So I ran. I ran as fast as my legs would carry me to Prince Gong’s mansion. He was there. I told him breathlessly what I’d just seen and we went outside to look. A third column of smoke had already appeared.
The prince cursed. “That barbarian Elgin told me there would have to be punishment—that’s what he called it, punishment—for our treatment of the hostages. But he didn’t say what.”
“He would burn the Yuanmingyuan?” I asked incredulously.
“Who knows? Who knows what these creatures would do?”
“Your slave begs you, let me go there,” I cried.
He looked at me. “You are not to kill anybody, especially Lord Elgin,” he said drily. “That is an order. I’ve enough trouble on my hands.”
“Your slave swears,” I replied fervently.
“Try not to get yourself killed, either,” he remarked.
We both knew there was nothing I could do. But he knew I had to go. They were burning China’s treasures. You might as well tell a mother not to run to where her children are being burned. If I could just save something. Anything.
* * *
—
The sun was high in the morning sky, but I couldn’t see it. Under the huge black cloud that hung over the park, day had turned into night. A night lit by fires.
The Yuanmingyuan was like an infernal region: The emperor’s residence was already a charred wreck, swept by little whirlwinds of glowing cinders. A nearby temple had become a roaring wall of fire. As I looked, a pagoda began to spout a column of oily smoke. Everywhere, figures like demons ran about, silhouetted by the crackling flames.
And the demons wore red uniforms.
They weren’t only burning the pavilions in front of the lake. They’d started to move around it, from island to island. The Peony Terrace had been wrecked and its buildings set alight. I do not know how many British soldiers were at work in that huge park. They say four thousand. But one thing is certain: They were determined to destroy the imperial paradise as if it had never been.
I had started to make my way around the lake when I saw a party of British barbarians just ahead. The officer in charge glanced at me, but he obviously wasn’t interested. If some foolish palace person wanted to watch, let him.
He clearly didn’t know who I was, but I recognized him. It was Goh-Dun. He and his men had encountered that prettily carved stone bridge that led onto the Apricot Blossom Spring Island. They were hauling with ropes and pulleys. But the little bridge was holding firm. I was glad that our bridge wasn’t giving in to them. They paused and Goh-Dun consulted with the sergeant. They were probably thinking: Let’s get some gunpowder so we can blow it up.
Then Goh-Dun turned and stared at me. So I stared back. And I’m not certain, because it’s hard to know with a barbarian, but I think he looked ashamed—though whether that was because he was embarrassed by his vandalism or because he’d failed to knock it down, I couldn’t say. Then they gave up and moved on.
There was nothing I could do. I had such a sense of helplessness. And strangely—this I can’t explain—watching so much wickedness without lifting a finger, I felt as if I were guilty myself. After that, I could not bear to stay there anymore, and I departed.
* * *
—
The British didn’t finish their work that day, or the next. They continued smashing, burning down, and looting anything they had missed before. The Apricot Blossom Spring Villa, the Temple of Universal Peace, the Island of Shrines: Every single haven of peace and beauty in the paradise of the Yuanmingyuan was destroyed forever. They even went beyond the Yuanmingyuan into the outer parks and destroyed most of them, too. On the third day they stopped. Perhaps they were tired.
I have heard that a big group of palace people and maidservants who were hiding in one of the outer pavilions were burned alive when their retreat was set on fire. It might have been so, or it might not. But even without that horror, the crime was great enough.
Why did the British burn down the Summer Palace? Lord Elgin put up a big sign, written in Chinese, to say that it was to punish us for our cruelty and treachery over the hostages. The death of the hostages was to be regretted, certainly. But is that a just cause for the destruction of one of the wonders of the world?
Some say it was just an excuse, and that he really just wanted to cover up the looting his men had done in the days before. But he had publicly allowed the looting, and all the soldiers had received their share, so he could not hide that business. In any case, the destruction of the outer parks went far beyond the original looting sites of the Yuanmingyuan—and I bet his men pocketed any other valuables they found out there.
This much is certain. In their victory, if such it may be called, the barbarians showed abundantly how well they deserved that name. And they showed not only their barbarism but also their contempt for the Celestial Kingdom, our heritage, our arts, and our religions. It also seems to me that they showed their stupidity. For it is not wise to tell a vanquished enemy that you despise him and everything he loves. He will not forgive it. In the Celestial Empire, as I still call it, the rape and burning of our paradise and the contempt it showed will never be forgiven or forgotten. Not in a thousand years.
* * *
—
I spent a lot of time with Prince Gong in the months that followed. He paid me only a pittance, but I was just glad to be alive and in his favor. When I wasn’t waiting upon him, I was often with the princess. I did her nails and those of her friends. She liked my company, and would talk to me, and slip me a little money now and then.
I think he trusted me more than most people. He had numerous eunuchs in his household, but they were house servants to whom he rarely spoke. One was trained as a secretary, so he was highly literate. But his duties were writing letters and preparing documents. I don’t believe the prince ever asked his opinion. Whereas I was special, glad to serve him in any way he chose, and to be discreet and enterprising, and to see a mission through.
He also discovered that if he wanted to know what people in the streets were saying, I was a reliable source. That’s because I went and asked my father, of course.
And during those months, I have to say, I came to admire Prince Gong very much. There he was, holding the fort in Beijing, keeping the whole empire together really, while the emperor, Prince Sushun, and the rest of the court stayed safely north of the Great Wall and criticized him from a distance. The weight on his shoulders must have been unbearable.
For instance, during those hectic days when he was negotiating the treaty with the British, the Russian envoy had put him in a horrible position. “Our empire extends across the whole of Siberia to the Pacific Ocean,” the envoy said, “but our Siberian coastline is frozen all winter. What we need is a Pacific port farther south. If you’ll give us just a piece of your huge territory in Manchuria—which is empty anyway—and let us move a few of our Siberian settlers there, they can build a little trading post by a natural harbor you’ve got there—just for our local needs. This will cost you nothing,” he’d pointed out. “But it will greatly please the tsar.”
But would it please the Son of Heaven?
“Prince Gong knew all the emperor’s people would blame him,” the princess told me. “But at that moment, it seemed the only thing to do.”
That little trading post is now the mighty Russian port of Vladivostok.
But even if he wasn’t always right, there’s no doubt that Prince Gong did what he thought was best for his country, at risk of his own life. I admired him for that, and I always shall.
At this time he also got his hands on a quantity of modern rifles and ammunition. Then he formed some of the best troops we had into a brigade to police Beijing and gave them the rifles. They’d lost to the barbarians again and again, seen their comrades helplessly mown down—not through any lack of courage or discipline, but because th
e barbarians were so much better armed. Now they could look any enemy in the eye. Deserters started coming back. People looked at them with new respect. And the prince restored order to Beijing.
* * *
—
If we consider the career of Prince Gong, both at this time and in the years that followed, I would say that part of his genius lay in his pragmatism.
Having understood the simple greed of the British, he made good use of them, just as he had suggested to the emperor. With the trading rights they wanted, they now supported the imperial government, and if the Taiping were going to cause chaos, they’d help the emperor smash them. Simple as that. And so Prince Gong was able to build up a new army, trained and commanded by British officers, with British rifles and cannon, that could be used against the Taiping rebels. It did so well that it was soon known as the Ever-Victorious Army. And thanks to this force, within a few years, the Taiping rebels were finally broken forever.
At first this army was commanded by an American named Ward. But after a time, command passed to a British officer who was to make a great name for himself. And I was to meet him in interesting circumstances.
* * *
—
This was a few years after the treaty. So successful had the Ever-Victorious Army been that there was talk of awarding this British commander the Yellow Jacket, which is the highest honor that can be given to a Chinese general, and which he was most desirous of receiving—for like many military commanders, he was not without vanity.
Now I’d heard enough about this British servant of China to make me curious, but I hadn’t seen him in person. So when I heard that he’d been summoned to an official audience with Prince Gong in the Forbidden City, I hung about to get a look and saw him just as he was arriving at the outer gate.
Minutes later I was at the door of the prince’s office. He was just on his way to the audience himself, but he gave me a friendly nod and asked what I wanted.
“Highness,” I said, “you are about to meet General Gordon.”
“I am,” he said. “What of it?”
“Do you remember I told you that a British officer had taken the jadeite pendant from me at the looting of the Summer Palace?” He said nothing, so I continued. “At the time I had thought his name was Goh-Dun. When I heard of this General Gordon I wondered if I had misheard the name, and they might possibly be of the same family. But, Highness, this morning your slave has just caught sight of General Gordon. And it is the same man! It is General Gordon who took the pendant.”
“You are sure of this?” the prince demanded. “You could not be mistaken?”
“I am sure, Highness. I never saw eyes like that on any man. I swear it upon my life.”
“Never mind your life,” he replied with a smile. “But I trust your judgment.” He considered. “After the official audience, I shall tell Gordon I want a private word with him, in one of the antechambers. I want you there, in respectful attendance—silent, of course, but where he can’t fail to see you. Do you think he’ll recognize you?”
“Probably not, Highness. But if the subject of the pendant is raised, he might.”
“Good,” he said. “Be there.”
* * *
—
I must say, Goh-Dun looked every inch a general by now. His eyes were even more piercing than I’d remembered, and he had an unmistakable air of command.
“My dear Gordon,” said Prince Gong. “I wanted the chance to thank you and congratulate you in private. You know there is talk of awarding you a Yellow Jacket. I can’t promise, of course, but I’m much inclined to recommend it.”
“Your Highness is too kind,” Gordon replied with a bow. I could see he was pleased.
“I wonder,” said the prince most politely, “if I might ask you a personal favor. It concerns my dear aunt.”
“If I can be of help, of course,” said Gordon, looking a little puzzled.
“At the time that British troops first went to the Summer Palace, where my aunt had been living, she unfortunately lost a jadeite pendant. It was of great sentimental value because my father the emperor had given it to her. I have often wondered if it might have been picked up. It would give great joy to our family if it could ever be found.”
“I see,” said Gordon.
“I can describe it for you,” said Prince Gong. And he did so, precisely.
Gordon frowned. Then he looked at me, as if he was trying to remember something.
The next day the jade pendant arrived. It came with a note from Gordon; and Prince Gong was good enough to send for me so that I might hear it.
When the valuables had all been gathered together, Gordon explained, the best of the small pieces had been reserved to go into museums in his country that would exhibit the wondrous arts of the Celestial Kingdom. This pendant—which he was sure from the description must be the one in question—had been reserved in this way. If, however, this was not the one, he would gladly institute further searches.
“Let us compose a reply,” said Prince Gong, and he called in his secretary. “My dear Gordon,” he dictated, “this is indeed the lost pendant, and my aunt is overjoyed. Both she and I thank you for going to so much trouble. My memory is bad, I forget things constantly, but I can assure you that your kindness in this matter will never be forgotten by either my aunt or me.” He gave a wry smile. “Well, Lacquer Nail, what do you think of that reply?”
“It seems to me like a work of art, Highness,” I answered, “because of its symmetry.”
“Explain.”
“It is implied, Highness, that you will remember the return of the pendant, yet forget the original theft. Therefore your reply seems to me to be perfectly balanced, like a poem or a work of art.”
“Excellent, Lacquer Nail. You could have been a scholar.”
I bowed low. “May your slave ask, Highness, if there is a name for communications of this kind?” I ventured.
“Certainly,” he said. “It’s called diplomacy.”
Yet here is a curious thing. Months after this, when the Taiping had been finally destroyed and Gordon, his work done, was preparing to leave China, the imperial court not only honored him with the Yellow Jacket, but gave him a large gift of money to show their appreciation. This was entirely proper. Indeed, I have heard that the British Parliament votes large gifts of money to successful commanders.
And Gordon refused the money. Wouldn’t take it. The imperial court was quite offended, for it is great rudeness to refuse a gift. And given the looting of the Summer Palace, in which he had participated, his refusal hardly seemed consistent. So why did he do it? Was looting against his religion? It didn’t seem to affect the other Christian soldiers. Was he punishing himself for having looted before? Or did he think refusing the gift would make him look finer and more heroic than his fellow men? That would be vanity.
Much later he was to die heroically in Egypt, and the whole of Britain mourned him. I should think he’d have liked that.
* * *
—
But what of the emperor, north of the Wall, and the Noble Consort Yi?
As soon as Prince Gong had restored order, he begged his brother to return. “The emperor belongs on his throne in Beijing,” he said. That would tell the world that the Son of Heaven was ruling his empire again, and natural order had been restored.
The emperor wouldn’t come. I suppose he must have been ashamed of showing his face in Beijing again. And he may have been afraid of failing if he did take control.
But his staying away didn’t do him any good, either. In all the chaos, the rice harvests were down. The city’s reserves had been used to feed the troops. And when people found only musty rice on sale in the markets, they said the good rice had all been shipped north to feed the court—and blamed the emperor.
Worst of all, when the time came to make the sacrifi
ces to the gods for good harvests, the emperor sent word he couldn’t come and told Prince Gong to perform the sacrifices for him.
“If the Son of Heaven won’t speak to the gods for us, then what’s the good of him?” my father said. That was the general feeling.
So it wasn’t surprising that Prince Gong was becoming more popular by the day. Food was still scarce; silver money was in short supply. But he’d given us peace and some order. Things were slowly getting better. The mandarins knew he was trying his best, and the ordinary people knew it, too. And he was here in Beijing, sharing our hardships, not skulking north of the Great Wall. “At least he behaves like a king,” people said.
* * *
—
But I learned other qualities of kingship from the prince also. One day an old scholar visited him. I came in just after the old man had left and found the prince looking thoughtful. “I’ve learned something new today, Lacquer Nail,” he said to me. “You have heard of the old Silk Road across the desert and steppes to the west?”
“Your slave has heard the caravans still come,” I said.
“In the days of the Ming, they came all the time. The barbarians of the West were not so strange to us then. The old man also told me that we had a great fleet of ships that sailed to other western lands far to the south, where men have dark skins. All kinds of treasures and spices came from there. But those fleets were broken up and even the records of them were destroyed or lost. I had never heard of this until today.”
“It is very strange, Highness,” I agreed.
“We have been wrong to cut ourselves off from the world. It has made us ignorant.”
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