His feelings about his wife had not altered materially, though he felt acute guilt for deserting her—unavoidable as his flight had been. But she was, he supposed, a satisfactory wife and a worthy woman, and he would not be true to the Taiping faith he had embraced if he failed to return to her.
Fortunately, that faith now kept him from self-destructive pursuit of budding virgins. Faith—and the summary decapitation that would follow discovery. The same fear prevented his smoking opium, which could be found in the Heavenly Kingdom, albeit with difficulty. The concentric circles of ripples were vanishing on the canal when he turned to Aaron.
“Yes, serenity,” he finally said. “I have found something I’ve been looking for all my life.”
“A pity we can’t stay in Soochow.”
“We’ll be back, after we take Shanghai. A summer house in Soochow. Think of it.”
“A bit muggy in summer, my friend. And what makes you so sure we’ll take Shanghai?”
“It’s inevitable, Aaron, the will of the Lord. Besides, the Loyal King is absolutely determined. And he’s undoubtedly the best general in China. It’s certain we’ll take Shanghai.”
“I’m only certain the fighting will continue and many men will die. But you really believe, don’t you, Lionel? You really believe in the Heavenly King’s revelations. I’d have thought you the last man to believe …”
“I do, Aaron. They’ve given me peace—and a purpose.”
“And your … your … ah … peccadilloes. You say you regret them, but don’t you ever feel …”
“Let’s walk toward the Forest of Lions,” the Englishman evaded. “I’d like to see it again.”
He was silent as they crossed two arched bridges and approached the towers adorned with porcelain lions among a grove of evergreens. Infantry units under yellow pennants were marching on the cobblestones to their assembly points. Men and women in civilian clothing also strolled the narrow lanes, for the Loyal King had not imposed on his personal domain the ascetic rigor of the Heavenly Capital. The hand of Taiping puritanism lay lightly on the most beautiful city of the Yangtze Delta.
“That fire there, the smoke,” Lionel finally said. “I wonder what it is.”
“Probably burning rubbish before we march,” Aaron replied. “But I asked you …”
“It’s not easy to discuss, Aaron. I think I’ve conquered my base desires. But I must still struggle against temptation.”
“Worse if you give way,” Aaron said brutally. “Anyway, the Taipings keep you busy.”
“You like that, don’t you? I’d swear you were born to command Holy Soldiers, even if you don’t really believe.”
“Belief in revenge is enough for me. I’ve had a taste of revenge, but I’m not sated yet, not nearly.”
The lane opened into a small square before the arched gate of the Forest of Lions. Holy Soldiers wearing yellow tunics with scalloped borders of red or green or blue to mark their units fed the bonfire blazing in its center with Confucian books and winejars, erotic paintings and opium pipes.
A squad of female Holy Soldiers marched out of the gate of the Forest of Lions. A hard-faced woman in her early twenties led them, but many were younger, some no more than twelve or thirteen. Most carried small opium lamps, while several cradled jars of opium, which were covered with dust and streaked with cobwebs.
“They must have discovered a cache when they were cleaning up,” Aaron remarked. “There’s probably more hidden in corners all over Soochow.”
Lionel did not answer. His gaze was fixed on the girls and their burdens. His eyes glittered, and his tongue licked his upper lip.
CHAPTER 49
May 26, 1862
Peking
THE FORBIDDEN CITY
“Insubordination, Kung!” Yehenala raged. “Barefaced insubordination! It’s intolerable!”
Prince Kung lifted his fan to conceal the smile he could not suppress. He had learned that this woman, who he had thought would be his docile tool, was headstrong and self-willed. Her wishes, even her whims, were not lacy feminine caprice but steely masculine resolve. The Empress Dowager Regent was determined to rule, not merely reign.
The Prince Counselor had learned to read her moods, and he knew his Imperial Mistress was not deeply angry. She had not yet learned the wisdom of turning a blind eye to refractory subordinates—as long as they were successful. She was only raging to prove to him—and to herself—that she wielded supreme power.
“They think they can flout Our commands with impunity, those insolent Chinese. We raised them high, both the Viceroy Tseng Kuo-fan and the Mandarin Li Hung-chang. We can dismiss them in an instant if We wish.”
“I shall, of course, carry out Your Majesty’s orders,” Prince Kung interjected. “But their tactics have not been wholly ineffective.”
Prince Kung leaned forward in his chair and snapped his fan closed to emphasize his point. The Prince Counselor, who was the senior official of the Empire, was excused the kowtow, as were seven Grand Chancellors and Senior Censors. But only Prince Kung might sit before the Empress Dowager in the reception chamber of her apartments in the Western Palaces of the Forbidden City. He would, however, not exceed his statutory privileges, for she was as jealous of her prerogatives as she was of her power.
The kidskin-covered platforms of Yehenala’s satin shoes rested on a high footstool set before the yellow-cushioned throne. She was so petite she would have appeared insignificant without those Manchu demi-stilts. The footstool kept her feet from dangling ludicrously, while the raised dais of the throne insured that her eyes were level with those of the subordinates who stood before her.
Yehenala actually looked down on the seated Prince Counselor, who preferred not to meet her imperious gaze. His eyes strayed to the black-lacquer plaque inscribed with silver ideograms that she had hung above the throne. Te Hsia Liu Kung, it read, Virtue Suffuses the Six Palaces.
The six palaces in the northwest quarter of the Forbidden City were Yehenala’s personal domain, where she ruled directly over the ladies and the eunuchs of her court. Her motto obliquely affirmed that untrammeled authority, which she was discovering she could not assert over the entire Empire.
“Yes, their tactics have been successful—so far.” Her oval face flushed beneath its coating of white powder. “We concede that. But they cannot be allowed to run wild. Since we cannot oversee every battalion and every regiment Ourself, we must allow these Chinese Mandarins much latitude. But, never forget, they could be a threat to Us—to the Sacred Dynasty itself—if they are not disciplined.”
“The danger of allowing excessive concentration of power in the provinces is always in the forefront of my mind,” Prince Kung replied carefully. “But, at the moment, the Long-Haired Rebels are a far greater danger. We should, I submit, weigh one danger against the other.”
“Naturally, Kung. But they have gone too far. Seven times We ordered the Mandarin Li Hung-chang to march his Army of Huai to Chenkiang on the Lower Yangtze.”
She reached toward the green-glazed porcelain cylinder on the side table. Despite three-inch nails sheathed in gold wire enameled with tiny orchids, her small hand deftly extracted the Memorial she sought from the scrolls bristling in the vase. She began to read, and the Prince Counselor marvelled at the spectacle.
She was utterly feminine in her gestures and her vanity. Even for this informal audience, her slight figure was attired in stiff orange-and-silver tribute silk embroidered with violet chrysanthemums and hung with pearls. Jade pendants hung from the stiff wings of her jet-black headdress, which appeared to be an extension of her own glossy hair. Though she still lamented the loss of her black Caspian pearls, she wore a magnificent emerald necklace. The rubies, garnets, and sapphires that encrusted her slender fingers complemented the softer hues that tinted her lips and enhanced the brightness of her eyes. She looked like a frivolous princess, devoted only to pleasure and self-adornment. But she read with masculine authority and almost a Senior Mandarin’s comm
and of the dense bureaucratic phraseology.
“Kung, just listen to this. A Memorial presented some two months ago by the Viceroy Tseng from Anking. If these Memorials didn’t take so long to reach Us, matters wouldn’t be in such a tangle. However, the Viceroy memorialized: In your humble servant’s opinion, Chenkiang on the Lower Yangtze is well sited strategically as an offensive base. However, Shanghai is the best place to raise revenue. Since the two cities are equally important, neither must be neglected. Above all, neither must be lost. When foreign vessels could not be obtained to carry Your Majesty’s troops, the Mandarin Li Hung-chang’s force prepared to advance overland to Chenkiang. Truly that plan was born of extreme desperation! Now was it, Kung?”
“Majesty, officers in the field must judge the situation better at first hand. That is why Your Majesty employs them. Perhaps I was hasty in pressing for an advance through rebel territory.”
“Yes, Kung, that may have been rash.” She was placated by his assuming the blame for her stubbornness. “In fairness, perhaps We agreed without sufficient reflection. Still, it was Our command. And it was flagrantly disobeyed.”
“As I recall, the Viceroy Tseng explained his decision fully.”
“The steamboats, Kung. Once he got hold of those barbarian vessels, he ordered the Mandarin Li Hung-chang to proceed straight to Shanghai. At least the barbarians and the Shanghai gentry paid the extortionate cost of their charter.”
“We must conserve the Dynasty’s resources,” he replied sententiously. “I was well content with that outcome. Still, I am aware of the sentiments that aroused Your Majesty’s just anger.”
“Of course, Kung. The Viceroy promised: After the Army of Huai has deployed to Shanghai, the Mandarin Li Hung-chang will himself journey to Chenkiang. Having surveyed the strategic and tactical situation, he will memorialize with his opinion on the best dispositions to defend both strongpoints. Will memorialize, indeed!”
“Has the Mandarin Li not done so, Majesty? I have not seen his recent Memorial, his first directly to the Throne, I believe. But I am told it was received by the Secretariat two days ago and immediately transmitted to the Empress Dowagers.”
“This once, the Memorial arrived promptly. By sea, I believe. But the fools in the Secretariat sent it first to Niuhura, following strict precedence. That dear, sweet woman said she intended to send it along to me immediately as usual. But she was diverted by some nonsense about an ailing lady-in-waiting. She forgot all about the Memorial, I suspect. It only came to light this morning. In the future, let the Secretariat make a copy for Niuhura to play with, but send the original to me without delay.”
“I’ll see to that, Majesty. But the Mandarin Li’s Memorial? He’s certainly made his reconnaissance of Chenkiang by now. What does he recommend?”
“That’s the point. He hasn’t. He’s sitting happily in Shanghai, and he shows no inclination to move.” Yehenala selected the Memorial from the sheaf in the green-porcelain cylinder and read aloud: “The military situation in Shanghai is grave, as are administrative and fiscal problems. Your unworthy servant therefore believes it would be unwise to alarm the barbarians by the departure of the Army of Huai. It is, accordingly, difficult for your servant to fix a date for his tour of inspection of Chenkiang.”
“The long and the short of it is that he has no intention of going. Is that how Your Majesty reads his words?”
“What other meaning could We abstract from those thickets of persiflage? He as good as says he’s determined to ignore Our command, just as the Viceroy flouted Our command that the Army of Huai march to Chenkiang. They’re obsessed with Shanghai, probably taking foreign gold in return for protecting Shanghai. But Chenkiang is the key to the Long River. We are cursed with insubordinate servants.”
“Still, Majesty, it hasn’t worked out badly so far, has it? Better an intact Army of Huai in Shanghai, where it can draw on that city’s rich revenues, than the same army advancing with great losses—and at great cost—through territory the rebels occupy. Besides, Your Majesty’s Ever Victorious Army has been released by the presence of the Army of Huai. The barbarian Ward has won a string of small, but useful, victories.”
“Yes, Our own costs should be sharply reduced by the Shanghai revenues.”
“As Your Majesty so wisely points out. Besides, it would not do to alarm the barbarians at this time. We find them more cooperative every day—the British particularly. Their support made it certain Your Majesty would crush the usurpers, and now their forces have checked the Long Hairs.”
“And what of this insubordinate Mandarin Li Hung-chang, Kung? We must take action.”
“The revenues of Shanghai come to more than two hundred thousand taels a month,” the Prince Counselor replied tangentially. “The Dynasty requires a diligent and honest Mandarin to husband those funds—and to relieve the drain on the Ministry of Finance.”
“His younger brother, a junior Mandarin, is already called the Bottomless Purse because of his rapacity.”
“But not the Mandarin Li Hung-chang, Majesty. He is upright, I understand.”
“As upright as can be expected. He must, after all, live. No one objects to a Mandarin’s looking after himself—up to a point.”
“He awaits confirmation of his recommended appointment as Governor of Kiangsu Province, does he not?”
“He does.”
“Then, Majesty, if I may venture a suggestion, let him wait. Reprimand him in a private communication. And let him wait for his formal appointment.”
“But not too long, We think. We do not wish him to become malcontent. Nor do We wish his ability to serve the Dynasty weakened by public display of Our lack of confidence.”
“A perfect solution, Majesty. May I express my admiration of your statecraft?”
The interview, Prince Kung felt, had been taxing but satisfactory. Capable men were inclined to act on their own, regardless of Court Edicts. Such behavior was annoying but tolerable. Better to tolerate a degree of intelligent, well-intentioned insubordination than to nurture a Mandarinate of sycophantic bumblers.
Yet, he wondered, who had actually dominated the audience? Had he discreetly guided Yehenala, or had she manipulated him like a master puppeteer skillfully controlling the bamboo rods attached to a manikin’s limbs and head?
CHAPTER 50
June 2, 1862
SHANGHAI
“Pieh li-kai wo, Hsiao Lee.” The Mandarin Li Hung-chang glanced around the main hall of the Imperial Customhouse. “Don’t go too far from me, Young Lee. I need my English tongue.”
Like his superior, David Lee wore a light summer robe of blue silk. The atmosphere in the hall on the evening in early June was too close for the heavy ceremonial robes the Mandarins would otherwise have worn to overawe the impressionable barbarians who were their hosts. Both, however, displayed their insignia on their chests: a silver crane of the First Grade for the Acting Governor and a drake of the Seventh Grade for Saul Haleevie’s adopted son. Even above his recent promotion, David valued his chief’s affectionate form of address.
“Hsiao Lee—Young Lee,” the Mandarin Li Hung-chang had said. An Englishman might say “old man” when he finally accepted you as a friend. Hierarchical even in their terms of endearment, Chinese friends called each other “Young Lee” or “Old Wang” according to their respective ages. His round face shining with pleasure at the compliment, David concluded comfortably that the Chinese way was more logical.
It was an immense honor for a novice official of twenty-four to be invited to join the Mandarin’s mu-fu, his private secretariat. To be called “Young Lee” after hardly three months’ acquaintance was an inestimable accolade.
Despite his profound respect and growing affection for the Mandarin, David Lee smiled at Li Hung-chang’s obvious discomfiture. The man who casually defied the vengeful Yehenala in his Memorials and coolly faced the Taiping fanatics on the battlefield was uneasy facing a large number of foreigners for the first time.
The
Mandarin was particularly put out by the presence of some thirty ladies. They wore fantastically ruffled, frilled, sprigged, braided, and draped dresses, whose trailing skirts, almost twenty feet around, swept the black-and-white diamond pattern of the floor. Years of familiarity had not reconciled David himself to the foreigners’ lack of respect for their wives and daughters. How could they make a public spectacle of ladies who should have been decorously secluded in their own quarters in the family mansions?
David’s pleasure in his chief’s confidence was further marred by his concern for his sister Fronah, who hovered on the edge of the throng. She was pale, thin, and obviously distraught. Despite her reluctance, their father had insisted that she attend the reception for the man to whom the foreign community looked for safety from the Taiping scourge.
The Mandarin Li Hung-chang reflected that he had better ways to spend his time than listening to the gabble of outlandish languages from pallid mouths in pink-gray faces enthicketed with beards. He had not, of course, expected to enjoy the barbarians’ gross diversions, but he had not thought he would be so acutely uncomfortable. The tuneless music wrung from brass horns and tin drums by the sweating military band hurt his eardrums. Chinese melodies were pure and lilting, but the foreigners actually appeared to enjoy the rhythmic din which sounded like pigs squealing in a cannonade.
As he had feared, the food was not merely inedible but disgusting. Slabs of half-cooked beef stood among sugar-pink haunches of ham, macabre whole lambs, and obscenely feathered pheasants. The stench would have been sickening even without the reek of cigars and the revolting odor of a people who not only consumed raw spirits and cheese but spread their bread with yellow grease made of cow’s milk. No wonder the women doused themselves with perfumes! He had been assured they were no more promiscuous than Chinese ladies, despite their brazen display of nearly naked bosoms, though he was hardly tempted to test the virtue of these twittering, shameless females.
However, not only courtesy but policy required his presence. The foreigners had paid to bring his army to Shanghai, and they wished to honor him by forcing him to attend this barbaric rite. In their arrogance, the foreigners might have demanded that the previous Emperor receive ambassadors who refused to kowtow like cultivated gentlemen. But he could not spurn their exhausting hospitality. A gentleman did not embarrass others gratuitously, not even barbarians. Besides, he needed their cash and their guns as much as they needed his protection.
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