sedan chairs, and wagons waiting outside the palace. The Court ladies were for once silent, but their eyes darted spitefully at their successful rival. Seated on ebony chairs, the Emperor and Yehenala were an island in that fast-flowing tide. He was dressed in a pongee summer robe slit front and back for riding, while she wore a plain turquoise gown with only a few jewels.
“Perhaps not, Nala, perhaps it isn’t wise to speak too freely,” he replied wearily. “Though sometimes we—even We—must say what is in Our heart. We seek safety not because We fear the barbarians, but because We must preserve Ourself for the sake of the Sacred Dynasty and the people. It would be an enormity for Us to fall into the barbarians’ hands. An Imperial hostage, what more could they want?”
“Your slave understands, Majesty. She knows Your Majesty’s tigerlike courage and profound compassion for the common people. Your slave only begs Your Majesty to face the barbarian demons and dissolve them into mist.”
“We have already told Our ministers We are not fleeing, but placing Ourself at the head of Our troops in the field.”
“Then, Majesty, why this great bustle of packing? Why are the post stations to Jehol ordered to make ready provisions and fresh horses? Majesty, talk of leading the army deceives no one. Least of all the Lord of Ten Thousand Years himself.”
“You dare!” he exploded. “You dare question Our word?”
“Not I, Majesty, not this slave, but Your Majesty’s generals and ministers. Majesty, condescend to recall the Memorial received this morning after Your Majesty’s intentions were revealed to the ministers. I have a copy here.”
“You would, Nala, you would have a copy. Our ancestor the Kang Hsi Emperor was absolutely correct when he decreed that women and eunuchs must never be permitted to interfere in affairs of state. But read it, if you must.”
The Hsien Feng Emperor’s pallid features set in afflicted patience as his favorite concubine read aloud his Mandarins’ tortuous response to his planned flight. They had not directly refuted the pretext that he was going to the old Summer Palace at Jehol in Manchuria to hunt. They had not commented on his claim that his reputation would not suffer because the barbarians would believe the pretense that Dynastic Law obliged the Emperor to mount a ceremonial hunt each autumn in memory of the immense chases that had bound the nomadic Manchu tribes together. His counselors had, however, objected to his suggestion that the people be told he was planning to take personal command of the troops opposing the barbarians.
“At a time of public distress, the man of heroic character is prepared to die at his post.” Yehenala read the censorious Memorial aloud. “Moreover, both high and low must practice perfect sincerity and truthfulness. Your Majesty’s ministers have today respectfully read the Rescript declaring that Your Majesty’s hunting expedition is to be presented as preparation for taking the field in person. They have noted Your Majesty’s declaration that, if the enemy is engaged near Tungchow to the southeast, Your Majesty will proceed with a powerful army to the north of Peking.
“Your Majesty’s ministers are struck with wonder at Your Majesty’s courage and Your Majesty’s strategy. However, the ministers fear the common people, who are slow-witted and suspicious, will place another interpretation upon Your Majesty’s maneuvers. If the barbarians appear to the southeast of the capital, the people will say that Your Majesty, having abandoned a hunting expedition to take the field in person, should proceed to that field of battle. If Your Majesty takes up a position to the north, they will say it is really a hunting expedition.”
“Precisely what We wish the barbarians to think,” the Emperor exclaimed with satisfaction. “You see how dull-witted Our ministers are—too stupid to appreciate Our brilliant stratagem.”
“Majesty, there is another Memorial.” She had kept that harsh document as the last resort. “Your Majesty’s slave fears it is not tactfully phrased. Your Majesty’s Senior Censor asks bluntly: Will Your Majesty cast away the inheritance of Your ancestors like a broken shoe? What will a thousand generations to come say of that deed?”
“Kua …” The self-pitying term warned of her danger. “This Orphan is surrounded by ministers who care as little for Our life as they do for a broken shoe—and concubines, also. You do not do well to taunt Us, Yi Kuei.”
Yehenala was chilled by his using her title, Yi Kuei, Virtuous Concubine, rather than calling her f
amiliarly Nala or Lan, Orchid, the Chinese name he gasped in passion. She was, she knew, testing the limits of his toleration, though she had spoken the words of the fearless Censor rather than her own. Only fear of being left alone amid his numerous entourage, she sensed, kept him from ordering her to leave the reception chamber—or more severe retribution. She was, however, determined to shame him into behaving like a true Manchu Emperor. Only she could shatter the shell of his self-deception.
“This Orphan is not well served. Our counselors’ advice has always been disastrous.”
A flush mottled his pendulous cheeks, and his small eyes stared pathetically.
“You remember when the barbarians began pressing for ratification of the Treaty of Tientsin two years ago?” he asked plaintively. “It does not matter, Our envoy said. Majesty, please grant their wishes: ministers resident in Peking; new treaty ports inland; free travel in the interior; even an indemnity for that wretched lorcha, the Arrow. The peace treaties are only pieces of paper, Our clever counselor said. Just sign them and the enemy warships will withdraw. Later, Your Majesty can charge the ministers with disobedience and mismanagement. Your Majesty can then repudiate the treaties, and all will be as it was before.”
“This slave, Majesty, did not share that opinion,” Yehanala reminded him. “Your slave supported Your Majesty’s secret plan to exempt the barbarians from all customs duties in exchange for withdrawing their demands. Since the barbarians are interested only in money, your slave reasoned, they will prefer the profits of free trade to the expense of military operations.”
“It did not work out, Nala.”
“Your Majesty’s wise plan was never implemented.”
“Nala, all that is past,” he sighed. “The treaties were signed, and now We eat the bitter fruit. Twenty thousand barbarians are marching on Peking. They demand—demand of Us!—that the treaties be ratified in the Forbidden City itself. We cannot do so. We must go hunting in Jehol.”
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